Post by Kiala on May 8, 2010 19:54:00 GMT -5
Name: Sarah Baker
Nick Names or Alias: Violet
Age: 262
Aesthetic Age: 25
Gender: Female
Sexual Preferances: Bi-Sexual
LClan: Brujah
If Other..:
If Independant Faction..:
Generation: 9th
Powers (Disciplines):
Intelligence: 8
Speed: 14
Leadership: 13
Melee: 9
Unarmed: 8
Ranged: 14
History:
Nick Names or Alias: Violet
Age: 262
Aesthetic Age: 25
Gender: Female
Sexual Preferances: Bi-Sexual
LClan: Brujah
If Other..:
n/aSect: Camarilla
If Independant Faction..:
n/aRank: Primogen
Generation: 9th
Powers (Disciplines):
Celerity:****Deformities:
Potence****
Presence *****
Auspex: ***
Protean***
n/aDerangement(s):
n/aMisc.:
n/aAppearance:
Fashion Sense/Style:
Dresses slightly provacativly, cowgirl style. She was born and riased in the old west, so it is ingrained in her personality, and style of dress.Personality:
Wardrobe
Trench Coat (leather)
Sun Glassess
Not you typical Brujah. Though she has the same fiery disposition than most, she seems to actualy have a brain. She plots, she plans, she comes prepared. She has the typical take no crap attitude of her era. Unlike most her clan, she thinks before she shoots.Physical-Strength: 10
Intelligence: 8
Speed: 14
Leadership: 13
Melee: 9
Unarmed: 8
Ranged: 14
History:
1748-1768
Sarah was born in what is now the state Arizona in the town of Tuscan in 1748. Her mother was a Mexican woman name Maria Santos, her father was Jackson Baker, owner of a small ranch and a gunsmith. He did not make guns, but would modify them. They had a good life, despite the troubles of the town. Most tended to leave them alone due to Jackson’s proficiently with the gun he wore on his hip. Many men had tried and many had died. It was because of this Sarah grew up to be a tough, independent young woman. Her father insisted on teaching her to use a gun, being of the opinion even a woman can be harmed, and she ight need to defend herself. She proved to be a natural, her hands moving to the holster and drawing her colt in what to some seemed the blinking of an eye. She was twelve at this time. Besides that, she would have grown up a normal woman in the west. But then her mother was killed while walking from the butchers, a gunfight broke out at a local saloon and a stray bullet struck her in the head.
Bereft of her mother she now had only had her father, she quickly began to change. She became what many would call a tomboy, more comfortable in a pair of pants than a dress. She worked side by side with her father on their small ranch, tending cattle, banding them when the time came, digging postholes. She worked in the garden and prepared all the meals. Though her mother was dead, she had already learned to be an excellent cook. Things went well, and she grew into a beautiful young woman of sixteen, with loang flowing black hair, tan skin and chocolate brown eye's. Her figure was full and ripe. Though she dressed as a man, she filled out. Many of the young men in the town were intimidated by her though, the pistol on her hip made her dangerous. They had seen her shoot, and she shot as straight and fast as many men in town.1768-1753
In the year, 1768 things would start to go horribly wrong. Sarah was twenty now and was a striking woman. Men started overlooking her guns and started seeing her as a woman, just a bit more of a challenge. She had a full ripe figure wich her pants and flannel shirt bought out. She had been nicknamed Violet by many of the younger women in town for the violet colored scarf she always wore, and her typical purple blouse. Her father and a the two cow hands they employed had gone to round up some steers for market and a couple for slaughter to turn into jerky for the coming winter. Sarah was busy inside cooking a venison stew and some fresh biscuits. She heard gunshots out in the distance. She thought nothing of it, there were deer about and figured that one of the boys had shot one. Then a second and a third, once again she did not worry, thinking it must be Jim. The boy was accurate with a pistol but needed a lot of practice with a riffle.
She heard the sound of horses coming so she went to the door. She was at home and didn’t bother to have her colt belted at her hip. How she wished that she had. There were three men, yes. However, it was not her father, Jeb and Jim…she did not recognize these men. She saw the guns in there hands. She started to bolt inside, and heard the loud retort of a colt revolver, and then a burning pain in her shoulder. She hit the ground hard, sobbing and gasping for breath. In just a few moments the men where around her and drug her into the house. They did not kill her, but she wished they had. After what seemed like an eternity but was in fact less than an hour, they left her, beaten, bleeding and broken.
She lay there mostly naked the entire night, unable to summon the strength to get up. She knew her father and the boys were dead. They would be here by now if they weren’t. It was fortunate for Sara that she and her father were supposed to be in town early with the steers. When they hadn’t shown up by nine some men from town came out to see what was takeing them so long. What the men found was Sarah lying naked and half dead on the floor with a bullet wound through her shoulder. The immediately tried to rouse her and all the got from her is “papa, where’s papa”. They covered her and carried her to the wagon they had brought out and two of them took her back to town and the doctor’s house, while the other three went looking for her father and the cattle hands. They found them about a mile from the house, all three killed.
One of the men went back to the house and retrieved the cart. As soon as they were loaded one of the men took the bodies back to town. By this point a poise had already been formed and set out looking for the murders. The small herd had been taken so they were obviously cattle rustlers. Another group of men from the neighboring ranches went to check on the rest of the herd, and brought it in to the ranch to keep an eye on it. They rustlers weren’t found.
Meanwhile back in town Sarah was slowly on the mend. The Constable asked her what happened, the entire time the doctor and his young wife were fussing over her. She had suffered more than the gunshot wound. She had broken ribs, a gash on her cheek, and multiple other bruises and cuts. She would be a long time in recovering. She had to be held up at the funeral of her father and the boy’s. Those that knew her saw a mere shadow of the former fiery, energetic young woman. Her eye’s had a dead listless look to them, and she barely spoke. Many whispered how her spirit had been broken. Only one person saw what was bellows that dead look…anger.
About a week after the attack the Marshal brought her some of her possessions. Once he placed the gun belt in her hand, she wrapped her hands around the holstered pistol until her knuckles turned white. She had not displayed any form of grief, but in that moment she began to cry. The constable had inadvertently brought her fathers gun instead. Marry the doctor’s young wife and nurse came over to her and wrapped her arms around Sarah, holding her gently and comforting her. As time passed Sarah healed and recovered. While in town she dressed in skirts and blouses, though she still wore her gun when ever she went out, that wasn’t about to change. They had found two of the three men, dead…killed in the most brutal of fashions. It looked as if someone had killed them bare handed and ripped arms out of socket’s.
She still wasn’t fit to ride, so she hadn’t gone out to the ranch. One day she was walking through town with a friend who was there incase she needed her. They started heading for the saloon, Sarah said she wanted a drink. As the entered the saloon Sarah stopped in her tracks, and the blood drained from her face. Sitting at a table across the room was the last of the three men. They thought she was dead so he didn’t see the need of not coming to town. The barkeeper and several others saw her reaction, turning toward the man. The man noticed her too and he rose reaching for his gun. He wasn’t fast enough, Sarah had her gun from it’s holster before they could even draw and squeezed off the first round. The man hit the ground dead. She walked up to him as quickly as she could and kicked him in the ribs, and then leveled her second gun at the corpse. Before she could squeeze off a round a hand grabbed hers and arm wrapped around her waist pulling her away. The entire time she had been yelling, screaming, “Murderer!!, Rapist!, flee beaten mongrel!!!”
The constable was yelling in her ear, telling her to calm down. One of the men in the saloon took the gun from her now limp hand. Sarah stood mutely , not needing the restraint placed upon by the marshal. Several men carry the dead rustler out. The marshal asked the young woman with Sarah to take her back to the inn so she could lay down. Laura nodded and escorted her friend a couple of buildings down to her fathers inn.
Time passes by as it has a way of doing. Sarah sold the ranch because she just couldn’t bring herself to live in the house were she was brutally attacked. She sold both it and the herd to her neighbor who paid her well for the land and cattle. He set some of his men up in the old cabin so they wouldn’t have to travel so far everyday to tend to the herd. Violet took up residence in town, buying a small house and took work in the cattle yards. She was weary around the men but it was the work she knew best. The job didn’t last long because of this feeling of unrest. She was offered a job at her friends fathers inn as a cook. He asked that she wore a skirt. The job worked out well. She was back in the kitchen surrounded by other women,. The only man she had to deal with was Laura’s father.
Sarah soon noticed some changes in her body. She was becoming sick each morning and had missed her cycle not once, as occasionally happened, but twice in a row. She was pregnant with her rapist child. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach and ran outside and became violently ill. She knew the other women must suspect something. It was finally Laura’s mother Anna who confronted her. She asked if she had been with any men since the attack and Sarah swore she had not. Anna took to crying young woman into her arms and comforted her.
Once again time passed. Sarah hid the pregnancy while she could but it couldn’t last forever. In time she started to show. She was forced to wear dresses more often, though she did purchase some larger pairs of pants so she could be comfortable. Though she soon found out that a dress was her best bet for that. Folk looked at her with pity. She couldn’t stand those looks and took to staying in her small house, only leaving to go to work. In some ways she resented the child growing in her belly, but a part of her loved the child more than anything. Soon she was swollen like a melon and had taken to living at the inn, for the sake of the safety of her and her unborn child. Sarah didn’t want to be alone when her water broke after all. About a month after she moved into the inn, she stumbled down the hall and knocked on Laura’s door, crying out for her. Sarah’s water had broken, and she was scared. The ushered her back into her room and Laura’s father went to go get the doctor and his wife. The labor was long and hard on Sarah, starting around midnight until late afternoon. She was tired and weak, but how she smiled when she heard the baby cry. She couldn’t believe how much love she felt for her baby. The doctor and his wife cleaned her baby, a beautiful baby girl whom she named Maria, after her late mother. Sarah lay her head back tiredly, and holding her new born daughter drifts off to sleep.
Sarah spent more time at the inn, Anna taught her how to be a mother. She found breast feeding to be the most satisfying experience of being a mother, nourishing her baby from her own breast’s. Within a week Sarah was back in the kitchen, little Maria sleeping in a near by cradle. Sarah took frequent breaks to nurse her, and the other women in the kitchen took turns holding or changing the babe, they just couldn’t seem to help themselves. The moment the weren’t busy one, little Maria was scooped up and cuddled.
Five years seemed to fly by and the event that would change who Sarah would be finally occurred. She was heading to the inn early one morning, Maria held securely in her arms, the little girls head resting on her mothers shoulder. The sun wasn’t yet up and she was heading in to start her day a bit early. She had been having trouble sleeping and Maria was already up. She knew Laura would already be up getting the breads ready. Sarah laid Maria daughter down in the small room off the kitchen. Sarah took off her gun belt and put on her apron and got to work helping Laura kneed the dough for biscuits, and started on a few other things. Then she started coughing. At first it was just a slight cough but by noon she was running a high fever and they had moved her into one of the rooms. The doctor looked her over and shook his head, saying only time would tell. She lay in that bed for days, only getting up long enough to relieve herself. Two days later as Laura checked on her Sarah made her promise to take care of Maria if anything happened to her, Laura promised she would. That night there was a fire in the inn. The only one who didn't make it out was Sarah. An empty grave filled with some of her possessions is all there is of her.
1753-1853
The night before someone came into Sarah’s room and offered her a way to live. She knew the man as Richard. He had done buisness with her father on several ocasions, buying cattle, usualy just one or two at a time. He told her who he was, and told her could cure her. Offered her a way to live forever, to be able to watch her daughter grow. Sarah agreed and she was embraced into the world of the kindred. Before leaveing Richard set a fire in her room, then carried her out the window. He hid her in a wagon he had near by, then went back to wake up the Anna, and her family makeing sure they got out alive with little Maria.
When Sarahawoke it was night once again. Looming nxt to her was Richard, and beside him him where two horses, and a calf. He lead her off and introduced himself in full. Telling her exactly who he was. It was all to fantastic for her. She was thirsty, and when he pointed to the calf and said feed, she instinctively knew what to do. She bit into the calf’s neck and drank and drank until she could drink no more. It was the most delicious thing the had ever fed upon. They mounted up and road to an old abandoned mine where he took her bellow and told her everything she needed to know about being a kindred. There clan, the rules. She could no longer have contact with her daughter, as much as that hurt but he told her he would watch over Maria as he had watched over her. He instructed her to stay and went to town to check on a few things.
Her and her sire Richard, who turned out to be her many times great, great Grandfather spent the next fifty years around Tuscan guarding over and watching her Sarah’s daughter grow. It was with a heavy sense of loss she saw her friends die, and watched her daughter become an old woman. Sarah went into town, trusting no one would recognize her, at best her daughter would only note the similarity. She found her daughter to be a gentle woman with three children and nearly triple that number of grandchildren. Her grandchildren and great grandchildren.
1853-1902
In 1853 they found themselves in the Arizona where Sarah and her sire came into contact with a new weapon. Six shots over the original one. Violet as she now preferred to be called was just as much a natural with this gun as she had been with a single shot pistol. Another brujah within the town showed her how to use one, wich eventually became two. They were cap and ball revolvers, but very good, though after all twelve shots were fired it took a while to reload. They had gone there following her Sarah’s eldest descendant. A handsome young man named Joseph.
Little happened in this time, Violet and Richard watched over, and guarded there decedents. In time they followed Josephs daughter, Sarah to a place called Tombstone Arizona, a mining town. Here Violet came into position of two new revolvers. Colt 1873 Single Action Army revolvers. These were much easier to reload, and were somewhat shorter than the original Colt 1851 Navy Revolver she had been carrying. She still had every gun she had ever used, but she wasn’t afraid to upgrade. She also picked up on several gin tricks. Mainly twirling and such. On the few occasions she and her sire ventured into town, she received some odd looks at her six shooters, but it was nothing she hadn’t dealt with before.
It was a rough town. There were other kindred here, but they had the misfortune of coming after Violet and her Sire. Tombstone was there town, there domain. It was there rules that were applied. Wich surprisingly for being Brujah were those of the Camarilla. One Ventrue went so far as to demand he be made prince. He was dust before midnight. There was no Camarilla in the Arizona Territory, it was a Brujah paradise. Violet and Richard lived the life of bounty hunters. Bringing large sums of money. They became some of the best known in the territory. In the year 1879, the Earp’s came to town. What a world of trouble that proved to be. It didn’t take long for them to get settled in and make a few claims. Luckily Richard and Violet lived at an old abandoned mine as they had in Tuscan. She still had the same horse, keeping the animal ghouled by mixing her blood in with his oats. Then there was Marshal, a German Sheppard that she had found. The poor brute had been shot by some scoundrel and she had ghouled the dog to save his life.
Sarah watched Tombstone grow, and then die as the mines died. It was your typical boom town. From there she and her sire followed they’re descendent to what is now West Virginia. It was around this time that her sire, bored with the world went into torpor, leaving Sarah to watch after his affairs. The year was 1904. She had been alive for over a hundred and fifty years. She had been a typical Brujah. Not one to obey the rules, pushing boundaries. Just as she had been in her mortal life. Then came the last of her moves. New York City.1904-present
In 1904 Violet followed her last remaining descendant to New York City. There she once again found her niche. She presented herself to the then prince, and arrogant Ventrue…as are all Ventrue after all. She settled down in Brooklyn and made her self useful to the current primogen of the clan Brujah, and acted the part of his Sheriff. She secured her sire in a mausoleum near a catholic church. She worked through the great depression at her primogen’s side, helping to keep their clan in order. As orderly as you can keep the Brujah anyways. They ran racketeering, schemes, protection, anything to keep the clan going. It was good times.
The depression passed wich gave way to the Korean war, and then the Vietnam war era. Oh the 50’s and 60’s were a wonderful time for the Brujah. Plenty to rebel against. Rebel against the war, the government, hell women were rebelling against wearing a bra. Violet didn’t see the point in bra’s anyways, not like her breast were ever going to sag. Though as time went on some bra’s were made she rather liked. They made the girls look a little bigger. She coasted through the seventies and eighties. The nineties were a breeze…up until 1998 when her primogen decided to try and kill her viewing her as a threat. Most of the clan had adopted the biker culture as Violet had and Marcus was still stuck back in the sixties. She made things very simple for him. When her attacked her she put three slugs in his head in the blink of an eye. She was made primogen the very next day.
Twelve years have passed since Violet became the primogen for Clan Brujah. She has a series of ghouls keeping an eye on her Sire's tomb, with orders to call her the moment there were any changes. She holds court at ‘Violets Bar’ in Yonkers, home of the Knight Hawks. A Biker gang made up of Kindred and thir ghouls. Come on down and have a drink…and we might have a bite.
