|Path||Path of Humanity •••|
Real Name: Nothing he puts out for public consumption.
Apparent Age: When masked, he looks like he's in his late 20s or early 30s.
Concept: Nos Enforcer
Physical description: Without a mask, Quincy's skin is akin to bark or thick leather. His hide creaks and cracks with every movement and burrowing creatures infest him. He appears to be hairless, and has two large tusks jutting out from his jawline. His arms are covered with 'sleeve' tattoos depicting a Japanese Dragon & Tiger theme.
Relevant Mechanics: Picky about who he feeds from.
Basic Timeline: Embraced somewhere in the Southern United States, Quincy has bounced around from city to city since all along the Hurricane Coast Free States. Turning up relatively recently in LA, he's been scouting out the Anarch Movement for any positions that might be available.
Current Activities: Currently doing the nomad bit. Traveling here and there, seeing what he can see. The Anarchs have the best thing going, and being part of the clan he is allows him a little latitude in travel.
Merit Details: Over-sized Fangs (Tusks), Thick Hide, Huge Size.
"Now that's a real shame when folks be throwin' away a perfectly good white boy like that." -- a Tree Trimmer, Better Off Dead.
Oh, it started off well enough. Breezing through high school, mainly for being a good... no great football player. Sure, I did my own work, but still, when you live in a state where football isn't a sport, but a religion, ya gotta do something to give yourself an edge.
That's when I first hit the juice. For the jocks, it was easy to get, and mostly overlooked by the booster clubs. Competition is fierce after all, I mean hell, if you're the star of your high school team, that just means you're more than likely going to be a bench player on a ju-co team, much less a real program. So, you do what you have to do. More like, you do what coach says, and ya don't question it.
Things were working out pretty well, and the offers were coming in. Good ones too, I mean, SEC good. Even better, being in the top ten percent of my class, dutifully going to FCA and other extracurricular clubs, things were looking pretty bright, even brighter with a decent SAT score. Spring preview, a cute little sophomore 'escort' to show me around campus, life was good. Good chance of being a freshman starter even! Coach liked me, and the frats were already competing for me to rush.
I'd still like to find the mother fucker who sent out my real physical reports out. Depending on how I'm feeling on any given night, I might either thank them for saving me a life of probably a short football playing career ending in me on crutches doing the tour circuit signing autographs with raisins for nuts, or punch 'em in the dangling bits for damning me to the life I have now.
There's not much to fall back on when a jock loses his scholarships and is known to be a cheater. If I got clean, I could still perform, but I'd be back to those ju-cos, and being a part-time starter maybe. No way in hell I could do that. Besides, ju-co girls are either fat, have no tits or worse, both.
Ended up on the road to getting clean whether I liked it or not, but still pumped iron. Got a few odd-jobs as manual labor or occasional bouncing. Shit work really. I had had enough after a few months, and well, since my life had been thrown away anyway, figured I should just finish the damn job. From what I understand, coming off an addiction can make you more susceptible to things like suicide. Golly, never would have guessed that...
I went all poetic and shit too. Did the "It's a Wonderful Life" swan dive. Guess I was figuring that maybe some angel would come along to talk me out of it. Not so much. Figured I was drowned and gone, but my luck just kept plugging along for me that night. I ain't sure where I washed up, but rather than someone pumping the water out of my lungs, it was my new 'dad' draining my blood, and feeding me his. Right bastard. Guess he needed some muscle to take care of the heavy lifting he had or some such. The real world had me as missing and dead, and by the time I got up and about to see into it, well, things had changed.
Fun story about Nosferatu embrace: It messes you up something awful. Okay, I guess you get that part already, but seriously, it's some messed up shit! You see, I was always a big corn-fed boy, and, I guess I may have still had a little too much juice running in my system, cause I was NOT this tall or muscled before hand. My hands are friggin' enormous now too. They say any breast that's more than a handful is a waste, well ladies, you better have EE cups, or... it's just wasteful in my books now.
Thing I'm trying to figure out is the tusks. Oh, here, let me drop my mask for a second. Yep. You're not seeing things, I have two tusks jutting out and up from my lower jaw now. Sweet right? They frame my goat nicely, and make it no fun for you if I decide to put a real bit on ya. What sucks though are the damn vermin. I guess I spent a little too long in the water, cause I have all kinds of little critters digging and chomping on me at any given time. Itches like mad. I kind of have a handle on it though, this birdie here has decided to hang out full time with me now. He sticks to me pretty close, and noshes on the worms, bugs and other stuff rooting around in and on me. From what I hear, it's an 'oxpecker', and they're from Africa. How it came here and found me, I don't know, but damn if I don't care! Makes the squirming a little more manageable for me, and he gets a free meal. He's looking kind of haggard though, I think he's gotten a little of my blood out of the deal. I don't think he had dinosaur like teeth in that bill when he first showed up... I also discovered a 'wonderful' thing that's changed as well. Okay, so we feed on blood now, right, I get that. However, I can't stomach the juice anymore. If someone has it in 'em, it's like my body just rejects that shit now. Thing most folks don't realize, is that it's not just the anabolic type, it also covers the stuff that's legal, so the granny popping pretazone for his arthritis is right out too. And that's a real fun exercise to figure out when I need a bite.
Oh, so my sire. Right. Fuck him. I don't know what his deal is, really, all I know is that he tries working too many damn angles, and tweaks all the wrong noses. Being his able dutiful lackey for so long got old, so I gave him the double middle finger salute and walked. So fucking what. I don't get up in his shit, and I get along fine with the cats here in the Movement. I ain't sure what where he's at or what he's doing, but he's not around. Just woke up one night, and he didn't come home for a week. Maybe someone finally got him. I don't particularly care.
What I do now is stay mostly in the South. I stay underground when I can, and have a nice little home. I'm still a jock at heart, but my choices of sports are kind of limited. Turns out a local bowling alley was once an RV dealership. Underneath it, rather than take out the oil traps and gas tanks, they just paved over them, and put in a trap door if someone needed to ever go down there, which no one ever does. I come up after hours, and take out some aggression on the pins. It's a very zen thing really. When it's just me, I can turn stuff on, and just go to town for a few frames. Haven't been busted yet.
All that done, I'm gettin' a little lonely though to be truthful. I'm down with the Movement, but there's no 'barony' around here. There's Columbus, Georgia and Gainesville, Florida that are close, and the mecca, which is LA, but I'm not sure which direction to go in. I think I'll check a few places out. LA is good and warm most times of the year, maybe it's time for a road trip. They had a soiree in February, and folks are gettin' to know my name. May just stick around a bit so that folks can get to know me, then back to the Hurricane Free States. Who knows...