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#Post#: 20470--------------------------------------------------
New Orleans WIP: Robert Jones
By: Raven Tepes Date: November 18, 2025, 11:19 pm
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“The road’s quieter without her laughter riding the wind… just
the rumble of my engine and the dark fire in my chest to remind
me I’m still alive. Grief made a lone wolf out of me, but it
also taught me purpose. Every night I hunt the shadows for
Balam, the vampire who stole her light… and until I find him, I
ride alone—burning, but never consumed.”
~ Robert Jones
“There’s a special kind of heat that rises in me when I’m
staring down real evil—an anger that howls louder than any wolf
and burns darker than any flame. In those moments, I don’t need
claws or fangs… the fire answers for me. It coils up my spine,
ignites my fists, and reminds the wicked exactly why they should
fear a man who’s lost everything.”
~ Robert Jones
“I learned what dark fire was long before I knew its name. I was
just a scrawny kid cornered by bullies when something inside me
snapped—not in fear, but in defiance. The shadows around my
heart ignited, curling into flame that felt colder than hate and
hotter than any sun. They ran. I stood there shaking, hands
smoking. That day I learned two things: the world can be cruel…
and so can I, when the fire answers my pain.”
~ Robert Jones
“I thought he was just another biker with a mean right hook…
until the air around him changed. Robert moved like a street
brawler who’d been fighting his whole damn life—ugly, efficient,
no wasted steps. But the fire… gods, that fire. It wasn’t
bright, it was hungry, curling around his fists like living
shadow. Every punch felt like getting hit by a wrecking ball
wrapped in night. I don’t know what he is… but I know this: you
don’t fight Robert Jones. You survive him—if you’re lucky.”
~ An enemy who survived a fight with Robert
Bargg: You’re gonna set my bar on fire again, pup. Last time it
took me four hours to scrape your scorch marks out of the
counter.
Robert: Wasn’t my fault. Guy pulled a knife. Instinct took over.
Bargg: He snorts. Your instinct is to explode. I keep tellin’
you—no combustin’ indoors unless it’s on the grill.
Robert: Can’t promise anything if someone starts trouble first.
Bargg: Then maybe don’t make trouble look at you like it owes
you money.
Robert smirks and takes a long drink.
Robert: This place is calmer tonight. You add something to the
gumbo?
Bargg: Little saffron. Little magic. Mostly patience. You learn
that someday, wolf?
Robert: Not likely. Patience isn’t my brand.
Bargg: I know. That fire of yours doesn’t like to wait either. I
can feel it whining from here.
Robert’s eyes glow faintly gold; the shadows around his fingers
pulse.
Robert: It’s been restless. Balam left another body in the
Quarter. Same mark. Same message: “Still hunting, mutt.”
Bargg: He growls softly. If that vampire steps foot in my
bistro, he’ll be the entrée.
Robert: You’d crack his spine before I got a punch in.
Bargg: I’d save you the leftovers.
They clink glasses—Bargg’s mug thundering against Robert’s.
Robert: You ever get tired of carrying that crystal around? Must
be heavy knowing you’re smarter than half the city.
Bargg: Smarter than most, actually. And no, I don’t get tired.
Intelligence is like seasoning—too much ruins a dish, but just
the right amount makes it perfect. He leans in. You could use a
teaspoon or two.
Robert: He laughs. What, you offering lessons now?
Bargg: Only to friends who don’t burn the bar down. Yet.
Robert: Bargg… when I find Balam… I don’t know what’s gonna
happen. The fire feels different now. Meaner.
Bargg: His voice gentler, resonant. Fire takes the shape of your
heart, Robert. A wounded heart burns irregular. But hear me— He
taps the bar. Bargg: You’re more than rage. More than the flame.
When the time comes, you choose what you become… not him.
Robert nods slowly.
Robert: Thanks, big guy. Seriously.
Bargg: Don’t thank me. Tip me. Preferably in cash, not in
charred furniture.
Robert smirks again, flicking off the tiny stream of dark fire
swirling around his fingers.
Robert: No promises. But I’ll try.
Bargg: Good. Now finish your drink. I made a new batch of
crawfish étouffée and I need someone with no taste buds to test
it.
Robert: Hey—my taste buds work fine.
Bargg: Not after all that dark fire you swallow, they don’t.
They share a rumbling laughter as the bar lights flicker,
lanterns swaying gently, the night outside humming with bayou
wind and distant danger.
Laura: Well lookie here—if it ain’t my favorite grumpy wolf.
Cher, you tracked half the bayou in with you. You wrestlin’
gators again or just rollin’ in the mud for fun?
Robert: He cracks a faint smile. Neither. Long ride. Roads are
rough tonight.
Laura: Teasing. Mmhmm. And I’m the Queen o’ Mardi Gras. Sit your
tail down. You want your usual?
Robert: Yeah. And… maybe something for the headache.
Laura: She's already mixing. For you, that means somethin’
stronger than swamp whiskey. Headaches from the fire actin’ up
again?
Robert: It’s been restless. Feels like it keeps trying to crawl
out of my skin.
Laura slides the drink over, glowing slightly purple around the
edges.
Laura: That’s ‘cause you ain’t givin’ it an outlet, bébé. Dark
fire don’t like bein’ bottled up like bad moonshine. Needs
direction. Needs discipline. She leans in. Needs a keeper with
more sense than temper.
Robert: I’ve got plenty of sense.
Laura: Sugar, you’re a walkin’ disaster with pretty eyes. Don’t
lie to me.
Robert huffs a quiet laugh.
Robert: There’s been another body. Quarter this time. Same mark.
Balam’s getting bold.
Laura: Her smile fades, tone softens. Ah. Maudit vampire. You
sure he’s tauntin’ you? Not leadin’ you somewhere?
Robert: Feels like both.
Laura: Then you need clarity. And I don’t mean drinkin’ till the
room stops spinnin’. She taps her temple. Laura: I mean in here.
You let that fire guide you blind, you gon’ burn somethin’
important—maybe yourself.
Robert looks down, fingers twitching with faint sparks of shadow
flame.
Robert: You got a spell for clarity?
Laura: She grins again. Course I do. But it ain’t cheap. And it
ain’t painless. And it sure ain’t polite.
Robert: Sounds like everything else in my life.
Laura: Then you in luck. She steps closer, lowering her voice.
Laura: But before any spellwork, I gotta know somethin’—how far
you gon’ go when you catch him?
Robert’s gold-tinged eyes narrow with a quiet, simmering
resolve.
Robert: Far enough.
Laura whistles.
Laura: That’s what I was afraid of. She gets a bit softer.
Laura: Vengeance is a sharp stick, cher. Poke too hard, you end
up the one bleedin’.
Robert: I’m not here to be saved, Laura.
Laura: No, sugar. But you also ain’t here to die stupid. Now
drink up. Let the herbs settle. I’ll fetch what you need.
Robert: What do I owe you?
Laura: Nothin’ yet. But next full moon? She smirks slyly. Laura:
You’re helpin’ me chase off them teenage weregators tryin’ to
steal my crawfish again.
Robert: There are teenage weregators?
Laura: Oh cher… you got so much to learn about this bayou.
Robert laughs, shaking his head as Laura winks and disappears
through a bead curtain glowing with green witchlight. The jazz
shifts to a slow blues. Outside, the swamp wind howls. Inside,
Robert’s fire stirs—and begins to listen.
Name: Robert Jones
Nicknames: Rob, Robbie, Lone Wolf
Age: 33 years old
Species: Werewolf
Gender: Male
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 197 lbs
Organization: None
Family:
~ Father: Brock Jones (Deceased - Killed by Lasombra assassins)
~ Mother: Felicity Jones (Deceased - Killed by Lasombra
assassins)
~ Sister: Jessica "JJ" Jones (MIA - Disappeared while visiting
Cardiff, Wale, as part of her college credits)
~ Wife: Lauren Jones (Deceased - Killed by Balam of the Al-Masih
ad-Dajjal clan)
~ Son: Robert Jones Junior (MIA/Presumed dead - Kidnapped by
Balam of the Al-Masih ad-Dajjal clan)
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