The times when you want to cry are when you have to try your hardest

Name: Puli
DW username: whippetpuli
E-Mail: [email protected]
IM: MagicNMe4E OR illusivetactic
Plurk: magicnme

Other Characters: N/A (Once upon a long long time ago, I played Repliku, Coraline, Yzma & Demyx here!)

Series: Baccano! (Translated Light Novels Arcs 1931 - The Grand Punk Railroad & 1933- The Slash, with anime adaptation as a secondary canon source.)
Timeline: 1933 After Ronnie Schiatto's negotiations with Jacuzzi's gang, Post-Mist Wall bombing events of 1933.
Canon Resource Link:
Character Blurb from Wikipedia
Full PDF translation of 1933 Light Novel Arc Here!
Character History:

Jacuzzi was born and raised in Chicago right up through the the roaring 1920's. His childhood friend and later his sweetheart, Nice Holystone, scarred herself and lost most of her eyesight in a homemade explosives accident when she was fourteen. Jacuzzi selflessly surprised her by deciding to get a large tattoo on the left side of his face, so she would be able to tell his apart from everyone else's easily. Although it hurt and was scary to have done, he didn't shed a tear.

This is quite remarkable for Jacuzzi, who is a huge crybaby and will get choked up about his fears and in empathy for other people quite often. He has a timid demeanor when meeting new people, intimidates easily, and at first glance seems a terribly uncertain coward, for the boss of a ragtag band of young hoodlums.

He claims there's a reason for his freely wibbled feelings: He's saving up his courage for when it really counts. So in those moments where it desperately matters, he can be a dry-eyed unexpected tank of conviction!

{Grand Punk Railroad}

By 1931, two years after the stock market crash, his small amateur gang is high tailing it out of Chicago after they were caught selling liquor on the Russo Mafia Family's turf, and eight of his gang members got killed. In retaliation, Jacuzzi and his friends made even more trouble for the mob, until Jacuzzi was cornered in blubbering fear for his life, but unrepentant for his band of orphaned street punks going 'all out war' on some of Chicago's most powerful mobsters and robbing their speakeasies. Rescuing him, his friends and girlfriend end up killing several mobsters, which Jacuzzi feels terrible about. That also makes him a wanted man by the Russos, an easy mark with his distinctive sword-tattoo.

The only solution is to skip town. So they book 3rd class tickets on The Flying Pussyfoot, with plans to pull off a train robbery, stealing explosives rumored to be on board in the special cargo holds. Nervous about the risky job, Jacuzzi is on edge even before they board. Little do they know that two other groups of criminal passengers on board are planning a hijacking and murderous rampage.

In the dining car, Jacuzzi anxiously meets friendlier passengers, including a zany couple who tell him the legend of the Rail Tracer, a monster who stalks the railways. Faint-hearted and gullible about urban legends, Jacuzzi believes the story and hurries to find the conductor to hear it's warning, which Issac has forgotten. In the meantime, violent havoc erupts on board. Jacuzzi's upset and fear climbs as he hurries back and forth between the cars. As the death toll rises, by all appearances a mysterious monster really is brutally slaughtering passengers.

Finding him desperately terrified and fearing for his life in the cargo hold, Issac and Miria (the same couple from the dining car) give him a vigorous pep talk, which Jacuzzi also takes to heart. Their optimism is contagious, and he realizes that with people to believe in him, he can be a Good-Bad Guy. At this turning point, he decides to take a heroic stand against the bloodthirsty killers terrorizing innocents and take back the train...while also continuing to pull off the original cargo heist! Armed with a Tommy gun and his largest gangmember Donny, they reclaim the hijacked dining car (by hijacking it again) in interests of keeping the passengers safely inside and defended.

Pursued by Goose, leader of the "Black Suits", who is armed with a flamethrower, Jacuzzi ends up fighting for his life atop the Pussyfoot's cars while his gangmates dump the crates of stolen cargo off a bridge. In this moment, where he should be most afraid, gutless-and-wimpy is all cried out and utterly resolute to put an end to the people threatening passengers and his friends. Though out of ammo, Jacuzzi remembers Issac telling him that a true cowboy "keeps his guns in his heart", and puts up a tenacious last ditch defense of headbutts, throwing his weight, and a well-timed cherrybomb.

It's worth mentioning here that he doesn't give his name, in the expectation that his pursuers will live, and continue to pursue him in New York if they have a name to track him down with. Jacuzzi never wishes death on any of his enemies. Despite excruciating pain of being shot three times and stabbed in the arm, he manages to knock Goose off the end of the train and rejoins Nice to pass out at the sight of his own blood.

Happily, though, they make it safely to their destination as unsung heroes and thieves.


{Another Junk Railroad}

In New York, Jacuzzi recovers from his injuries and learns that the gang made a tidy sum from the job, enough to cover his doctor's bills, keep his friends fed, and start up a new bootlegging racket. His gangmates also introduce him to Chane LaForet, the mute daughter of a notorious terrorist responsible for arranging some of the mayhem aboard the Pussyfoot, who they found floating with their stolen goods in the river.

In a open gesture of unconditional good faith, Jacuzzi shows her sympathy and kindness, believing her to be a genuinely well-meaning person, much to Chane's dismay. She cannot comprehend why anyone would extend trust and friendship without ulterior motives. He also identifies one of the doctor's assistants as a cowardly associate of Ladd Russo, who has left a life of crime to turn over a new leaf. Jacuzzi encourages him in this, with few hard feelings.

By this, Jacuzzi demonstrates how he manages to be the cornerstone of his group- he brings out the best in people by believing in them, and draws a loyal group of misfits together by being a sincerely nice guy just naive enough to inspire everyone else's nicest sides in a criminal underground full of shady, crooked, and violent people. This makes him a surprisingly effective 'moral' leader, even though he admits to breaking laws.

The gang also winds up befriending a young heiress named Eve Genoard, who allows them to stay at her mansion in an upscale neighborhood near Grand Central Station. When Chane is mistaken for Eve and kidnapped, a still-hobbling Jacuzzi responds to the ransom note by showing up alone and unarmed, offering himself in exchange for her, willing to go back to Chicago and be turned in to the Russos for a hefty bounty. This show of humble martyrdom ends up shocking and impressing her kidnapper so much that he offers Jacuzzi free use of his warehouse, when the situation is resolved (in typical Baccano! form of too many bombastic people arriving on the scene at once).

{The Slash}

By 1933, Jacuzzi's gang has settled into the city and has expanded to include several dozen members. Jacuzzi still faints at the sight of bloodshed and sniffles over broken vases, and still strives to avoid conflict whenever possible, but with their bootlegging activities spreading between the Gandor and Martillo family's turf, he's beginning to attract unwanted attention all over again.

Jacuzzi resolutely does not want to work for either mafia family, nor does he want to lose anyone to fighting, so when they send 'negotiators' calling he is hesitant to speak with them, even going so far as to consider an alternative offer... a shady group offering him and his gang immortality in exchange for helping with a heist at the Nebula Corporation's headquarters.

The plan is for Jacuzzi's gang to create confusion with gas bombs while the others steal an imperfect alchemical elixir of immortality. Because Jacuzzi Splot really needs a leg-up on the Mafia to protect his own, and doesn't particularly like big business stomping on the little guys, he reluctantly agrees to this. Since he and Nice are easily recognizable, they don't go undercover, but instead start the job in plainclothes from a scenic restaurant at the top of the building.

A lot of surrounding ruckus ensues, and not much goes off as planned, in the end. Jacuzzi finds himself trapped in an elevator with a Martillo executive, who also happens to be a demon, and is cornered into an agreement that will give the mobsters a cut of their profits. Jacuzzi doesn't particularly want to give in to extortion, but it's beginning to be clear just how small fry they really are among powerful immortals, and protecting his people is tantamount.



Abilities/Special Powers: Despite all the crazy immortality pervasive in his canon's ensemble cast, Jacuzzi Splot's about as Normal as they come! The few feats in his more badass moments come from sheer willpower and a determined heart of gold. That is, he can fight gutsily though non-lethally on top of a moving train through the pain of multiple knife and gun wounds, when the going gets tough, and he somehow survives it through the power of friendship and personal integrity.

He can also make cheap bootleg liquor in your bathtub and somehow inspires small, diverse bands of young and shiftless delinquents to follow his leadership.

Third-Person Sample:

It was a funny start to the day- no, maybe funny wasn't the right word for it, definitely not the same thing as something that was laughable, the morning that Jacuzzi woke up with a start while it was still dark and thought he heard a groaning noise out in the hall. This mansion was a swanky place, even ritzier than the Genoard's home on Millionaire Row, but the kind of ruckus that went down at any given moment around here meant that the light sleeper he was already got twice as antsy.

Especially when the folks that called this place home started reciting creepy poetry.

For a long moment, he sat up in bed and stared at the door, blankets pulled up to his chin, daring whatever was out there to come through. (Okay, so it was less of a resolute stare, and more like a huddled quiver.) He hoped it was nothing like a Rail Tracer, but he'd heard rumors about a thing called a Jabberwocky, and most nights when he woke up in a cold sweat with the fwoom sound and heat of a backpack blowtorch fresh from his dreams, or the sound of that Gandor torture expert's scissors going snicker-snack, he desperately wished he hadn't.

Jacuzzi rubbed his watery eyes on the blankets and stared into the blue dim. He missed his girl. He missed his gang. He missed his home, where he knew the people telling him not to cry so much really cared. Cripes, it was awful to wake up already choked up and terrified of what might just be some shambling drunk making his way back to the room.

Come to think of it, most times the mansion felt more like a hotel. A very fancy hotel that found even stranger people to fill it than Issac and Miria. A hotel that was also sometimes changing so fast it made him feel like leaping out of his skin.

"Wh-What wazzat?!" He hissed into the dark, eyes going round at another sound from the hall. He should be used to it- but back home in city the it was rarely ever dead quiet, quiet enough that little noises made him tense. He should investigate. Jacuzzi really didn't wanna crawl out of bed and open his door to whatever was on the other side. It might be bad. Or it might be nothing, and he'd shuffle back to sleep feeling like a fool. At least the latter might give him another few hours of shut eye.

So he steeled his nerves and swung his legs out of bed- his bad one still hurt with phantom pain from the Flying Pussyfoot, from time to time, little spasms tingling down his knee, but the doc said it would all be fine in a few more years, once the nerves got accustomed. "Aw," The young hoodlum muttered, shaking his head with reluctance, "I really hope it's not anything weird again."

First-Person Sample:

Ah... Hello? [There's a messy bit of hair and then a very brown eye, pulling back to reveal a tattooed but youthful face. Jacuzzi Splot looks a combination of nerve-wracked and delighted to try out the facetime function out.] Can people really see me on these things?

This is sort of embarrassing to figure out...[You can tell by the way the screen trembles slightly, if not by the stilted awkwardness that's otherwise overriding a Chicago accent.] I'm really nervous! 'Cause what happens if I drop it? I bet it costs an arm and leg.

But this has gotta be the keenest thing I've ever seen yet! [He shakes his head, deeply impressed.] It's like everybody's their own director of their very own personal-life talkies, or radio, only it's like a telephone, too? Nuts!

Haha, I-It's like I'm a movie star! (Not a very good one, of course.) Okay, so probably a lousy one... eheh. [He squints, and rubs at the corner of his eye.] This is really strange.

So ah, nobody else around here happens to know a thing or two about New York, do ya, by any chance? I heard some people might be from the future.

But I... guess I don't really know if I wanna know about the future, right now, so... if you are, please don't tell me! If it's gonna be bad, I think I'd rather not worry about it just yet. [Depression's depressing enough, and all that. He waits expectantly with the feed running live, looking hopefully down into his palm pilot. It's the kind of hopeful that's downright painful to look at for long, for most decent people, without wanting to pat him on the shoulder and tell him not to worry, things'll be swell.]