Cássio Rosário's Questionnaire

Cássio lives in São Paulo capital, Brazil's one and only global megacity and a cultural melting pot filled with countless oportunities for the realm of art-- what better place for a budding performance artist to stake his claim? ...Of course, those are merely the reasons he gives on the surface. In truth, a city with over 20 million residents is the perfect place for a dead man to disappear into, and start a new life under a new name. Plus, this city has so, so much history with the occult and supernatural, hidden away in its inscrutable concrete maze... one only needs to know where to look.

His place is in Pinheiros, São Paulo's oldest borough, a modest apartment in the third floor of an antique building that houses a grocery store at street level. The impressive amount of magic parafernalia (both performing and occult) that decorate the space give it a lively (if slightly macabre) air. Just... never mind the secret study behind the wardrobe.

Cássio's day job is that of a performer, relying on a combination of public street performances and stage magic shows to make ends meet. Of course, hardly any of it is real magic, but the audience doesn't need to know that; with a little bit of misdirection and a hearty dose of charisma, the public's adoring eyes can be lulled into suspending their disbelief on just about anything.

While his shows can keep a modest lifestyle afloat, not all of mr. Rosário's expenditures can be quantified by simple cash value. After all, what he really seeks is knowledge. Power. And the coin in those transactions is, more often than not, a dark, dark crimson.

They sold me out.

Both sung protection. Trust in me, they said, and those villains will never hurt you. I am the law. There is being with me, and being against me. A good bandit is a dead bandit. To bow to them is treason.

I never asked to be a part of their war. The game was rigged, and I was the loser.

Time slows down as the bullet hits her chest. I try to catch her as she falls, but my vision spins as a sharp impact to my head sends me to the ground. Our eyes meet, and I watch the light fade from hers.

They called me traitor. Who did I betray? My allegiance was always called Love, my every action to keep her safe. They put me in a boat to Nowhere. Broke damn near every bone in my body, but they didn't kill me, oh no, a quick death was too good for me. They left me to starve in that bloodstained beach, my body in far too many pieces to move.

Seven days and seven nights. But I didn't die.

She didn't let me.

I don't know how I made it off that island. But I know why. I'll bring you back, my love. I'll make them all pay for what they did to us. And nothing, NOTHING  will stand in my way.

I'm not gonna write all that again, c'mon man. But I can talk a bit about what happened after, I guess. To everyone that knew me before, little Bruno was dead-- and I wanted it to stay that way. I knew I couldn't show up at the hill again, or they would just finish the job. I couldn't take them on my own. Not yet. So I did what every man without a future does in this country, and hit the road towards the big city. I had a plan, of course. You see, people are always making fun of magicians for not doing "real magic", that all of it is smoke and mirrors, that we're just charlatans and wannabes. Smoke and mirrors, sure, I'll grant you that, but people forget how old our tradition is. Where we learned to do what we do. The oldest of us remember. But I can't say much more than that. After all, a magician never reveals his secrets.

Marielle Bonfim Magalhães: Cássio's deceased wife. To hear him tell it, she is the kindest, most beautiful woman to ever grace the shores of Rio, and the whole world is enlightened by her presence. To this day, she is the closest person to his heart. How is that possible, you ask? My friend, true love transcends the barriers of what our simple minds believe is and isn't possible.

The Fantastic Dionigi: Cássios mentor in the ways of magic... and showmanship. An elderly italian immigrant who has yet to let his age catch up to him, though he can be stuck on his old ways. Though he has initiated Cássio into the occult, he does not yet know the full breath of what he wants to attempt.

 

Lúcio Medina: The roach of a man who shot Marielle. Drug lord, playboy, and wannabe superstar. He thinks he's hot shit. But he better enjoy that bullshit throne while he can; I swear on my soul, his days are numbered.

Cássio's birth name was Bruno Almeida Magalhães, born second of seven children to Roberto Pereira Magalhães, a hardworking construction worker, and his wife Maria da Graça Rosa Magalhães. His dad was a bit of a hardass, and his mom was often overworked between the house and his several siblings, but all in all Cássio looks towards his early years with fond nostalgia. He attended public school in Jacarézinho, though like most kids in his community, he didn't put much stock in studying. Don't get me wrong, he was a bright kid, and made it through most classes with ease, but when you're expected to help support your family long before you're an adult, you simply have other priorities. After all, Jacarézinho is Rio's most dangerous neighborhood, and not all kids live to see their teens. Looking back, maybe he could have made it into college if he gave it an honest shot, despite his background, but today he finds little use in pondering hypotheticals. School wasn't all bad though-- after all, it's where he met... Her.

Oh, Love! The fire that burns invisibly, the wound that aches without pain! Cássio's (then Bruno) love for Marielle was the driving force of his life, his guiding light in the darkness and the flame that fueled his every action. A consumate romantic, he attributed their meeting to an act of fate, and made it his life's mission to give her the best life he could. They got married shortly after leaving school, with him getting a job as a barman to make ends meet as they moved out of their parents house into their own tiny home. Commited to supporting his new family on his own, the young man pulled multiple shifts to try and keep their finances afloat, but there was only so much an honest, poor man from the favela could do.

Heh... "honest."

It wasn't too dangerous, he told himself. Just stand watch while Medina and his goons had their meetings at the bar. Be paid a little extra. It's not like he was actually involved in the trafficking. But he still heard things. And he was paid for his silence.

Things changed, though. When the UPP (The "Pacifying Police Unit") was estabilished and the cops took control of the high town, things got harder. They didn't estabilish peace. They started a war. And he was caught in the middle of it. He didn't want any part of it... But he was still forced to pick a side.

It wasn't his fault. He was just trying to protect her. No, they're to blame. Medina, and that SnAkE of a captain. They did this to her. And tHey'Re gOiNg tO pAy fOr It.

I'm afraid I'm not enough.

Twice now my strength nearly saw my quest end. I should be enboldened that it didn't, that by my love's guidance I lived on to see it through. But in truth, my weakness scares me. In the dark, I silently wonder: What if I am incapable of achieving this Miracle? What if, in one of these many trials I continue to suffer in pursuit of Power, my luck finally runs out? Will it have been for naught, then? All the pain, all the sorrow, all the rage, all of it buried and forgotten with our past? I know I will not get a third chance. I must make this one count. Otherwise...

I'm scared that, should I falter and perish at last, our souls are not fated to reunite. Selfless and faithful as she was, she surely now lives in God's embrace above; whereas I am a broken man consumed by grief and vengeance. I have lied, cheated and killed in pursuit of the occult power to commit something declared foul by every religion since mankind's sunrise. What God would take pity in such a wretched sinner's soul? Worse yet, what if we do reunite, and she shuns me for wasting her gift of life in pursuit of bloody vengeance? I cannot bear the thought.

 

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...There is one more fear, one I confine to the blackest corners of my mind.

Sometimes, in the quiet between my research and pursuits, I wonder about the voice that kept me from death that night. About its nature.

But I dare not speak such thoughts into existence.

Ah, what else would that be but my wedding ring? Proof of our undying love, a token to bind us forever more. Do not let its apparent simplicity fool you; for a young man raised in the favela, a plain band of gold and silver is a one-of-a-kind treasure. When I fled Rio and crafted a new identity for myself in São Paulo, I left behind most of my material posessions-- but not this. The ring became my anchor, my grounding focus that kept my grieving soul attached to this world. "Cássio Rosário" may not be legally married to anyone, but I still wore the band on my finger every moment of every day, to remind me that it was Love that saved me, and for Love that I toiled away at occult enigmas, hoping that one day me and Marielle may be one day reunited. I am so close now....

Aside from the fact I keep knocking on death's door during my contracts? Well, there are a few large obstacles currently between me and my goals, the largest of which is the fact that Lúcio Medina and his lackeys are still very much at large, very much still powerful, and would without a doubt hunt me down if they learned of my survival. This means I have to be extremely discrete while leading my new life. Moving cities and adopting a new name are a start, putting some physical distance between me and my enemies as well as minimizing any paper trail that might lead them to me; however, my past also prevents me from making any sort of wide-spread public appearance-- televising my shows is out, and even my street performances have a no-recording policy. It's nearly impossible to have zero digital footprint in this day and age, but as long as I do not go viral or star on Rede Globo, the odds of my image reaching Medina's eyes are mercifully slim. So Alas, while I would love to marvel the nation with my considerable talent, for now, I must content myself with keeping my performances merely "okay."

Well, alright, we're going to be generous and say that a "typical" morning doesn't start with me passing out in my study the night prior. Well, my alarm clock wakes me up at 7am-- I like to start bright and early. Then it's a matter of getting dressed, making the bed, and starting breakfast. Now, I tell most people I take my coffee black, as it aids the "serious, mysterious mage" persona, but... just between you and me, I'm actually rather fond of capuccinos. Nothing like a little sweetness to start the morning, and it goes wonderfully with a slice of toasted bread or a pão de queijo (the classical paulistano breakfast!). I usually read the news while I do that-- I'm one of the few people nowadays who still get their newspaper the old-fashioned way, delivered to my door. I suppose I'm one for nostalgia, plus I find the smell and the texture rather pleasing. After that, it's a matter of getting my supplies ready, and venturing out for whatever errand or performance I have prepared for the day.

Ah, darling, I ALWAYS look my best. What's the point of going out at all if you're not gonna be turning heads? But for a special event, that might call for special preparations. A visit to the barber shop is definitely in order. There's a lot of those in São Paulo, but only a precious few that know how to properly trim a fade cut or maintain a meticulous beard. After that,  it's a matter of showering and picking the right outfit. I have a small selection of blazers and suits that range from more traditional, performative pieces for my street work, to more elaborate, patterned, and colorful pieces for more elegant occasions. Of note, ever since I discovered the utility of custom-made reinforced clothing for my work as a Contractor, I have been experimenting with more elaborate designs. Oh, and we cannot forget the cologne! A true gentleman must make an impression on ALL of one's senses.

The date of my birth is no longer of any use to me. The man born on that date has long since died, broken and bloodied upon an isolated shore. However, all my documents as Cássio Rosário list a different date: the date of my Death, and Rebirth by Love. A small bit of sentimentality I allow myself in order to remind myself of my goals. As for my "birthday gift"... This year's will be the greatest gift of all. For it shall be this year that I shall rescue my beloved from the icy clutches of death. The power will be mine soon, now. I can feel it.