WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, JC CARVALHO
GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Male, He/Him
DATE OF BIRTH: January 28th, 1984
OCCUPATION: Figure Skating Instructor & Private Coach
RESIDENCY: Celestial Hills
WOLF CLASSIFICATION: Alpha (Born)
PACK AFFILIATION: Pack Leader
LAY ME DOWN IN A BED OF ROSES
Trigger Warnings: Injury; Death; Alcohol References
The air pulsed electric—pungent with the hum of “magic” and warm with the piercing stench of chlorine. Hunched over a radiator, atop which a metal popcorn container was proving a proper cauldron, the boy, wrapped in a beach towel like a makeshift cloak, stirred his concoction with a plastic snorkel. The child mumbled an “incantation,” made-up words, voice low and steady, as the steam finally began to rise, until his mother’s firm hand was tugging him swiftly away and tossing the bubbling mixture into the air. As if on its own accord, then, a wave of water, twisting upward from one of the swimming pool models on display, surged to catch it in a frothing swell. It dragged the container down to the depths, a pool floor patterned with river rocks, where the toxic solution fizzled out harmlessly after a few moments.
Júlio César Carvalho, who had gone by JC his entire life, knew better than to touch the various chemicals on-sale in the swimming pool and garden store his family ran in Lunar Cove. And he certainly knew better than to touch the radiator, which had added enough heat to spark a reaction. Still, the boy’s mother was a witch, one with an affinity for water, and JC, huddled in their little brown kitchen, had watched her countless times brew potions atop their little porcelain stove. Observing the spectacle, but never participating, some part of him had decided that third-grade really was the proper opportunity to begin mixing up some of his own. But while his bloodline was certainly magic, JC himself was not; only child of a spellcaster, he was not one himself, nor would he ever be.
His father—who had turned his back on the pack following a land dispute and who was now floating eternally on the very precipice of full abjuration—had gifted his son with a solemn birthright, the dormant werewolf gene, maybe the only thing he had ever really gifted him. That gene had passed its persistent, winding way down through many generations, a lineage that traced itself to the decade following Lunar Cove’s very founding.
And this family line had once been proud, even locally famous, mostly for the time Júlio César’s grandmother won several rounds on a game show in the 1970s, only to lose purposefully on an easy question and flee Hollywood just prior to the full moon. A recording of those very segments ran in an eternal loop on a box television near the pool store’s front counter, although keen viewers would notice she never did tell the host the name of her hometown.
Still, the Carvalho gleam seemed to be fading by the time JC himself was born. The boy’s father, who had inherited the shop from his parents, certainly made sure of that, through a combination of public confrontations, of unsavory business dealings, and of, much to his family’s chagrin, a marriage to a true outsider, a non-local witch, who, despite her actual prowess, had made it more than clear she had no intention of joining the coven.
And so, Júlio César himself grew up in an almost detached human way, touched by magic he could never use and aware of the sleeping wolf within, but with no real opportunity to engage with either of the legacies that had forged him.
Still, JC did try to find a place among his peers in Lunar Cove. He began participating in sports at a young age, starting with soccer but then transitioning to more physical ones like hockey and football, at least partly because his father was trying to foster some degree of masculine hardiness within him. He performed best on the ice, however, his preferred arena when compared to the field. The rink became a second home, enough so that his mother joked, from time to time, that ice itself flowed through his veins, perhaps a metaphor for her own familial affinity for water magic.
Nevertheless, as JC’s teammates began reaching their growth spurts, the boy found he could not hit back quite as hard as they were now hitting him. He was quicker, though, agile. And the moment that would kickstart his eventual career came when an instructor at the local rink watched JC tug his arms inward, lift up his leg, and complete a respectable rotation despite his bulky hockey skates.
The motion had been a joke, of course, a funny dance to entertain his friends, but the coach approached the boy’s mother and made mention of natural aptitudes. From there, JC did not need much convincing, as this new activity allowed him to stay on the ice even during the off-season. His father grumbled about it, about having to fund ice time and lessons, although his real disdain for the sport was rooted more in its lack of true physicality, its inability to toughen his son up.
But as the months went by, Júlio César began devoting himself almost entirely to figure skating. He was attracted to the athleticism and to the freedom of it. This new hobby also gave the boy, a playground parkour folk hero, one who already had a bit of a hyperactive need to climb atop high things and jump off them, the designated allowance to leap as much as he wanted.
And by the time JC was making his way through high school, he was skating and competing, to some success, at a junior level, all the while working various part-time jobs to pay his way when his father finally decided to do so no longer.
Despite his natural skill, though, JC was a small fish from a small pond. Attending community college during the day, working by night, and practicing in the meager hours in-between, he still convinced himself that he would one day see the Olympics. He did not come near to qualifying in 2002, and so, undeterred, he began working even harder towards 2006, trading his courseload for more hours at work to fund more sessions at the rink. His scores markedly improved, but that year, JC weathered the single most defining encounter of his life, one that would, at the very least, interrupt his momentum.
At an out-of-state competition, he, against his better judgement, went out for friendly drinks with two men he had outskated and outranked that same day. A friend of theirs, a rowdy, boisterous stranger, arrived, and alcohol led to a lowering of inhibitions for all involved parties. From there, an exchange of cruel words filled the pub.
The fight eventually turned physical in the alleyway outside, and when the drunken new arrival threw back a fist to punch JC, the young werewolf stuck out his own hands and shoved him defensively backward, sending his attacker sprawling onto the pavement, where he hit his head on a raised piece of curb.
Paramedics arrived to find Júlio César leaning over him, failing at first-aid. But the man never even made it to the hospital. And having him struck him down, then, accident as it was, JC found the wolf still sleeping within him suddenly and viscerally awakened.
The incident caused something of a sports gossip scandal, and while JC himself was never charged, a number of witnesses outside the bar vouching for him, he still stepped back from his sport to return home. There, he would have to deal with the change due to arrive and accept a proper slap on the wrist for allowing the whole affair to happen in the first place.
The young man did not, however, seek out his father. He sought out instead the pack, the one that had once been home to his ancestors. Deferential, humble, and nearly pleading, he, maybe even to his own surprise, found himself welcomed back into its fold with open arms, and he emerged, thus, as a full Beta among friends.
One or two skating blogs regarded JC with pity as he returned to the competition circuit, but as he stepped back onto the ice for the first time in many months, he did so with a strange and almost frightening new vigor. All at once, this once mid-level competitor, was stronger and faster; he could jump higher and farther. JC suddenly dominated, becoming something of a fan favorite for his frantic, risky style, but he also became more reckless, caring less for safety so long as he could keep maximizing his performance.
While he was now boasting a clear record of victory, a minor injury caused by his own foolishness kept him once more out of the Olympic running, and feeling the approach of his thirties, his dreaded expiration date, JC soon pivoted to pairs, hoping to find a hopeful new niche. He became partners with Kim Binna, a young skater from his hometown he had seen compete in Nationals.
Just as the two of them were beginning to find a real groove, however, JC overextended a jump and landed hard on his ankle, a much more serious injury that would end his burgeoning career. He returned home to Lunar Cove, moped, and eventually, just as he had done all his life, decided to move past it with every ounce of willpower he could muster.
His local successes were notable. He began working as a skating instructor and coach at the same ice rink in which he had grown up, eventually helping kickstart a program that partnered with Lunar Cove’s schools to foster young talent. He served as a frequent guest at the local radio station, largely as a sports commentator. He volunteered to pick up trash along the shoreline and served as emcee at more than one pancake breakfast.
And while JC, a hometown hero now in his own right, did not even speak to his father anymore, having at last abjured him following a blow-out fight, the television set in the swimming pool store suddenly played recordings of his winning long programs on a loop, rather than his grandmother’s quiz show.
It was not long before JC was appointed Saskia’s second in a move that seemed natural at the time. After all, he was good PR for the pack, publicly well-liked with a degree of celebrity and enough press training to serve a proper representative. Likewise, he had come to the pack submissively, without haughtiness or ambition, and in being welcomed by it, now held it in the highest regard. He would serve its best interests at all times. And finally, while JC, still the athlete, was capable of physically holding his own among in-fighting, he was not so threatening as to prove a potential usurper.
The Alpha’s murder, however, catapulted his world into disarray. Standing in the shadow of her absence, Júlio César was the one to contact her son, Nico, to take her place, knowing that while he himself would be able to maintain peace temporarily, his own lingering injury, flaring over time, would prevent him from confidently shutting down any outliers who might try to wrestle away control.
Today, he still serves as Nico’s second. Fiercely protective, loyal, disciplined but recklessly dauntless, and equal parts compassionate and stern, he remains a wolf first and foremost, one who encourages those who look up to him to be the best versions of themselves they can be. That said, his loyalties lie with the pack, not with the Council at large, an admirable or dangerous trait depending on the individual one asks.
