Back to Vampire PageCharacter Sheet: Sean Haidin
Appearance
Prelude
Journal Entries:
Name: Sean Haidin
Player: Stephen Walls
Status: N.P.C. (player flaked)
Fictionalization by Martin Stennert
Chronicle: Santa Cruz/Vampire
Nature: Visionary
Demeanor: Rebel
Clan: Brujah
Sire: Unknown
Generation: 13th
Haven: Condominium
Concept: Rich Man's Son
ATTRIBUTES:
Physical: Strength-2, Dexterity-2, Stamina-2
Social: Charisma-4, Manipulation-3, Appearance-3
Mental: Perception-2, Intelligence-3, Wits-3
ABILITIES:
Talents: Acting-1, Alertness-3, Athletics-1, Brawl-2, Dodge-1, Empathy-3, Leadership-1, Streetwise-1.
Skills: Drive-1, Etiquette-3, Firearms-1, Stealth-1.
Knowledge: Bureaucracy-2, Computers-2, Finance-2, Occult-1, Politics-1, Science-1.
DISCIPLINES:
Celerity-1, Potence-1, Presence-1
Backgrounds: Resources-5, Contacts-2, Allies-3, Herd-4.
Merits & Flaws: Clan Enmity: Ventrue, Danger Sense, Driving Goal, Iron Will, Prone to Frenzy
VIRTUES:
Conscience-3
Self-Control-3
Courage-4.
Humanity-7
Willpower-6
Blood Pool-10
Appearance:
Sean is a slender tall young man with stringy black hair that is parted in the middle of his head and falls down about the tops of his ears and forehead. He is always pushing it out of the way in order to see. Sean's skin will turn a mellow pink once he's fed. When he awakens every night though it is a cold pale white. Sean has a pair of deep large brown eyes that can display every emotion from the softest puppy-dog looks to calm understanding of an other's soul. He has a fine featured face that he uses constantly to express thoughts and emotions when he speaks. Sean always has some kind of look about him.
Sean enjoys fine clothing, particularly jackets, overcoats, silk shirts, and slacks. All black does his complexion justice, or so he feels, and thus that is what he wears most of the time. Occasionally though, he'll splash his attire with some white or a rich burgundy. Sean finds ties all together sickening and will almost never wear one; the only exception to this his when he wears his favorite ruffed tuxedo to the most formal of occasions. The only other constant details of Sean's wardrobe are a silver headed gentlemen's cane that he'll carry regularly, and an oval shaped ivory pendant covered with Egyptian hieroglyphics on a gold chain which he wears around his neck either free or tucked into his shirt.
Sean walks with an air of dignity and grace that can be both inspiring and unnerving. He tends to move about as if he has some sort of supernatural control over the environment, which sometimes is the case. His voice is authoritative, yet soft and caressing to listening ears.
History
Sean Haidin was born into a very wealthy industrial family that had made it's fortune harvesting raw ore from the mountains of Northern California and Oregon for almost four generations. Sean grew up in the lap of luxury not really caring about "the meaning of life" and other such "non-sense". Destined to inherit the family business some day, the Haidin family, through various contacts, sent young Sean off to UC Berkeley to earn degrees from both its school's of Mining Engineering and Business.
Turning his nose up at the various student groups at the campus, Sean was determined that he could make his way in the world alone. However, without friends he soon found life very dreary and depressing. His grades went down as did his self-esteem and it was only through his father's efforts that Sean was kept from being thrown out of UC Berkeley. At that point his father had viscously chewed him out, telling that he was an "embarrassment" and a "burden to the Haidin family name".
His father's cold unloving discipline was a turning point in Sean's life. He realized that he had no one in the world that gave a damn about him, lots of people cared about his last name but not "him". Sean fell into deep depression, after not speaking to anyone for over two weeks, he wandered up Telegraph avenue an through UC Berkeley's main gate. As the sun began to set, the crowds began to break up, and the spokes persons of all kinds of movements called an end to their day of shouting to the masses about their causes, something in Sean snapped. An urge hit him, a wave of energy enveloped him that was so powerful he couldn't help but yield to its command.
Sean leapt upon a near by bench and began to speak. He began to shout. He began to scream at the top of his lungs.
Sean spun a tale. A tale of his life and his misery, of all that was wrong with the world. He shouted of how greed had destroyed human nature, and how human being weren't really human beings anymore because of worldly lusts. He talked and talked for hours, and only when he stopped for moment to catch his breath at the end of his tale did he realize that people were listening to him. Not just listening, but hanging on his every word.
Sean leapt off the bench and the somewhat disappointed crowd left when they realized the young man was done. Sean stood their for a long time and listened to the silence, not knowing what to do next. His concentration was broken though be the sound of approaching footsteps, women's footsteps by the sound of them. Sean turned around to see a lovely young dark haired women walk out of the mists. She walked right up to him and talked to him, to this day he can not recall her exact words but he remembers the women's name "Lauranna", something about "idealism", and "eternity".
Sean's memories of that night are a swirling whirlwind of passion, joy,
ecstasy, and rebirth. Sean remembers being handed over, by Lauranna, to another ravishing women near the end of that night, more ecstasy and then sudden and terrible pain. By the time a rose the next night he was one of the undead, and as he was escorted out the door of Lauranna's grand estate he was mobbed by admiring students who'd been waiting patiently for him all day. They wanted to hear him speak, so he did and the words came to him and flowed into the ears his newfound followers faster and more powerfully then he ever imagined possible. He talked, and then fed and that's how it was for more then two years.
During that time Sean found new topics to speak to his masses on, and his following grew. Lauranna helped Sean cut the right ties to his mortal life and keep others he would need in the future. She set it up so that his father was paying his "bastard" son a large monthly allowance so keep silent add his times to the Haidin family, he also found several friends among his most loyal of followers.
Sadly though utopia didn't last for Sean. A battle among the primogen of San Francisco resulted in the death of his Sire and Lauranna's disappearance. Sean was once again left alone in the world, but he had followers and mortal friends now to help him when he was in need. He thought he could survive and live out unlife very happily. He thought wrong. Soon the Prince of San Francisco herself came to hunt down Sean. He managed to escape with his life, and his most loyal followers went with him.
Now Sean is roaming aimlessly along the California coastline, searching for a new existence. He still has a core group of followers he playfully refers to as "the cult", and their numbers seem to increase everytime he stops to talk somewhere.
Thursday, July 27th, 1995 9:32 p.m.
Unwelcome the waking world intruded on his dreamless sleep. Although he tried to cling to the comforting nothing of unconsciousness, the sounds of the early Monterey night, the dim light filling the secluded room and most of all the hunger clawed their way into Sean's mind.
Eventually, sighing and stretching - more out of human convention than any actual need of his vampiric body - he clambered to his feet. There was no point in avoiding the situation; he had to get going and take matters into hand, start acting instead of re-acting. Weakly he wandered over to the window, lifted the dirty curtain and checked out the street below.
This all was part of the Nosferatu's turf. In a way it was a pity he hadn't been challenged yet. Sure, he had been careful enough not to be noticed, but according to their reputation they should have taken note of him ages ago. No, there was no doubt about it: they must have been hit as hard as his clan-mates, the Brujah. As far as he could tell, there were none of the butt-uglies left, probably no Camarilla vampires at all.
The hunger was burning in his gut. He had to feed - as it were he was too weak to properly take care of him, not enough left too heal or to call on his powers. Right now he was not much more than any of the kine down there. Yet all it took was one of them, a secluded spot and a bit of time.
From his vantage point, a dusty storage attic above Cannery Row, he let his gaze wander over the bustling tourist flow, the rich, young and beautiful hitting restaurants and nightclubs. No wonder the Rats had been pissed off to loose the turf, prime feeding ground. 'Twas always the Rats and the Ventrue that hogged areas like these to themselves, leaving him and the other Rabble to the mean streets, where the Kine were malnourished, sky-high on drugs and usually armed to the teeth. Still, right now, he'd welcome the sight of any Blue Blood or Nosferatu.
Not that there weren't vampires enough down there. Just now he could watch a group moving stealthily through the crowd, shielded by skill and Disciplines from human eyes. Try as he might, he didn't have a clue what clan or sect they were from, probably anarchs - but the power and precision of the strike...? They seemed to be on the guard, patroling for enemy Kindred. So maybe there were still some Cams hiding out somewhere, like him. The odd Ventrue with their armored cars and private armies of combat seasoned ghouls, somewhere in their Carmel turf sheltered by high hills from Pacific Grove, or a bunch of Gangrel way out in Carmel Valley, moving amidst their lupine allies safe from these diablerizing bastards. If so, Sean decided, he had to find them and join the fight - this time on the winning side!
As far as he could tell from his observations in the past two months, the Tremere, the Kooks and the his own clan seemed to have been nuked completely as well. And now the Rats. Although he did not particularly enjoy the idea, he hoped that - if things had been going better for the other clans - he could hook up with the Toreador, the Ventrue or the Outlanders. If they are still around...
Taking his chance after the patrol had turned off the Row, Sean Haidin slipped out of the building to sneak a look at the area from a more down-to-earth perspective. At the first moment on the street he wished he'd stayed inside. Just like a human might be taken aback by the almost physical assault of the steaming air of a heat wave, his supernatural senses screamed at the overwhelming sensation of so much blood and pumping hearts around him. It's like tribal drumbeats throbbing in his head and veins. He has to struggle not to grab the next one and rip his throat open.
Forcing himself to calm down, he checked the immediate area. A young couple was having an argument.
A hunk of a guy was shouting at his petite date: "I can't believe you do this to me, every time we go out!?"
And when Sean walked right up to him, snarled at him: "You, fuck off!"
Doing his shining knight bit, Sean stared him down and said - all cool - "Hey, quit picking on the little lady, will ya!"
"You don't get out of here, you'll be the one I'm picking on."
But there was alarm showing in his eyes. He didn't know what to make of the immaculately dressed slender young man with the gentle yet compelling features of a poet. He gave Sean the once over, and satisfied that his opponent is no match for him, puffed himself up.
Putting all his inhuman charm into the challenge, Sean asked him: "You want to settle this the hard way? Why don't we step over there and you let me teach you some manners?" He nodded towards a secluded alley.
"Hey, boy, I'm going to enjoy wiping your face on the concrete." And to his date: "Be right back, love, you wait here."
The rest was a piece of cake. Only moments later Sean stepped out from behind a dumpster wiping his lips. This one had been a bit bothersome, had to fight him all the way, Sean even had to burn some of the new vitae on healing a wound in his face. Wouldn't do to draw attention, after all. He had to keep himself from killing the bloke just out of spite. He'd have to go to the hospital as it is, and that'd most likely flag the enemy to his presence. Well, there's more where this came from.
The jerk's broad for example.
Sean walked up to her, convincing her that her date was seeing reason and wanted to apologize. Again using his charms to lull her in confidence, he walked her over to the alley. The moment she got scared in the darkness and started calling for her lover, he burned some blood to quickly plant a 'kiss' on her neck. She swooned in his arms and after a healthy snack he carried her over to her date and dropped her on him.
He had just finally decided against emptying the two and was on his way back to the Row to find his next course, when from the other side the lady walked into the alley -- and into his Unlife.
At first he worried about the Masquerade, having covered his tracks well enough and all that, but then he realized that his next meal had just volunteered. And silently as possible he crept back to the dumpster, where she must have stumbled on the unconscious couple already. Well, wasn't he surprised to find her hunched over the woman feeding greedily from her. Moving faster than he thought possible she jumped up, and - as if by magic - a gun appeared in her hand. Eyes cold as ice, the mouth - still bloody from the meal - set determinedly she pointed the gun at him.
"Woah, Lady, whoever you are, you better don't fire that thing. There's a bunch of very unfriendly kindred cruising the area, and if you go blazing away with a big gun like that, they'll be upon both of us in no time!"
"Bullshit" she spat back at him, "You're Brujah, aren't you?"
There was something familiar about the girl. Maybe a Ventrue or Toreador he'd seen before? Well, this was not the right time to figure it out.
"Yes, I am, but what..."
"What cheek! Well, this one's for Sandra! I'm going to enjoy..." was as far as she got, before a heavy piece of lead pipe cracked into her skull, spattering Sean's dark burgundy suede jacket with vitae and shutting her up for a moment.
"Whew, thought she had you there, bro'." Another vampire, this one dressed in ripped jeans and black motorcycle leather jacket stepped from the shadows and slapped Sean on the shoulder. "Bonzo, just got in from L.A. Got separated from my crew when some of them crusaders hit us in an ambush. Whacked two of them good; not bad for the night - early yet as it is. Where's you're mob? Lost, too?"
Uncertain Sean nodded, mustering his new mate. This sure was getting to be a crowded night. Weren't there only supposed to be about one Kindred for every ten thousand kine? Something like that, well, the ratio seemed to be a bit unbalanced in this fucked up town. The new bloke checked the unmoving shape of Sean's assailant.
"Cute piece, this lady, and classy: the shoes - a true mark of taste." And when she groggily came to, knitting the ugly wound in her skull with blood, he asked: "What's your Clan, hon?"
She looked up at him snarling, and growled between clenched teeth: "Toreador!"
The guy gave her a contemptuous look: "Nah, not worth the bother to recruit her. Heard these local Tories are a tad on the soft side. We could use the vitae better, eh bro?" He smiled leeringly and slapped Sean on the shoulder again. He was definitely getting on Sean's
nerves with that.
"So, you want the honors, or shall I break her in?"
Gee, the guy was obviously not a local. No telling what he'd do when he found out Sean was. This was most likely the best chance to get out of here - and yet: leaving the lady with this creep, still weak and helpless from the savage blow, somehow he couldn't bring himself to do that.
"Go ahead, just save some for for me, okay?" he said, picking up the discarded pipe as the other one bent down to bite the Toreador. Aiming at the weak spot at the base of the skull, Sean brought the heavy pipe down with all his supernatural might. The guy should have been a goner, but all he did was shake his head as if something unpleasant had stung him and turned around. Quicker than even the Toreador he snatched the pipe out of Sean's clenched hand and tossed it into the alley.
"Bro, I have no idea why you did that, but lemme tell you: it was the last mistake of your unlife, and that's a promise!"
He shoved Sean up against the dirty brick wall, stepped up to him and pinning him there with the strength of a diesel engine bared his fangs and sank them deep in Sean's neck. Before he could do much more damage though, he suddenly threw his head back and roared angrily into the night sky. Blood gushed out of his gaping mouth. Clumsily he groped for something on his back, stumbled away and then broke down like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The pipe he had tossed aside seconds before was imbedded from behind deep in his chest.
And over him stood the Lady vampire. She kicked him while decay already set in, then stepped over him to Sean and helped the young Brujah to get his feet together. Together they struggled out onto the street.
Friday, July 28th, 1995 3:32 a.m.
This is getting harder every night, Sean thought, as he struggled to come to. Someone was wiping his face tenderly with a cold cloth. He tasted blood, as if he'd just fed. Opening his eyes didn't change anything though: While his other senses were revelling, he remained in pitch black darkness.
"What happened? Where am I? And why the fuck is it dark here - I mean that dark!?"
"You're in my crypt. I'm sorry but it has to remain dark for the moment. There's nothing to worry about." he heard a woman's voice say, a voice vaguely familiar. Not entirely at ease, Sean tried to sit up, but erupting pain in his chest quickly put an end to that endeavor. Wheezing (still more out of convention than out of any physical need) he fell back. Soft cool hands started massaging his shoulders.
"You're still healing. Lay down for a while; it's only a few hours till dawn anyway. You'll need the rest."
"Who are you?"
"Call me Eveline." she told him, "And what shall I call you? Surly not 'Brujah'?"
"Sean. Sean Haidin."
"You rest now, Sean, and tonight we'll talk."
Relaxing Sean allowed himself to be made at rest. Even though the rising sun was still some hours away, he granted himself the luxury of an early death today. Soon he would be in Morpheus' arms, dreaming the dreams of dead.
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