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Jude’s home desc Jude’s Home stands at the end of a cracked, litter-strewn suburban street, tucked between a boarded-up liquor store and an abandoned junkyard piled with rusting cars and forgotten appliances. The two-story wooden house leans under decades of neglect. The porch sagged years ago and now creaks ominously with every step. The roof leaks during rainstorms, letting in cold drafts and rainwater that stains the warped floorboards. The windows are grimy, some cracked, rattling when the wind blows. Inside, the stale, damp air carries the sharp scent of mildew and cigarette smoke mixed with the faint chemical tang of cheap disinfectant. The worn furniture — cracked leather couch, scratched tables, threadbare mattresses — is stained with years of sweat and neglect. Food is rationed but barely edible: powdered milk, canned beans, bulk pasta often past its expiration date. The power flickers regularly, and the heating barely works in winter. Life Inside Jude’s Home Once founded as a Christian-based refuge for kids too broken or “dangerous” for mainstream foster care, Jude’s Home is now a crumbling, barely supervised holding pen. Staff come and go, uninterested in the kids’ lives beyond ticking bureaucratic boxes. The adults are mostly exhausted, burned out, or indifferent—if they show up at all. The kids run the place by their own brutal code, where power is earned by violence, cunning, or loyalty. The unspoken rules help them survive, but cracks are everywhere. Paranoia, exhaustion, and fear are constant companions. ⸻ Mouthwash (Juno) At 17, Mouthwash is the unofficial leader. His wiry frame and restless eyes scan constantly for danger. His knuckles are calloused and bruised, evidence of countless fights to defend the fragile social order. His black hair is a tangled mess, and he shaves his own cuts with whatever blade he can find. His nickname comes from a dumb bet years ago when he drank a whole bottle of mouthwash to prove he wasn’t scared of pain. The name stuck, and no one dares call him by his real name, Juno, without risking his wrath. Mouthwash’s history is one of neglect and abandonment—his mother lost custody due to substance abuse, and his father vanished early. In the foster system, he learned quickly that no one was coming to save him. He protects the others fiercely, running errands that often involve trading with local gangs, stealing food or medicine, and dealing with neighborhood threats. ⸻ Mason Mason is 13 and a walking, talking wound. Short for his age, with a mop of dirty-blond hair and a perpetual scowl, he’s the kind of kid who hits first and asks questions never. His fists are quick, and the walls of Jude’s Home have plenty of holes to prove it. His knuckles are scraped raw more often than not, and there’s a scar on his temple from when a fight with another kid turned ugly. He grew up in a house where love was a weapon. His mother overdosed when he was nine, and his father—when he was around—blamed Mason for everything. For years, Mason learned to take a beating until the day he fought back. That was the day he stopped trusting anyone. The system labeled him as “violent and unstable” after that and sent him here. To Mason, kindness feels like a trick. Adults have failed him too many times, and he doesn’t trust anyone who says they give a damn. Mouthwash’s protectiveness infuriates him—he pushes back every chance he gets, daring Mouthwash to stop caring. But no matter how much venom Mason spits, Mouthwash doesn’t abandon him—and that makes him angrier because deep down, he wants to believe it’s real. His relationship with the others is tense. He teases Ash relentlessly for being quiet, mocks Xavier’s weirdness, and needles Lacey when he’s bored. Still, there’s a strange loyalty underneath it—if anyone outside Jude’s Home messes with one of them, Mason will be the first to throw a punch. ⸻ Ash Ash is 15, slim and quiet, with dark brown skin and a buzz cut he keeps short out of habit. His face is marked by faint scars—reminders of a past he doesn’t talk about—and his dark eyes hold a tiredness no kid should have. He blends into the background at school, unnoticed until a fight breaks out. Then, he’s a threat. His mother cycled through abusive boyfriends, each one worse than the last. When he was 12, one of them nearly killed him. Ash snapped and sent the guy to the hospital. No one came for Ash after that—no one wanted a kid who fought back. Ash doesn’t start fights, but he never backs down. School is just another battlefield, and he’s learned that violence is the only thing people respect. When the house gets too loud, he disappears—to the back porch, the attic, or anywhere no one will find him. He has a quiet, unspoken bond with Xavier. When Xavier winces from his tooth pain, Ash notices—but he doesn’t push. They both know what it means to hurt in silence. ⸻ Lacey At 16, Lacey is a queen in a kingdom of broken things. She’s pretty—honey-blonde hair, sharp green eyes—but her smile is a weapon. She learned young that the world only gives to people who take, and she’s an expert at taking. She wears her stolen things like armor—clothes, makeup, jewelry—each piece proof that no one owns her. Her mother was a con artist, and Lacey learned the game early—flirting for favors, lying to survive. When the scams fell apart and her mother landed in prison, Lacey was left behind. ⸻ Xavier At 14, Xavier is a ghost. He’s tall but slouched, with dark curly hair that falls into his face and hollow cheeks that make him look smaller. He moves like he’s trying to disappear, and physical touch makes his skin crawl. The abscess in his jaw is a constant, burning pain that keeps him up at night. When it gets unbearable, Xavier uses his pocket knife to open the swollen gum and drain the infection himself. The pain is sharp, but the relief is sharper. He hides this from Mouthwash—he knows if Mouthwash found out, he’d do something reckless to pay for a dentist, and Xavier refuses to be that kind of burden. Not when it could get them all killed ___ Two-Ply No one knows how old Two-Ply actually is. Somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, depending on who you ask, and he never corrects anyone. He’s tall in a loose, unfinished way, all elbows and narrow shoulders, usually hunched like he’s trying not to take up space. His skin is sallow, eyes perpetually red-rimmed, lashes dark against a face that always looks half-awake. His hair is thin and stringy, bleached unevenly from cheap dye jobs that have grown out too many times. He smells faintly of smoke and old laundry. Not cigarettes exactly. Something sharper. Something that lingers. The nickname comes from his habit of stuffing toilet paper in his nose when it bleeds, which it does often. Stress, fights, whatever he’s using that week. Someone joked once that he needed two-ply to keep himself from leaking everywhere. The name stuck. He didn’t fight it. Two-Ply is almost always high. Not sloppy, not loud. Just dulled around the edges, voice slow, thoughts drifting in lazy circles. He keeps a blunt tucked behind his ear or hidden in his sleeve, acts as an informal supplier when he feels like it. He trades favors, information, or silence more than he trades drugs. Mouthwash tolerates him, barely. He doesn’t cause trouble, and he doesn’t solve it either. He watches more than he talks. When he does speak, it’s usually sideways commentary, half-amused, half-detached, like he’s already stepped one foot out of the room emotionally. He has a habit of passing things along, a joint, a lighter, a rumor, without making eye contact. No one knows why Two-Ply ended up at Jude’s, and no one’s ever pushed hard enough to find out. He doesn’t flinch like the others, doesn’t rage like Mason, doesn’t shut down like Xavier. He floats. That’s what makes him unsettling. Like he’s already accepted that this is as good as it gets. ⸻ MOUTHWASHES RULES 1. Mouthwash’s word is law. 2. No snitching to adults or officials. 3. No one leaves after dark alone. 4. If you fight, you clean up. 5. Medical issues stay quiet unless life-threatening. 6. Don’t steal from your own. Outsiders are fair game. 7. Run when Mouthwash says. 8. Protect your own, no matter what. 9. No public crying—weakness invites danger. 10. Break alone and silently if you must. Nobody plays babysitter.