Long John
Harold Johnson
Techno Viking
Techno Viking as Harold Johnson
Name Harold Johnson
Status Alive
Age 28
Occupation Mechanic, Handyman, Surly Drunk, Keeper of Grease
Place of Origin San Francisco, California, USA
Date of Birth Jun 11, 1984
Player John Long John
Timezone PST
Notes Notes for Harold Johnson

Long John is grease, hair, and a motorcycle. His parents did a lot of acid in their Berkely days, and LJ grew up 'tweaked.' He has a closeted telekinetic streak that he tries to keep quashed with a variety of drugs. Some legal, some no. Often in unpredictable combinations. After getting kicked out of Southern California, he fled to his mother's homeland of Britain to escape his past, and God willing his demons.


Long John was born Harold Johnson. His parents were big in the Berkeley LSD scene where they ran into a guy named Steve. Turned out to be Steve Jobs. They put cash into Apple early but despite their wealth never got out of the hippy protest scene. Possibly due to the drugs his parents were taking — Berkeley is where LSD was invented, and God knows what else came out of there — young Harold picked up minor and unpredictable telekinetic abilities. He doesn't understand them and has trouble controlling them.

Harold first got the notion that something might be amiss when, as a beanstock of a kid in junior high, he was being picked on by a group of older kids lead by Sam Ramis. Sam was terribly allergic to bees and always carried an epi pen. In a fit of kharmic justice, as Harold lay prostrate under a ring of kicking feet, Sam collapsed in an allergic fit with a bee impaled on his neck. None of his friends could find Sam's pen, which didn't turn up until the hastily-summoned school nurse ushered the pair back towards the school's office. A clatter drew eyes that couldn't piece together the puzzle — Sam's epi pen had been stuck to the ceiling.

After his second or third growth spurt overgrown Harold filled out, but his psychic abilities came at a price. Small objects of his seemed to rearrange themselves while he wasn't looking, making him perpetually late after searching for keys and wallet. Worse, piercing headaches accompanied his state of near-constant psychic drain, which no legal pharmacist seemed able to cure. Harold met his parents' drug dealer friends just looking for a means of staying even, clearing his headache and squelching the uncontrolled outbursts that he suspected but couldn't prove. His size and perpetual lack of funds led him to work off his debt serving as protection, and eventually got him introduced to the men who would define his life; the Court Jesters.

The Court Jesters are a throwback. Held together by a core of sixty-somethings who remember the golden age of motorcycle gangs, the young bloods ride big Harleys chopped to a lean three hundred pounds and travel where the winds will take them. Berdoo, Frisco, LA, or anywhere in southern California, they'd bounce when the heat got too hot and change jurisdictions.

With them Harold Johnson became just 'Johnson,' and soon 'Long John' on account of his height and (as he puts it) as an homage to his pecker. For a year and a half he wore a death's head helmet and called himself 'Long John Silver,' until a group of Hell's Angels decided he looked a little too much like them and chain-whipped John for the offense. The police misheard John's last name, pronounced through broken teeth and swollen lips, as 'DeSilva.' Lacking any proper ID at the time John went with it.

Living as a self-attributed ne'er-do-well will bring a hundred encounters with the police, and very few of them positive. Long John's parents don't offer him much in the way of financial support save for bail money and have hired good lawyers over the years to knock down sentences for public lewdness, assault, and various possession charges to a persistent stream of misdemeanors. Things finally came to a head when a mean broad named Nina tried entry to the Jesters. She was told to, as an initiation, have a go with the whole gang. After twelve hours of getting their rocks off Long John and the Jesters politely informed the applicant that it was dudes only and she could piss off. Soon enough she'd raised some credible-sounding rape charges against the Jokers, and when Long John's lawyer sprung him yet again he was told that thanks to California's three strikes law any further trespass would likely stick and land him with a life sentence.

The DA was running for congress on a law and order ticket, and busting a biker gang made great press. When the DA started talking ‘appeal’ in the press, Long John’s mother dropped her son a line to politely remind him that her accent wasn’t just quaint, that though she’d lived in the States since college she was a British citizen and that, if he ever bothered to come home and pick up his passport, he technically could be too. The chopper got shipped ahead, and John combed out the fork in his beard long enough to brave TSA. One bottle of duty-free rum later, the newfound limey had landed.

He didn’t have enough scratch to land a pad of his own, but Long John was able to find some sympathetic pub-goers who let him do odd jobs in exchange for couch-surfing his way across southern London. Eventually he ran across someone who perked at his drunken ranting at the gray British sky, its propensity to rain on him, and how there wasn’t a road fit to ride his chopper on in the whole bloody country. That presently worked its way into a job. Long John's picked up some work at Harry's Motors — a name that gives him a chuckle — and his knowledge of bikes has earned him a niche that gets a blind eye turned towards his recreational drug use and hedonistic lifestyle. He has a place he stays at, even pays a little rent when he isn’t short on gas money, and John lives paycheck to paycheck. He takes small scores and side jobs as they come and as he needs the funds for his two expansive habits; killing his headaches with vast quantities of low-grade and poorly-labeled opioids, and keeping his bike in top shape.


John's personality is unstable, and largely dependant on whatever pills he's popped most recently have done to him.

John can be found blissed out and peaceful. Everyone's his friend, his humor is mild and goofy, he might just tickle a girl for wandering too close if he could bring himself to get up off his stool.
John can be found raging and violent, a pool cue in one hand and a fist full of human hair in the other, veins popping from his neck and face the color of a ripe tomato as he scours his surroundings for a vent for his anger.

Or John might be found babbling and incoherant with a side order of howling at the moon. He's usually halfway there anyway, and were he to see a glimmer of the gloom he might not even think anything was unusual about it.

No matter his mood, John's size and demeanor threaten at any moment to sway towards lust and violence, and perhaps a combination of both. Throw in a healthy heaping of swagger and Long John is larger than life, which given his size is a tall order.

Paranormal Abilities

Long John's abilities are quite limited. Imagine trying to move a third arm. Even if you knew it was there, you wouldn't have the foggiest notion of which muscles to move to get it to work. That is the state of Long John's telekinetic abilities, and he tries to keep it that way through self-medication.

The ability occasionally slips through, however. His keys go missing. Little knick-knacks hide themselves in the middle of the night, getting him booted from his most recent couch as a suspected thief. When he has nightmares, odd junk will form itself into tiny characters wielding forks like polearms, spearing anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby.
And, naturally, John is unreasonably good at playing pool, throwing dice, and hitting the levers on dunk tanks with a well-tossed ball. If he doesn't think about it, he gets an edge. If he ever honestly tried he'd be back to square one.

If Long John were ever to embrace his power and find a tutor, if such a thing might exist, he'd be able to pop buttons from garments, lift weights of up to a couple pounds at a range of about twenty feet, and throw light objects at about the same speed he could if he picked them up in his hand.


Long John is a master motorcyclist, great mechanic when it comes to small engines, reasonable mechanic when it comes to larger engines, and generally a useful handyman. Most of his life has been spent doing this and that, and other than his obsession with motorcycles he's just got a lot of life experience and not a lot of schooling.

As a fighter he makes a great brawler, using ham-like fists and chains and pipes on foot and mounted on his hog. A veteran of a hundred street fights, he doesn't have that hesitation that normal folk have. He transitions to beating as naturally as reaching for his next beer, and generally has his head on the swivel looking for others who might do the same to him.

Were he to gain access to firearms he would be familiar with their use but generally a poor shot, as his training has never amounted to more than blowing off a few hundred rounds up in the hills with some gulf war vets.

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