[@Ruby]

I believe I have my character fleshed out, but let me know if there is anything significant that I may have missed. 

I'm still trying to figure out Sam's current role (which is in the "Presently" section) and I'm thinking that maybe she's in contact with Eva (or one of her coterie) with regard to LA border protection or other relevant services in exchange for funding, etc. 

Anyway, let me know your thoughts :)


[hider=Sam Hell]
[b]Name:[/b] Samantha Helisaria
[b]Given nickname since the Embrace:[/b] Sam Hell

[b]Apparent Age:[/b] Late teens
[b]Actual Age:[/b] early to mid forties (born about 1972?)

[b]Species:[/b] Kindred
[b]Clan:[/b] Gangrel | 13th Generation
[b]Disciplines:[/b] Celerity | Obfuscate | Protean
[hider=A Note on Disciplines]
The first two replaced the traditional Gangrel disciplines, as Sam adapted more to urban life, thereby promoting the necessity to “blend in”. (Adopted from “City Gangrel" subset.)
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[b]Bad Habit/Vice:[/b] A drug user prior to her embrace and presently a point of contention amongst her coterie, the urge to satisfy the craving still exists, but more so through vitae infused with many of the street drugs common within the [i]City of Angels[/i]. Her cravings, however, may cause death for the victim of the feeding if her own [i]will[/i] is not strong enough to resist. 

[b]Appearance:[/b] At just over six feet of a petite, yet lean build, Sam’s presence is generally never missed, even when she would rather remain invisible. Her wardrobe is of a “90s grunge/punk” influence, from black denim and leather pants cut to accentuate her frame to cloth tank tops and plaid shirts varying in color and inked with custom artwork from local artists. Her shoes are little more than leather & steel “shit kicker” boots, which is probably the only style she'd ever wear for one reason or another. Her head is kept shaved most of the time, rarely allowing it to grow out for no other reason than because she can. And various piercings adorn her ears, lips, nipples, and other places you'd need to get to know her better to find out. Her love of the mystical and fantastic extends to several tattoos, ranging from dual serpents along her left forearm, to ancient glyphs that may or may not hold any real significance to her past or perhaps her present.

[b]Personality:[/b] At first meet, Sam tends to come off as brash, with little regard for those around her, and using sarcasm to hide emotional baggage from both her mortal and immortal life. But, once the hard shell of insecurity is breached, she can be more bearable to have around, perhaps even confiding in another. If mention of her past  -specifically with regard to her father's demise- came up, she would quickly snuff out the topic, unless the person in question persisted, which then it would be seen as outright disrespect and a challenge, especially if coming from another clan member.

[hider=Prelude]

[b]South Boston - late 1980s[/b]

“At what point, [i]Padre[/i], do we forget who we are, what we stand for, and where the fuck we're going?”

The young girl, stained in grime, blood, and soot sat on the floor at the base of the church altar, her head resting against the severely outdated wood paneling that had most likely existed when the building was constructed almost a century ago. Black mascara that once accentuated her emerald eyes ran down both cheeks like diluted ink on canvas, mixing with the still damp blood that was around her lips and chin. Blood that was not her own. Her head, shaven out of a rebellious heart and hatred for the man she once called “father", stained with what could only be assumed as the same blood found on the rest of her body. Her eyes darted back and forth until finally resting on the elderly priest sitting and listening intently in the pew across from her, doing his best to keep from shifting nervously from not only the horrific news of what she'd done shortly before arriving, but also the unusual aura that the girl he once knew was now emitting.

“I'm not ashamed of what I did.” She finally blurted out, her strained voice echoing through the great sanctuary. “The bastard had it coming. So think whatever sick shit you want to come up with and I guarantee you won’t even be close to the truth.” The girl flashed a wry grin before averting her eyes from the other and staring blankly at the stained glass ceiling. “You think I’m just some junkie from the slums, yeah?” She accused in a mocking tone, trying to hold back any tears of blood that would never come, while the events from earlier still played back in her head as a nightmare on an endless loop. “And I bet all us tattooed freaks look the same to you...” She forced a pathetic laugh, running a dirty hand across her stubbled head. “Besides, you only ever tolerated me because of [i]him[/i]...”

The priest leaned forward in the bench and gazed for a moment at the adolescent he knew as “Sam”, the tall yet slim girl who was now in her late teens and very different than what he’d remembered her as, appeared pale, and almost lifeless now. A black “Motorhead” tank top and tight jeans riddled with small holes and tears was all she’d had on. Even her shoes were missing for whatever reason, which exposed mud-covered feet and black toenails. The old man’s attention turned to the twin serpent-like tattoo interlocked on her arm which appeared as though it could strike out at any moment. And then to the crow just above her petite chest with wings that spanned from shoulder to shoulder, looked as though it would launch into the sky. Several areas of her body, from what he could see, had various tattoos of myth and fantasy, or ancient glyphs which seemed more to be of a paganistic nature.

The Priest knew who she was, or who she [i]had[/i] been at one time, and possibly even [i]what[/i] she was if he believed in that sort of thing. Although with a history of drug use, he couldn't tell if she was suffering the effects of substance abuse, or something more. In either case, however, knowledge of anything didn’t make being in her presence any less awkward...

[center]****[/center]
[i]Sam grew up to a mother she lost way too early, and to a father -the honored ex-military police captain who was hailed as some [i]hero[/i] from years ago- she was simply known as “Some kind of Damaged” for most of her childhood, never living up to his expectations and rebelling against him at every turn. His love was to the job and upholding laws that apparently didn’t apply to him either. But no matter how often the beatings came, or the sexual assaults attempted, or even how many days she was locked in her room without food, his only daughter wouldn’t change. She couldn’t be normal like he wanted. But it didn’t matter. He was gone now. Nothing but a charred corpse and a hollow building she once called a home.[/i]

[center]****[/center]
“It’s God’s job to judge, not mine” The priest finally responded, trying to avert his eyes from following the path of the women’s ornate body art, which lead into areas he deemed inappropriate for a young lady to defile with such imagery.  “And...yet you being here, confessing, allowing me to listen, is a step in the right direction to redemption. So I applaud you for that my child. I just wished you’d come to me more often for guidance, as it’s God’s Will to see justice and mercy granted.”

“God?” She snorted. “How is it that the God you believe in allows such [i]monsters[/i] to roam the earth?” Her hand beat against her own chest, driving the point of the comment meant for herself. She knew what she’d done, and didn’t know how to cope with it, even as a creature she’d barely understood.

The main sanctuary doors at the other end of the aisle quickly burst open revealing a handful of uniformed Military Police officers, flashlights and assault firearms poised at the ready as they spread their ranks to cover all exits and entry points.

“Samantha Helisaria, you’re under arrest for the murder of your father, Captain Jorgio Helisaria” The lead officer held the girl at gunpoint, the muzzle of the assault rifle only inches from her dirt and blood-riddled visage. “You sick piece of Gypsy trash.” He mumbled under his breath, but still loud enough to be heard. “Why’d you have to burn him alive?”

“Burned?”  Her expression screwed up into confusion, until she realized...

[center]****[/center]
[b]Victim is Your Name and You Shall Fall[/b]

[i]Only hours earlier, she found herself laying on the cold linoleum kitchen floor of the two story Telegraph Hill Brownstone, a place she’d called home since she was born. A place she’d shared good times with a loving mother before her passing, and yet also a place that was darker than the pits of hell could ever be. Sam’s body felt stiff for that moment, and the thought of being back in the house made her stomach churn, sending a fire through her veins as the blood she’d consumed only moments ago, -blood from the corpse of her very dead father that laid inches away- began reconstructing her insides, repairing the flesh and bone that the Embrace destroyed, and heightening senses that would forever change her perception of the world. It didn’t matter to her at that moment why she was there, or even how she ended up there, but the memory of the one who called himself “Marcus” resonated within her very being and his low, even voice eventually soothed the beast within her as he spoke.

“Wake up Sammie. Your nightmares are over and a new life begins.” 

Marcus chose her for several reasons of his own, and after months of observation from the shadows, had decided the time was now. But a deeper-seeded motivation had brewed within the mind of the Gangrel, as he was well aware that Samantha Helisaria was indeed the disowned and abuse daughter of the very police Captain who had been solely responsible for the arrest and destruction of dozens of his closest coterie members over the years. Unforgivable actions that Marcus, and much of his brood, could not let happen any longer. And what better way to kill two birds with one stone, then to set the stone’s fiery rage and hatred onto his enemy, and perhaps finish out with an ally after the ashes cleared. The job was done, their clan avenged, and the once mortal teenage girl was a Child of the Night, and she had no recollection of just how much of an instrument of revenge she'd become for her Sire. But the night wasn't over for the fledgling.

The young girl, still slowly recuperating from the frenzied state that left her former father torn to pieces on the kitchen floor of their home, heard the distinct blaring of police squad car sirens coming closer. It didn’t take long for her mind to wrap around the notion that she was in serious shit already, having no idea what had happened and yet giving into a flight response all the same. Even as she tried to get up, it was as though her legs didn’t want to work. They felt like two rubber bands, unable to stiffen so she could actually use them. 

“C’mon, Sammie.” The voice of her Sire echoed in her head. “I know you have it in you to survive...”

She eventually pushed herself up, and staggered through the kitchen and living room area toward the window facing the alley that separate their home from the building next door. 

“Psst” She heard from behind her, as Marcus stood in the living room, armed with a gasoline can and a Zippo lighter. “I’ll take care of this mess, beautiful, you just get the hell out here.”

And without a word, Sam crawled through the open window and landed on the cobbled stone and brick surface of the alley, running full speed in the opposite direction of the police officers and not wanting to look back ever again as she vanished into the shadows.[/i] 

[center]****[/center]
The girl, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, looked back at the priest, whose somber expression gave away too much.

“Y-You called them?” She exclaimed, her voice echoing throughout the sanctuary hall. “Bastard [i]Gadjo![/i]...I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! What the hell happened to that ‘seal of confession’, or whatever bullshit doctrine you’re supposed to follow?” 

The priest shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. “I didn’t tell them anything, except that you were here. They already knew the rest Samantha...”

The girl, enraged, lunged out toward the priest from her sitting position “You son of a b-...” She was caught by one of the officers mid-way, spun around, and pushed back down onto the floor, the unrestrained supernatural energy causing the officer to lose his balance before calling the others over to apply their weight. 

“Fuck! The fat ass deserved it! You pricks knew he was corrupt and abusive-” Her words caught in her throat, as the lead officer pushed her face against the cold floor and clasped her wrists with handcuffs, taking extra care to tighten them until she screamed. The lead officer quickly followed up by pulling out a syringe filled with enough sedatives to knock out an elephant, and immediately stuck it in the girls neck, unloading the entire vial.

“Shut your mouth or I swear I’ll shut it for you, bitch! You were spotted running from the house after you set it on fire you dumb cunt, so don’t even try.” The arresting officer snarled as he pulled the empty syringe from her skin, his knee still pressed firmly against her back. "Cop-killer scum like you don’t have rights. And where you’re going, you’ll wish I’d put a bullet in your head right here...”

[center]****[/center]
[b]Hours later...[/b]

Sam woke to what could only be described as chaos to the senses, but amplified to a degree that became borderline agonizing, coupled with smells of stale alcohol, engine grease, and the sweat of mortal men. Opening her eyes, it was blurs of haloed lights, as the effects of the sedatives she was pumped with slowly wore off. Whispered voices in the background ceased for a moment and the girl could see a silhouetted figure approach through the single doorway.

“Where the fuck am I?” Was about all the girl could muster, trying to ignore the constant buzzing in her ears, and the pungent aroma of just about everything around her. 

“You’re home, princess.” The recognizable voice of her Sire, Marcus echoed from across the room. “And you’re one of us now.”
[/hider]

[hider=Presently]
[b]Blood Will Follow Blood[/b]

For over twenty years she’d been part of clan Gangrel, part of a family who genuinely cared about their own, even to the point of death. Sam didn't know what that was like up until then, and now she couldn't imagine being anywhere else. She’d not only learned skills and trades that would help her navigate through society as well as protect herself and others, but supernatural abilities that enabled her to better adapt and blend into urban environments, a significant deviation from the traditional Gangrel innate abilities, but just as important to their survival nonetheless.

And yet even in that relatively short amount of time as a vampire, she’d still found herself trying to adjust to the life of an immortal creature whose sole purpose was to…[i]well[/i], she didn’t know exactly. Coping each day was still a challenge, and to counter days such as those, she'd found herself sliding back into old mortal vices, specifically drug usage, even to the discontent of her peers.

To be a Gangrel -or any Kindred clan during the Final Nights- meant being tested to the brink of cracking, hitting the physical and mental thresholds again and again until nerves could be steeled, and goals were never fully out of sight. As much of a pain in the ass that the Anarchs were, they still had uses and Sam had a knack of persuading through any means that would get their attention. 

Gangrel-run Broods were building up across Los Angeles under the guise of (fairly) legitimate Auto Repair & Body Shops, many of which were spearheaded by Marcus, and enforced by other pack members including his childe, Sam. Their job was simple: [i]To Protect their own territories and the ever growing interests of the city's Elders".[/i] 
[/hider]
[b]NPCs:[/b]
(Still a WIP) Sam’s coterie consists of mainly “Petrol Heads” working out of several garages along the outer territories of Los Angeles. The members consist of Gangrel and their ghouls/blood dolls, sworn to protect certain territory near the outskirts of LA whether by tooth and nail, or the exchange of information. 


[/hider]