Some get born with silver spoons; Tracey Dean was born with a platinum one, far more expensive and equally tacky. Tracey was worth more at three than most people ever are. She got her first credit card at 9 in case she needed anything while she was out. Some would say she wastes money, but her parents have enough that they’ll never notice, let alone care. Mr. Randal Eisenhower (Yes, that one) Dean is a CEO of various international companies that he owns controlling stock in, as well as a lobbyist in LA and DC. He’s a loving wonderful man, but he’d never argue with you if you accused him of trying to replace his presence in his daughter’s life with money, he knows that’s exactly what he did: “I love my family, but I don’t have time to raise children, that’s what wives and nannies are for, I’ve made sure she never wants for a thing though.” Tracey doesn’t particularly mind either, money has served her as a perfectly good substitute for a loving family for all 18 years of her life.
A ravishing, hour glass figured, blonde of average height who lives in West Hollywood and throws wild lavish parties with all of her other equally out of touch friends, Tracey leads what most consider a dream life: perfect looks, perfect house, perfect neighborhood, exclusive school, more money than could ever be spent, and no cares to detract from it all. Tracey does well in school, though she doesn’t particularly care about that. Her real passion is fashion design and she throws a lot of her spare time into it, when not partying at clubs, partying at raves, or partying at the beach.
She doesn’t tell many people about this, not even other Reckoners, but Tracey’s pristine life was nearly shattered about 8 months ago when she went to another rich friend’s Christmas party when she met the perfect man. He was tall; he was dark; he was more than handsome. His cloths were impeccable and he walked with nothing but oozing confidence and charisma. Tracey could almost feel her mind taking a vacation while he talked; it didn’t matter what he said as long as he was paying attention to her, or at least that’s how she felt then. As they retreated from the main party to a side study to get more privately acquainted, fate reared it’s ugly head. Robert, Mr. Tall-dark-and-handsome, slid Tracey’s hair out of the way to kiss her neck and Tracey screamed out in pain as she felt two distinct and sharp jabs in her neck. Voices echoed inside Tracey’s head and Robert stepped back with a start. Those seconds are a complete blur to Tracey, but as Robert stepped back he began to crumble to Ash and Tracey looked at the warm sticky blood all over her right hand. She put her Left hand to her neck and it came away Red too, feeling faint and unwilling to go back to the main party with circumstances this questionable, she did the only thing she could think of; Tracey locked the study door and called a cab to meet her at the street down from the party. She climbed out the window and down to meet her cab. She was treated and got back to the party by morning. It was just winding down when she got back and climbed to the study. She quickly threw all the ash out the window and unlocked the door, heading back to her normal everyday life with new knowledge of things far outside the world she knew.
Since that fateful night, Tracey’s used her edges to fight monsters all throughout Hollywood and the valley. She’s firmly convinced that she’s the reason Hollywood has so few monsters in it, but who’s to say she knows where to really look? In any case, she still fights on occasion when a new monster rears its head in Hollywood, but mostly she stays out of the hunt when it comes to other parts of LA; it’s just not her scene to go poking around places she doesn’t want to be. Mostly now though, she just parties like the bouncy 18 year old that she is and wonder what fashion design school she’ll decide to go to.