Post by Cain Lucas Marino on Jan 11, 2011 0:45:04 GMT -6
CAINLUCASMARINO
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" And I am aware now of how
everything’s gonna be fine one day
Too late, I’m in hell I am prepared now,
seems everyone’s gonna be fine . One day too late, just as well " [/center]
birthday| September 11th
age| 17
gender| male
occupation| Organizer
sexualorientation| straight-ish
affliation| Italian Mafia
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appearance| ain comes off like he’s not all that much. He’s of an average height but on the lanky side of it; hinting at a waiting growth spurt but not really ready to commit to it. He has a boyish appearance because he is just that. He’s a boy. He walks with a confident gate that does counter his average looking appearance; his chin up and his icy gaze always darting around for something to judge.
His clothes, while not exactly top rack, hang off his person as if he barely bothered to roll out of his bed and dress. They are typically not ironed and even when his clothes are clean most would think the contrary. His messy black hair tends to fall to obscure his blue eyes. On his expression there is always something that seems to make him mentally hum “I know something you don’t know”. His thin frame is usually coated with plain looking clothes unless he has to impress. His sleeves are typically only rolled to his mid forearm to hide his track marks. His eyes are a bit sunken and there are, on his bad days, clear evidence of drug use; be it the needle marks on his eyes or the occasional chapped skin around his nose.
overallpersonality| Cain is a twitchy, arrogant little shit. While he comes off as easy going his mind is constantly whirring for a way to bring himself a bit further than his peers. He thinks, because he is connected with the mob and because he does a great deal of work for them, that he is somehow worth a shit. It’s not to say that he doesn’t, on some level, deserve this feeling of entitlement. However, this comes from a great deal of busting his ass and a over inflated need to prove himself to everyone. Cain is a greedy little bastard; willing to do whatever it takes to make sure he gets his and then some. He, ultimately, puts way too much pressure on himself and then comes the stress, which he medicates with drugs. Pot, coke, heroin, you name it he’s tried and probably uses regularly. The problem with that is because of all the work he does, he doesn’t believe he needs to pay for it. Despite his hubris, Cain does at least know better than to brag about his accomplishments. He’s clever and tends to use his head as opposed to fists.
He doesn’t really hold much respect or affection for others unless it helps to achieve his goals. When he does, however, there is another side of him that shows up. He can manage to curb his own needs long enough to listen and even respond. He’s a bit of a stranger to physical affection but it doesn’t necessarily mean that his favor isn’t unnoticed. He becomes pleasant and his quiet nature yields into a charismatic sense of humor that really is only left for the intelligent.
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Unknown Father
-- Marino, 34, Spy, Mother
siblings|
-- Marino, 18, Drug Dealer, Brother
other|
N/A
overallhistory| Cain was pretty much born into crime. Not knowing his father, and with a mother that had worked her way through the DeLuca family, it really wasn’t much of a surprise that the two boys grew up in that surrounding. While most children thought about things like being an astronaut or a storm-chaser, Cain just wanted to be someone that made a lot of money. Perhaps it was the way his mother worked to provide for he and his brother or it could have been because he was a greedy little shit from day one. Either way, ambition was there.
His childhood, despite the crime setting, was actually kind of normal for a smart mouth that lack the physical back up. Smart and not necessarily a picture of social ease, he found himself picked on a great deal by those that his mouth either caught the sting of or just those that seemed to prey on the smaller set. Other than his academics, there was only ever one real extracurricular for Cain. From his freshman year he had found a knack within the DeLuca family. Starting out just as one of the dealers in his school, he started formulating just what he wanted to do with himself. His ambition kicked in full force as he moved a lot of product throughout the school.
The boy had potential. That much was clear. He went from one of the main pushers within his school and working until he’d gained notice of the DeLucas directly. He was eventually appointed to be Carina DeLuca’s personal assistant, a job he took very serious. It evolved into more as he started organizing things for the crime family. His attention to detail being a rather handy trait as he worked hard for what he’s got now. Unfortunately, the pressure he put himself under did nothing to help his nerves. The harder he worked, the more he needed something, anything, to fix this edge. Uppers, downers, he tried them all for whatever the situation called for. Recently his addictions have caused him to start getting sloppy, even in his book keeping. He’s been working on keeping himself together, but the small fraction he’s been “sampling” has started to become more and more noticeable.
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age| 24
gotexperience| 7 years
howifoundyou| I know a guy who knows a guy
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Dick Grayson remembered Salvatore. Two weeks ago he paid the gimp of a cop a good few thousand to stagger the response time to a drug related murder. He’d been disgusted with both parties involved but accepted. The money wasn’t for him. It never was. Regardless, there was never anything reassuring about the fact that he never used his payoff for himself. It was a few days later that he had decided that Salvatore would be put on the list. It wasn’t until the mob piece of trash had dropped by the other day to arrange another that Dick decided that Nightwing would have to handle this.
So, Dick tailed the car from above; keeping a safe distance to keep out of the mirrors. It wasn’t until he found a perch on the ledge of the club that he looked down to take in the setting. His jaw set momentarily as he looked at a nearby hooker or two that sauntered in after the mobster. Some a bit too eager than others. She looked too clean, too red-light for the red light district. She bothered with makeup. From atop that building Nightwing already zeroed in on a cop and beneath the mask and the hood, his glacial eyes rolled almost as if he were listening to a child prattle on about the likes of Barbie.
Wait one goddamn minute!
White? he asked no one incredulously. His stun outweighed his focus for a split second. It was enough to miss the detective entrance. He cursed under his breath and hopped to the building beside the club and proceeded to leap down the back of the building. His mind raced briefly, wondering who the hell was trying to set the blonde up for a suicide mission. He ripped off his mask and ripped off his gloves hastily as he tried not to run out of the alley and burst in. He checked his appearance in a window. He looked as common as ever, like any other thug that would act as security or even a hired gun. Focus! he berated himself as his features looked more stoic than ever. He nodded to the bouncer, who only questioned the artillery with a glance which was responded with a challenging expression that was worn by those that had the swagger that denoted a pair of balls that were required to do something like kill someone on the spot. It was a Nightwing expression sans the hood and the mask and the bouncer knew no better. So, without a second glance, Nightwing was inside.
It took a few moments before spotting Detective White as she started to follow too closely. He didn’t glance at the cages or the topless dancers. He would come back another night for that, maybe (probably not). He tailed a safe distance, stopping at the bar for a beer and he was given a bottle without question. He glanced about to find an employee entrance where he put on his mask and gloves, emptied out the bottle and found his way through the large utility space to a side door to the men’s room. He smirked momentarily to himself in a chilling way that would have been more fitting for an audience. He held the bottle tightly as he entered the bathroom as Salvatore entered one of the stalls. Without a word, he waited beside the sink. He ducked his head for a moment as he heard a flush and the sound of abused Italian made shoes that shouldn’t dare enter a filthy place like this. Salvatore was next to him. He could feel it and Dick wanted so badly to take him out right then but Nightwing wished to wait just a few moments longer.
“Keep an eye out, brother, some pig is playing whore out there. Too pretty, too blonde. Can’t miss her.” Salvatore then looked at the getup of the stranger. “Four hundred if you take her out.”
KRAAAAKKKAAASSSSSSSSH
The bottle shattered in the mobster’s face and a fist followed quickly, a satisfying crack across Salvatore’s jaw to send him staggering back. Nightwing rushed forward to snag the gangster by his hair and yank him to one of the stalls, only a brief plea of help yelped out in a whimper before his head plunged into the bowl and his own gun was pointed into his ribs with Nightwing’s hand waiting at the trigger, aching to pull.
So, Dick tailed the car from above; keeping a safe distance to keep out of the mirrors. It wasn’t until he found a perch on the ledge of the club that he looked down to take in the setting. His jaw set momentarily as he looked at a nearby hooker or two that sauntered in after the mobster. Some a bit too eager than others. She looked too clean, too red-light for the red light district. She bothered with makeup. From atop that building Nightwing already zeroed in on a cop and beneath the mask and the hood, his glacial eyes rolled almost as if he were listening to a child prattle on about the likes of Barbie.
Wait one goddamn minute!
White? he asked no one incredulously. His stun outweighed his focus for a split second. It was enough to miss the detective entrance. He cursed under his breath and hopped to the building beside the club and proceeded to leap down the back of the building. His mind raced briefly, wondering who the hell was trying to set the blonde up for a suicide mission. He ripped off his mask and ripped off his gloves hastily as he tried not to run out of the alley and burst in. He checked his appearance in a window. He looked as common as ever, like any other thug that would act as security or even a hired gun. Focus! he berated himself as his features looked more stoic than ever. He nodded to the bouncer, who only questioned the artillery with a glance which was responded with a challenging expression that was worn by those that had the swagger that denoted a pair of balls that were required to do something like kill someone on the spot. It was a Nightwing expression sans the hood and the mask and the bouncer knew no better. So, without a second glance, Nightwing was inside.
It took a few moments before spotting Detective White as she started to follow too closely. He didn’t glance at the cages or the topless dancers. He would come back another night for that, maybe (probably not). He tailed a safe distance, stopping at the bar for a beer and he was given a bottle without question. He glanced about to find an employee entrance where he put on his mask and gloves, emptied out the bottle and found his way through the large utility space to a side door to the men’s room. He smirked momentarily to himself in a chilling way that would have been more fitting for an audience. He held the bottle tightly as he entered the bathroom as Salvatore entered one of the stalls. Without a word, he waited beside the sink. He ducked his head for a moment as he heard a flush and the sound of abused Italian made shoes that shouldn’t dare enter a filthy place like this. Salvatore was next to him. He could feel it and Dick wanted so badly to take him out right then but Nightwing wished to wait just a few moments longer.
“Keep an eye out, brother, some pig is playing whore out there. Too pretty, too blonde. Can’t miss her.” Salvatore then looked at the getup of the stranger. “Four hundred if you take her out.”
KRAAAAKKKAAASSSSSSSSH
The bottle shattered in the mobster’s face and a fist followed quickly, a satisfying crack across Salvatore’s jaw to send him staggering back. Nightwing rushed forward to snag the gangster by his hair and yank him to one of the stalls, only a brief plea of help yelped out in a whimper before his head plunged into the bowl and his own gun was pointed into his ribs with Nightwing’s hand waiting at the trigger, aching to pull.
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