Dawson/Hooks

• Crime: Being a registered felon means that regular jobs are hard to come by and sometimes that requires him to work outside the law. Hey, whatever it takes.
  • Felon: He's done time in South Carolina. He won't say how long or for what.
  • HitterWord has it that he used to be a problem solver for some of the small families / organizations in Vegas.
• Street:
  • Gang: He's wearing the colors of a gang but who knows what gang that would be - maybe some local chapter out of wherever it was that he came from.
• Bikes:
  • Mechanic: One of the few jobs that he's ever been able to hold down is that of a bike mechanic.
  • Nomad: One of the benefits of having a bike and living simply is the ability to get the hell out of town if things start getting too hot.
• Occult:
  • Working Class Warlock: His materials are inexpensive, commonly available and generally what’s on-hand. His magic is fairly straightforward, working-class and without many frills. Summoning spirits and calling hellfire to your hands is great but it doesn’t keep gas in your bike. So he had to find something to pull in cash. He’s the guy who would spend his evenings pouring over Chinese take out while piecing together a carburetor set out on a table before heading out for a midnight hookup or a late night conversation with the thing that lives in the fire. He’s usually trying to find some way to get a payday to keep the wolves at the door.
  • Tomes and Texts: Not everyone can have a library stacked with ancient tomes but not every secret needs to be bound in goat skin. Composition journals and spiral notebooks are more his speed. Most of the occult stuff out in the world is absolute crap worthless but but he’s started collecting those few things that seem to work. His books of rituals look like a gothling took a class in scrapbooking; full of pages torn from books, handwritten scrawl, diagrams in marker, cheap photocopies, etc.
  • Scrapyard Sanctum: His dabblings with magic hasn’t gotten him incredible amounts of money but he’s well on his way. Without a house or a place that he could claim as his own, he’s had to make accommodations. He’s created a small altar in an old basement of a forgotten building in a neighborhood that’s been erased from memory. The altar was made from wooden shipping crates, a dirty, red blanket as a cloth, candles and a black-handled knife he uses for some of his ritual work. Everything can fit in a gym bag and he can move the boxes back in place when needed.