James Morimoto

If it's magical and can be bought or sold, the proprietor of Falling Sun is the man to talk to...

Description:

A Japanese-American man in his late 20’s who wears power like a well-tailored suit. Sure, he had to sew every last stitch in that suit himself, in the dark, but somehow he manages to make it look good, and you’d never know it was a knockoff. He looks like a man trying to appear presentable, but is always just a bit too ragged to pull it off. His graying black hair is just a bit too long. His dark brown eyes always look like they could use more sleep. His face always has a shadow of stubble on it, which is now also beginning to gray. His clothing makes him look more like a crumpled paper parody of a successful businessman rather than the actual thing. He looks tired, like a man constantly on his guard. But, he also seems to be in control… and he is. He’s constantly maintaining at least a thin veneer of control, because he has no choice.

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ASPECTS

High Concept: Sorcerous Fence

Trouble: Demon Grudge

Other Aspects:
Shit Happens.
Magical MacGuyver.
Legality is Objective.
Good help is hard to find.
You never know what’ll come through the door…

SKILLS
Superb: Lore, Contacts {+5}
Great: Resources, Deceit {+4}
Good: Conviction, Discipline {+3}
Fair: Scholarship, Investigation {+2}
Average: Guns, Burglary {+1}

STUNTS & POWERS
Evocation {-3}
Thaumaturgy {-3}
Sight {-1}
Wizard’s Constitution {0}
Catch: Blood Magic {+1}

Rotes: None

Magical Items: Does a demon-bound building full of constantly flowing magical merchandise count?

Mundane Items of Note: A discreetly hidden army of cell phones and pagers. A matte black Walther PPK (James Bond’s gun) on a spring-loaded forearm holster (because that’s fucking cool).

Bio:

Magic was always a secret thing for James. He doesn’t go into details, but it’s clear that his parents were not pleased by his talents. In the end, he chose magic over family. It wasn’t really a choice, at least not for him. Magic was an undeniable part of him, and the choice to disown him was entirely theirs. But, old habits die hard, and one of the hardest to give up is shame. So, he still treats magic as a secret thing. A secret that’s always used at a great cost.

Hangup-inducing adolescence aside, Morimoto’s story really begins when he met the Little Boss. He was the man that could get you whatever you needed. Absolutely everyone was welcome in his establishment, so long as they could afford the merchandise. James learned everything he knows about the business from the Little Boss, and quite a bit about magic from the books and items that found their way through the shop. The only thing he wasn’t privy to was what went on in the small circular back room with the orange door. Customers would follow the Little Boss into the room, the orange door would lock, and after precisely eleven minutes of dead silence the customer would come back out, calmly heading straight for the door without ever saying a word. The Little Boss would exit a few moments later, wearing the same unreadable expression of stern serenity he always wore. No one’s exactly sure what happened between James and the Little Boss, but whatever went down was definitely not on the up-and-up. Those in the know are sure of three things: Morimoto now owns the Falling Sun Curio Shop with the Little Boss’s blessing, the Little Boss is known to have returned to Japan, and there is no longer any such bright orange door or corresponding circular room at the back of the shop. James went in the morning after the transfer of power, and the room had simply vanished. But, that’s not the strangest thing, at least not to outsiders. The weird part is the fact that absolutely no one asked any questions. Not the customers, not the White Council, not the authorities, no one who knew the Little Boss had any concerns whatsoever. They all just started treating Morimoto like he was the new boss, business as usual. James himself is silent on the issue, much to the chagrin of his curious new roommate…

Which brings us to the roommate, as James refers to it. Not much to tell, really. Ritual gone wrong, powerful demon summoned by unknown means, said demon is bound to the building itself through a little bit of patchwork magic and a metric fuck-ton of divine intervention. Now James, the demon, and the curio shop are intrinsically linked. To call the relationship unhealthy is like referring to the ocean as damp. But, like it or not, and they most assuredly do not, they’re stuck together. Those that know of the roommate never refer to James as tired-looking or worn out. To them, he looks miraculously well.

James Morimoto

Emerald City Blues Fomorian