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| Malcolm Drenning; Camarilla - Gangrel | |
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| Topic Started: Monday, 12. September 2016, 23:52 (215 Views) | |
| Malvai | Monday, 12. September 2016, 23:52 Post #1 |
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Childe
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Player Handle: Malvai Name: Malcolm Drenning Age: 47 Place of birth: Leeds, England Age of embrace: 27 Clan: Gangrel Sect: Camarilla Species: Kindred Derangements: None Disciplines: Appearance: Malcolm, at least in terms of his appearance, tries to keep a low profile. Non-descript blue jeans, which he makes sure track the latest fashionable cut so as not to appear out of touch with the masses, canvas shoes (he has a thing for Converse All-Stars) and a plain t-shirt. When the nights are colder he'll dig out a hoodie with a full zip from neck to waist. When winter draws in a final layer of a black jacket gets added too. Anonymous, bland, easily lost in a crowd. Anonymity is an important trait given his ears extend from relatively human looking lobes to furry, wolf-like points. A legacy from his first nights in 1996 that requires the wearing of a dark beanie or similar hat to disguise. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't followed the fashion in 90s England for floppy, Brit-Pop inspired hair. He had been a cyclist, one who would spend hours crossing the Yorkshire hills and big hair didn't sit comfortably under a helmet. So should he ever take off his hat, it would reveal short, unkempt brown hair. His eyes are blue, nose not overly large but Roman in shape and wakes up every night with a few days of stubble on his chin. Malcolm has been known to shave (for what it's worth) when Elysium or when wider Kindred society dictates as much. It's the little things, the small efforts that make for a slightly easier life when your ears are a red rag to a particularly enthusiastic Brujah bull. He might dress for anonymity but engage him in conversation and he'll tell it to you straight. One look in his eyes will tell you that he doesn't suffer fools gladly. He'll tell it as he sees it and expects the same in return. Two decades surrounded by the machinations of vampires have taught him that it very rarely, if ever, happens. Haven: Malcolm doesn't need much. A cheap, basement flat with damp problems, few windows and no questions suits him just fine. So long as there's a reliable internet connection and coins in the meter he's happy. Word is that Sutton is the place to be if you're a Gangrel and suitable accommodation should be easy enough to find. History: "Heh. Knew you'd find me first, then again that's why you're the Primogen and I'm just-... yeah, I know the drill. Twenty winters. I won't ask yours in return. I know whatever the number is it's a figure I'm not going to argue with. Got a light? I like to keep up appearances. Look, I know our kind like to spin yarns and epic, emotional rollercoaster stories to live long in the memory but I'm going to tell it like it is. ...Mostly. You ever been to Leeds? To Yorkshire? God's own county. Beautiful hills, spend some time in the Dales if you ever get the chance - assuming a Lupine doesn't rip you in half within thirty seconds of you being there. Then again, something tells me you could go toe-to-toe with one of the buggers and give 'em a decent run for their money. Now that I would like to see. Anyway, assuming you don't become Lupine-nip and you do get a chance to spend time in the Dales then you'd get a sense of where I grew up. Life was pretty miserable back in the 70s and 80s, we had the Winter of Discontent and Unions were striking left, right and centre. My folks though, they wanted the best for me. Tried to shelter me from the crap that was going on around me, made sure I went to school, got some decent enough grades to boot too. What I'm trying to say is my childhood was normal. No psycho parents, no dirty uncle, no nothing. But guess how I filled my weekends? I cycled. I went everywhere on my bloody bike, journeys getting longer and longer as I grew into a teen then a young adult. Cycling was my life, getting out into the Dales, seeing the wilds of Yorkshire. Huge open spaces, I bloody loved it. Dad though, he was a pragmatist. Always insisted I had a trade to fall back on and when I went to university I studied computers. They were the trade of the future and it made sense for me to know about them. So I studied hard and got on my bike whenever I could. Turned out it was a sensible decision, but I'll get to that in a bit. Anyway, I got my degree and fell into a job building databases for a small company that ran accounting software for local businesses. It was a decent life, I had a manageable workload and plenty of time to get on my bike at the weekends. Then we got a new, strange client. Funky lady, properly Bohemian, but only available for a meeting in the early evenings and always insisted we went to her office which was the lower ground floor of an old office building. She paid well though so we didn't question it. 'Course you know where this is going but fuck it, I'm not wasting the opportunity to tell you anyway. So yeah, this lady has some really weird accounts that she's in the process of converting from paper to floppy disks. I'm helping her out, getting stuff together and we talk a lot about the Dales and a shared love of the outdoors. We talked and talked, I'd tell her stories of my latest rides and she'd always be interested in the sights and sounds, the smells and even the taste in the air. Then, surprise sur-fucking-prize, I wake up in a gutter on the edge of town with the taste of blood on my tongue and the Beast howling in my ears. I've no idea how I managed to survive those first nights but I did. Couldn't tell you if it was by luck or judgement but something told me to stick to suburbia. My gut (which I quickly learned to trust by the way) sent alarm bells every time I got the urge to hit the countryside and the same when I ventured towards the city centre. I was a goddamn vampire freak with wolf ears but I survived and most importantly, I didn't get caught. Then she, Little Miss Bohemia, showed up again and introduced herself properly. She was Rachel Jones and I was Gangrel. We were Gangrel. She taught me the tricks of the trade, dragged my arse to a few Things and an Allthing and of course introduced me to the Prince of Leeds. But we had to leave, Rachel had a new gig working with the Sheriff of Birmingham and I had a death to fake. Did you have to fake your own death? Bloody hell it's the most surreal thing. Anyway, Rachel had a few boons owing and Malcolm Denning had a horrific cycling accident. Could only be identified by his teeth type accident but hey, they grew back. So we went to Birmingham and en route I had to ask the big question - why me? Love of the outdoors, appreciation of the wild, blah blah blah... but what she really wanted was my skill with computers. Rachel saw change coming, saw the power of this new 'Internet' thing and wanted to be at the forefront of this information revolution. Well, at least as much as any Gangrel could. Plus it would help her help the Sheriff in her new job. It worked well, I pooled information, I learned the ins and outs of networking and networks. I could code, I could hack, I was the silent brains behind our little operation. Before you ask, no. I can't hold a candle up to the shit some of the Nos get up to but the Rotten-Fleshers of Birmingham and I came to an unspoken agreement. Basically, we didn't screw each other over and we all got on fine. Right, time to get to the business end yeah? Why is my arse suddenly in London? Well... oh shit, before I forget, that route between Reading and London? The one that goes around the Slough bottle-neck? Works a dream, not a Lupine or any of their mumbo-jumbo in sight. You might wanna keep that one in your back pocket in case you need a swift getaway out of the big smoke. Long story short, I've outgrown Birmingham. Think about it, I've got this Kindred lark sorted (bloody well should after twenty years), I know the Traditions, I know the games the other clans play. I get all that. I'm not going to lie either, Rachel and I had a good thing going there too but you know what? I need to spread my wings.I mean, look at this! Look at it all around you. There's no urban jungle quite like London with all the mortals, the architecture...the parks! I can see three guys cycling over there and I'm barely inside the city! This place was built for me. I can ride to all four corners of the city, no need to ever be on the Tube or on a sardine-tin of a bus. There's wifi and phone signal everywhere. From the wilds of the city to the wilds of the information superhighway. London's gonna love me.Yeah, yeah, I know...ask not what your city can do for you... Look, I understand computers. I can set up some Gangrel-only stuff that's just for our kind. No need for sodding carrier pigeons or gerbil messengers, I can set you guys up with something modern - connect it to the Birmingham crew too. I can get you information in ways you never even thought of before. I'm useful. I figured I'd get a reference from Rachel and the Sheriff of Birmingham too so that things would be smooth with the Prince here. It's the usual crap about me being an asset to the Sheriff's team and how I can certainly be an asset down here too. It should be enough to at least get me accepted. So what do you say, are we good?" Notes:Malcolm travels by bicycle pretty much whenever he can. He owns a perfectly maintained and looked after "Fixie" bike with drop handles that's perfect for zipping around London's streets. He is also never without a battered, old leather messenger bag. It's almost permanently slung across his chest and will always contain his laptop (he's going through a Surface Book phase at the moment), smart phone and sunglasses. As far as he's concerned the bike, the bag and its contents are all he needs to get by. Sometimes he will arrive with his jeans torn down the seam of his right leg, from calf to ankle. This is because he's got it caught on the chain of his bike. Again. Edited by Malvai, Tuesday, 13. September 2016, 20:45.
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| Leslie | Wednesday, 14. September 2016, 07:59 Post #2 |
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Flemish... furry... flirty... feline! (YODO) Perfection Purrs!
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2:02 AM Jul 11