Occupation / Day-to-Day Role: Saints interrogator, collector, security, and muscle. Felix is usually used for jobs that require pressure: getting answers, making threats believable, collecting what is owed, watching doors, handling difficult people, and making sure a conversation ends the way the Saints need it to.
Connection to The Saints: Felix is a long-term Saints associate who was pulled into Ray Donnelly’s orbit young through Dex Cassidy. He became trusted for intimidation, collections, interrogation, and controlled violence. He is not someone who knows every part of the operation, but he knows enough people, jobs and debts to be dangerous.
ROLE IN THE RP
Felix is close to the Saints’ inner pressure. He grew up in Redwick, came up rough, and became useful young because he already understood how to survive people worse than him. Through Dex, he was brought around Ray and eventually became one of the men Ray could send when fear, focus, and silence were needed.
Now that Ray is gone, Felix is one of the people most likely to move instead of panic. He is working with Roxy and Dom to figure out what happened to Ray, where Dex and Santiago may have gone, and who is using the Ledger to turn the city against itself. His loyalty is complicated, though. Felix may want answers, but his first priority is keeping himself and Roxy alive.
RAY DONNELLY
Ray was protection, opportunity, and a cage all at once. Felix was close to him through work, trust and a dark kind of loyalty. Ray trusted Felix to handle ugly things because Felix could be brutal without being careless.
Felix respected Ray but part of him also resented the life that he could not easily leave. In his quieter moments, Felix knows that if he had been born into anything else, Ray and Ray’s world would not have had a place in it. But Felix also knows where his protection came from, and Red City does not forgive men who forget that.
CURRENT SITUATION
Since Ray’s disappearance, Felix has taken it upon himself to start digging. He is working with Roxy and Dom to find out what happened to Ray, but he is just as concerned with figuring out where Dex Cassidy and Santiago Alvarez have disappeared to. Their absence does not feel like coincidence, and Felix is smart enough to know that anyone connected to all three men could become useful, blamed, or dead.
He is watching the Saints fracture in real time and trying not to let anyone see how much he understands the danger. Other people may be chasing truth, revenge, power, or proof. Felix is chasing survival first. If the truth helps protect him and Roxy, he will find it. If it threatens them, he may bury it before anyone else gets the chance.
USEFULNESS
Felix is useful because he notices things other people miss. He is observant, focused, and very good at reading fear, lies, hesitation, and the moment someone is about to break. He knows how collections work, how to apply pressure, and how to make someone understand consequences without wasting time.
He is also useful because he knows people the Saints have hurt. Debtors, witnesses, runners, people he collected from, people he scared into silence, people he helped hide, and possibly people he was sent to kill. Felix may not know the entire Saints operation, but he has seen enough of its damage from close range to recognize patterns. He is the kind of man who can walk into a room and know whether someone is lying, armed, desperate, or already planning to run.
PRESSURE POINT
Roxy Rose is Felix’s biggest pressure point. He may be cynical, guarded, and hard to scare for himself, but anyone who understands his relationship with Roxy would know where to press. Threatening her, framing her, using her past jobs against her, or forcing Felix to choose between her and the Saints could make him dangerous fast.
His other pressure point is the life he never got to have. Felix does not talk about regret, but there is a bitterness in him about how young he was when Red City started making choices for him. He is also vulnerable to old jobs resurfacing, especially collections or interrogations that went too far. The Ledger could make him look like a loyal Saints weapon, even if the truth is more complicated.
OLD JOB / OLD INCIDENT
A few years ago, Felix was sent to collect from a man named Eddie Callan, a low-level runner who had lost money, misplaced a package, and lied badly enough that Ray wanted an example made. The order was clear enough that Felix understood what was supposed to happen. Eddie was meant to disappear, and Felix was meant to make sure nobody came looking.
But Eddie had a younger sister in the next room, and Felix saw too much of himself in the apartment: no food, bad heat, a kid pretending not to listen, and a man who was more stupid than treacherous. Felix beat Eddie just to sell the story, took what cash he could find, and told him to leave Redwick before sunrise. Officially, Eddie was handled. In reality, Felix let him live.
Who else might know? Roxy may suspect Felix did not finish the job, even if he never said it outright. Dex may have known enough to cover the gap. Eddie Callan, if he is still alive, definitely knows. A Ledger page could list the job as a completed kill, which would be dangerous if Eddie suddenly resurfaced.
Does Felix regret it, defend it, or avoid thinking about it? Felix avoids thinking about it. He would not call it mercy, because mercy sounds too soft and makes him feel stupid. He would say Eddie was not worth the cleanup. Deep down, he knows that is not the whole truth.
THE LEDGER
What could the page potentially involve? Felix could be named in connection with collections, interrogations, intimidation jobs, missing debtors, violent recoveries, or people who changed their stories after being alone in a room with him. A Ledger page could list him as muscle attached to Ray, Dex, or certain old Saints jobs. It could also falsely imply he killed Eddie Callan, or correctly connect him to a job where someone was badly injured and later disappeared.
What is the truth behind it, if any? The truth is likely mixed. Felix has hurt people for the Saints. He has collected debts, threatened witnesses, interrogated runners, and done work that would look damning on paper because it was damning. But the Ledger may flatten him into something simpler than he is: Ray’s attack dog, a killer, a man who always followed orders. That is not entirely true. Felix has followed plenty of orders, but not all of them. If the Ledger names him, the danger is not just exposure. It is that people may come after him for things he did, things he refused to do, and things someone else wants pinned to his name.
RELATIONSHIPS
Roxy Rose: Felix’s long term romantic partner and one of the few people who can get under his skin without immediately being pushed out. Their relationship is intense, dangerous, and built on a shared understanding of violence, loyalty, and bad instincts. Felix wants to protect her, but he also knows Roxy is not someone who can simply be protected without consequences.
Ray Donnelly: Former boss, protector, and source of complicated loyalty. Felix respected Ray and worked closely enough with him to be trusted, but he never fully loved the cage Ray’s world built around him.
Dex Cassidy: Dex was the person who helped pull Felix into Ray’s orbit. Felix sees him as a contact, half-mentor and someone who knows too much about where Felix came from and what he has done.
Dom: Felix is currently working with Dom to investigate Ray’s disappearance and the wider fallout. Their dynamic can work well if Dom has skills Felix lacks.
Santiago Alvarez:
Santiago matters because his disappearance feels connected to Ray and Dex. Felix may know him through Saints vehicle jobs, cleanup work, or jobs that passed through Alvarez Auto Body.
Eddie Callan: A man Felix was supposed to make disappear, but didn’t. Eddie is dangerous not because he is powerful, but because he is living proof that Felix disobeyed an order and lied about it.
Connection ideas wanted: Someone Felix collected from who now wants revenge. A Saints member who thinks Felix knows more about Ray than he is saying. A debtor who is terrified of him. Someone who mistakes his restraint for kindness. Someone who knows Felix and Roxy are each other’s weak spot. A cop trying to connect him to old interrogations.
PERSONALITY
Felix is intense, observant, and restrained. He does not waste words, energy, or movement unless there is a reason. Around strangers, he can feel almost unreadable: quiet, sharp-eyed, and uncomfortably good at making people feel studied. He is capable of brutality, but he is not chaotic with it. His violence is controlled, focused, and usually purposeful.
He is cynical and more careless with consequences than he should be, though not because he is stupid. Felix is smarter than he often lets on. He is quick-thinking, street smart, and good at understanding how people work. He can also be morbid, sarcastic, dryly funny, and a little boyish when he wants to provoke someone for the sake of it.
There is a part of him that acts like nothing matters because admitting something does would give people leverage. Unfortunately for Felix, plenty of things matter. He just prefers to look bored, annoyed, or vaguely amused until someone makes the mistake of thinking that means he is not paying attention.
BIOGRAPHY
Felix has lived in Redwick all his life. He grew up half-known and half-forgotten, passed in and out of the care system with very little to hold onto except the fact that nobody was coming to save him. He does not really know his parents. All he knows is that his mother was an addict and his father was some kind of criminal, though he never had names solid enough to chase.
As a kid, Felix became one of Red City’s street urchins: hungry, sharp, watchful, and used to slipping through places adults pretended not to see. Crime came early because it was practical before it was anything else. He learned how to steal, run, lie, take a hit, and spot danger before danger spotted him.
Dex Cassidy eventually brought him into Ray Donnelly’s orbit. From there, Felix worked his way up by being useful in the ways Red City rewards: he could scare people, hurt people, watch people, and keep his mouth shut. Ray saw that Felix had a natural intensity and, more importantly, control. Over time, Felix became trusted with collections, interrogations, security, and the jobs where violence needed to be possible but not messy.
That life protected him, fed him, and trapped him. Felix knows all three things are true. Now Ray is gone, Dex is missing, Santiago is missing, the Ledger is turning old secrets into weapons, and Felix is trying to figure out which parts of his life are about to come back for him.
Bunny decides Felix's Sunday routine is offensive because it's not immediately about her. The whiskey is fine, she supposes. The jazz is also fine, all low and moody and smug from the record player. Even the book would be fine too if Felix looked at it a little less. She has been on his couch for long enough now, one bare leg stretched along the cushion, silk slip riding prettily at her thigh, and he has looked at her exactly enough times to prove he can see her and not nearly enough times to prove he understands the situation.
So, of course, Bunny entertains herself by becoming gradually worse. She takes a sip of his whiskey and makes a small, disgusted sound before setting the glass down too close to the edge of the table. Then she moves it half an inch closer because apparently she has to create stakes herself. She wanders to the shelves and starts turning little objects around. A lighter faces the wrong way. A book is pulled out, judged by its cover, and pushed back upside down. She pauses in front of the record player and leans down like she is inspecting the spinning vinyl.
"Is this a miserable one on purpose, or do they all sound like someone got divorced in a hotel bar?" she asks, not looking at him. Because looking at him would make it too obvious that the question is bait. She drifts back past him, slow and pointed, catching her foot lightly against the edge of the rug. The gasp she lets out is tiny yet theatrical but even that does not produce the correct level of alarm. So, after a soft huff, Bunny lowers herself onto the arm of his chair instead of the very available couch, close enough that her knee brushes his sleeve. She reaches over to turn one page back in his book with grave concentration. "Sorry." she says, voice sweet and completely unserious. "I wasn't done with that part."
Truthfully, Felix had stopped paying attention to his book three pages ago. Josef K. was somewhere in a building, searching for justice or his sanity, while Felix was far more invested in discovering how long Bunny could survive without immediate, devoted attention before she combusted entirely. It was cute, really. The way she seemed to think her existence was not already built around being constantly adored. Perhaps she didn't know that he liked it. Or, perhaps she did. Which was worse because it meant she was not merely dramatic but also strategically correct.
Either way, Felix considered every foot stomp and wounded pout a personal achievement. And it was heading that way now. He pretended to read while watching her make a casual little assault on his bookshelf, shifting spines by fractions as though rearranging his possessions might summon him into caring. Admittedly, that did annoy him, but he committed himself to the performance of disinterest and would not be defeated by a badly handled first edition.
He even ignored her question about jazz, which took more discipline than anyone would ever thank him for. Because no, not all jazz sounded miserable. Only an untrained ear could mistake complexity for suffering. At most, his brow lifted, and he glanced over just in time to catch the wounded-deer act she performed at the edge of the rug. Felix immediately bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.
Instead, he tilted his head and watched as she approached, all injured dignity and obvious intent, then perched herself beside him as if the sudden interest in his book had come from a deep scholarly hunger and not from a terminal lack of worship. When she reached over to turn the page, Felix did not look down. He watched her hand, then her face, faintly amused, and angled the book toward her as though he genuinely believed she meant to read it. He waited just long enough for the silence to become irritating again.
"Are you pretending to be interested in Kafka so that I don't think you're jealous of a paperback?" he finally said, still amused. Still watching her. He let his eyes flick over her features, just for a second, before they landed back on her gaze. "There are less humiliating ways to ask me to look at you."
sebastian's smug grin stays exactly where it is as felix speaks and his eyes stay on the ranstrom over the rim of his glass, watching the mild panic move behind felix's eyes while he insists he only passed the room and saw madi and bunny in hysterics. which, unfortunately, sounds entirely believable. his sisters are very capable women, both of them, but they do have a gift for turning any room into either a tribunal or a crime scene. sometimes both.
'well, that'll do it.' sebastian says, dry and simple, mostly because he's enjoying being unhelpful far too much. felix deserves a taste of his own medicine now and then and preferably while sebastian gets to smirk into his drink. he's just about to drop the act, only slightly, just enough to admit that he simply does not have it in him to rush to his sisters' aid every time they have some overwhelming emotional bonding moment. or argument. or both at the same time, which is usually how these things go. but then felix seems to detach from the entire thing in front of him, and sebastian pauses, faintly thrown by how quickly he shifts from fierce determination to the cool suggestion that none of it has mattered to him for even a second.
and then felix says it. katherine beecham. sebastian's grin smooths out immediately into something far less smug. not gone, exactly, because pride remains a dreadful little instinct, but it's smaller. a little tighter. he looks away from felix and scans the party instead, as if the room has suddenly become fascinating. 'they're pleasant enough.' he says with a shrug, the sort of shrug a child gives when he has decided to be contrary even if it ruins his own afternoon. 'a few of them are into politics, nothing major.' which is, of course, an insane thing to say about the beechams.
he finishes his drink slowly, because rushing would be embarrassing and because he refuses to give felix the pleasure of seeing the exact moment a beecham-shaped problem arranges itself in his head. only then does sebastian turn back to him, expression light again by force of habit, the concern dressed up neatly as a curious afterthought. 'so whereabouts is this rug, then?'
Of course Felix saw it. The exact moment realization moved across Sebastian's face. It wasn't subtle, either, despite whatever Westwood breeding tried to convince him that an expression could be buried under good posture and a drink in hand. It was not panic, unfortunately, nor even urgency. But there was a definite flicker of consciousness behind the eyes. Felix hid his satisfaction behind a sip of his drink, because smugness, like arson, was most elegant when no one could prove intent.
"Ah, politics." he agreed with a mild nod. "Of course." his gaze drifted away for a moment, as though the thought only just wandered into the room. "Although, now that I think about it, Beecham does sound familiar. Wouldn't suppose they're those Beechams forever photographed within breathing distance of the Home Secretary, making noises about business rates, would you?" he glanced back at Sebastian, expression blank, voice almost bored.
This was exactly the kind of moment where Felix usually liked to kick himself, because technically, he had won. Sebastian had conceded, however subtly, and was now asking after the damned rug with something approaching interest. But Felix, being a man of principle when the principle was spite, decided to drag it out a little longer. "Oh, don't worry about it." he said, far too pleasantly. "You've convinced me I was prematurely concerned. I actually think you're right. Madi and Bunny do this often enough that it's become a sort of girls who cried wolf situation." his grin came slow then, crooked and much too pleased with itself. "Or bear."
Ah, New York. It isn’t Max’s favourite city, not by any sincere metric, but it does have the decency to contain some of his favourite people. A few decent hotels. A few excellent bars. A few private rooms where the lighting forgives almost everything. So he can forgive New York in return, if only temporarily. Even now, he cuts through the outdoor seating with all the confidence of someone assuming that paths are meant to clear for him, as he finds one of those favourite people sitting in daylight. His cousin. Or rather, the crime against nature itself. Max slows beside Felix’s table and looks him over with open, theatrical disapproval.
“Without fail, seeing you in daylight is like seeing a dog on its hind legs. Technically impressive, but ultimately odd. You always look out of place, Felix. Like someone reanimated you and propped you up in a suit.” he drags the opposite chair back and it screams against the pavement with a horrible metallic scrape that makes someone nearby glance over their menu. Max does not apologise, he just drops into the chair with a smug little grin. “How have you been?” he asks, and then nods straight to Felix’s hand. Never mind the fact there's no ring there. “Oh, before I forget. Congratulations.” And just like that, Max then claps his hands together and rubs them, brightening at once.
“Anyway. More importantly, the club.” his grin returns, alive with terrible purpose. “There’s this marble I want from somewhere inconvenient. Maybe just for the bar. Or the toilets as well, depending how much we can get hold of without committing an actual crime.” A pause. “Or with one. I’m open.” He leans back, eyes narrowing as the idea rearranges itself in real time in his brain. “Do we think Bunny could get her aunt Tabs on the phone? She knows people, doesn’t she? People with quarries.” his fingers tap once against the table. “Oh. What about Lia? Lia would know a marble…” He pauses, frowns. “Artist? Is that a thing?” @manybcdthings
The sight of Max was enough to draw a slow grin to the corner of Felix's mouth, brief and just as quickly corrected. His cousin's sudden appearances were, strangely, always welcome. Though of course Max Nilsson could overstay that welcome quite quickly. But Felix did not hold this against him. Most people, in Felix's view, became exhausting eventually. Max simply had the courtesy to do it loudly enough that one could prepare. He watched his younger cousin cut through the café seats, forcing lunching strangers to tuck in chairs, lift bags, and compress themselves into smaller versions of their own lives just to let him pass.
Felix, naturally, showed no true enthusiasm. He only flicked ash from his cigarette, kept his sunglasses on, and suppressed the smallest laugh at Max's greeting. "Well, I feel as tortured as a dog on its hind legs, so perhaps that's where you can find the similarities." he said, dryly amused despite himself. "But at the end of the day, are we not all just doing tricks for measly treats?" Felix's gaze followed the odd little nod Max gave to his left hand, and it took him a second to remember that it actually had a specific target and was not simply one of Max's more abstract social gestures. His engagement. Felix let out a soft huff and rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. "You were at our engagement party, you utter moron. You've already congratulated us."
The dry amusement remained as Max then launched into some obsessive ramble about marble, of all things. Felix let him speak even as he brushed a hand down the front of his shirt, adjusted the coffee cup in front of him by a fraction, took another drag from his cigarette, and allowed his attention to wander just far enough to be insulting without being openly rude. When Max finally finished and looked at him with the bright, expectancy of a man who believed he had just said something not only coherent but vital, Felix tilted his head slightly.
"You can't afford it." he said. Definitive. Immediate. Delivered with that calm Ranstrom certainty. Like he had already run the numbers and weighed the liabilities. Felix had done no such thing, of course. He was good, certainly, but he was not clairvoyant, and he hadn't looked at the club's budget for... well, months. In fact, he was fairly sure it had gone over budget within the first week of renovations. This was less a financial concern than an aesthetic inevitability, since men with money and vision tended to treat budgets as decorative objects. Like younger girlfriends.
Realistically, Felix knew the budget did not need to exist at all. Still. A structure was useful, if only because it gave him something to kick. "I'd be willing to invest more to cover it, of course." he added, as if generosity had just suddenly occurred to him and was not, in fact, extortion. "But we'd be looking at forty five percent. At least."
ignoring felix ranstrom is a bit like trying to ignore a six foot four viking standing directly in your peripheral vision. impossible, really. sebastian sees the shift of his giant shadow across the room before he properly looks over, and he can already guess the expression waiting for him there. focused. immovable. deeply unfortunate for whoever becomes the problem attached to it. apparently tonight, that's him. sebastian barely glances at him for more than a second before lifting his drink instead, already half waiting for whatever disaster is about to be explained to him. honestly, with bunny involved, the possibilities are endless.
though admittedly, even he wasn't expecting both sisters. 'now, how on earth did you make them both cry?' he asks, like the answer could possibly be anything other than alcohol, emotional oversharing, and the general intensity that seems to overtake westwood women once they pass a certain number of martinis. he keeps his expression mostly neutral as felix elaborates further. the bear rug. the vomit. madisyn and bunny apparently deteriorating somewhere within the vicinity. all sebastian can do is sigh. 'i'm not carrying madisyn through this party while you carry bunny,' he says, already mildly horrified by the image alone. 'who, we both know, will be screaming at everybody we have to walk through.' another sip of his drink follows, entirely unhelpful.
'just lure them out quietly and let somebody else discover the vomit tomorrow morning.' sebastian adds, and the corner of his mouth twitches with a grin. 'also, i'm not sure why you've decided this should involve me at all.' he reaches over to pat felix once against the shoulder with deeply insincere sympathy. 'good luck, chap. you got this. just remember, it's what you proposed to.'
Felix had to admit, privately and with no intention of recording it anywhere useful, that he may have overestimated Sebastian Westwood's capacity for concern. In hindsight, now that Sebastian appeared in no immediate rush to peel either of his sisters off a vomit covered bear rug, Felix could see where he had gone wrong. It was possible, he supposed, that having Bunny and Madi as sisters had simply ruined a man's emergency response system over time. There had likely been rehearsals. Drills. Entire ruined evenings lost to this exact genre of catastrophe.
For one brief second, Felix almost sympathized with him. "Well, of course I didn't do anything to make them cry, Sebastian. I walked by and found them howling on a rug." Felix explained, with only the faintest thread of exhaustion showing through. "There's a difference. A small one, perhaps, but I imagine the courts would respect it." and that was where the sympathy for Sebastian ended. He blinked at Sebastian, unimpressed. "I only proposed to one of them, which, if we're being technical, would make Madisyn your problem and Isabella mine." Then, Felix decided to wash his hands of the entire situation.
Fine.
If Sebastian Westwood did not care about two wailing Westwood sisters collapsed on decorative wildlife, then Felix saw no reason to be the last man standing on the sinking ship of basic human decency. He gave a single shrug, careless, then reached for a nearby drink and settled himself beside Sebastian. He took a sip. Scanned the room with bored attention before his gaze returned to Sebastian. Quietly scrutinizing. Because Felix believed that most people, like most markets, only required a little pressure before they could fall into place. "Did you know Kitty's real name is Katherine Beecham?" he asked, his tone slipping into something painfully casual, all forced lightness with a smug little hook beneath it. He let that sit there. Just for a moment. Then he took another sip and gave Sebastian another innocent shrug, which was, of course, the least innocent kind. "Madi was saying something about it earlier, but I'll admit, I don't really know much about you Brits. What are the Beecham's like? Nice?"
felix ranstrom and the westwoods @gloriouswhispers
The music was abysmal.
Not dramatically abysmal, which at least might have offered the room some personality, but practically abysmal. A relentless, monotonous drumbeat that bled into every song until the entire evening began to feel like one long, expensive mistake. Deep house, apparently. Music without personality, without shame, without any clear evidence of wanting to be something, which Felix thought suited SoHo rather beautifully. A place where people pretended to be interesting deserved a drumbeat that pretended to be useful. Its only real function seemed to be producing headaches and making time collapse in on itself, though Felix supposed, if he wanted to be generous, warping time was not the least impressive achievement in the world.
Unfortunately, he had more important matters to attend to. Namely, hunting down Sebastian Westwood with the kind of sharp, undeviating focus that suggested an emergency had occurred and that someone, somewhere, had made the grave administrative error of involving Felix in it. To his credit, none of this showed on his face. His expression remained blank, the particular dissociative little mask he put on the moment he entered a room. The only betrayal was the urgency in his stare, and possibly the fact that he was approaching Sebastian at all, considering they had both done the mature and merciful thing some time ago and agreed to give each other a fairly wide berth.
"Both of your sisters are crying." Felix said once close enough. Simple. Efficient. Almost civic-minded. He did not blink. "And both of them appear to have collapsed on a genuine bear rug." he added, looking Sebastian square in the eye, because there were moments in life when a man needed to understand the full weight of his own bloodline. "A bear rug which also seems to have acquired a rather impressive amount of vomit." Felix gave a small nod, as if confirming a figure in a report. Yes, Sebastian. This is your problem too.
"Now, the one I'm engaged to, I can carry." he continued, with the calm of discussing logistics rather than a scene involving tears, taxidermy, and rather pink-colored chunky liquids. "But I can't quite drag the other one out with me at the same time. Not to mention the fact that..." he gestured vaguely around them, taking in the apartment, the crowd, the witnesses, the eager little machinery of gossip already oiling itself in the corners. "That's not quite a rumor I'm in the mood for."
Felix is the youngest son of the Ranstrom family and the brother of Oskar Ranstrom. Raised within the world of Zenith Capital Management, Felix grew up surrounded by wealth, expectation, discipline, and the constant weight of family legacy.
Felix has always had a difficult relationship with that legacy because he has never been able to stomach the emotional coldness that came with it. To Felix, the Ranstrom family has always been too controlled, too restrained, and too emotionally stunted for its own good.
He grew up resenting the way feelings were buried under duty, image, strategy, and silence. Rather than become polished by that world, Felix chose to become difficult within it. He is rebellious, sharp, sarcastic, and intentionally troublesome. Felix knows exactly how to get under people’s skin, and often does so simply because he can.
He can be charming when he wants to be, but he is just as often a shit-stirrer and an instigator very little interest in making people comfortable. His sarcasm is both a weapon and a defense mechanism, used to keep people at a distance before they can see too much.
Felix purposefully tore himself away from Zenith and refuses to work within the company, despite the expectations attached to his name. However, leaving Zenith did not mean leaving the game entirely. Instead, Felix uses his money to invest privately, often in businesses, ventures, or clients that interfere with his family’s interests. Whether through spite, strategy, boredom, or unresolved attachment, Felix has made a habit of circling Zenith from the outside. He claims he wants nothing to do with the family business, yet continues to provoke it whenever the opportunity presents itself.
His relationship with his father, Olaf Ranstrom, was deeply fractured. Felix and Olaf never managed to resolve what sat between them, and Olaf’s death a year ago left Felix with no chance to fix it. That lack of closure has affected Felix more than he is willing to admit. Olaf’s death forced Felix to become painfully aware of the cracks in his relationships with both Agneta and Oskar. He still resents his mother and brother, but there is now regret underneath the anger. Felix is conscious of how much time can be wasted pretending not to care, even if he continues to do exactly that.
His relationship with Oskar is tense, competitive, and emotionally loaded. Oskar sees Felix as wasted potential, while Felix sees Oskar as proof of what the Ranstrom legacy does to people. With Agneta, Felix is defiant and difficult, often pushing her away before she can make him feel judged, disappointed, or unwanted. Despite his insistence that he has freed himself from the family, Felix remains deeply shaped by them.
He is engaged to Bunny, and their relationship is intense, impulsive, passionate, and deeply enabling. Felix and Bunny only began dating six months ago, but their connection moved quickly, almost recklessly so. Together, they encourage each other’s worst instincts. They disappear for days at a time, avoid responsibilities, ignore calls, skip obligations, and treat consequence like something that only happens to other people. Their relationship is fast-paced, consuming, and difficult for either family to control. Felix loves Bunny’s chaos because it feels like freedom, but he is also terrified by how much he needs her. Beneath the recklessness, Felix has an underlying fear of losing her.
"Hey, slow the hell down." Hunter hissed and caught the blur of Alfie just before the kid made his getaway, hand snapping out and grabbing a fistful of his shirt. He yanked him back hard enough to undo all that momentum in one go, damn near pulled him clean off the trailer steps. Graceful, it was not. Effective, though. And that was usually enough for Hunter. "Change a'plans, boy." he said as he let go, giving his son's shirt a quick, rough straightening that probably only made it worse.
He looked pleased with himself already, nodding toward his truck with a smug grin flickering over his lips. "You're gonna see what a real day's work looks like." he went on, digging out his cigarettes and biting one free from the pack. "Been talkin' to your mama, and she says she's about sick of you layin' around smellin' like onions and ass, playin' that damn game station all day."
A nudge sent Alfie toward the bitch seat before Hunter wandered off toward the driver's door, already halfway done with the conversation. "You're a man now, Alf. Ain't no man settin' around bein' a lazy son of a bitch." he paused just as he yanked open the driver's door, eyes locking with Alfie's over the top of the truck. "And ain't no real man workin' some pussy job at the burger shack neither."
hey look, there’s Ethan Jones, a 62 year old mechanic from Atlanta GA, somehow managing to be protective, fair, and loyal while also being outspoken, witty and a little too wise for their own good.
hey look, there’s Hunter Cross a 36 year old construction worker / criminal from Atlanta, GA somehow managing to be loyal, instinctive, and protective while also being painfully argumentative, chronically disagreeable, and a little too aggressive for their own good.
Father to Alfie
Also father to two other boys who live with their mothers. (Axel, 6 and Nash 4). Jokes those are the ones he knows about.
hey look, there’s Felix Stone, a 32 year old ex-criminal from Atlanta, GA, somehow managing to be intense, protective, and cynical while also being loyal, confrontational, and a little too sarcastic for their own good.
In and out of the care system while growing up
Went down a route of drugs and crime cycle
Life has only improved since his relationship with Astra and becoming a father to Nova, three years ago. However, there's times he has subtle relapses or flies a little too close to the sun.
Helps out with Evie at the bar, and tries to take on above board work where he can. Usually falls into old habits for fast cash
hey look, there’s Dusty Anderson, a 34 year old from Atlanta, GA, somehow managing to be outgoing, loyal and eccentric while also being irresponsible, reckless, and a little too chaotic for their own good.
Same Dusty
Disappears for weeks or even months
Never has a job but always somehow finds a way to make money
Finding Dex wasn't difficult. Hunters weren't always imaginative enough for that, after all. Between the too much training and too much repetition, habits stopped being a choice and became a default instead. Which was why, when the old training space came into view, Felix almost laughed. The warehouse looked exactly the same. Still decaying, slow and stubborn. He'd spent more time here than he liked to admit. Enough that the place didn't feel unfamiliar so much as…unfinished. And for a second, it was easy to picture Caleb coming through that door, grinning, knuckles split, like nothing had ever gone wrong.
Felix didn't linger on that. His gaze settled on the door instead, steady, a slow breath pulling through his lungs before he moved again. Inside, he didn't bother softening his steps. The sound of his boots carried easily across the floor, deliberate as he let the rhythm fall out of sync with the steady thud of Dex's punches against the bag. Subtle, but enough. A warning, not a surprise. Not that it mattered. He knew Dex had probably clocked him already. He slowed near the edge of the ring and he didn't rush to fill the silence either. What was there to say? He left. That tended to simplify things.
Felix's eyes met Dex's, and the quiet stretched just long enough to feel loaded. There was no easy version of this. Whatever was there before hadn't softened with time, it had just settled and hardened into something less forgiving. Felix gave a slight nod. Subtle and quick. Not a greeting but an acknowledgement. Then, finally, he spoke. "I need to know what you've been seeing." his words came out flat and controlled, stripped of anything unnecessary as his attention drifted briefly across the half ruined warehouse. "This doesn't need to be a long conversation."
Comes across as cold, aloof, and emotionally distant
Dry, often sarcastic
Highly observant, always reading situations and people
Efficient and capable, rarely wastes movement or words
Protective by instinct, especially toward those he considers his own
Quietly loyal, but that loyalty is now selective
Carries a constant underlying tension
Current Position:
Currently in New York City
Staying with an old contact, the Witch in Exile
Recently turned away from Asphodel when seeking help
Operating independently, no longer part of the Hunter’s Guild
Actively trying to figure out next steps regarding Astra and Nova
Being pulled back into a world he deliberately stepped away from
Background (optional):
Abandoned as a child and later adopted by a hunter family. Raised entirely within the Guild’s structure and expectations
Formed a hunter pairing with Caleb Graav, their relationship closer to brothers
Known as efficient, perceptive, and highly reliable in the field
Began to grow disillusioned over time. He oticed the Guild disregarding Asphodel warnings out of pride. Field missions becoming less transparent and harder to prepare for. Increasing inconsistencies in information and reports
Final breaking point was when a mission went wrong and Caleb was killed. Felix lost all trust in the Guild and abandoned it entirely
Since leaving he worked as an independent hunter. He frequently interfered with Guild operations to be intentionally disruptive. He avoided crossing the line into being labelled rogue
Met Astra in New Orleans, they now have a daughter, Nova
Has become more settled, but never fully removed from his past
Came to NYC due to the growing instability and concern for Astra and Nova
Beliefs / Perspective (optional):
Deep distrust of both the Hunter’s Guild and Asphodel
More willing to work with independent supernaturals than institutions
Views threats in practical terms
Strong protective instinct toward Astra and Nova overrides everything
Would prioritize their safety over any wider consequences
Sees the veil as an energy field rather than something symbolic or mythical
Has little interest in theories, beliefs, or interpretations
Looking for solutions more than answers
Notes (optional):
Still heavily shaped by Guild conditioning despite leaving it
Conflict between instinct (eliminate threats) and current situation (unclear threat)
His presence alone can create tension with Guild-aligned characters
Likely to clash with those who hesitate to act
Sarcasm often masks frustration, grief, or restraint
Not openly emotional, but deeply affected by past loss
Bunny doesn't even mean to say anything when she spots him. Truly. There is a version of this moment in another universe where she keeps walking, minding her business like a perfectly normal person. A perfectly normal person who has absolutely never made a catastrophically bad decision involving Felix Ranstrom. But unfortunately for her, that version lasts all of half a second. "Felix, you literally look insane." the words slip out before she can stop them, a note of exhaustion underneath. Though whether that's from him, from herself, or from the memory of the other night has been sitting quietly at the back of her mind is...unclear.
Her gaze drags over him anyway. Briefly. A little too briefly, actually. Like her brain suddenly remembers her eyes should not look as if they're appreciating a thing. But she looks just enough to take in whatever the hell it is he's wearing. Which appears to be some kind of aggressively historical ensemble that looks like it was stolen directly from a very specific, very unsettling branch of his family tree.
Right. Great. Looking at him was a mistake. Speaking to him? Even worse. Rookie mistake, Bunny. Still, a small, stubborn part of her insists that the more they act like nothing happened, the more true it might eventually feel. And really, what is more normal than pointing out when Felix is being completely absurd in public? It's his whole thing. "What the hell is this?" she asks, her hand lifting in a vague, disbelieving gesture at his outfit, like it might explain itself. She doesn't think she's ever seen a suit that looks quite so…German. Unless in one of those documentaries.
"Did you hear the Baumann's are in the city for Harcourt's dinner next week and decide you needed to, what, compete?" she continues, one brow arching as her tone sharpens into something lightly mocking, comfortably familiar, safely distant. "Like, Felix, babe-" Babe. It slips out easily. Effortlessly. But, Bunny doesn't pause and doesn't acknowledge it. "What's the vision here?" because she calls everyone that. Obviously.
The fact he was even at a birthday party was, on second thought, ridiculous. Felix already decided that before he stepped inside, and nothing about the situation had improved once he did. He hated them. The noise, the performance of it all, the obligation to pretend he cared about someone getting older. And Alexander Moretti, of all people was not even someone he particularly liked. Still...good alcohol, bad decisions, and the kind of cocaine that made conversations feel almost tolerable. He wasn't an idiot. He showed up.
He also made peace with the fact that Bunny would be there. Because of course she would. That part, at least, hadn't been optional. After Paris, after that text...and a few more back and forth...he expected more avoidance maybe. Not… this. He was ambushed. She appeared at the edge of his vision and then suddenly wasn't at the edge at all, just there. Intrusive. Inevitable. Felix didn't so much react as register the inconvenience of her presence a half-second too late, which was apparently all the time she needed to start. He didn't look down at his suit. Refused to. Instead, he held her gaze. Those blue eyes, still annoying, still sharp, still...
There it was. The flick. Quick, but not quick enough. Down his chest, taking inventory like she had any right to, and Felix felt something low and deeply unhelpful settle into place. Interesting. By the time her gaze snapped back up, he was ready to annoy her. Brow raised just slightly, mouth pulling at the corner...not quite a smile, not quite anything generous. A silent question, offered like a trap. Well? written over his expression without him needing to say a word.
"The Baumanns are Swiss, by the way. Just in case you're insinuating what I think you are." he said, smooth as ever, like he hadn't just clocked the exact path of her attention. Like none of this was different. He decided, in that moment, he wasn't going easy on her. "It's Paco Delgado, Isabella. I'm not entirely sure why we’re having this discussion." Felix added, pausing just enough to let it land. "I try not to gloat about my tailors. It's uncouth." Felix then let his gaze drag over her in return. Measured and deliberate. But he made the mistake of letting it dip just slightly too low.
And there it was. Not a thought so much as a flash. His hands. Her body. The way... No. His eyes snapped back up, expression already rearranging itself into something smug, something controlled. Nothing to see here. Nothing worth examining. Not when he had ammo. That was the important thing. He always had ammo. "How was Paris?" he asked, far too pleased with himself. "I have to say, I'm very impressed with your dedication to spelling out a French accent." a small tilt of his head. "Pari. Genius, actually."
Say what you will about Felix's little party trick, the way it sometimes looked as if he could simply switch off, step cleanly out of consciousness and leave the rest of it all running without him. It was not nearly as reliable as people seemed to think. Much to his annoyance. He was halfway there now as he returned from lunch. Not absent, but dulled, thoughts distant enough that they failed to catch on anything for long. He stepped off the elevator onto his floor and moved towards his office on autopilot.
And then...something felt wrong. Not obvious. Not immediate. Just enough of a disturbance to register. A little jolt that told him that something in his immediate vicinity had changed without his permission. Felix stopped. One hand slipped into his pocket, the other tightening slightly around the paper. As if, for a moment, it might prove useful. As if he might need to swat something out of the air. Because that was the only reasonable explanation for it. Something intangible. A glitch. A brief and deeply unwelcome overlap of realities. He stepped back, just once, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked again. Making sure he really did see it and it wasn't just a nightmare bleeding into the day.
The space beside his office had been empty for years. Intentionally, as it turned out. Assistants cycling through because Felix had made it that way. A pattern of blurred lines and bad decisions that ensured none of them stayed long enough to belong there. It was, objectively, a problem. Regrettable, in theory. Less so in practice. Claire, for instance, had been very deliberate. Still, he stared, just in case this situation resolved itself into something more reasonable. It did not. Because he saw it. Etched nearly into the frosted glass.
Executive Liaison. Isabella Westwood.
And, as if that were not already enough of a personal attack, an obnoxious little cartoon bunny sticker was placed just off to the side. Bright. Cheerful. Completely intolerable. Felix felt the expression settle on his face before he quite registered it, something faintly displeased and entirely unimpressed. Through the glass he could already make out the suggestion of blonde hair. Real. Unfortunately. He did not knock. "You have five seconds to explain why you're even here." he said, tone flat, already stepping inside as if the space belonged to him by default. Which, effectively, it did.
The desk was new. That was the first thing he noticed. Too clean. Too unmarked. A computer still in the early stages of starting up, the screen caught mid process, as if it also hadn't yet accepted what was happening. Everything about it suggested this had only just begun. Which was, immediately, a problem. Considering Felix didn't want it to begin at all. "And better yet..." he added, glancing back to her at last, expression sharpening just slightly. "I need to know why you're next to my office."
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