Officer Dante Jones

Officer Jones is a 24 year old African American man with a very athletic build, dark skin, and the appearance and manner of someone who's had to grow up too fast. He shaves his head completely, keeps his uniform clean and in order, and stands an imposing 6' even. His face is young, but his voice is deep and authoritative; when he tells a perp to put their hands up in his light Southern drawl mixed with a street accent, they damn well better listen up.

Dante regularly attends church on Sundays, and will offer to carpool with other Catholic officers. He wears a cross necklace, along with two sets of dog tags under his uniform, and sometimes produces a set of rosary beads from a pocket when his hands are idle.

In 2003, an article in the New Orleans papers ran, detailing the story of the Jones brothers -- Dante and his brother Armand -- and their fight for survival serving their country in the US Army during the invasion of Iraq. A smaller version was included in the Boston Globe, New York Times, and USA Today. Anyone who read the paper might remember Dante's face, along with the photograph of his receipt of the Silver Star for his rescue of injured members of his convoy after it had been struck by an RPG, and his Purple Heart awarded for suffering a supposedly crippling leg injury from shrapnel. They might also remember Armand's posthumous receipt of the Silver Star, as he was declared DOA after being pulled back to base by his brother. Anyone who brings the event up gets a disingenuous smile and a "That was a while ago." He walks a little more pointedly than most people, but he's made an incredible recovery and can move almost exactly how he could beforehand.

Officer Jones has been with the force since 2005, first serving as part of the Louisiana/New Orleans Hurricane Katrina recovery effort, and most recently as a tactical asset in the siege of the BPD central precinct. In the field, his military training keeps him level-headed and detail-oriented. When forced to discharge his weapon, his shots are quick and lethal; in melee, he is nothing short of efficient. He has not yet received any reprimands for some of his more brutal takedowns.

Despite being still in his mid-20s, Officer Dante Jones has the bearing of someone who has grown up too fast out of necessity and hardship. It's always been there, perhaps whispered about by his peers -- a slightly vacant stare during times of stress or when exposed to serious gore, an unusually weathered face better suited to someone in their 30s or 40s, and a rigid posture even when "at ease." Lately, that look has deepened: when it is time to get things done, Dante goes cold, mechanical, by-the-numbers. His eyes gather in his surroundings constantly, as if looking for potential threats and exits. Some people say the job is getting at him, while others have gossiped he might be suffering from untreated PTSD due to his time in Iraq.

Regardless, Dante still tries to be buddy-buddy with his coworkers and community. Around the office, he can be seen playing a pick-up game at the local basketball court, talking fantasy football with other cops, and he makes a point to bring whoever's working the front desk their favorite beverage when he arrives in the morning. In the field and around town he's been known to volunteer at a church-sponsored soup kitchen and homeless shelter, started a Bible Study group at Biloxi High School, and tries to get to know the people who live around the area of his beat.

But whenever he's at Mac's, Dante sometimes seems to go through at least one more drink than he intends to. He stares into the bottle under it's drained and sits quietly toying with his rosary beads. After a particularly rough case or when something doesn't go right, he gets very quiet and finds a secluded place to be alone. There's talk that some folks have heard him crying in the locker room when he thinks he's alone, but it hasn't come up -- the last person who asked him about it came in the next day with a black eye and a broken nose; no charges were pressed.

When things get really stressful, Dante gets a terrible piercing pain in his lower abdomen. Anyone who's seen him shirtless can see a nasty-looking scar in that area.

After a particularly grueling personal struggle, Dante has returned to his work with a renewed sense of resolve and dedication to the force. Where there was doubt there is now distinct confidence, though some question how genuine that is. There are rumors going around that Dante is preparing to take the Detective's Exam, and he can be seem studying from a thick binder in his spare time.

Anyone scrutinizing Dante's aura notices a distinct change. Previously, his aura had sparkled like gold dust. Now it is replaced by the distinctly bright shimmering of an Awakened aura.

Those who can see his Nimbus see: bright sparks like those of a fire being started dance around Dante's head; eyes glowing like blue fire; his body glows like it's filled with a roaring but controlled fire; the immediate area seems to come to a perfect, silent standstill like the split second before the world comes crashing down; and there is a low, resonant, beatific chorus of chanting in High Speech, repeating words related to the spell being cast, that sounds like a thousand angels praying.