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Please don't post if your name is not in the title - Same role players, different plot
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Name: Sage Acker (same first name, make it easier for me lol) Age: 20 years Gender: Male Sexuality: Bisexual Appearance: Long black hair that ends at around his waist, normally done in an elaborate style. His eyes are a golden amber color, and his skin is a dark tan. He has some scars on his back from various punishments from his time serving Casper (the head of his mafia group), as well as a scar on his right cheek from a dagger years ago. He has various tattoos as well (the most noticeable ones are a dragon behind his left ear and a tribal sort of tattoo sleeve on his right arm), along with plenty of piercings (mainly his ears, but he does have a lip ring in the center of his lower lip as well). His build is slim but athletic, and while he's fairly short (about 5’3”) he can hold his own in a fight. As for clothing, he's dressed up to Caspers likings in a sort of button up shirt with an extremely low cut v-neck, rolled up sleeves, and tight pants with combat boots. He normally also has jewelry, including a small choker necklace that's metal and also is partly used as a collar. Personality: Sage is pretty cautious/untrusting, and outwardly he shows the traits drilled into him by Casper when he's around - he is quiet, and keeps his head down. He doesn't really fight back any more, since being submissive has normally gotten him better responses than otherwise. After years of Casper, he resembles a typical well trained servant, broken and willing to do as asked. Once he's free of those burdens, though, he does have a sense of humor and tends to be sarcastic. At work, he tends to be more outgoing and flirty, since that's what gets him tips and that's what he has to live off of as a bartender. He's fairly quick to anger, though over the years he's learned to control his temper well and keep a good poker face. He is extremely loyal, so once someone earns his trust, he becomes quite attached. Backstory: Sage was sold into the mafia by his father when he was quite young, about 13 or so. He was glad to rid of the man, since he was always drunk and angry, and some of the scars on his back come from his belt. Things weren't any better in the group he was sold to, however, as his new job wasn't exactly pleasant. And when he turned 16 or so, Caspian picked him out for himself. Since then, he's only left his personal chambers to work, and this whole war thing has been nerve-wracking, especially since Casper has been in a bad mood. They are losing….and he can't help but wonder what will happen when their walls are breached. After all, Casper will likely be killed, and most of his soldiers and servants are likely to follow. |
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✦ CHARACTER FORM ✦ Name: Alessandro Moretti Aliases / Titles: Gender: Male Age: 25 Ethnicity / Nationality: Italian-American Occupation: Crime Syndicate Leader / Mafia Don
Public Front: CEO of Moretti Maritime Logistics Territory: Blackwater City (ports, docks, financial district, and old industrial wards) ✦ APPEARANCE ✦ Height: 6’2” (188 cm)
Build: Broad-shouldered, powerful, disciplined—strength built from routine rather than vanity
Posture: Always composed; rarely slouches, even when relaxed Hair:
Jet black, kept short and neat Eyes:
Dark brown, nearly black—steady, observant, and unsettlingly calm Facial Features: -
Sharp jawline -
Prominent nose (slightly crooked from a past fight) -
Scar cutting through his left eyebrow, thin but noticeable Distinguishing Marks: -
Bullet scar beneath his right rib -
Heavy signet ring bearing the Moretti crest -
Always smells faintly of tobacco and expensive cologne Style:
Tailored suits in dark tones (charcoal, navy, black), silk ties, polished shoes. Even in casual settings, he looks deliberate. Never flashy—wealth is implied, not displayed. ✦ PERSONALITY ✦ Core Traits: Alessandro is not loud, theatrical, or impulsive. He rules through presence, not fear alone—though fear follows him naturally. He speaks sparingly, but every word is intentional. Violence is a tool, not a pleasure. He believes power is best exercised quietly. Those who underestimate him because of his calm demeanor often don’t live long enough to regret it. Strengths: -
Master strategist -
Reads people exceptionally well -
Patient—can wait years to make a move -
Commands unwavering loyalty Flaws: -
Emotionally distant -
Struggles with vulnerability -
Carries deep guilt over past decisions -
Tends to shoulder everything alone ✦ MORAL CODE ✦ Despite his brutality, Alessandro operates under strict internal rules: -
Family is sacred—blood or chosen -
No unnecessary cruelty -
Betrayal is unforgivable -
Children are never involved -
Debts are always paid—one way or another Once someone earns his trust, he will protect them with frightening devotion. ✦ BACKGROUND ✦ Alessandro was raised in a crime family but never intended to lead it. His older brother was groomed for the role—charismatic, bold, reckless. When his brother was assassinated in a failed power play, Alessandro stepped forward not out of ambition, but necessity. He rebuilt the syndicate from the inside out, eliminating internal rot before expanding outward. Despite how young he still is, by the time he turned eighteen the Moretti name carried more weight than ever before. He has enemies who respect him, allies who fear disappointing him, and subordinates who would die on his command. ✦ SKILLS & ABILITIES ✦ -
Expert tactician and negotiator -
Skilled marksman (though prefers others do the dirty work) -
Fluent in Italian and English -
Deep understanding of finance, logistics, and politics -
Exceptional emotional restraint ✦ RELATIONSHIPS ✦ Inner Circle:
Small, fiercely vetted. Those closest to him have known him for years and survived tests most never see. Family:
Estranged from most remaining blood relatives for their safety. Romantic Tendencies:
Guarded and possessive. He loves rarely, but deeply—dangerously so. Anyone he allows close sees a softer, haunted version of the Don few believe exists. ✦ HABITS & QUIRKS ✦ -
Drinks espresso late at night -
Smokes when stressed, quits when in control—cycles endlessly -
Keeps old voicemails from his brother -
Touches his ring when thinking -
Rarely raises his voice; when he does, it’s already too late - Owns two male pet timber wolves, Blitz and Stryker, which he rescued after poachers killed their mother and raised himself
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The bar was loud in the way Alessandro preferred—music thudding low enough to vibrate the glassware, conversations blurring into a single, meaningless hum. Neon light washed the room in blues and reds, reflecting off polished bottles and the mirrors behind the counter. No one paid him much attention at first glance, and that was intentional. He sat at the far end of the bar, back straight, suit jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened just enough to look human. A tumbler of bourbon rested near his hand, barely touched. Alessandro didn’t drink to forget—he drank to observe. His gaze moved slowly, methodically. The bartender’s hands shook when pouring for the wrong people. The group near the pool table laughed too loudly, eyes darting toward the door every few seconds. The man two stools down checked his phone three times in under a minute. Tells everywhere, if you knew how to look. Alessandro did. He rolled the glass once beneath his palm, ice clinking softly, and finally took a sip. The burn grounded him. Bars like this were useful—neutral ground masquerading as chaos. Deals were overheard, loyalties tested, mistakes made after the second or third drink. Power didn’t always sit in boardrooms. Sometimes it wore cheap cologne and talked too much after midnight. |
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Sage had never been a fan of the bar himself. He much preferred a quieter setting, far away from the business of men and women trying to drink their problems away. He'd seen what the drink could do to those who used it unsiwesly, as so many people at a bar did. He still had nightmares about his old man sometimes, and Casper wasn't all that great himself once he'd had a few drinks at the end of the day. Especially now, with the whole conflict between groups escalating so much. But he had to work. Had to make a living somehow, despite the fact that he was in a long term relationship with one of the wealthiest men in the city. Well ..if you could call it a relationship anyway. He wasn't totally sure he was enjoying himself, but he knew better than to try and leave. His mind wandered slightly as he poured drinks, though he forced his thoughts back out of mind when a clearly wasted man got up in his face yelling about something. He grimaced at the smell of alcohol on his breath, rage flaring in his chest as he calmly tried to diffuse the situation. He could feel someone watching him ...prickles on the back of his neck. This sort of thing was normal in the bar, but for whatever reason the man in the corner had pulled his attention to the conflict. He could feel his gaze, sharp and certain. It was interesting. Even while dealing with the unruly customer, who had started throwing his hands around and causing sage to take half a step back out of habit before forcing his body still, the other man across the bar intrigued him. He wasn't a frequent customer....in fact he seemed new. He also seemed rich. Maybe he could get a halfway decent tip out of the guy. |
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Alessandro noticed the shift before it turned ugly—the way the drunk leaned in too close, the bartender’s shoulders tightening even as his voice stayed level. Control strained thin, like wire pulled too far. He watched the man’s hands start to wander, sloppy and unpredictable, and felt that familiar, quiet irritation settle behind his ribs. The bartender was trying. That much was obvious. Calm words, practiced movements. Not afraid—trained. Or forced to be. Alessandro’s eyes lingered there longer than necessary, not because of the scene itself, but because of the restraint it took to stand your ground while your instincts screamed at you to move. He set his glass down before the drunk could make a real mistake. “Hey,” Alessandro said, not loud, not sharp—just enough to cut cleanly through the noise. His voice didn’t compete with the music; it didn’t have to. “You’ve had enough.” The drunk turned, sneer half-formed, eyes sliding over Alessandro like he was nothing special. That lasted about half a second. Alessandro met his gaze without blinking. There was no threat in his posture. No raised voice. Just certainty. The kind that suggested consequences already decided, already waiting. The man hesitated, swayed, then scoffed and stumbled back a step, muttering as he retreated toward the other end of the bar. Problem solved. Quietly. Only then did Alessandro look back at the bartender. Up close, he caught more details—the tension in his jaw, the way he’d forced himself still instead of stepping back again. A man used to swallowing reactions. Alessandro respected that, even if he didn’t approve of the reason someone had to learn it. “Sorry about that,” he said, tone even, as if he’d merely commented on the weather. “Some people forget where they are.” His gaze held for a beat longer than polite, dark eyes thoughtful rather than predatory. Curious. “You handled it well,” he added. “Most don’t.” A pause. Then, almost casually, “Bourbon. Neat.” As Sage turned back to work, Alessandro reached for his wallet and placed it on the bar—not opened, not flashed. Just there. A quiet promise. He leaned back slightly, attention still on the bartender now, not the room. Interesting, indeed. |
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Sage had nearly jumped out of his skin when the man behind him spoke up. Normally, people didn't get involved. The situation was over quickly though, the drunk deciding he didn't want to go up against two people. Or....whatever reason he decided to back off. Sage felt his shoulders relax slightly, murmuring a quiet thanks to the other man, honestly just relieved the situation had de-escalated so quickly, and without him getting punched or something. That happened every now and again. He went the man's gaze steadily, head cocked slightly. Curiously. He sort of stood there awkwardly as the compliments were given, not entirely sure how to respond to that. Luckily, the man called for a drink, so he noted "right," and turned to get it for him. It was quick to make, so he was back in a little under a minute, humming a "there ya go, love," to him as he normally did. He'd learned that sliding a little flirting in normally worked out in his favor. Sometimes it had a negative effect, sure, but Casper always showed up at close to drag him home, so nothing too bad had ever happened. He figured the extra money was worth it. He had turned to clean up the spots that a few very drunk men had just left, collecting dirty glasses and wiping the table off, clearing it up for the next group of people who decided they needed to forget about life. He sort of wished he could forget things. He was just unwilling to use alcohol to do it. He'd picked up bad habits of his own ...smoking and the like ...but he couldn't do that her.e |
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Alessandro caught the way Sage startled—just a fraction of a second too late to hide it. Not fear, exactly. Reflex. His eyes followed the bartender as the tension eased out of his shoulders, cataloging the small things the way he always did. The quiet thanks. The tilt of his head. The way he didn’t quite know what to do with praise. When the bourbon was set in front of him, accompanied by the easy, practiced love, Alessandro’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something close enough to count. Flirting as armor. He recognized it immediately. “Appreciated,” he replied, fingers brushing the glass as he took it. His tone stayed mild, unbothered, but his eyes lingered on Sage a second longer than before. Not hungry. Assessing. Curious in the way men like him had learned to be. He took a slow sip, then glanced toward the table Sage had moved to clean, watching him work with the same restraint he’d shown moments earlier. No shortcuts. No rushing. Just doing the job because it needed to be done. “You don’t drink,” Alessandro said after a moment, not raising his voice, not phrasing it as a question. Observation, not accusation. He shifted slightly on his stool, one elbow resting against the bar. “Smart. Bars eat people alive if you let them.” The room pulsed around them—laughter, music, clinking glass—but Alessandro seemed removed from it all, like he was watching from behind soundproof glass. He rolled the bourbon once, ice knocking softly against crystal. “Must get exhausting,” he added, gaze still on Sage as he returned behind the bar. “Keeping your head straight while everyone else is trying to lose theirs.” A pause. Then, quieter—not unkind—“You ever wish you were somewhere else?” He finally looked away, lifting the glass again, giving Sage an out. Alessandro wasn’t a man who pressed when someone wasn’t ready. But he remembered what it was like to stand on the right side of a bar, sober and tired, surrounded by people drowning on purpose. And he wondered, idly, how long Sage had been doing the same. |
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Sage had nodded once in response to the man's thanks, moving on to collect the dirty glasses and stuff after that. The man spoke up again while he was setting them all on a tray to take to the back room, where they'd be washed. He glanced over at him, admittedly a little surprise that he'd already picked up on that. "No," he noted quietly. "I see what a drink can do to people. How easy it does it." He shrugged slightly before picking up the tray and balancing it on one hand, wiping the counter with the rag in the other. At the man's next comment, he paused in his work, the question hitting deeper than he liked to think it did. His mind wandered, to the job, to Casper, to his father. He blinked out of his thoughts, moving to finish wiping the table off. "Maybe." Then he placed the rag in his pocket and turned towards the kitchen. "There's no use wishing for something that's never going to happen." Casper would never let him go. He knew that much. |
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Alessandro watched the way Sage answered—quiet, careful, like each word had to pass inspection before it was allowed out. I see what a drink can do to people. That wasn’t theory. That was lived experience. Alessandro didn’t nod, didn’t interrupt. He let the truth of it sit where it belonged. When Sage paused at the second question, Alessandro noticed. The hesitation. The way his hands kept moving even as his mind clearly wasn’t. A man who’d learned that stillness invited consequences. Maybe. That single word told him more than a paragraph ever could. There’s no use wishing for something that’s never going to happen. Alessandro’s jaw tightened, just barely. Not anger—recognition. He lifted his glass but didn’t drink, eyes following Sage’s back as he turned toward the kitchen. For a moment, the bar noise faded into something distant, replaced by an old, familiar weight in his chest. He’d heard that sentence before. From men who believed the walls around them were permanent. From men who didn’t yet know where the cracks were. “Careful,” Alessandro said, voice low but carrying enough to reach him before the kitchen door swung shut. Not a warning. Not a command. An observation. “That’s how people convince themselves cages are the same thing as walls.” He finally took a sip, the bourbon warm and sharp. Then he reached for his wallet and opened it this time, sliding a bill across the bar—far more than the drink warranted. Not flashy. Deliberate. When Sage came back, Alessandro met his eyes again, expression unreadable but intent. “Nothing is never,” he added quietly. “It just costs more than people expect.” He let that hang between them, then leaned back on his stool, gaze drifting once more to the room. If Sage chose to dismiss it as idle bar talk, that was his right. But Alessandro had built an empire on proving men like Casper wrong. And he suspected Sage, whether he knew it or not, was already looking for a way out. |
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Afternoon Storms, then Clearing
