Jeremiah Morgan

A stout ruffian with a dark, wandering past

Description:

Primogen and tough for Knoxville’s premier paranormal and consulting detective firm.
Age: 25. 42 years since Embrace
Height: 5’5"
Weight: 175
Hair: Brown or Black, changing length and style to match the times or his whim
Eyes: Brown
Attire: He rolls with a more professional, yet laid back, style

Bio:

She appeared from nowhere, wiping dust and mud off the sleeve of her leather jacket. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen with an … edge to her that most of the mud-caked daddy’s girls there just didn’t have. She didn’t move so much as flow …
Shit. I told myself I wouldn’t romanticize the bitch but, damn! …
Okay, okay, I’ll start at the beginning. I was born in 1944, or ’45, I can’t remember. Dad was a professor at one of the universities in Upstate, the type of man that just needed a show family for all those staff functions, right? He never did your … typical, all-American father BS, ya know? Play catch in the yard? Bar-be-que’s on the fourth? That wasn’t really his style. Mom didn’t help the situation all that much. She had her head in the TV and more than a few local handymen had … well something in her at one point or the other.
If it hadn’t been for Sis, I don’t know what those years would have turned out like. Mina pretty much looked after me. She cooked dinners, cleaned up the house, helped me with homework, everything you’d expect from a sister, a mother and a father. If either of our parents would have paid a lick of attention to us, she’d have been the favorite, responsible child.
Sis saved my life more times than I care to count most nights. Talking down principles and cops alike when the situation called for it, then turning right around and laying into me like a woman possessed once the authorities had lit out. She tried to keep me straight. And she loves me, I know. But sometimes … I wish she’d left well enough alone. …
In ’69 I dropped out of my second attempt at college to follow a pretty piece of fluff to a music festival in Woodstock, New York. That, it turns out was the decision that changed my life, as it is. … Humph. … Women: Can’t live with ‘em, eh? …
I wound up dropping the girl the first chance I found and spent the entire festival, drinking, smoking, fucking and listening to Jimmy Hendrix playing the guitar behind his head. The entire thing seemed a blur until the last full night. That’s when I met Night Sky. …
As I said earlier, the sun had just set and I was walking along quite possibly the only dry patch of dirt in the entire field with a couple of pretty flower girls when out of the dust and mud came a beautiful young blonde sporting a leather jacket.
“Hey, there, Jerry-boy.” She said with a grin as she licked her long canines. Did they really just grow? I asked myself. Never mind that, stupid! She’s smokin’. And she knows your name. Go with it!! The next thing I know, the two girls where nowhere to be found and this blonde was pulling back from my neck licking a red substance off her lips and smiling. “Come on, Jerry-boy. Let me introduce you to the boys. …”
It would be a couple of weeks before the gravity of the situation hit me and Sky, leader of the Night Vermin, actually Embraced me. That bit of time was filled with memory gaps, tiredness, and a general sense of not knowing where I was half the time. By the time we hit Memphis, however, the decision was made to officially bring me into the Night.
I can’t really describe that long moment in time. … But I know I’ll never feel anything like it ever again.
For the next two years, the nights of my life where spent trekking back and forth across the Great Plains and the American Southwest. Sky and the Vermin taught me a great deal of being unbound nomads in a world of rigid and static homebody hierarchies. They taught me how to control the frenzy of meeting others of our kind and how to disappear into the earth, as Sky had done at Woodstock. Both things very useful for Kindred on the road.
But we weren’t always moving out of boredom and wanderlust. After about a year on the road, Sky pulled me aside and told me a mortal had been following the wake of the Vermin, asking after me. When she showed me a picture, I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. It was my sister, Mina, and she was getting close.
The next night, Sky and I split from the Vermin and went off on our own; Sky telling them that she was still my sire and therefore I was under her protection and that two were harder to track than ten. That year was even more memorable than any other of my life and unlife. And, fuck no, I’m not telling you about it. …
Every once and a while, I would drop notes for Mina in places I knew she’d find them, trying to get her to stop. I hoped it would work and she’d leave well enough alone. … At least, that’s what I tell myself. … Looking back over the years, I’m not sure anymore. Maybe, maybe part of me wanted to draw her closer. … … I don’t know anymore.
It all came to a head in Tucson in 1971. What happened on those nights is the biggest regret of my life. …
… I’m not gonna get into this now. …
… In the late 70’s, I started watching the glut of tv shows they dedicated to PIs and cops. Mina, usually very grounded, one day said, “We could do that.” I said, “Sure, why not?” And we decided to go into business for ourselves as detectives. I started training at a local boxing gym and taking night courses in criminology and Sis worked on getting a business degree and after a few years we started our company, Morgan and Morgan, Detectives.
… Have you ever been shot in the chest? Well, let me tell you, it stings, and then it burns and then it fucking hurts. That little bastard got his later that night, though. … But, of course, I didn’t count on a camera and a little insipid reporter breaking the eleven clock news wide open with the headline, “Local PI Shot.” … Another thing Mina’s never let me live down.
Two nights later, Mina and I headed East in a blacked out RV and decided to catch the World’s Fair in Knoxville, TN while we contemplated our next move.
The next thing I know we’re meeting up with a pair of sisters trying to solve the assassination of the Prince and his court. Some luck, huh? …
Despite my initial reservations about hanging a shingle in this town, I’ve grown to like Knoxville over the past years. The night scene and the music has grown over the years. Which gives me even more reason to go to the clubs and underground hot spots: As if I needed one. And there is always work to be done, both mundane and edging on the weird. Mina tells me all the unusual happenings have something to do with the rivers and ley lines and whatever. The mystical side of things just really creeps me out, to be honest with you.
But you know what really bothers me? The politics. The back-room sleazing. You know, the cloak and dagger bullshit that comes from undead monsters trying to hold on to their power bases. I think that’s why, every once in a while, I feel the need, Sky called it the urge, to drop off the grid and get away for a while, no matter where it is, The Southwest, Europe, … Bangladesh …
But I always seem to come back. My sister needs me, whether we admit it to ourselves or not.
And maybe I need her. Maybe …

Jeremiah Morgan

Black Bowery MarcustheButcher JeremiahMorgan