12th Generation Gangrel | Bloodpool:11/10 | Willpower 7/7
Name: Ollivor "Ollie" Myles
Chronicle: Chicago by Night
Concept: "Cured Pork"/Ex-cop
Nature: Survivor
Demeanor: Curmudgeon
Clan: Gangrel
Generation: 12th
Sire: Philip Brown
Embrace: `1999 (Apparent Age 31)
Max Blood Pool /Current: 11/11
Max Trait Tating: 5
Blood points Per Turn: 1
XP Earned: 20 at start, 5 1/30/2025
XP Spent: five to boost to Protean 2, five to boost to Animalism 2, Athletics and Empathy raised to 2, Brawl to 3
XP Remaining: 5
True Age 35
Apparent Age 30
Date of Birth October 7, 1969
Date of Death December 31, 1999
Appearance: Ollie is a big man, standing at six foot two inches with broad shoulders. His jawline is a bit too square to be pretty, and his brown eyes are rather average save for the few moments of predatory keenness that take them when he's sizing up a threat. Mostly, Ollie looks rough. He was behind on his daily shave when he died, and is now stuck with a bit of stubble. To look at him, most people assume he didn't sleep well the night before. Like most licks, he's paler than average, but that just adds to the idea he must work the grave yard shift somewhere. He tends to dress in blue jeans, a leather jacket, and good hiking boots. He has a lot of red t shirts, easier to hide blood stains with those he figures.
Distinguishing feature? Yeah, You don't see it often, but when he takes off his shirt, he's got a trail of hair on his chest of... let's just say, unusually rich texture. Ollie worries it may turn to fur one day, but it's easy enough to cover up.
Backgrounds & Merits: Ollie would never believe it, but he's damned lucky. He was lucky his sire stumbled onto him. He was lucky to avenge himself, and he's nearly died the final death more than once in the last 20 years. One day it will probably run out, but so far so good. Buttons is his only regular companion, a police trained German Shepherd Dog who is fueled by Gangrel blood. The dog is a great guard, useful in a fight, all that, but he's a ghoul, and people should be careful about him. Ollie's generation would be sneered at by some in the Camarilla, but unknown to Ollie, he could produce a pure blooded gangrel rather than a thin blood if he had to. Not that he sees a reason to subject anyone to this. Ollie's main source of blood is animals. He knows them, how they work, and feeds well. Rats are easy, but the real 'treat' (Nothing as good as human blood, of course) is catching the cattle/swine cars before their trains resume and taking a nip. Ollie might get teasing for more than his name if other vampires found out he was a farmer (Animal blood drinker) most nights. Ollie doesn't have much cash, but he's done enough odd jobs here and there (security work off the books, dish washing at Mexican restaurants and other work among latinos since he speaks Spanish) that he isn't without entirely.
While in Chicago he is considering finding a regular haven. Gangrel are supposed to roam but he wants a place Buttons can curl up now and then.
His Story/His words: Call me Ollie. Most folks do. Technically It is Ollivor Milton Myles, which with its atypical spelling and lack of cool is a good reason to go by Ollie AND a reason I'm not bad in a fist to fist fight. I was born in Kansas in a small town you probably haven't heard of. I was young, idealistic and still thought the authority figures in my world were the good guys. Smugly sure that folks singing #### the Police were just trouble makers trying to be edgy, I became a cop. I came out of the Academy without a thread on my uniform out of place, and a plan. I always liked dogs, you see? And I passed top marks that pointed me towards the K9 Unit. I got showed the ropes, and assigned to a precinct just outside Kansas City, Mo. Nice area, clean cut, 'decent'... or so I thought.
Within a few years I began to realize I wasn't in some Urban version of Mayberry. I trained the dogs, like I said, and went on patrol with my partner, 'Buttons'. But I found out not only was the system rigged, I had helped rig it. See, dogs want to please. A bit of body language, a tilt of the head, and a dog will announce it has found dope even when there isn't any. This makes planting on some poor sap a breeze. I began to realize innocent people were going to jail, or at least trial, and we won't even talk about civil asset forfeiture. When I stumbled onto the systematic brutality going on, I did what any idiot with a conscience would do. I tried to get evidence on the crimes and report to my superiors so they could clean house.
It never even made the papers. My superior assured me heads would roll. He didn't tell me that he was going to make sure it was mine. New Years Eve, and we were partying like it was 1999, which it was. Well not me, I'd been given duty. I didn't mind too much, lots of trouble on New Year's Eve, lots of drunk drivers, and so on. I got a call, and then, I got ambushed by some of the force who shot me with some ganger guns they borrowed from the evidence locker so they wouldn't use standard, and left me for dead.
That's when Philip Brown found me. Seriously, Phil is not what you think of when you think of vampire. He looks more like a college kid hitch hiking across America because that's what middle class white kids without direction did at one time. He did the gangrel thing, embraced me then left me, watching from a distance, to see how I handled.
I guess I did okay, because he didn't rekill me as a threat to the masquerade even after I reclaimed Buttons and killed three officers as covertly as I could. After I did that, I had something of a nervous break down. I was a monster, and worse, I'd been helping monsters for a long time do horrible things. Phil appeared, explained to me what was what, told me what was what, more or less, and Buttons and I walked with him for a year or two. To say I had a philosophical switch was to put it mildly. I tried to hold onto some values, really did, to this day I try to drink from animals instead of people when I can. But you don't kill three people, even thugs in blue who killed you first, and then walk away without the Beast taking a nibble on your soul.
Clan Gangrel would eventually 'leave' the Camarilla. Good, says I. I actually LIKE some of my fellow Kindred, but I don't TRUST them. I don't trust anybody. All systems are ultimately for the purpose of control, not justice, not equity, control, and that control doesn't give a damn about right or wrong, it gives a damn about resources and power even if that costs them what's decent in themselves. I feel sorry for the Anarchs though. Good kids, even if some are way older than me. They'll fight the power TRYING to at least live free from the top down system of the 'decent' Camarilla. They'll either lose, or become what they hate, but until then, some of them almost make this 'ex pig' smile.
