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| "Autumn" a.k.a. Robyne Sheridan; Camarilla Gangrel - Updated 12/8/14 | |
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| Topic Started: Friday, 18. July 2014, 22:59 (2,329 Views) | |
| Robyne | Friday, 18. July 2014, 22:59 Post #1 |
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-- Hound --
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Player Handle: Rachel McLeod Name: Robyne Sheridan alias “Autumn” Age: 39 Place of birth: Hartford, Connecticut Age of embrace: 19 Clan: Gangrel Sect: Camarilla Species: Vampire Derangements: Disciplines: Appearance: 5’ 5” Athletic build, mature features, a true Irish-Scottish complexion, pale as white snow but her hair a bushy, wild curly mane of fire and autumn color. Her eyes a nice majestic emerald. If she weren't born in New England, she'd be as Irish as Darby O'Gill and the Little People chompin' on Lucky Charms by the Blarney Stone and a keg of Guinness. Alas, she is as Yankee as they come, with a Adirondack accent and a Connecticut attitude to boot. Fiesty and fiery when someone is up to foul mischief but compassionate and kind when someone is in need. ![]() ![]() Haven: A small, cheap apartment on the city’s edge. Just a one bedroom place for her to crash by day. Cheam Village, Sutton. History: I was born on October 19th, 1975 in Hartford, Connecticut at 7:15 PM in Hartford Hospital. My mom said it was during a nasty thunderstorm and the hospital almost lost power and had to use its emergency generators. My mom also said I was a restless baby—always fidgety and always hungry, and never easily settled. I was kind of like the thunderstorm—calm for a little bit at first then totally wild and unpredictable until I pretty much exhausted myself. For the first few years it was just mom, dad, and I living in some trailer in East River, Connecticut, on the service road. My parents were dirt poor compared to everyone else in East River. East River is this sort of rural town in Litchfield County that is all wooded hills, brooks and streams, and not much else. It became a sanctuary for the upper-crust super Conservative Republican types. The town was like this exclusive little haven of fancy Victorian and old Colonial houses for the really well-off. If you were poor, you lived on the service road or the other side of Chamberlain Road, on the other side of the hills that seemed to separate rich from poor. My mom was a librarian and substitute teacher at the Day Road School. It is a school for special needs kids. My best friend, Amy Cavanaugh went to that school. Amy is mentally challenged. I met her when I was forced to be a volunteer at Girls Summer Adventure Camp at the town community center. I was her special volunteer camp buddy and swim partner. I could write a whole book about our friendship. My mom was on the Summer Camp committee. My mom was on a lot of committees. Let’s see… she was the leader of the United Methodist Church choir, a chairperson for the Women’s Community Action League, she was also leader of a book club, a Bible Study group, a Sunday School teacher, the United Methodist Youth Fellowship advisor, and she was sort of basically trying to run for a position on the Town Council. My dad was chief of East River police. That was more than enough for him. His job was just to make sure the high school kids weren’t smoking dope near the elementary school or middle school, people weren’t shoplifting from any of the fancy shops on our quaint little Main Street, or all the drunks from Smokey’s Bar didn’t start any brawls or small redneck riots. I went to East River Elementary School when I was five. I was like this dorky redheaded kid with glasses that was picked on a lot. ![]() I had a lot of embarrassing moments when I was in kindergarten. Boys would always try and lift up my skirts and dresses in front of everyone so everyone could make fun of my underwear. My underwear was all like Care Bears, Rainbow Brite, Wonder Woman Underoos, and Stawberry Shortcake. I hated my underwear but that’s what I had because they came in cheap 6-packs in the bargain bins in the Save Way on Spruce Street where my mom always shopped for my clothes. Save Way is like the cheapest Dollar Store type place in the world—it is the Caldor’s or K-Mart of Dollar Stores. My clothes were all church charity donations too… I’d have to go to school in these faded old dresses that looked like old curtains or table clothes. They’d be frayed and almost see-through and they would have missing buttons in back and would have to be pinned with safety pins. My tights would be these old beige compression old lady tights. You know those boxed tights for old people you find in the back of the CVS or pharmacy, next to the Depends diapers and arthritis creams? Yeah, those tights for people with like diabetes or poor circulation. They were super ugly and somehow I had dozens and dozens of pairs of them—they all smelled of mothballs and dead people. They fit me weird too. They dug into my waist but sagged at the knees and ankles. Kids would always bully me about my clothes. They also bullied me because I had the free lunches too and my parents couldn’t afford for me to join Daisy Scouts or Brownies or Girl Scouts. I couldn’t do any of the cool stuff other kids could do. I couldn’t join ballet classes or take gymnastics—not that I would have liked ballet much—but gymnastics would have been cool and it would have been easier for me if I had taken it sooner than high school. I couldn’t do any sports actually when I was in elementary or middle school. My mom didn’t allow it. So this is where I tell you about my crazy psycho mom. By the time I was like seven or eight, my mom became like super religious. I also think it was about the time my mom became super Republican. Everything I did, everything I could do had to be like perfect Uber-Christian Republican. I couldn’t have certain people as friends, I couldn’t hang out at certain places, I had to look and dress a certain way, I had to always be on my best possible behavior, I couldn’t be a tomboy and enjoy camping, hiking rock climbing, critter chasing, or fishing—none of it. If it involved freedom, it wasn’t allowed. If I wasn’t a clean and tidy, pretty super feminine Christian poster child, my mom would have me locked in a prayer closet in the basement—just like some Stephen King movie I swear—and make me pray for forgiveness and paddle and spank me till I repented all my sins. This went on well into my early teen years. I used to runaway a lot! I would pack my school backpack with junk food, comic books, a borrowed Girl Scout field book and first-aid kit from my so-so friend Myra, and a canteen. I’d roll up a blanket and stuff it with some clothes depending on the weather. I typically did most of my running away in the summer so I can just wear my swimsuit like underwear and just pull on some shorts and a T-shirt and bring just a few more shirts and shorts. If it was cold or raining I’d run away wearing my dad’s trench coat over my clothes and stuff. Funny thing is, my dad wouldn’t be mad about me running away. My dad was in no way like my mom. My dad was normal and a straight-up nice man. The town respected him and he was just all common sense. The whole town trusted him. I think that’s why he was made chief of the police. When I ran off, he would always find me. He and I had this secret system about it. It’s kind of funny to talk about and kind of neat all the same. He and I knew the best places for kids to hide and run off too. He knew all about Crows’ Rest Park and the hiking trails in there. He knew I loved the woods and loved being near the brooks and streams and waterfall. He’d find me there. He also knew about the tree house I built on Maiden Lake. At Maiden Lake, I made this tree house out of spare wood and junk and old pieces of sheet tin from the quarry on the service road. I could sleep in the tree house and be snug as a bug with all my blankets under a solid tin roof up in a tree. I could swim in Maiden’s Lake and catch fish and stuff. I did this sort of thing all the time and sometimes I would bring my best friend Amy along. Amy and I were like secret sisters. Amy wanted to be a ballerina but no one would let her because they didn’t like the idea of a mentally challenged girl in the classes. They thought she would suck and slow the classes down and look stupid. Of course all the girls in town called Amy the R-word and made fun of her and were nasty and brutal towards her. I liked Amy. Amy didn’t judge people and she always smiled and always kept my secrets and she was pretty and funny in a good way. We loved each other like real sisters. You bet I miss her. I miss her a lot. She was and I say she still is my best friend and sister. If I could, I’d send her letters and just let her know I am in college or something, travelling all over the world or whatever. She would keep my secrets. When I was fourteen, a lot happened. For one thing, my mom went ballistic on me. She finally snapped and she did something unbelievable to me. It actually started off like this. I was spending a lot of time with Amy. My mom did not approve. She looked down on Amy and all the students she taught at the Day School. I liked Amy—well to be honest I loved her. You would too if you met her. She was a sweet girl. I loved pretty girls, sporty girls—I was in the closet and I loved girls—but I didn’t understand relationships and girl-girl love. I had some brochures and pamphlets from health class and I wanted to ask my mom questions and come out of the closet. My mom flipped! She totally exploded. She called me a whore and a slut and all sorts of curses. She threw me in the basement closet, beat me, and then… well it was nasty and in the end, I ended up in the hospital and my mom ended up in jail for child abuse and molestation and all sorts of assault with a deadly weapon and stuff. So far as I know she is still in some Danbury prison staring at blank walls and iron bars. I hope she rots in there. She took a part of me that was intimate, private, innocent, and feminine. My dad not only arrested my mom when he came home that day, but he divorced her too. After my weeks of recovery in the hospital, I started therapy. My dad remarried and you know what? It was like a dream come true! My dad married Amy’s mom! We actually became real sisters. I could tell you what was the deal with Amy’s dad but to make a long story short, he was a drunk and became like a dead beat. He was a cheater. He was this rich sort of New York business guy that made money by playing the stock market with other people’s fortunes. He probably stole money from these people on the side. Amy barely saw her dad for years. So Beverly Cavanaugh divorced her husband and married my dad when he proposed to her. It was like perfect! Two broken families became like one happy family all at once. And it was awesome! Amy took ballet, I joined gymnastics and started Girl Scouts, and I came out of the closet, continued my therapy, and joined this special all-girls nature empowerment rite of passage program for girls who survived severe child abuse. It was neat. It was six of us, all survivors. We camped out, had music circles, went on nature hikes and obstacle courses, took field trips, and became like sisters to each other. When I started high school, I joined the gymnastics team and also became the Nature Girls mentor. I was a late starter on the whole gymnastics thing, but managed to be junior elite until I focused more on the Nature Girls Program. I was thinking of becoming a counselor or therapist. More survivors were in the program by the time I was a sophomore at East River H.S. There were like twenty of us—eight from East River and the others were from neighboring towns like Sharon, Darien, Norfolk, and New Hartford. By my junior year I was really focused on being a counselor and program staff member. I started applying to colleges that had child psychology programs and nature therapy studies. The University of Connecticut, my first option, was a bust. They didn’t have nature therapy studies and never heard of it. They had psychology, of course—most universities did. But they didn’t have exactly what I was looking for. My high school guidance counselor and my therapist suggested I maybe look at schools overseas. I could apply on a gymnastics scholarship if I felt like pursuing more gymnastics—or I could earn scholarships for all my volunteer work with special needs kids and for all my work with children of abuse. By my senior year in high school I was already a summer camp counselor, a mentor for Nature Girls and already leading therapy circles in school and stuff. I found one university in Wales that had a special degree in child psychology and therapy—and the campus was in the countryside. I expressed interest and they offered me a full scholarship after I submitted my story to them and provided some essays and a few letters of recommendation. After I graduated in 1994 from East River High, I packed my things, said a heart-breaking goodbye to my best friend and sister, Amy, and accepted the scholarship to Cambrian University. I arrived at Cardiff, Wales for summer orientation and was met by a university representative, my personal academic advisor, Professor Ashley Camberly. She reminded me immediately of Professor Trelawney from the Harry Potter books. She was like this 60’s hippie commune woman in tie-dye broom skirts and gypsy clothes and wild frizzy hair. She was into The Moody Blues and all sorts of hippie music and world music. She was cool though and totally understood the whole nature therapy vibe I was on. When I arrived on the campus for the first time, I realized this was no ordinary school. It was in the mountains and woods and it was a series of cabins and old, old brick buildings—real rustic and old Welsh. It was awesome but odd because it was in no way like a modern university. In my freshman year, at 19, I was at first enrolled in all my required basic classes—you know, Math 110, English 101, Biology 104, and stuff like that. I was all ready to focus on my own personal therapy and eager to settle into Welsh culture and Welsh life. Professor Camberly took me under her wings—I smoked my first joint with her but didn’t like it. She had me hooked on herbal teas, incense, yoga, candle making, and all sorts of artsy nature stuff like herbal remedies and vegan cooking. There were other professors but none quite like her. For my independent study, I went to observe the nocturnal habits of badgers. It was a big issue. The department of agriculture and various legislatures were saying badgers were responsible for spreading diseases in cattle and that the government was going to conduct badger culls to widdle down the badger population. I wanted to study the badgers and see if any of them were in fact diseased or how they might have been infecting cattle. I was spending weeks at a time camping out in the woods and collecting data on the numbers of badgers in the area and what they were eating and stuff and where they were finding food. I was also keeping an eye out for badger hunters and poachers too. One night in particular I found myself approaching what looked like a hunter's nest. It was a camoflauged hidey-hole where there were badger traps and boxes of ammunition stashed away in a old military surplus pill box thingy. I was just about to report my find to the police and to my professors but something happened. I was ambushed from the bushes. The poacher charged me, tackled me, and was pounding on me. I didn't have a chance. He surprised me and overpowered me. He was a big, tall, heavy man. He roughed me up and threatened to kill me. I blacked out when he knocked me out and knocked the wind out of me. When I came around, it was still pitch dark out. I felt light-headed and disoriented and weaker than I remember. I felt sick to my stomach and felt a burning in my chest. I thought maybe the poacher had stabbed or shot me but I didn't feel any open wounds. I felt a panic attack coming on so I ran. I ran towards my campsite to call for help but when I arrived, my tent was wrecked and it looked as though my campsite had been raided. I learned what I had become later that night, just a few short hours before dawn. My body was undergoing the changes and I could feel the burning Hunger growing inside me. I fled to the woods and remember screaming wildly. I remember my body shaking as I ran through the woods. I was having panic attacks and remember my mind blurring with images-- bloody images. I remember vaguely returning to the poacher's hidden little nest. I remember smelling him in the air. I smelled him on my clothes and followed his scent. I remember bloody images flowing in my mind. I remember a struggle. I remember the taste of blood, hot, thick, dirty in my mouth and down my throat. I remember screaming and running, with blood all over my face. That was the first night I learned to hunt and learned I was not the person I was before. I wandered the woods for a few years, searching for the one who made me Kindred. Though I didn't find him or her, I did encounter others who were like me-- other vampires-- Kindred. I would follow them, learn from them, and stay with them for a time until their problems and attitudes and petty arguments became too much for me. I would disappear and leave them for a time and make my way to various towns and cities between Wales and England-- looking for clues as to who made me Kindred. I would spend my nights hunting and developing my powers and find shelter where I could by day in cemetery crypts, old work sheds, basements, abandoned buildings, wherever no one could find me. I became depressed and lonely but I was learning how to survive and take care of myself pretty well. I was learning how to pick up on the presence of other Kindred who'd wander my way. I seldom approached them. I would sometimes wander into a city, encounter some other Kindred, present myself to them, stay for a while but not for long. Some Kindred did not like my presence in their town or city. Some accused me of being an abomination or outcast or say I had bad blood in me. Of course I didn't understand so I would wander off back to the woods where I felt I most belonged. Lately though I feel too lonely and too depressed to stay in the countryside for more than a few months at a time. I feel there must be a reason I was saved from the poacher and I feel I must follow my instincts and continue to be an activist for troubled teens and also advocate for animal rights. I hate seeing kids suffering and hate it even more when people torture animals and kill them for sport or no reason at all. When I find people who hurt children and teens, hunting becomes easy. When I find poachers or hunters that set illegal traps and seek to fill their jeeps or trucks with dead animals for trophies and stuff, I get so pissed my mind sees only red. I have no problem sinking my fangs into them to drain them and leave them in the woods to die. I still wish I could do something to help teens with their problems. Being Kindred though means I can't setup my own school or camp or anything like that. I can only help in small ways-- in stealth, or stuff like that. I have recently started to approach London and hang out at the colleges there and parks and zoos to keep an eye on things. I look for other Kindred so I can present myself to the Prince of London. I think I can make a difference in London and find some kind of purpose or goal there. Notes: Robyne's education into Kindred Lore has come from the variety of rare few Kindred she has encountered over the last 20 years. She has a mix of experiences ranging from good and bad. Most of what she knows about her own disciplines she learned from experience so her discipline knowledge is limited to some extent. She does not know her Sire but believes the rumors from others that she may be Gangrel. She has frenzied at least once and has fuzzy, pointed ears under her bushy hair. Flaws: Prey Exclusion – Teenage girls – they are to be protected first and foremost. Nightmares – Flashbacks and terrors of her mortal child abuse experiences. {Minor, minor flaw: Mistaken Identity: "Merida" from Disney Pixar's "Brave"} Merits: Cat-like balance Her possessions include first-aid kits, camping gear, survival gear, clothes, a mandolin, various psychology books, scholarship money, and restitution money from her mother’s prison sentence. Robyne or “Autumn” as she calls herself at times, seriously misses her best friend Amy and has a special passion for helping special needs kids and those that are the most vulnerable. It is something of an obsession with her. If she was to witness instances of child abuse, her resistance to frenzy would be reduced I think. Her hobbies include gardening, hiking, making jewelry and candles, playing the mandolin, and making her own skirts and scarves. She acts like a big sister towards young teens and a mother to kids. She loves fantasy novels and fairy tales and sees herself as a fairy godmother to the most vulnerable teen girls she may meet. Edited by Robyne, Saturday, 30. April 2016, 16:45.
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| Graham Mason | Tuesday, 20. January 2015, 02:36 Post #2 |
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Steak Tartare (YODO)
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After a long time in the freezer, we can consider this girl [APPROVED] Go and make London your oyster. |
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Oh no! My souffle! "Words", stress level, "MetaMason", "THEVOICEOFREASON" | |
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| Robyne | Saturday, 24. January 2015, 22:07 Post #3 |
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-- Hound --
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Disciplines: (5) Animalism: Neonate: Feral Speech, Beckoning Fortitude: Neonate: 1 Protean: Neonate: Eyes of the Beast, Feral Claws |
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| Robyne | Wednesday, 26. August 2015, 21:53 Post #4 |
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-- Hound --
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New Frenzy Mark: Fox Eyes {Approved by Graham}
Edited by Robyne, Thursday, 24. September 2015, 16:06.
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| Robyne | Thursday, 10. September 2015, 16:58 Post #5 |
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-- Hound --
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Ghoul: Malalai Yosef -- Age 15 -- High School Student History: Rescued by Robyne from a small gang of racist skinheads who assaulted and raped her. Parents live in London. Her father is a prominent staff member in the Pakistani embassy to the U.K. and mother is an associate professor in Religious Studies at Oxford University (Christ's Church). Malalai is a student at Nonsuch Girls High School. 2 points blood bound to Robyne 1 point blood bound to Steph As far as Malalai is concerned, Robyne is her private tutor for the time being. |
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| Robyne | Friday, 3. June 2016, 18:48 Post #6 |
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-- Hound --
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New Frenzy Mark (3rd) -- Black furry forearms. Fox fur, thin layer but certainly present from elbows to wrists. |
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7:54 PM Jul 11