Shayanna Fenton

Bone Gnawer Ragabash Homid



The Apocalypse

Name: Shayanna Fenton Breed: Homid Pack Name:: -
Player: Tonya Auspice: Ragabash Pack Totem: -
Chronicle: - Tribe: Bonegnawer Concept: The Runaway



Strength3 Charisma2 Perception3
Dexterity3 Manipulation2 Intelligence3
Stamina2 Appearance2 Wits4




Drive 2
Firearms 2
Repair 1
Stealth 3
Survival 2

Enigmas 3
Investigation 3
Linguistics 1 (Hobospeak)



Smell of Man
Blur of the Milky Eye
Resist Toxin




No way


No way


No way









Notes Below


I lived on the South Side of Chicago all my life. Jumping tenement building to tenement building, my mother was no good. She was always getting in trouble. She would whore, she would cook a little meth on the side with her no good friends, then should would be on the streets selling, both chemicals and body. Lets just say that I hate her.

I don’t know my dad, I did get to see him once, but I was really little. Those memories are hazy to me. He’s been living in Joliet since I was a year and a half. He’s there for 20-life for 2nd degree murder. He shot and killed a dealer for shorting him weed. Pretty lame excuse to kill someone.

I learned to steal from my mother. She would send me into stores to either distract employees or to be the one stealing. I took little things, from food, to toys and even clothing. But she was always looking for the things that she could pawn off. She needed money for drugs, I did it so I could eat.

When I was 6 my mother got busted. She was selling coke for a new boyfriend in Englewood. I was quickly scooped up by Child Services. I was sent to a home, the system is backed up pretty bad. Trust me, I know the system.

The home wasn’t bad, kids were mean, but that is how we were raised. It’s the closest to Juvee that I have been through. Fights everyday and so much crying. The crying was at night as kids either remembered parents or just out of frustration. I didn’t cry. Being in the home was better than the unheated, bug infested apartments my mom left me in. I got picked on a lot for being mixed. Yeah, my mom is white, my daddy is black. Both sides seem to think being mixed is a sign of weakness. I got into a lot of fights.

I spent 6 months in the home before a foster home was found for me. I would dream that my foster parents would live in the suburbs, I would get away from the city. No luck. I lived off of 111th st. A little further from the inner city, but still too close for tastes. They were a white couple, had two other foster kids. I stayed there, went to school. It was going pretty well till I was 10. The wife was killed in a crash off the Eisenhower.

For the next 3 years I bounced from foster house to home, to foster home. At 13, I had enough. I ran away. If your smart, you know how to get lost in the city and never be found. How to dodge cops and find a free meal. How to keep the gangs blind to your existence and now to tag along with a reliable hobo.

That’s when I found Blind Denny. He really wasn’t blind, just couldn’t see out of one eye. He was a Vietnam Vet. Crazy as shit, but mostly harmless. When people asked, he quickly became my dad. Denny taught me how to throw a punch and how to roll with one. He taught me how to survive the Chicago winters and the streets. How to panhandle in the Loop and where it was safest to sleep. He was my dad for all I care.

It was a pretty cold night. I remember that much. He sent me to a shelter, Denny cared enough about me so that I didn’t freeze to death. Shelters are packed, kids talking too loud, mothers calming upset babies. I laid on the cot, I didn’t worry about Denny, he’s slept in colder. I didn’t sleep well, but I was warm.

I returned “home.” A blood trail to the alley. I got sick and started to run. What I saw made me throw up everything I ate at the shelter. Denny had been stabbed to death, all our things gone. Never had I felt this terrible, mad, sad, sick. Never like this. I couldn’t go to the cops, CPD doesn’t give two shits about a dead homeless man.

I did some digging, for what good it did me. I found out that Denny was a Gambler, years ago a place in Kenosha Wisconsin called “The Dairyland Greyhound Park” had a hold on him. Denny loved dogs, loved them enough to take stupidly large bets out on them. Denny went to the wrong people for money. Denny didn’t win much, not enough to pay his debts. He lost everything, his home, his family, but worst of all his life.

There is a Syndicate in Chicago, on the south side of Chicago, the Chechens run it out of what looks to be a junkyard and auto repair joint. Denny owed them $5,000 in debt to them and who ever else he borrowed from. Interest had made the original loan much, much higher. That money was enough to kill a homeless man over.

I stewed over this for a few days, all I could think about was revenge. Maybe a fire, maybe an explosive, I was daydreaming at this point. But all that daydreaming led me down southside. I left my bag in a dumpster outside the business in front and I stood on the sidewalk of the front for this Syndicate’s dealings. Down on S. Pulaski. Was I stupid, suicidal, maybe both. I watched the place, watched them walk in and out of the building. I finally walked in, I had a knife.

The man upfront was gruff, he smelled, and he hated me the moment he locked eyes on me. My knife was hidden up my coat sleeve. He told me to get out, that the washrooms are for customers only. I wasn’t scared anymore, I felt hate and anger just rise up.

“I want to talk about Denny!” I demanded like I was someone to these people. He laughed, he yelled out to someone in Russian, I think and then there were more guys in the room. I was near panting.

“Tell them what you told me!” The laughed out.

“I said I wanted to talk about Denny…” My voice, once big and brave was getting smaller as I started to shrink as well. Fuck, I was going to die.

They started talking to each other. One of them grabbed me by the shoulder hard and shooked me as he laughed. I lost my hold on my knife, it fell on the floor with a clang. The room was silent. I was spun around and there was a gun in my face.

“She make pretty whore.” One of them said in a thick accent. This was worse than death.

“No…” I said in my smallest voice.

“Georgi! Come here, we got a new girl for Ria to meet!”


Fear, hate, and anger. All of them dangerous feelings.

There was blood, so much blood. I was a monster, if it was in front of me it was fucking dead. I remember ripping someone’s arm off, I remember biting someone’s face and ripping half of it off. I remember reading about Loup-Garou in school, horrible wolf monsters that roamed the night and ate people. I never dreamed that I was one. At the end of it all, I remember thinking was “Blood, blood, blood.”

It was over, I was naked. Blood from head to toe. I found the bathroom, which was customer’s only and cleaned off, I found a coat and left. I went back to my bag. I got dressed in what clothing I had left. I had 15 bucks.

I rode the “L” to get to Union station, I hopped a Metra as far east as I could, to Elburn IL. It didn’t feel like it was me walking anymore. This was flight taking over. There was a bus there, a buck to DeKalb IL, I was heading as west as I could go.

(HAHA Finished!)

Shayanna Fenton

No Really, We're Sheep TonyaBunny