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Name: Nadezhda Alexandrovna Zubova to strangers, Nadya to acquaintances, Nadyusha to close friends, and Nadyushen'ka to only her most intimate associates.
Nickname: Known simply as Madame Zubova to citizens of Serpent's Fang, although those of an Eastern European persuasion tend to respectfully refer to her as Sudarynya Zubova. 
Gender: Female
Age: 185 Years Old
Occupation: Saloon Proprietor
District: North
Species: Vampire
Any associated powers:

Vampiric Powers - As a creature of the night, Madame Zubova commands all of the terrible powers associated with vampires. She possesses the heightened senses of a predatory monster. She is markedly resistant to even the most grievous physical harm. She has an insatiable appetite for blood, human blood. Worse still, she is inhumanly charming and can lead others toward damnation with but a flutter of her eyelashes.

Appearance:

Height: 5 ft 5 1⁄2 in
Build: Nadya possesses the lithe, graceful build of a dancer.
Eyes: The vampire has brilliant green eyes, deep pools of emerald that seem to draw the viewer in closer.
Hair: Madame Zubova has black hair the color of midnight that reaches well past her shoulder blades. She keeps her hair pinned in an elaborate chignon knot at the nape of her neck. To secure the chignon, Madame Zubova uses a modest collection of antique hairpins.
Skin Tone: Madame Zubova has pale skin the color of alabaster.
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Far too proud to mark her skin with ink and a creature of great privilege, Madame Zubova's skin remains untouched by time or life.
Voice: A gifted actress, unless she permits it, there is no trace of her Russian origins in Madam's Zubova's accent. Instead she frequently speaks with a posh accent that one might best place as being Southern English in tone and measure. She speaks with a cool, teatime voice.
Scent/Aura: Being a dreadful creature of the night known as a vampire, Madame Zubova exudes all the terrible, inhuman grace and charm of an undead monster. For a vampire, she takes great care to hide her predatory nature and instead appears to most as a very alluring young woman.
Personal Style: Full of poise and grace, Madame Zubova dresses elaborately, favoring long dresses and elegant gowns that would be suitable for far more elegant settings than Serpent's Snag.

Personality: Madame Zubova is a meticulous monster, touched with a melancholy smile and thoughtful eyes. Warm, engaging, and a master of entertaining, she is only reserved when it comes to discussing her own person or past. Confident, she nonetheless moves with great propriety and is audacious only in her art. She is kind, in so far as a vampire, a predatory monster can be considered to be kind. She is fiercely protective of her employees, but reluctantly continues to bind them to her service and use their blood and bodies for her own economic gain. 

Backstory:

Thomas spotted the woman walking down a boulevard in Serpent's Spring. It was her eyes. Staring into her eyes he could feel himself sinking. But he welcomed it. He wanted it. He wanted her. No, he needed her. She moved down the street slowly and he followed. She was young. Twenty five at best. He'd never seen a woman dressed like that before. Elegant. Royal. Beautiful. He didn't know her, not yet, but he was going to change that. He knew what love felt like. He wasn't a coward. He tapped the cowboy that strolled lazily next to him on the shoulder. Lawrence was a native, he had to know who the woman was.

"Hey Lawrence, who's that?"

He didn't need to point, Lawrence simply laughed and let out a low whistle as he nodded in the direction of the woman.

"That my dull friend, is Madame Zubova."

"Madame Zubova?"

"The one and only."

"Do you know her, Lawrence? Who is she?"

"Everyone in Serpent's Fang knows who she is, Thomas."

Thomas resented the smirk that flashed across the cowboy's face. Lawrence never seemed to take him or anything seriously. Much less matters of the heart.

"What do you mean?"

"I know who she is, Thomas, but that doesn't mean I know her."

"Then tell me what you know."

"She keeps a saloon in the City Center. She's got some real pretty girls. If you've got the cash to spend that is."

"She's a brothel madam?" Thomas croaked, feeling a sudden sweat growing on his brow.

"Oh, I don't think she'd like to hear you say that, Thomas, not one bit. She's very particular about what you call it. Prefers to call it a saloon. A bit of a sore spot, you might say."

"You've been there?"

"A couple of times," Lawrence continued, a smile crossing over his lips. Thomas did not ask him to elaborate. "But it's a bit too pricey for me to make a habit out of it."

"That expensive?"

"That expensive...but that good."

"Did you talk to her?"

"To Madame Zubova?"

"Yes! Who else?"

"Besides paying her and thanking her very much for hospitality, I didn't say a word. Women like that aren't for me, compadre. And they're not for you. They're for a whole other kind of man. A very rich one I would wager."

"Save your jokes," Thomas scoffed, his cheeks turning bright red with embarrassment. "Surely, you know something about her? Rumors? Stories? Anything?" he pleaded desperately.

Lawrence let out a low laugh, "About her? Nothing. Nobody does. She's a woman of mystery. Showed up a couple of years ago to open up her saloon and hasn't said much about herself since. Why? You hoping to have a private chat with her? You think you're up to it, campadre? Your wallet heavy enough for that sort of lady?"

"N-no...I was just curious! Why do you always have to be so difficult, Lawrence?"

"Ah, Thomas, brave, foolish Thomas," Lawrence began, wrapping an arm good-naturedly around the youth's shoulder. "A word of advice to you, my young compadre, drop the matter before you are burned. Better men than you have tried to win the heart of Madame Zubova and it didn't end well for any of them...Now about that drink..."

"Pardon me sir, but if I might trouble you for a moment," the vampire politely intoned, as he doffed his wide brimmed hat. He was a stranger to the western reaches. He was a stranger to Serpent's Fang. Days of travel had covered him in a fine layer of dust. It had been days since he had last fed and he could feel the hunger growing inside of him. He could hear the beast within clawing at his skin, gnawing at his bones, and howling at his soul. He could contain it, but not for much longer. The night was upon the city and it only strengthened his need.
 
The inn keeper smiled, waving a hand deferentially from behind the oaken counter. The old man did not seem overly concerned or surprised at the lateness of the vampire's arrival. Bent over and ancient, he was a hideous creature that filled even the vampire with a sense of loathing. "Of course, of course, what can I do for you?"

"I would be grateful, most grateful indeed, if you could direct me to a place still serving food at this hour? You see it has been many days since I had time to eat and the road has sapped me of my strength."

"Ah! A discerning customer I see. I understand you! I am sure of it, sir," The inn keeper smiled and the vampire could not mistake the sharp fangs that lurked beneath his lips. The wretched figure leaned closer and spoke mirthfully, "I would recommend the House of Earthly Delights, sir. Without hesitation may I humbly add! You will find the food to your liking, of that I am certain! And Madame Zubova is discreet, very discreet." 

"Many thanks," the vampire replied with a grateful smile. He had never had much of a taste for drink addled fools stumbling into the wrong alley. The flavor had never grown on him, despite years of effort. No, no, he much preferred a clean and attractive young lady. The aftertaste was so sweet, so full of life. He could feel the strength growing in his legs with each step that he took towards the saloon. He would feed. He would be restored.

"Let me tell you a story, devushka, my story."

"Your story?" the girl gasped, her lungs fighting to draw more air. She felt weak. Her skin felt as it if was on fire and was covered in a layer of sweat. Yet deep within she felt cold and shivers ran through her. She lay in the bed where Madame Zubova had carried her, wrapped in fine Egyptian cottons and resting on a mountain of soft pillows. 

"Sssh, my dear girl, my sweet girl, do no waste your strength."

"Madame Zubova," the girl persisted. "Why would you tell me? You never told anyone. You said we shouldn't ask. You always looked so sad when you said it."

"Call me Nadyushen'ka, we are of the same heart now, are we not?"

The girl's lips moved as she repeated the strange, foreign name. She found it beautiful. She felt warm. She felt loved. Madame Zubova drew closer, pulled the girl's head gently onto her lap. Her smile was sad and the sorrow danced in the light of her eyes.

"I was born in the year of our Lord, 1690. Oh, it was a lovely age, how I wish you would have seen it. There was so much hope, so much potential. The world has become so ugly since then. So much hatred. So much violence. So much war. I hate it."

"But...Madame...that's almost two hundred years ago?"

"Yes, my sweet," the vampire said softly stroking the girl's hair. "One hundred and eighty five years to be precise. I have lived many lives. I have seen many things. My night is long and does not end with the sunrise."

"How- How is that possible?"

Madame Zubova smiled, allowing her sharp fangs to show. The girl shifted away from her in a slow panic, eyes turned wide with fear. Madame Zubova patiently held out her hand, beckoning the girl to grab it,"Do not worry, child. Do no be afraid. I am your tyotenka. I am your aunt. I am your guardian. I will not harm you. I cannot harm you. I love you too much to hurt you."

The girl wanted to object. There was something she wanted to say. Some part of her brain screamed at her to run. It shouted at her to flee from the predatory creature that sat next to her. But she was so tired. And Madam Zubova's eyes were so beautiful. She didn't want her to look so sad. She wanted her to be happy. She wanted to see her smile again. She grasped Madame Zubova's hand desperately and buried her face against her chest. Warm tears streamed down her face and onto the other woman's dress.

"There, there, sweet girl, it is nothing, all is well, all is bliss," Madame Zubova spoke softly, sweetly even. Her voice banished the fear the girl had felt. "I am from a distant land. I was born the youngest daughter of an ancient noble family. My family had served the Muscovite dukes since the 15th century. We were Russian, you see?"

"Russia?" the girl asked, her reddened eyes staring eagerly into Madame Zubova's eyes.

"Yes, a cold and dreadful place," Madame Zubova replied gently wiping the tears from the girl's eyes with the a silk handkerchief. "Sometimes, but other times it is a place of great beauty."

"Do you miss it? Your home I mean?"

"I do, but it is not there anymore. It is not as it once was. My home is here now. With you, my sweet girls."

"So you were a princess?"

Madame Zubova laughed with kindness in her eyes,"No, never. I was simply a member of the court of Peter the Great, greatest of all the Tsars. I was a lady in waiting to a princess only five years my elder. I learned much in the Great Tsar's court. I learned much about the ways of courtly matters. I learned much about men. I learned much about women. I learned much about vice. And I learned much about the world. Not all of it was welcome, but that is the way of things. We suffer for our art, do we not?"

"Art?"

"Yes, my dear, art," Madam Zubova said, the sadness vanishing from her features for a moment. "Art is what we live for and it is what we die for."

The girl began to cough. Her chest heaving with each heavy shudder of her lithe frame. She held onto Madame Zubova's arms with weakening strength. Fighting. Still fighting the wicked illness that assailed her. Madame Zubova was patient. She took no offense. She did not move away from the girl like the others had begun to. She did not look angry. She did not look afraid. She fussed lovingly over her charge and carefully brought a cup full of cold water to the girl's parched lips. When the girl had ceased coughing, Madame Zubova continued. 

"My parents, may they rest in peace, had high hopes for me once," Madame Zubova began, crossing herself in the Orthodox fashion. "They brought me up as our station demanded it. My life was an endless string of carefully chosen nurses, servants, tutors, and friends. I was taught to be a lady, a proper lady. I learned to dance, I learned to sing, I learned to play instruments, and I learned to entertain."

"Why did you learn all of those things?"

"An excellent question, dear child," Madame Zubova replied. "My parents wished me to be the perfect bride, you see? To find a respectable suitor. To bring prestige to our family. To produce respectable heirs. To build a respectable family. To die a respectable woman in my old age."

Madame Zubova smiled, "I was never good at being respectable. No, not in the way they wished. I did not live for the affections of some stuffy noble. I did not dream of a boring husband. I dreamt of art. I wished to be Rembrandt. I wished to paint. I wished to be Shakespeare. I wished to act. Oh, how I wished to be Mozart. To compose great operas that would s So I ran away. I ran away with a soldier to spite them. A common, brutish man, a simple solider in the Tsar's army with not one drop of aristocratic blood coursing through his veins. But he was proud and he was brave. He was an interesting man."

"Did you love him?"

"No, but he could be kind, he was not a good man, but he was kind to me. He taught me much about the world. Your world. The world of the common people."

"What happened to him?"

"He died," Madam Zubova said, her throat tightening as the girl reached out to her. "I was pretty then, a young thing of great beauty and full of life. Another soldier challenged him to a duel. He meant to take me for himself. Dima fought for me. He died. My hope died with him."

The girl wondered what Madam Zubova was or how long she had appeared young. She had heard the stories in the Old Country. Stories about the dead. Stories about the dead rising from the grave to feast on the blood of the living. Stories about the Count, the long dead Count Dracula and his cursed castle. She had never believed them. They had seemed such quaint, silly stories. But now she believed. Madame Zubova didn't seem mad. Not in that sort of way.

"What happened then?"

"I fled. I traveled west. I made my way to France. I arrived in Paris in 1723," the girl felt Madame Zubova pull her closer, warmth radiating between them. "Oh, how I wish you had been there with me, my sweet girl. It was a wondrous age. So beautiful. So wonderful. So full of art. So full of knowledge. The reign of Louis XV brought so much joy to my life. If could live only one more day, I would live again in one of those happy days."

"It sounds wonderful," the girl gasped, closing her eyes for a moment. She was so tired.

"I met her then. I met her there. My mistress. My creator. My muse. My heart. My soul," the girl opened her eyes and studied her own mistress. She had never heard Madame Zubova so enraptured. So in love.

There was a desperate longing in Madame Zubova's eyes as she spoke of her creator. The girl felt her own heart skipping beats as it lurched against her chest. She would have done anything to please her mistress. She would have killed if Madame Zubova had asked her too. She just wanted to see her smile. She would have consigned her own soul to damnation if Madame Zubova had suggested it. She just wanted to feel the warm touch of her hand again and to see her bright emerald eyes. Lost in her memories Madame Zubova continued,"She embraced me. She killed me. She gave me this endless dream, this endless night."

"Why didn't you stay there?"

"We did my sweet, we did, we stayed for many decades. We traveled across Europe," Madame Zubova said, wrapping the girl in her arms again. "We sought out the great artists of the age. We saw so much, my dear girl. We lived many lives. I remember Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert. All young men then, when I knew them. Such wonderful musicians, such wonderful artists. I loved them as soon as I met them. Oh, how I miss their music, their gifts, their art. It is not the same to hear their music through others, is it? I remember Watteau, Lancret and Boucher. Their paintings move me still. Such color, such joie de vivre. However, my passion in this age was the theater..."

"What happened to your...mistress?

"Ah, sweet girl, my mistress and I parted ways," Madame Zubova said, her voice breaking. "It is sad, I know, but it is the way of our kind. I had to be free. I had to find my own way. She would not permit me fear to constrain me. She would never have forgiven me."

"Madame Zubova, how did you end up here?"

"Europe became so ugly, so full of hatred, so full of small minded fools with cruel weapons and crueler hearts. I am afraid even my kind did not embrace my artistic aspirations. They felt I was too human, too involved. They said it was wrong to love your kind, to love your art. They did not understand. They never understood. Art sustained my soul. It curtailed my damnation. I left before they could chain me to their traditions. I sailed across the sea, to this land, to a land of new opportunities and new freedoms."

"You look sad, are you not happy here?" the girl said, feeling a pang of pain. She had hoped Madame Zubova was happy. She had wanted to please her. She had lived to bring her joy and to receive her compliments. The notion that she had failed brought new panic to her heart.

"Things did not turn out quite as I had planned, my sweet girl. I had hope for so much more. I had hoped to find such great art, such beauty. But it is all the same, is it not? I cannot escape it? This filth, this horror, and this ugliness. Your kind are so cruel, so cruel, and I feel your pain as if it was my own."

"You feel my pain?" the girl asked, placing a hand softly against Madame Zubova's cheek.

"Yes, always, always my dear girl."

"Madame Zubova...I'm dying aren't I?"

"Yes."

"I don't want to die."

"I know, my dear."

"Save me."

Madame Zubova smiled but the girl could see the tears traveling across her cheeks. She took the girl's hand and held it with fond pressure, gazing into her face with languid and burning eyes. The girl felt Madame Zubova's lips brush softly over her own. Her hot lips travelled along the girl's cheek in kisses, caressing her neck with their touch.

"Oh, my dear, you do not know what you ask for...what you wish me to do..." Madame Zubova whispered between soft sobs.

Skills/Specialties:

Mistress of the Arts - If it is an art, then Madame Zubova has studied it. If it involves creativity, then Madame Zubova has worshiped it. If it is beautiful, then Madame Zubova has coveted it. An immortal artiste, Madame Zubova has dedicated herself to the perfection and proliferation of all forms of art. She wishes to fill the desolate Wasteland with the sound of music, with the culture of the theater, and with beautiful paintings equal to the works of the greatest masters. Her unbeating heart yearns only for more beauty, for more art with which to paint over the ugly cruelty of life.
Rudimentary Medicine - Running a place of entertainment that caters to the many desires of mundane and supernatural creatures in equal measures necessitates a certain level of understanding of medical matters. While certainly no doctor, Madame Zubova knows enough to treat the common wounds and ailments that her employees might suffer from. More importantly, the kind Madame knows when to seek out the services of a proper professional.
Noble Upbringing - A true blue-blooded aristocrat, Madame Zubova is a true master of the habits and etiquette of the upper class and moves as easily through complex social situations as a fish swims in water.
Noble Education - Although no scholar, due to her privileged birth, Madame Zubova has benefited from an exemplary education. She was tutored by learned men in advanced fields of study such as arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy, philosophy and theology. Further, she can read, write, and converse fluently in several languages (French, German, English, and Russian).
Professional Bookkeeper - Managing the financial health of any business is the first step to success and Madame Zubova takes great pride in her abilities as an accountant.

Anything Else:
Madame Zubova is the proprietor of reputable saloon called the House of Earthly Delights located in the City Center district.

The House of Earthly Delights is a saloon located within the heart of Seperent's Snag. A most reputable establishment in a city known for vice, the saloon is run and owned by one Madame Zubova. Catering to a wide range of mundane and supernatural clientele, the saloon offers all manner of elicit entertainment to the discerning customer with a heavy wallet.

The saloon is elaborately decorated, with imported European decor, modern stemware, and oil paintings, some of the rumored to be painted by the Madame herself, hanging from the walls.

By way of entertainment the saloon offers games of chance, a five-piece orchestra, and dancing girls. Retaining the services of a foreign chef, Madame Zubova provides her patrons with food or drink to suit their pleasures.

Making no effort to hide her love of art, Madame Zubova is known to host exquisite musical and theatrical events in her venue. However, it is an open secret that the House of Earthly Delights, like many saloons, provide the intimate services of the dancing girls provided patrons present the proper qualifications and appropriate payment to Madame Zubova. 

Keen to avoid trouble, Madame Zubova maintains a position of cautious neutrality. She pays homage to the Blackwood vampires and Central Pack werewolves in equal measure, trading money and information for her own protection and the security of her establishment. Although not all are welcome in the House of Earthly Delights, Madame Zubova makes sure that even those turned away are turned away with the utmost politeness.
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