Authors Notes: Ok so I've never even roleplayed. But my friends invited me
to a character creating session for Demon: The Fallen and it seemed like
fun. I went away and wanted to get into the feel of my character by writing
her a bit and that's what I did. So I've never played and have limited
knowledge of the world which means it might not be greatly accurate. I hope
you can appreciate it anyway, especially since I couldn't find any Demon:
The Fallen fanfics at fanfiction.net. Cheers (
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So I walk into the Police Station at 9am. This is a pretty damn special thing to do for someone who has just died.
Warren Beady looks up and sees me first. He says, "Shit Jack. What are you doing back already?" He's right too. Most people take more than two days off when they get shot in the shoulder. I wasn't shot in the shoulder. I was shot twice in the heart. Warren doesn't know that.
Nobody does except the fucker who shot me.
Well, except, it wasn't me. Not really. I wasn't shot - Jack was. She got herself in it ass deep, again.
I know why I was attracted to Jack. It's because she keeps going. She's seen enough to know that the bad guys aren't always where they are supposed to be - hell sometimes you find yourself working for them. But she keeps going, why? I'm closer to Jack than anyone will ever be, and I still don't know.
She says it's the principle of the thing. Or something.
Warren is still looking at me. I've spent the last couple of thousand years in the burning fires of hell, so a little bullet wound is not exactly tormenting me. But I can't tell him that.
This is what I know about Warren Beady. He's the closest thing I have to a friend. He's a member of my team. We are the ones who take the murder cases. Anything that includes a dead body comes to us first.
Jack cannot have a lot of friends. I would take a bullet for Beady, but I couldn't give him a social call after hours.
Daniel, 'Dan the Man' Owens comes over. He is also on my team. He says loudly, "Hey Jack! You heard we had a new case? I thought you were a little tied up right now." He looks pointedly at my arm, which is still in a sling.
I don't know why, but for some reason I like Owens too. This is especially intriguing because I also find him more annoying than late night teleshopping commercials.
I shoot him the biggest greasy I can muster. I can't have quite mastered the art of looking human yet, because Owens actually takes a step backwards. I wish I could say I look intimidating, but I know that's not the case. Jack is 5'5''. She has long dark blonde hair pulled up and out of the way, and she looks too pretty to be a cop. There are teddy bears that are more intimidating. This is probably why she gets in so much trouble.
Owens puts his hands up, showing me his palms, "Wooooah cool it Dean. Haven't you had your coffee yet? I hope that's not your coffee mug hand!"
It is but I don't tell Owens that.
I head over to the expresso machine. Jack's caffeine addiction hits me full in the face and it smells like coffee. A thick unappetizing sludge slops down into my mug, Jack's mug. I think I have seen more appealing things to consume in hell. The words on the mug say, "God must love stupid people. He made so many." It amuses me. I laugh, I actually laugh. I can't remember the last time I laughed. Being tortured in hell will do that to you.
Don Burke looks up now. The boss. He throws me a displeased glance but doesn't say anything. He doesn't think I should be here either but he's not going to say anything because he's short staffed as it is.
Good. Because I'm not leaving. I know why I am Jacky Dean, and not someone else. Jack is a cop. The whole world is in the shit hole, and it's all our fault. We did it. I did it. I should still be in hell, but I'm not, and I don't know why. But I do know that I can't just sit by. I have to do something about it. I did it and now I have to fix it. This sucks on a supernatural level.
It's not particularly fair. Nobody ever asked Jack if she was ok with her body being overtaken by a demon when she died. They don't make organ donation cards for that. But I figure this is her only chance at life. It's this or death, I tell myself. Somehow I know that wouldn't quite placate Dean.
I am what I am. And I am a demon.
And now I am Jack.
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So I walk into the Police Station at 9am. This is a pretty damn special thing to do for someone who has just died.
Warren Beady looks up and sees me first. He says, "Shit Jack. What are you doing back already?" He's right too. Most people take more than two days off when they get shot in the shoulder. I wasn't shot in the shoulder. I was shot twice in the heart. Warren doesn't know that.
Nobody does except the fucker who shot me.
Well, except, it wasn't me. Not really. I wasn't shot - Jack was. She got herself in it ass deep, again.
I know why I was attracted to Jack. It's because she keeps going. She's seen enough to know that the bad guys aren't always where they are supposed to be - hell sometimes you find yourself working for them. But she keeps going, why? I'm closer to Jack than anyone will ever be, and I still don't know.
She says it's the principle of the thing. Or something.
Warren is still looking at me. I've spent the last couple of thousand years in the burning fires of hell, so a little bullet wound is not exactly tormenting me. But I can't tell him that.
This is what I know about Warren Beady. He's the closest thing I have to a friend. He's a member of my team. We are the ones who take the murder cases. Anything that includes a dead body comes to us first.
Jack cannot have a lot of friends. I would take a bullet for Beady, but I couldn't give him a social call after hours.
Daniel, 'Dan the Man' Owens comes over. He is also on my team. He says loudly, "Hey Jack! You heard we had a new case? I thought you were a little tied up right now." He looks pointedly at my arm, which is still in a sling.
I don't know why, but for some reason I like Owens too. This is especially intriguing because I also find him more annoying than late night teleshopping commercials.
I shoot him the biggest greasy I can muster. I can't have quite mastered the art of looking human yet, because Owens actually takes a step backwards. I wish I could say I look intimidating, but I know that's not the case. Jack is 5'5''. She has long dark blonde hair pulled up and out of the way, and she looks too pretty to be a cop. There are teddy bears that are more intimidating. This is probably why she gets in so much trouble.
Owens puts his hands up, showing me his palms, "Wooooah cool it Dean. Haven't you had your coffee yet? I hope that's not your coffee mug hand!"
It is but I don't tell Owens that.
I head over to the expresso machine. Jack's caffeine addiction hits me full in the face and it smells like coffee. A thick unappetizing sludge slops down into my mug, Jack's mug. I think I have seen more appealing things to consume in hell. The words on the mug say, "God must love stupid people. He made so many." It amuses me. I laugh, I actually laugh. I can't remember the last time I laughed. Being tortured in hell will do that to you.
Don Burke looks up now. The boss. He throws me a displeased glance but doesn't say anything. He doesn't think I should be here either but he's not going to say anything because he's short staffed as it is.
Good. Because I'm not leaving. I know why I am Jacky Dean, and not someone else. Jack is a cop. The whole world is in the shit hole, and it's all our fault. We did it. I did it. I should still be in hell, but I'm not, and I don't know why. But I do know that I can't just sit by. I have to do something about it. I did it and now I have to fix it. This sucks on a supernatural level.
It's not particularly fair. Nobody ever asked Jack if she was ok with her body being overtaken by a demon when she died. They don't make organ donation cards for that. But I figure this is her only chance at life. It's this or death, I tell myself. Somehow I know that wouldn't quite placate Dean.
I am what I am. And I am a demon.
And now I am Jack.