The skinny on Julian
Here's a little thinned out backround of Julian and more may follow about him and where he was during the movie. Once more.. I own Julian and naught else.
When one door closes, don't let it smack you in the ass. That had become the motto to live by of late for Julian Callaway. Lately it was becoming harder to find people who still considered him friend enough to help out. Not that he could blame them for not wanting to die for letting him crash on the couch. Twisted world, wasn't it? When compassion toward your fellow man could get you black bagged and on the long list of disappeared and forgotten? He ran a hand through his a-bit-too-shaggy shoulder length brown hair, looking more and more like the walking Death he'd made himself into when his own name had become too dangerous to use. He tried not to notice that it could use a good washing, as could his clothes.. but how could he begrudge someone a few minutes of hot water when they had already risked everything to lend him a closet or crawl space to sleep in. Dangerous times just kept getting worse. The way he figured, it would only get better at this point if someone had the balls to just blow it all up and start rebuilding from scratch. He pulled the collar of his thin jacket up around his neck and let his hair fall into his face as he passed people, never knowing these days who was working for THEM. "You" Someone called after him, but he kept walking, acting like he didn't know that he was the one they were calling. "I'm talking to you.." The voice called at him again and he could tell by the quick footsteps that they intended to talk to him one way or another. He stopped and turned, watching the fellow carefully. "You got a smoke?" The chap asked him, eyeing him well and good. Julian couldn't believe that this was what he'd been stopped for and shook his head softly. "Sorry mate, I quit." He turned to continue on his way when a hand came down on his shoulder. "Let me see some ID 'mate' " Julian turned back to look at the man, appraising his situation. The man didn't look up be much older than him.. mid twenties maybe but he reasoned that the man had atleast 50 lbs on him, still, speed might make up for the brute of the other. He hesitated for a moment before moving to pull out something. He wasn't sure what he intended to pull, since he didn't have any proper government ID but that didn't seem to matter. The man took the window of distraction to aim a hard cuff at the side of his head. Julian hadn't noticed before but the man's friends had moved in around him in a loose circle. He cursed to himself and shrugged off his jacket, eyeing the man before him. "What's your name rat?" The man spit the words at him and he swore the man's slime seemed contagious.. "Death" was Julian's answer which got a good laugh from the men until he made his move, taking down the man to his left with a quick knee to the gut and an elbow to the back on his neck. He knew he couldn't fight them all, but if he was going down tonight, he was taking someone else with him. He didn't know which of the other three hit him first, but it didn't seem to matter much. For every blow he blocked or dodged, he had two more persons ready for his move. After the first few blows to the head, he began to lose sense of which way was up, although that didn't stop him from swinging for all he was worth. At some point, he was aware of falling, and the pummeling coming to an end. He tried to take in the damage but his head swam in murkiness. He knew he was bleeding, and he was pretty sure that this was the end. And that those bastards had stolen his coat. He made his thoughts quiet long enough to listen to the clock as it chimed out the time. 10..11.. midnight.. devil be damned, he'd lived to see another day after all.. well, atleast the start of one.
Upon waking, a few things were apparent to Julian. Firstly, the fact that he was waking at all. Pulling himself up into a crouch, he scanned the small room he found himself in, wondering where the hell he was. The next big realization was that he was next to naked, in only his boxer briefs. He cursed under his breath. He was now without the only things he’d had to his name; the clothes off his back and his freedom. He moved back and settled himself against the wall to wait and save his energy in case he got the opportunity to fight. He sensed the presence lurking beyond the door, casting a shadow beneath it a moment before the door opened. The man before him in the darkness was formidable enough that he paused a moment to think and lost his opportunity. The man can forward and grabbed him by the back of his neck. It was then that he made his final, most heart-wrenching discoveries. His hair wasn't tied back.. it was gone. The dark shoulder length locks that he hadn't cut since he couldn't remember had given way to short prickly bristles that made him sick to his stomach. He felt as though he'd been violated intimately by these strangers. He growled and tried to push away the man who held him but the wounds from the night before ached and burned to remind him of their presence and the man wrenched his arm harshly enough to make his eyes water. "bastard.." It was the only word he could muster and he spoke it with such pain and conviction that he felt as though the last of his soul were pouring out onto the floor. Using the leverage of his arm, the man drug him into a room and all but threw him down into a chair. He squinted against the bright lights aimed at him and tried to see more of the man than a fuzzy shadow. The man waited for him to settle before he spoke, in a calm and metered tone. "It would be best for you to cooperate with our efforts and give me your Christian name. Our time together can be very easy or very difficult and that choice is entirely yours to make" Oh that he could burn holes into the man the way that he lamps burned his cold skin. "I have no name. I am no Christian. " Julian snarled and spat the words at his captor with a fury he'd been waiting four years to unleashed. He thought for a second that the man might hit him, but instead he asked again what his name was. "Fate scorns those ‘Christians’ who betray their fellow man and leave children parentless to die in the streets..” He was going to die here, he knew that, so there was no point in trying to hide his hatred for this government scum.
What flashed through the eyes of his captor, he couldn't say, but he saw something that seemed to make the man's jaw tick for a slight second. Perhaps it was the same blow which made his eyes fuzzy that was causing him to imagine things now. He sat in silence, awaiting more questions, but for whatever reason, they didn't come. After what seemed like hours, but could have just as well been seconds, he was grabbed up and taken back to his cell. A short time later a tray was passed into his room through a slot in the door. He eyed the food warily and debated whether it could be drugged or poisoned, but it had been too long since he'd had a half decent meal for him to deny his growling stomach. He would die sooner or later anyway. He found that the food wasn't drugged, it wasn't even that bad tasting. The next day, the procedure repeated itself but he didn't get away with just the one question. Again the man asked him his Christian name. "I am no Christian" was again his response. This time he earned a black eye for his efforts and the man continued on with his questions. "Where do you live?" His captor asked him, hoping for the names or locations of his few friends in the world. "Down the hall about 10 yards or so." Julian responded with a smartass smirk. "It's a gorgeous deco era cement box.." He had decided last night, while mourning his hair, that if these bastards wanted to screw with him, he'd screw with them until his last breath. He had a feeling that if he could see the man clearly, the man would have rolled his eyes or flipped him the bird. Everyday proceeded the same; his interrogator added new questions. He seemed to think that if he kept asking, the answers would change. "Who has harbored you?" "Who are your parents?" "Where were you born." And every day, he thought of new ways to not answer the man's questions. "You yourself have been my gracious host" he answered with a nod. "Ask the chancellor, my parents never existed." and "I was born in the back of a beat up pick up truck going seventy miles an hour with the devil hot on our tail.". And everyday he was a little more beaten and bruised going to and from his sessions, his head knocking against a wall, or the toilet as he was shoved into his cell. And everyday he was given slightly less to eat until one day, after he had not answered every question for hours and his head had been held in the toilet until he was sure he turned blue, no food came. When the man had throw him into the corner, he’d told him that tomorrow he was going to die. He hadn’t believed it until no food came. But why feed someone who isn’t going to live another 24 hours? He waited and yelled at his captor to hurry up and get it done with, but no one answered. Instead, the door opened, seemingly by itself. Outside the door were clothes. HIS clothes. He would have something to wear besides the same pair of underwear that he had been forced to wash in the toilet and put back on damp every night. He put the clothes on, opting to go without underwear just to be rid of the ratty piece of fabric. Hesitantly, he looked out into the hallway, eyeing the mannequin at the end of the hall. He'd suspected, after the first week or so that he only ever spoke to one man, but the idea that he was being held by one man and one man alone had never entered his mind. He couldn't help himself, he laughed. He leaned back against the wall opposite the mannequin and laughed so hard that his eyes were watering and he gasped for breath. Regaining himself as much as possible, he continued on until the hallway opened into a room. The room was full of items he hadn't seen in years, and some which he'd never seen in his life time. He ran his fingers along the edge of the piano for a moment until he realized that the statue on the bench was no statue. He jumped back a step as the masked man cocked his head in interest. "It was you?" Julian questioned him, not really expecting an answer. This was all just beyond him. "You aren't the government then?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder to watch the fellow who had risen from the bench and was following him around the room. Turning, Julian raised his hand and tapped the forehead of the mask three times. "Do you speak?" The masked man wrapped his black gloved hand around Julian's wrist, lowering it away from him. "I see. You expect that I should readily identify myself by name and rank in short order while you are content to deny me both. How interesting, that."For some reason, knowing what he knew now.. not that he really knew anything more than he had, he trusted the man. "Julian Callaway. I have no family you can ransom me to and the fact that I have earned the nickname Death amid my social circle should tell you how many friends I have." He had just answered a huge chunk of what he had refused to say the entire time in that cell, but he wanted to know the name of his captor at least. The masked man nodded his head slightly. "It is a pleasure Julian, I myself, am V."
When one door closes, don't let it smack you in the ass. That had become the motto to live by of late for Julian Callaway. Lately it was becoming harder to find people who still considered him friend enough to help out. Not that he could blame them for not wanting to die for letting him crash on the couch. Twisted world, wasn't it? When compassion toward your fellow man could get you black bagged and on the long list of disappeared and forgotten? He ran a hand through his a-bit-too-shaggy shoulder length brown hair, looking more and more like the walking Death he'd made himself into when his own name had become too dangerous to use. He tried not to notice that it could use a good washing, as could his clothes.. but how could he begrudge someone a few minutes of hot water when they had already risked everything to lend him a closet or crawl space to sleep in. Dangerous times just kept getting worse. The way he figured, it would only get better at this point if someone had the balls to just blow it all up and start rebuilding from scratch. He pulled the collar of his thin jacket up around his neck and let his hair fall into his face as he passed people, never knowing these days who was working for THEM. "You" Someone called after him, but he kept walking, acting like he didn't know that he was the one they were calling. "I'm talking to you.." The voice called at him again and he could tell by the quick footsteps that they intended to talk to him one way or another. He stopped and turned, watching the fellow carefully. "You got a smoke?" The chap asked him, eyeing him well and good. Julian couldn't believe that this was what he'd been stopped for and shook his head softly. "Sorry mate, I quit." He turned to continue on his way when a hand came down on his shoulder. "Let me see some ID 'mate' " Julian turned back to look at the man, appraising his situation. The man didn't look up be much older than him.. mid twenties maybe but he reasoned that the man had atleast 50 lbs on him, still, speed might make up for the brute of the other. He hesitated for a moment before moving to pull out something. He wasn't sure what he intended to pull, since he didn't have any proper government ID but that didn't seem to matter. The man took the window of distraction to aim a hard cuff at the side of his head. Julian hadn't noticed before but the man's friends had moved in around him in a loose circle. He cursed to himself and shrugged off his jacket, eyeing the man before him. "What's your name rat?" The man spit the words at him and he swore the man's slime seemed contagious.. "Death" was Julian's answer which got a good laugh from the men until he made his move, taking down the man to his left with a quick knee to the gut and an elbow to the back on his neck. He knew he couldn't fight them all, but if he was going down tonight, he was taking someone else with him. He didn't know which of the other three hit him first, but it didn't seem to matter much. For every blow he blocked or dodged, he had two more persons ready for his move. After the first few blows to the head, he began to lose sense of which way was up, although that didn't stop him from swinging for all he was worth. At some point, he was aware of falling, and the pummeling coming to an end. He tried to take in the damage but his head swam in murkiness. He knew he was bleeding, and he was pretty sure that this was the end. And that those bastards had stolen his coat. He made his thoughts quiet long enough to listen to the clock as it chimed out the time. 10..11.. midnight.. devil be damned, he'd lived to see another day after all.. well, atleast the start of one.
Upon waking, a few things were apparent to Julian. Firstly, the fact that he was waking at all. Pulling himself up into a crouch, he scanned the small room he found himself in, wondering where the hell he was. The next big realization was that he was next to naked, in only his boxer briefs. He cursed under his breath. He was now without the only things he’d had to his name; the clothes off his back and his freedom. He moved back and settled himself against the wall to wait and save his energy in case he got the opportunity to fight. He sensed the presence lurking beyond the door, casting a shadow beneath it a moment before the door opened. The man before him in the darkness was formidable enough that he paused a moment to think and lost his opportunity. The man can forward and grabbed him by the back of his neck. It was then that he made his final, most heart-wrenching discoveries. His hair wasn't tied back.. it was gone. The dark shoulder length locks that he hadn't cut since he couldn't remember had given way to short prickly bristles that made him sick to his stomach. He felt as though he'd been violated intimately by these strangers. He growled and tried to push away the man who held him but the wounds from the night before ached and burned to remind him of their presence and the man wrenched his arm harshly enough to make his eyes water. "bastard.." It was the only word he could muster and he spoke it with such pain and conviction that he felt as though the last of his soul were pouring out onto the floor. Using the leverage of his arm, the man drug him into a room and all but threw him down into a chair. He squinted against the bright lights aimed at him and tried to see more of the man than a fuzzy shadow. The man waited for him to settle before he spoke, in a calm and metered tone. "It would be best for you to cooperate with our efforts and give me your Christian name. Our time together can be very easy or very difficult and that choice is entirely yours to make" Oh that he could burn holes into the man the way that he lamps burned his cold skin. "I have no name. I am no Christian. " Julian snarled and spat the words at his captor with a fury he'd been waiting four years to unleashed. He thought for a second that the man might hit him, but instead he asked again what his name was. "Fate scorns those ‘Christians’ who betray their fellow man and leave children parentless to die in the streets..” He was going to die here, he knew that, so there was no point in trying to hide his hatred for this government scum.
What flashed through the eyes of his captor, he couldn't say, but he saw something that seemed to make the man's jaw tick for a slight second. Perhaps it was the same blow which made his eyes fuzzy that was causing him to imagine things now. He sat in silence, awaiting more questions, but for whatever reason, they didn't come. After what seemed like hours, but could have just as well been seconds, he was grabbed up and taken back to his cell. A short time later a tray was passed into his room through a slot in the door. He eyed the food warily and debated whether it could be drugged or poisoned, but it had been too long since he'd had a half decent meal for him to deny his growling stomach. He would die sooner or later anyway. He found that the food wasn't drugged, it wasn't even that bad tasting. The next day, the procedure repeated itself but he didn't get away with just the one question. Again the man asked him his Christian name. "I am no Christian" was again his response. This time he earned a black eye for his efforts and the man continued on with his questions. "Where do you live?" His captor asked him, hoping for the names or locations of his few friends in the world. "Down the hall about 10 yards or so." Julian responded with a smartass smirk. "It's a gorgeous deco era cement box.." He had decided last night, while mourning his hair, that if these bastards wanted to screw with him, he'd screw with them until his last breath. He had a feeling that if he could see the man clearly, the man would have rolled his eyes or flipped him the bird. Everyday proceeded the same; his interrogator added new questions. He seemed to think that if he kept asking, the answers would change. "Who has harbored you?" "Who are your parents?" "Where were you born." And every day, he thought of new ways to not answer the man's questions. "You yourself have been my gracious host" he answered with a nod. "Ask the chancellor, my parents never existed." and "I was born in the back of a beat up pick up truck going seventy miles an hour with the devil hot on our tail.". And everyday he was a little more beaten and bruised going to and from his sessions, his head knocking against a wall, or the toilet as he was shoved into his cell. And everyday he was given slightly less to eat until one day, after he had not answered every question for hours and his head had been held in the toilet until he was sure he turned blue, no food came. When the man had throw him into the corner, he’d told him that tomorrow he was going to die. He hadn’t believed it until no food came. But why feed someone who isn’t going to live another 24 hours? He waited and yelled at his captor to hurry up and get it done with, but no one answered. Instead, the door opened, seemingly by itself. Outside the door were clothes. HIS clothes. He would have something to wear besides the same pair of underwear that he had been forced to wash in the toilet and put back on damp every night. He put the clothes on, opting to go without underwear just to be rid of the ratty piece of fabric. Hesitantly, he looked out into the hallway, eyeing the mannequin at the end of the hall. He'd suspected, after the first week or so that he only ever spoke to one man, but the idea that he was being held by one man and one man alone had never entered his mind. He couldn't help himself, he laughed. He leaned back against the wall opposite the mannequin and laughed so hard that his eyes were watering and he gasped for breath. Regaining himself as much as possible, he continued on until the hallway opened into a room. The room was full of items he hadn't seen in years, and some which he'd never seen in his life time. He ran his fingers along the edge of the piano for a moment until he realized that the statue on the bench was no statue. He jumped back a step as the masked man cocked his head in interest. "It was you?" Julian questioned him, not really expecting an answer. This was all just beyond him. "You aren't the government then?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder to watch the fellow who had risen from the bench and was following him around the room. Turning, Julian raised his hand and tapped the forehead of the mask three times. "Do you speak?" The masked man wrapped his black gloved hand around Julian's wrist, lowering it away from him. "I see. You expect that I should readily identify myself by name and rank in short order while you are content to deny me both. How interesting, that."For some reason, knowing what he knew now.. not that he really knew anything more than he had, he trusted the man. "Julian Callaway. I have no family you can ransom me to and the fact that I have earned the nickname Death amid my social circle should tell you how many friends I have." He had just answered a huge chunk of what he had refused to say the entire time in that cell, but he wanted to know the name of his captor at least. The masked man nodded his head slightly. "It is a pleasure Julian, I myself, am V."