Dylan Morgan

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  • Virtue: Hope; Vice: Envy; Concept: The Creative Dilettante
  • Attributes
    • Mental: Intelligence 2, Wits 3, Resolve 2
    • Physical: Strength 2, Dexterity 2, Stamina 2
    • Social: Presence 4, Manipulation 2, Composure 2
  • Abilities
    • Mental: Academics 1, Investigation 1, Medicine 1, Science 1
    • Physical: Athletics 1, Brawl 2 (Boxing), Drive 2, Larceny 1, Weaponry 1
    • Social: Empathy 2, Expression 3 (Singing), Persuasion 3, Streetwise 2 (Irish Neighborhoods), Subterfuge 1
  • Merits
    • Mental: None
    • Physical: None
    • Social: Allies [Irish Mob] (••), Barfly (•), Contacts (Theater/Small Performance Community), Inspiring (••••), Resources (•)
  • Health 7, Willpower 4, Morality 6
  • Size 5, Speed 9, Defense 2, Initiative 4
  • Weapons: Switchblade (+0L, Size 1/S, Dur 2)
  • Armor: None
  • Flaws: Notoriety (Irish Mob family)
  • XP: 1

Dylan Singing: [1]


I know the best way to start these things is to just start.

My name is Dylan Morgan, and I grew up in Far Rockaway, in Queens, NY. I was born into a family full of fighty Black Irish, and though I’ve always been more of a lover than a fighter, I can hold my own in a tussle.

Growing Up

Growing up, I realized that there were two things I really loved, besides my own Ma of course: the ocean and singing. My brothers used to make fun of me for singing, but I did it every chance I could. Ma encouraged me to sing with the choir in church, and I did for quite a few years. I’ve always loved church singing – the majesty of it, and the years of tradition. When you sing with a solid choir, you aren’t just singing with other people: you’re singing with the angels, and if you strain just right, you can hear them singing right along with you.

My Ma is a good woman. Church-going, God-fearing, and like most Irish mothers, she put the fear of God into us at a young age. She had a temper like no one’s business, but she loved just as fiercely, too. She worked at the local Laundromat when we were kids, and we used to hang around the streets there when school let out.

My Da…well, I don’t know him very well. See, he’s spent most of his time in prison, since I was born, really. One of my earliest memories is the police raid on our apartment where he was first arrested and sent to Riker’s Island. I think I was about four years old or so when that happened. I could walk, I know that for sure, because I ran for a closet, and I knew how to talk because I cussed up a storm when they found me and took us away, down to the Social Services.

My brothers and I spent about eight months or so in foster care, from what the others say. I don’t remember the time, per se – I just remember living in someone else’s house, and wanting to go home with my brothers, and my Ma and Da. Instead, I had to live with a strange family. They were nice enough, I suppose. I know they had the patience of saints, because no one should have to deal with a four year old capable of cussing, biting and kicking like I was. I was a purest hellion, and they tried their best.

I remember the day my Ma came to get me. She was with the Social Services lady, and my brothers were in the car. Once she had us safe and sound in the car – with the windows rolled down, of course, because it was so hot – she turned to the poor woman.

“If you or yours ever come near my children again, I’ll kill every one of you. Make no mistake.” While the Social Services lady could only gape, her jaw hanging open, Ma got in the car. The lady quickly stooped down and peered in the passenger window and warned my Ma about saying such things.

“What? That I’ll kill to protect my children? You listen to me, lady. You find a mother that isn’t willing to do so? Those are the ones who should have their children snatched from them.” Then, she drove off. I remember flipping the woman the bird as we drove off, and my brothers cheering me. For a short while, we were a family again, loving one another fiercely and so glad to see one another. Our Ma cried because she was so happy to have us home again.

For the most part, we grew up without Da around. He spent his time in jail, and when he wasn’t in the clink, he wasn’t living with us. Apparently, the Social Services had his not living with us anymore a condition of getting us back, and she’d be damned if anything happened to us, even if it meant giving up the man she loved.

For the longest time, I was sure that was the most romantic, tragic thing I’d ever heard, even before I knew what either of those words were.

I was probably in my teens before I even knew what a “Mob” was. By that point, my older brother Ethan was already working as a courier for the Irish Mob. In fact, he was working with our Da, who was also Irish Mob. Growing up, there were always kids that weren’t allowed to play with us, or whose parents seemed scared of us. Ma used to say that it was because they thought they were better than us, and not to mind them. I know today that my family has been part of the Irish Mob as long as there’s been an Irish Mob.

I did okay in school. I never had to deal with fights in school, because anyone stupid enough to fuck with me ended up face down in the dirt lot next to the school, with Ethan holding him down while Corey kicked the living hell out of them. They always offered to let me have a turn, and I nearly always demurred.

Nearly. If they’d already fucked with me, of course, I’d take a couple of swings.

I did okay in school. Not as well as my teachers seemed to think I should do, but I was definitely the good student in the family. Of course, I was much more interested in things like acting and singing than anything else. One thing I learned quick: the bad boys always get the girls. But the “bad boys” that are soulful and sensitive for their girl, that like to sing and act and read poetry and shit? The ladies can’t get their panties off fast enough, really.


I’m also the only one to actually graduate from high school of my brothers. Each one of them dropped out, generally to take a job somewhere, but – just as my Ma feared, really – each one of those jobs turned out to be for someone in the Mob, and it’s not the only jobs they were doing. I could hold my own against my brothers, but I was never one for all of that crime stuff.

Corey says it’s because I’m a pussy, but Ethan makes him leave me alone. Ma says it’s because I’ve got a bard’s soul to me, and that’s something special that comes with being Irish. Corey claims that if I were a real Irishman, I’d be fighting and drinking the way he does. Then, Ma clouted him upside his stupid head, saying “I don’t recall asking the opinion of a drunken idiot who can barely say the word ‘Irish’ because he’s so drunk most of the time. Don’t you tell me what being Irish is about.”

Have I mentioned that I really love my Ma?

So, my life is sorta weird right now. I’m not really looking for a girl to settle down with and marry. I don’t think I could really afford it, to be truthful. I kinda do jobs here and there. I try and get as many performance gigs as I can, but there’s only so much call for performers in the city of New York. The place is filled with them. So, I help set up lighting and sound tech, do grunt work in nightclubs and theaters and the like. I roam from place to place, most of the time managing to get a couple of rounds out of some cute chickie, maybe find my way into her bed for the night. I’m not quite so much the lady’s man anymore; most people outside my neighborhood don’t know that Morgans are Mob-kids, and the ones who do aren’t impressed by it.

I’m just me, basically. Although the problem is that I’m not sure who that is, really. I’m looking to find out. In the meantime, I earn the money I can, stumble home to my tiny apartment after partying all night and occasionally stop by at Ma’s to raid the refrigerator.


Shannon Morgan (Mother)


My Ma is an amazing woman. She practically raised us all by herself, really. She worked 50 hours weeks at the laundromat, and still managed to come home and care for six completely worthless sons, honestly. She is a hard woman, for certain, but that's because she has to be.

I know that she doesn't like the Mob. Oh, they've kept her in good stead, naturally, with some extra cash to make rent or make sure one of us boys had a decent birthday here and again. She just wishes that her family didn't have anything to do with them, I know. She married my father when she was too young to know that some happiness and a pretty wife would never lure my father away from the Mob. And though she tried her best to raise us with a respect for law (God's laws, if not man's), there is only so much familial momentum you can fight. Our father was Mob, his father was Mob and his father before him - Morgans have always been Mob, I guess, probably for as long as there has been Mob.

Ma doesn't do much in the way of working anymore, except taking in some sewing now and again. We drop by and "feed the goose" occasionally - Ma has this ceramic goose next to the door that she's always used for spare change, grocery money and that sort of thing. Most of us come by to visit a couple of times a week, and when we've got it to spare, drop some money in the goose. I say "most of us" because all too often, the goose helps to feed me. Always at Ma's insistence of course, but...well, I just don't tell my brothers, and Ma sure as hell doesn't.

"I'd rather feed you for the rest of your creative, artistic life than for you to feed me on a life of crime," she told me once. Still, I don't make a habit of it. I hate taking money from her.

Oscar Morgan (Father)


I hardly know my Da, honestly.

My brothers can't really say the same. They've all made a point of visiting him as often as they can, and kinda getting to know him as men. To hear them talk about it, they're all really good pals, and sometimes Lonan gets pissed at me because I won't go with them.

The way I figure it, he couldn't take time out of his busy criminal life to be a father for us. Why the hell would I take the time to be a son to him, you know?

He's locked up in Riker's Island, and is set to sit there for another five years or so. Ma still goes to see him every week, right after Church. I know they love one another a lot, and I think it's just too bad that he didn't love her enough to not get involved in all that bullshit, that's all. Still, she won't hear me bad mouth him, but apparently, she won't hear my brothers fuck with me about not going to see him, either.

Hell, the only picture I've got of him is from about ten years ago, when he was much younger.

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Ethan Morgan (Older Brother, 29)


Ethan has totally taken Da's place in the Mob. He dresses sharply (just like I remember Da always dressing), he's always got cash and he drives a nice car. He could probably have a really nice house if he were at all interested in leaving the neighborhood.

Technically, he works as a supervisor down at one of the shipping docks in the area, but everyone pretty much knows who he really works for. He's been involved in some bad stuff before. I'm pretty sure there was a murder that he was responsible for, though no one ever gave me any details or confirmation. Still, I'm pretty sure it was him. Or that he planned it. Something like that. I just remember Ma crying all the time, and him trying to comfort her, and her being incredibly pissed at him.

Ethan used to protect me, and he still does, in his own way. He's always looked out for the family, since he became the man of the house at the age of ten, I guess. Right after the raid, and once Ma got us back, anyway. Of course, here lately, he's always approaching me with stuff that needs doing for the Mob, and I tell him I'm not interested. He never presses, but he always acts really disappointed.

Sometimes I take the job, though. Not too often, and always when it's clearly work for him, not the Mob. A lot of times it's something simple, like talking someone into paying what they owe the Mob. Or taking care of Tina and the kids when he's away for a while.

He's married, you see. Pretty chick from Brooklyn named Tina. They've got two kids, Harry and Melissa, who are the best fucking kids in the world. I make sure to show up for birthdays and stuff, and when things are being kinda hard around their place, I'm the one that kidnaps them to Coney Island. I'm the fun uncle, according to Harry. Not the scary uncle. I'm not sure which one is the scary uncle, actually, though I have a feeling it might just be Lonan. Tina's a good woman, too. Never fucks around. She has a harder time with the Mob stuff than Ma did, I think - or at least, maybe I was just too young to see how hard it was on Ma. I know that when things are bad, Tina and Ma go to Church together while I watch the kids.

I really do love Ethan. I just wish that he'd get out of the Mob. For his kids' sake. He, of course, thinks that he's doing what he can to give them a good life.

Lonan Morgan (Older Brother, 27)


Lonan was always the athlete in school. Football, soccer, wrestling - just about anything that offered the slightest possibility of violence to others, he was all over.

It's not really that he likes hurting people. He's just really competitive. All I had to do to get him to quit beating the shit out of me as a kid was to cry "Uncle." Of course, I'm Irish, so there was little chance in hell of that happeneing, and ended up with more than my share of fat lips for the stubbornness.

Still. It was the principle. You know.

Eventually, Lonan got kicked out of every sport he tried out for, because he was a little too gung-ho about hurting folks. He dropped out of school and went into the Army for four years, and he came back a boxer. It's pretty much what he does now. He competes for prize cash in a bunch of the local circuit, and eventually made it to a state championship in some league or another a couple of years ago. When that money runs out, he goes back to his shit job in the gym, training punks and old men how to box.

Of course, his real steady income isn't as a trainer or a professional boxer. He also beats the shit out of people for the Mob, and makes decent money doing it, too. He's divorced, because his wife Sharon couldn't handle living with him coming home with peoples' blood on his clothes. I heard a rumor that she was pregnant when she left him, and that he goes and sees his daughter sometimes, but I've never had the heart to ask if it was true, really. How do you ask something like that?

Lonan and I don't always get along, though he's really protective of me. Apparently, he thinks that it's cool that I'm not in the Mob, but that I need to "take care of myself." That the Mob is there to help take care of us, when we need it, and it would be one thing if I were living a successful life, making money somewhere, but I'm not. So, he doesn't see any good reason why I'm not sucking at that teat.

Corey Morgan (Older Brother, 26)


Ah, Corey. The only things he's ever been part of that he didn't manage to get thrown out of was our family.

He was kicked out of high school for a list of delinquencies as big as your fucking arm, most of them drug related. Ma practically beat him black and blue for his bullshit drug use, but all that did was make him run away. He was 20 when my brothers finally dragged him back to the neighborhood, locking him in one of Ethan's spare bedrooms to get through his withdrawl and shit. He emerged a week later a new man.

Now, don't get me wrong - he's still a fucking addict. He's just a little smarter about it. My brothers laid down some rules, apparently, and they'll help him get the more laid-back shit - pot, booze, tranquilizers and the occasional bump of coke - but he's got to stay away from crack and other white drugs, and all needle-hits. It's worked out okay since then. Ethan also got him a job down at the place where he works, where Corey's file apparently lists him as having a "chronic medical condition" that lets him stay home from work when shit gets too bad without losing his job.

Of course, every time he uses it, Ethan or Lonan comes around to make sure he's not being an asshole again, and to make sure that his ass gets back into work the next day.

He helps them out where he can, usually by running errands, backing them up in really tough times and shit like that. He can be a really fun guy, when the monkey isn't riding his ass hard.

When we were kids, Corey was my main tormentor. I was the quiet one, and something about that set him off, so I was his favorite target. Of course, we're about equal in a fight, so he always had to be careful. Now, we're on decent terms, though I have to admit that I don't much respect him. How can you live your life so fucking dependent on the shit you smoke, snort and God knows what else?

It's just pathetic.

Shane Morgan (Older Brother, 24)


Jesus, Shane.

Growing up, Shane was the one that was most interested in the Mob. He knew what it was from an early age. Hell, he's the one who told me about it, when we were kids. Growing up, he used to love watching Miami Vice, and Mafia movies, all that he could get his hands on. He always seemed sorta disappointed that there weren't more Irish Mob movies.

He's pretty quiet, soft spoken, but hell on wheels in a fight - especially when the knives come out. Shane went right into the arms of the Mob as soon as they would have him, and he's risen quickly in the ranks. He's Ethan's right hand man right now, and the Boss's favorite guy to send to talk to the Italians (mainly because Shane looks like an Italian, and knows everything about them, though I don't think anyone would ever tell Shane that). Ethan's tried to pressure me into going along with Shane during that sort of thing, but I'll be damned if anyone in the Mafia gets to know me as associated in any capacity with the Irish Mob.

Shane says that's stupid, because they do their homework, and they already know me. Good, I told him. Then they know I'm not interested.

Shane likes to trick himself out in suits - real expensive stuff. He doesn't do anything but work for the Mob. There isn't even any pretense as to where he gets his money from, or what he does for a living. Apparently he and Da have had words about that. It's "too Italian" do work that way, according to Da. He thinks Shane should find himself a job that can at least be a cover somewhere, but Shane just isn't interested.

Patrick Morgan (Younger Brother, 21)


Patrick is my younger brother. The baby of the family, and Ma has threatened to murder Ethan if he gets Patrick involved in the Mob at all.

About five years ago, Ethan - being a big shot and showing off his money - bought Patrick a racing street bike for his sixteenth birthday, and the kid has been obsessed ever since. He runs around in his goddamned motorcycle leathers constantly, and apparently races in some of the illegal street race circuits around the city.

Patrick's got a good job at a motorcycle lot, though, where they sell and service these expensive, high-end machines. As far as I know, the closest he gets to involvement in the Mob is doing the occasional courier work, and even that's more a matter of doing Ethan a favor now and then for some extra spending cash.

Patrick goes through girlfriends like they're tissues, really. Although, hey, he's living the life right now - a glamorous, kinda rebellious street racer in New York City, winning big cash prizes, riding an awesome motorcycle and generally just being hot shit. What's not to like, right?

I have to admit, I'm sorta jealous of Patrick. He's always been the focus, as the "baby of the family." I mean, to the best of my knowledge, Ma never threatened anyone life on my behalf (well, other than that Social Services lady nearly twenty years ago), and no one has sure as hell ever bought me a motorcycle for my birthday.

Jealous or not, though, I really like Patrick. He and I get along well, and he usually comes to see me at my gigs, usually bringing along his latest girlfriend. Hell, sometimes he convinces his girl to invite one of her friends, hoping we'll hit it off, but they're usually too interested in the hot-shot motorcycle guy to really notice me.

Ah, well.