Streetkid Thrill-Thief




Str-2 Int-1 Pre-3
Dex-3 Wit-3 Man-2
Sta-3 Res-2 Com-2

Crafts-4 (Scrap-Tech)
Occult-1 (Urban Legends)

Larceny-4 (Pickpocket)


1-Language: Spanish
1-Contacts: Homeless
2-Striking Looks
4-Momento: Deathmask (The FaceGun)
2-Haunt (Utility-1, Plasma-1)

Keys: Industrial, Passion
Manifestation: Boneyard **, Marionete *

Keystone – Shatterflame
The Forgotten (Death by Chance)
Keys: Pyre-Flame, Passion
Skill: Athletics
An 18-inch long shard of jagged glass, melted along one edge, razor sharp along the other. Looking through it, you can see the twisted burning wreckage of a school bus The scent of oily smoke trails after it if you slash it through the air.

Deathmask – The GunFace
The Torn (Death by Violence)
Key: Industrial
Skill: Firearms
Rolando has no idea what the providence of this Deathmask is. Only that it was uncovered from under the floorboards in room 17B, and his geist knew exactly where he could find it. The deathmask takes the form of a gold and perl gun, flattened and twisted into a caricature of it’s normal form, with the shape of a sneering face formed from the heat-warped curves and the profile of the mask combined. Rolando currently wears it as literal bling, hanging from a gold chain around his neck where it can be easily lifted to his face like a gaudy tacky ThugBoy Phantom of the Opera mask.
When wearing the mask, Rolando can see, in gory specific detail, vivid hallucinations of what someone’s absolute most feared/worst way of dying is as of that moment. While their standard Worst Fear Death would generally be displayed, most people with a gun pointed at them will exhibit multiple smoking bullet wounds.

Concealable revolver
A few changes of clothes
Lockpicking kit
Scavenged tool set


Rolando ran away from home when he was 12. Or was kicked out. It was never too clear, and he didn’t bother sticking around to get the facts straight. Short version: A father who was never sure this kid was actually his son, a mother who ODed when he was five, a series of stepmothers who didn’t like a kid underfoot, and no one wanting to spend time with a boy who was only too happy to tell you that you were going to die, or that your dead husband was still pissed at you.

So runaway, age 12. He quickly made his way 100 miles downstate to Orlando. He knew it was a big city, Disney World was there, and it sounded like his name. It proved to be a good fit. In the underground culture that is runaway kids, Rolando proved to be something of a Wise Man. He could tell when one of the kids was coming down sick. He knew which alleyways were never safe to sleep in. When Things moved into the local park, only adult bums went missing. The other kids listened to Rolando’s warnings and never tried to stay the night. When the Chip-Chop Man was making his rounds for those terrible 14 months, it was Rolando who suspected the off-yellow panel van and kept the other underaged hustlers away until the police finally caught up with him. Rolando begged. Rolando stole. Rolando sucked dick and let others suck him. Always careful with what he’d do, but never too proud not to do something he could. He lived comfortably, for being a homeless kid in Florida, and did his best to help the others like him. Then came the day of the August Fireworks. After he came back from the dead, Rolando spent some time figuring out a reconstruction of what happened and has settled on the following as the most likely series of events. Around 6:30pm, Rolando gets into the car of a random John who seems skeezy, but no more so than most, and doesn’t set off his Devil Sense in the slightest. The John starts driving along the streets while Rolando sucks him off. At 6:47, a bunch of kids set off a stolen bundle of fireworks in the middle of a residential street, not realizing just how big the resulting explosion will be. When the fireworks exploded, it’s loud enough to rattle nearby windows, and startle the ever-loving shit out of someone three houses down who’d been cleaning his rifles in his backyard. Startled, he drops his guns, grabs for them as they fall, and accidentally fires one he didn’t realize was still loaded. The fired bullet shoots upwards almost perfectly straight, and comes back down about a mile away, right into the engine block of a car doing 55 on a surface street. The driver of the car veers out of control into the opposing lane of traffic, where he clips Rolando’s John’s car, sending it into the wall of a deserted office block. Caught between the John’s body and the suddenly stopped steering column, Rolando’s neck is broken instantly. Panicking, the John dumps the dead male hustler in a nearby alley and makes good his escape. Rolando wishes like hell there was a video of all of this going down, because it sounds like it would be hilarious to watch play out. Fortunately, The Shattered Child caught him as he fell towards the Underworld and cut him a deal. The two have been working out this whole partner situation ever since. (And since he’d want it stated for the record, Rolando holds zero ill-will towards the John. If he was faced with a probably under-aged dead hooker in his car, he’d probably panic and dump the body too. Doesn’t keep him from occasionally showing up near the office building where he works and just… hanging about. Just to see that expression on his face when he thinks he’s being haunted by a hustler ghost.)


Before his death, Rolando was a careful hustler and street thief, considering every angle and potential downside to an action before carrying through on it. This abundance of caution kept him safe, sane, un-addicted, and non-dead through seven years of living on the streets. Now that he’s died once, though… There doesn’t seem to be much reason to keep holding back so much. There’s a lot of pent up resentment and envy from his bringing up that’s been getting unleashed. Indulgence is the name of the game. Anything he gets his hands on, food, cash, booze, is gone through as quickly as it arrives. Some part of him realizes he’ll have to start managing the money he’s bringing in eventually, but for now… fuck it. You only live half a dozen times, and he’s already wasted one life. No sense to waste his second. Maybe after a second or third death, he’ll slow down. Maybe.

Still, unless he’s decided you should be the target of a scam or hustle, he’s a friendly, cheerful, caring sort. While no longer as dedicated to being the support network for dozens, he’s still devoted to being the bright spot in everyone’s life. After all, he’s a re-living example that even hitting rock bottom doesn’t mean you’ve hit the end! (In mechanics terms, the shock of his death, resurrection and possession have turned his former Prudence/Envy setup into Hope/Gluttony)


Rolando is a mixed Cuban/‘Who the Hell Knows’ 19 year old street kid. Tight, wirey build, short cropped curly hair, and an infectious chipped-tooth grin. He dresses flashy when he wants to be noticed, and in tanktops, hoodies, and jeans when he wants to blend in. Regardless of fashion, his clothes are always worn, third hand, and on their last legs, even when immaculately clean.

The Geist
The Shattered Child
Dozens of massive shards of glass spin slowly in the air, surrounding and nearly obscuring the floating body of a child. Gender unclear, clothes ragged and torn, blood drops floating away at a glacier pace. Somewhere between 10 and 13 years old. Blond, perhaps brown haired. The spinning fragments of glass never allow a clear look at him. instead, they reflect the similarly slow movements of roaring flames, billowing oil-smoke, and vehicular explosions. The whole effect is one of a child soaring in Gun-Fu style slow motion through a cloud of shimmering glass, never reaching the end of their arch.

The Shattered Child is a creature of excitement. Of flight. Of that rich rush of adrenaline when the cord snaps, the parachute fails, and the floor gives way. That moment when you’re free in the air and know you’re about to die. And for brief moments that seem to stretch forever, you can fly. There’s no feeling like it. It’s something that everyone should be gifted with. Humanity was meant to fly. Through smoke, through shattered glass, through burning jet engines and crumbling cliffs, everyone should fly. Drag racing, bird suits, parasailing, base jumping, and other suicidally insane feats are acceptable. Barely. Rolando’s done a bit of research on the school bus number that often shows up reflected in The Shattered Child, and has matched it to a horrific crash in the mid 1960s where over a dozen middle-schoolers were thrown clear from their schoolbus when it plowed into a multi-car pileup, and off the edge of a bridge up in the Florida panhandle. One of these days, he plans to make a pilgrimage up to the site just to check it out.

Someday. Not today.

Recent Events
Aside from piecing together the events of his death and fucking with his ex-John, Rolando’s mainly been re-exploring Orlando with his new eyes, getting a lay of the land, and trying to figure out where his life should go from here. It’s obvious that he isn’t The Shattered Child’s first Sin-Eater experience, though the non-verbalized images and urges he receives from his Geist lead him to believe that the previous Bondings were short-lived affairs. (The distinct impression Rolando’s gotten is that he’s the first Bond his geist has made with someone over the age of 15…)

One benefit of his geist’s prior experience has been Motel 666 (We’ll leave the death-light on for you!), and more specifically, room 17B. While the hotel (name unknown, the sign being half rusted away) has proven a quite excellent crash spot (aside from the other Sin Eaters drawn to it), his geist seemed strangely… excited? familiar? resigned? in Room 17B. The one where the walls looked water-damaged and half burnt, the tv had exploded and the screen glass melted, and the bed was twisted into a buckling shape with the molded mattress hanging in tatters from the springs. And underneath the floorboards, there was The Gun Face. He’s since learned it’s a Deathmask, from some old geist he never knew. But apparently The Shattered Child knew of it. And where to find it. That worries him a little…


Reflections Khorax Beachfox