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9 Facts: Mortimer
1. Mortimer once served in the Death Angels as a Conductor.
And he loved everything about it. Being a Conductor lets you meet and make friends with complete strangers, and Mort, an irrepressible people person, took every advantage. Naturally, this would eventually result in him becoming pals with the majority of Haven's Death Angel network. He might still be in that job today if one of his closest friends hadn't gotten involved in a very bad situation that ended in them both leaving the official Death Angels forever and forming their own organization.
2. He is not the first owner of the Pale Rider club.
The original founder, a charismatic businessman named Lars, became friends with Mortimer not long after he entered Haven, generously offering him employment in the club and giving him a place to stay until he could support himself. He eventually would bequeath his fortune, his lavish home, and the 'Rider to Mortimer in the late 1920s when he left Haven for Reincarnation. M
Called on the Carpet
The room was generously spacious, lit invitingly with large rectangular windows on its north and east walls and embellished with warm, pleasant colors, but an eerie tension gave it an air of being unbearably crowded, as though it held dozens of people instead of only two. The first of the two men, a tall, graying man with broad shoulders, folded his hands over the polished oak of his desk as the second hovered uneasily just inside the door, a wiry lad with dark, sharp eyes and a long tail of black hair.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" the youth asked. It was merely a formality; under normal circumstances, he might have addressed the man by his first name, and in a much friendlier manner. But things were different today, and Mr. Mortimer Graves, the Enforcer gang's second in command, was the very last person he could have possibly wanted to see.
"Come in, Juan." Mortimer's deep, gravelly purr sounded as genial as it always had, but right now, there was a subtle yet definite note of strain
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
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