Generation: 12th (Through Diablerie)
Sire: No idea. Some chick.
Demeanour: Bon Vivant
|Bearing: Normalcy (0)|
Clan Weakness: +2 Difficulty on Social rolls with non-Caitiff Kindred
Flaws: Hunted, Prey Exclusion (rich and beautiful people only), Enemy
Herd: Beautiful people wannabes in a variety of clubs, gyms, tanning salons and expensive restaurants across L.A.
Influence: Money buys influence and I am connected to all sorts of different people through my business portfolio. All it takes is a phonecall…
Resources: The proceeds of my modest business acumen, augmented by my vampiric powers and a very large inheritance left by my late wife Catherine.
You are the model to which others strive to achieve, at least in the popular mind. Television shows, magazine spreads, and gossip websites speculate about your clothing, the appointments of your numerous homes, and the luxury of your modes of transportation. You have vast and widely distributed assets, perhaps tied to the fates of nations, each with huge staffs and connections to every level of society through a region. You travel with a minimum of three-dot comforts, more with a little effort. Corporations and governments sometimes come to you to buy into stocks or bond programs.
Gear & Possessions: Expensive shit. Lots of it. No idea what half of it does, really. Just thought it looked cool. Have you seen this one? It still works fine to depths of 20,000 feet or more. Awesome, huh? Er, no. No, I’m not sure what it is. Some kind of camera, I think. You got one as well? Cars? Yeah, whatever. A Bugatti Veyron at the moment. I’m getting kinda bored of it, though. Oh, I have this restored Maserati Bora as well. And some others. I have this beach-house too. It rocks. You wanna see the home cinema?
Havens: Malibu Beach House, Villa in Beverly Hills, Cabin near Big Bear.
Move: Assuming you don’t pump your Dexterity, your speeds are:
Walk: 7 m, Jog: 14 m, Run: 26 m, Move + Attack: 13 m, Move while acting: -1 die from other action’s dice pool per meter moved.
Running: 31 km/hour.
Health levels affect movement.
Apparent Age: 31
Date of Birth: 1975
Date of Embrace: 2006
Born into money, made some more on the financial markets, then married into a shitload more. Catherine Stapledon, youngest daughter of an absurdly wealthy family (lumber- lots of lumber) was the real thing. Well, I thought she was anyway. That didn’t stop me from letting a hot chick get too close to me in a club this one time. Anyway, she bit me and I changed into… well, whatever you want to call it. I still think “vampire” sounds really stupid. I found out the hard way about the need for blood. Or, should I say, Catherine found out the hard way. I made it look like a suicide. I mean, I was all cut up about it and stuff. I loved her and everything. Don’t get me wrong. But what was I supposed to do? I didn’t mean for it to happen. Couldn’t help it. So no reason my own life has to end, right? I mean, any more than it has. Her father blamed me. Figures. Also, I’m pretty sure he suspected something, so I took off and left Seattle behind. Money is everywhere, after all…
Most people say I’m good-looking. Which is kinda true, but really it’s all about knowing how to make the most of what you’ve got. I don’t really have all that much – I’m physically pretty average really. But I work out four, sometimes five days a week and I take care of how I look – I can afford to. So I’m pretty ripped, really. I mean, I don’t have the power or stamina of a real athlete or anything but I look awesome on the beach. And the chicks dig it. Well, some do, anyway. Mostly, though, I know it’s all a head-game. You have to know how to press people’s buttons. You have to think on your feet and pay attention to what’s going on around you. If you do that, you’ll be in pretty good shape.
Anyway, details. I’m 36, but I haven’t aged a day since, well, since I died five years ago. Black hair. Blue eyes. Six foot and 180 pounds. Blah blah blah. Now get lost. I got a midnight base jump and you’re making me late.