Ronan McCarthy (Redcap)
Suit – 8
Armored Jacket – 12
Phys 5/Mental 5/Social 7
Conjuring Skill Group: 2
Ritual Casting 1
Land Vehicles 1
Organized Crime 2, Police Procedures 2, Dive Bars 1, Magical Theory 2, Magical Community 2, Tir Na Nog 2, Literature 1
English N, Sparethiel N, Japanese 1, Chinese 1
Mentor Spirit: The Morrigan
The mysterious goddess of Celtic lore, the Morrigan is associated with prophecy, war, and seduction. She most often appears in one of three forms: the raven, the crone, or the seductress, but has been known to appear as three sisters embodying these aspects as well. The Morrigan is active in the lives of those that heed her call, attempting to send warnings of impending danger and bringing prophetic and often horrific dreams of blood and death in the night. She is remorseless toward those whose time has come, particularly in battle, but mourns the death of innocents with a grief that borders on rage.
All: +2 dice to Perception tests
Magicians: +2 dice for Detection spells, preparations, and Detection spell rituals.
Adepts: 2 free levels of Danger Sense
You gain the Insomnia negative quality, however the roll to avoid its effects is Intuition+Willpower 2
Addiction (Alcohol/Mild); Distinctive Style; Code of Honor (Civilians/Bystanders); Focused Concentration (x2); Photographic Memory; Bilingual
Detect Magic (Extended)*
Actioneer Business Suit, Armored Jacket, Hermes Ikon Commlink, Fake SIN (Level 4; Level 4 Licenses for Concealed Carry, Awakened, Magical Weapon), 100 RDS Lt Pistol Ammunition (Reg)
Level 3 Sustaining Focus
Colt America L36 w/ mounted laser sight (3 Magazines)
Streetline Special (2 Magazines)
Yamaha Pulsar Taser
Low, with added Specialized Workspace (Office) and High Security
Meghan “Thumper” Brady (Con 4/Loyalty 4)
As the head bartender at a popular ‘Runner bar, Meghan deals with her share of rough customers, and even though very few manage to cause trouble for long – the New Olde Shillelagh boasts top-notch bouncers and a very loyal customer base – she’s taken matters into her own hands on more than one occasion; usually with the business end of the stun baton she keeps behind the bar.
Meghan knows most of the Runners in Detroit, at least in passing. She’s got a good eye for faces, even if she doesn’t remember every name. With a dwarven body curved in ways that make you want to give God a fruit basket for that whole Awakening thing, and the social skills to match, she’s an attractive go-between for the occasional Mr. Johnson. She’s managed to work all that capital into a side business that adds more digits to her bank than the bar does, making meetings, passing on rumors, and knowing who has the answers if she doesn’t.
Meghan and Ronan have some feelings for each other which have been acted on once or twice, but the fact that she’s his landlord (her father owns the bar), and she ’Doesn’t date ‘Runners,’ has kept it from being anything more than that.
Donnell Crowley (Con 4/Loy 2)
The consigliere for the Irish mafia controlling most of Detroit keeps himself well away from the usual haunts during the daytime hours in his downtown law office. He even takes some cases from time to time to enhance the impression that he’s a working attorney.
Crowley’s primary job is insulating his associates from potential harm or undesirable connections. He’s not a true believer in the Irish cause or even a member of the family by blood, but he comes with his own set of ghosts that make him extremely loyal to the people he works for. He’s pleased with the work that Ronan has done for him in the past, but the sharp line between Us and Everyone Else is very much in effect.
KEDet Stasch Bukowski (Con 2/Loy 2)
Stosh comes off as quite the miserable bastard for someone who managed to achieve his life-long career dream: he’s now been promoted to the exact point between having to put on a uniform and push a cruiser around, and being assigned any cases someone might actually give a drek about. Disheveled and out of shape, he’s actually good at his job in the rare moments when he decides to do it.
Stosh and Ronan don’t especially like one another – the detective has an innate dislike of any guy who gets “too much” attention from the ladies, and he stops just short of being an active bigot toward metas – but mutual usefulness over the course of several cases has built a working relationship, verbal jabs aside.
Annette (Con 3/Loy 1)
The girl ran down the stairs and doubled back through the hallway toward the kitchen.
The hound chased the girl.
The boy chased the hound.
A great bark from the wolfhound’s grey, shag-covered maw sent her squealing again. She stopped, tensed, lowered into a crouch and waited for it to catch her. It rolled her over with a great paw, setting about the business of rooting into her belly with its snout, and she erupted with laughter that echoed through the house. The boy, swooping to his sister’s rescue, gave the beast’s rump a playful shove. It spun on him, shouting out another great bark.
The boy ran down the hallway and doubled back up the stairs.
The hound chased the boy.
The girl chased the hound.
Their mother passed through the mayhem, laughing.
Aisling went about her work wearing a soft smile. She finished packing her own things and gave a few final instructions to the staff. She patted the folded note in her jacket pocket, secret and safe.
Walking out to the drive, she double-checked the car for all their luggage then called for Rowan and Elizabeth. She hadn’t seen her husband in over a month, and though the usually despised Dublin, it would be nice for the children to spend a few days with him. There were others to speak with, as well.
For once she was glad for the hours ahead of her in the car – she was in dire need of the long, quiet miles with her head so full of distractions.
Ronan wrestled with the dog for a moment, trying to push it back into the house as it bulled its way through the front door until one of the help came to drag it in by the collar. He raced to the car on his sister’s heels, then stopped when someone called his name from behind him.
He turned, but there was only an old hoodie crow, staring at him from the middle of the front walk.
There was a flash of light as he turned back to the car, his mother’s name on his lips. He felt a wash of heat over his face, and then the grey sky and green earth flashed one after the other.
Then it was dark.
It was dark. The one street lamp that still worked spit an eery blue flickering light, but the shadows were ink. RedCap folded his jacket then tossed it on the seat of the van. The combat vest he lowered over his head housed his blade and a few tools of the trade. Overtop his black shirt and tie he looked like the bartender for for the finest restaurant in…well…Detroit. He smirked to himself. The joke wasn’t as funny when you were actually there. No sense in telling it.
_The drop-holster on his right thigh held his Predator, the one on the left a tazer. You could never have too many options. He’d worked with the decker before, but the cyber-nonkey was new.
‘Ah well,’ he thought, ‘dance with the one that brought ya.’
As he posted up at the door and waited for the kid to slice the lock, he heard a whispered voice call his name.
Ronan ducked around the corner without looking back.
Ronan McCarthy was born in the city of Cork to one of the Danaan Mor lines; the most prominent of the Danaan families who rule over Tir Na Nog and the Seelie Court. When his magical talent surfaced during childhood, Ronan’s mother Aisling became his first teacher. She was not a great magician, but she had been a mindful student, and her tutoring gave him a solid foundation for his significant potential. Ronan’s father was a career politician – Provisional IRA from the old days – and he spent enough time away in Dublin that there was room enough for respect but not for closeness.
When Ronan was twelve, his mother and sister were killed in a car bombing on their own doorstep. A member of the house staff was later arrested and convicted of having placed the deadly device in the family luggage. The experience drew Ronan to the counter-insurgency wing of Tir Na Nog’s TRC (Tir Republican Corps), where he worked in an independent cell against terrorist activities, only occasionally receiving outside orders. Through his training he came to realize that his experience in surviving the blast that took his family was likely the intervention of a spirit, but he rarely felt the presence of whatever had spoken to him or sent the crow to aid him, and at a point abandoned the notion.
During his time with the TRC, a raid on a high-ranking official suspected of sedition revealed a contact list bearing his own mother’s name. While there were no mentions of the Unseelie Court by name, the few members listed – all deceased – were of high enough stature in the government and other national interests that there was little doubt as to what his mother had been involved in. Worse, the connected files implicated the TRC itself in the attack and cover-up that took his mother and sister.
That was when the whispered voice finally returned, and a crow set to pecking at the office window.
Ronan couldn’t bring himself to turn over the information, but he also knew that keeping such a secret from his superiors would set a doomsday clock on his remaining life if he stayed. Covering his tracks as best he could, he departed for the UCAS, choosing the same land his ancestors had traveled to as a new home.
Ronan’s first jobs were with the local Irish families and their Mafia associates, and his general anti-establishment leanings make work against corps and anyone else among the authority easy to stomach. He’s taken the moniker “RedCap,” for his runs, fully aware of both the message and the irony inherent for anyone who groks the reference. He tends to be very wary of new contracts, feeling like he’s been duped enough in his life. He’s also established a freelance service for detective work and consultation that brings him a significantly smaller, but more marginally more legitimate, income, made all the smaller by his desire to do at least some small amount of good after working for the wrong side for so long.
His time in the states has allowed him to pursue and strengthen the bond with his mentor spirit, whom he believes to be an aspect of The Morrigan. It makes perfect sense to him, given his mother’s rebellious leanings and his own intimacy with death, that the dark goddess, fed up with the balance of power in the modern world, would take him in. Whether through the ravens that always seem to be in the area or the dreams in which his interactions with her are more direct, she has become a complicated fixture in his life.
He drinks too much and too often, a function of convenience combined with his past and genes, but manages to remain functional. His time at local establishments has earned him valuable contacts, as has his wide variety of company kept between local law, the opposite end of the alley, and fellow magicians intrigued by his unusual style. His natural charm makes him a shameless flirt and an easy friend, but that same way with words can be turned toward intimidation in an instant.
Whenever he’s out, Ronan is dressed in a shirt and tie at minimum, always a suit for business. This creates a rather distinct image when paired with the full sleeves of Celtic tattoos running the length of both his arms. If arranging a meet as RedCap, he dons a red-banded fedora or scally cap along with his usual attire. There is a sharp divide between professional jobs and ones taken for more personal reasons, and when the two cross over he often winds up finding serious trouble.