I was busy . . .
This innate ability to make those around him intoxicated has aroused equal speculation and feculation about Ginferno‘s actual self. Not merely his identity; it has been theorised that Ginferno cannot deactivate his powers, and so everyone who perceives him must do so through gaze of an affable drunkard. Even basic details about his appearance have never been confirmed, with variations in height, descent, voice, hair and eye colour, dress and occasionally even gender. Photographers have rarely gotten within range of his charm with their final photos off-centre, off-focus, or suffering an attack of the forgotten lenscaps. His off-the-cuff hilarity for which he had become much famed is far more explicable in this light; in that condition a rousing Armpit chorus would be Wildean wild wit, to say the least. Given the low fieldability of recording equipment at this point in history, no extant footage of Ginferno can be examined without obvious note of the operator’s dense inebriation at his station. But this flame burns both ways, some have thought: if no one in the world that you interact, no one at all, ever sees you as you really are, what does that do to your perception of it? Of them? Of yourself?
The most terrifying thought is that in the centre of a maenad’s maelstrom, Ginferno is the most sober man in the universe.
Such a man can have no origin story or, rather, he has several hundred. These range from the simply unconfirmable to the hilariously apocryphal. Urban legend says he fell into a vat of the finest ale and drowned – eventually- after getting out three times to go to the toilet. Said to have taken the hair of a were dog that bit him, to have consumed the worm at the bottom of a bottle and gained its powers, Ginferno was bitten with the bitter bite of drink. Others, allow Ginferno to be a Wandering Jew type, condemned act as barman to the world until the mythical Last Call. And so on. All of these stories were no doubt concocted by Ginferno himself as skilfully as he is known to concoct his drinks, fed to the ultimate in gullible customers. It certainly fits those few confirmable attributes about his personality that lie in file. There have, however, been rumours of Ginferno displaying intellectual abilities easily equal to those of his chemical ones. Instances in which he has decommisioned bombs, guns and narcotics have proved his chemical proclivities. Others were he has nullified poisons and even exchangeable metabolic rates to help the biologies of others to self-repair evidences his being able to use his physical abilities for basic cellular repair rather than systematic liver damage. A doctor’s proctor.
real name, if he still uses it, may have some Phd.’s, and possibly an M.D. after it. Identity:
In this super age of early twentieth century New York, any number of noted scientists go missing in blaze of smoke, a flash of light or a whiff of ozone, only to presumably return in much more noticeable stance. As such, Ginferno could be any one of a thousand chemical experts, metabolic experimenters or research and development brewery staff. Is his great satire upon us, do you think, that the fine mind he must have been would have become most renowned in its most comical role? Given his name, his bar’s name, and that of his greatest nemesis – the apparently demonic Ginfernal – Ginferno‘s association with ‘demon drink’ has one his harshest critics have been quick to make, often allying high-ranking church and abstinence groups against him. Yet, if he can so aptly manipulate those around him . . . one cannot help but think that a true scientist would take some degree of satirical glee in making himself the very epitome of malevolent magic while in actuality an empirical method master.