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Name: Temerity
Player: Kay
Clan: Toreador Anti
Nature: Dark Uncle
Demeanor: Chameleon
Concept: Deviant (Creep Show) Artiste
Gen: 11th
Haven: Apartment Studio
Apparent Age: 20
Age: 27

Social
Alluring: 1x
Beguiling: 1x

Dignified: 1x
Empathic: 1x
Expressive: 1x
Gorgeous: 1x
Ingratiating: 1x
Mental
Attentive: 1x
Calm: 1x
Creative: 1x
Insightful: 1x
Vigilant: 1x
Impatient

Physical
Brutal: 1x
Enduring: 1x
Dexterous: 1x
Quick: 1x
Disciplines
Auspex: 2x
Celerity: 1x
Presence: 1x

Abilities
Brawl: 1x
Firearms: 1x
Streetwise: 1x
Melee: 1x
Blind Fighting: 1x
Fire Walking: 1x
Torture: 1x
Virtues
Conviction
Instinct
Courage

Path:
(sire’s: Power and The Inner Voice)

Flaws:
Elder Responsibility
Mute

Merits:
Acute Hearing
Acute Smell

Derangements:
Ritual Freak
Wrist Slitter

Status:
Blooded
Initiated
Proven (?)

Appearance: Stands about 5’7’’ jet black hair reaching down to about chin, natural green eyes, wardrobe varies greatly depending on the occasion and how she wishes to come across.

Art:
Anti-Christ: A man in black standing over numerous bodies in what looks like a church. Blood covers most of the painting making the bodies and even the man hard to see (painting done in shades of black and dark red). Heads can barely be made out lining the alter, the bodies lie near the bottom.
Crucified (St. Paul): Guy hangs upside down, his feet nailed to the ceiling, arms nailed to the wall. Behind the guy is a painting of Jesus’ crucifixion, a stream of blood runs down the wall.
Blood Bath: Six skinned people fill the painting in more or less a circle. Their mouths twisted in agony. All that’s seen is their heads, the rest of the bodies hidden by a pool of blood.

History:

Mortal Years:

Temerity was born in 1972 in the suburbs. Her mother left her with her father when she was two. Numerous occasions her father beat her. She dealt with the beatings till she was 8. Three weeks after her birthday her father beat her so bad she ended up in the ER. She lost the ability to speak, the doctors not being able to do anything. The State took her father and her to court where it was decided the father would go to prison while the State would take custody of the child.
The Judge, thinking the best for her, placed her in a Catholic orphanage about 50 miles outside Miami. She grew up there, learning all the prissy behaviors a lil girl should. Nobody ever adopted her, and she didn’t want to be. Anyone who would come to a place like this was just as bad as the fruity peeps there.
The nuns took special care to make sure she felt at home. After all, most of the children who went there were babies when they arrived. Temerity was the only one who had come from a family, a horrible one.
Temerity stayed mostly to herself for the first couple years, hating the place with a passion. Then she figured she better at least come across as enjoying it there, or people would bug her further. So she pretended to gladly attend the church services, Sunday school, her classes, and even Bible Class. And she actually began to like the idea of not being able to talk, that way they couldn’t hear the hatred for them in her voice. So they all thought of her as a little angel, and she was content to let them think so. After all, if they thought one thing, they wouldn’t readily accept her as another. So she was free to do as she wanted while in her chambers.
She began expressing herself in art, quite simple at first (’85)…paper and pencil. But she quickly found she wasn’t truly able to express herself that way. Around ’87 she started with the strange red paint. The red was the only true color in her work, but the nuns were proud of her. After all, her drawings were mainly of angels, red on their wings and hands…. Once in awhile on the face.
Few years later Temerity grew tired of the pencils and “red paint.” She needed something more, something that….”expressed her more.” Her first attempt was on a rat, after all that’s where she had got her paint. The damn orphanage couldn’t afford simple things like paint. First thing she did was try to bash out its teeth (whole rats having diseases thing), she ended up breaking its neck. Enough rats around though, she caught another. This time she shoved a piece of cloth in its mouth to the point it couldn’t move its jaw. The thing suffocated. So went her time at the Catholic Hell.
Of course the nuns and the other orphans never suspected she was so uncontent. The nuns were convinced she was sincerely planning on staying there after her 18th birthday. The other girls enjoyed hanging out with her and making fun of the nuns.
Reaching her 17th year she left the place. She had a world to see, and she knew by all the “horrid” things the nuns had told her, others like her existed. ‘Course she had money issues, but she figured her art could bring in some.
She soon found out that just selling art didn’t make the cash she’d hoped (not in the beginning at least). Well, lucky for her she had a roomy that had a job that earned phat cash. Problem was it wasn’t that legal. Oh well, legal shit was like the Church; government just wanted a way to control people. So the nights she wasn’t showing her art, she spent on the streets coaxing men and, sometimes, even women into paying for sex. Paid really well after awhile too, though at first it disgusted her, but hey it paid and that was a good thing.
A few months into this side business she started getting to know guys on the streets, druggies, drug dealers, gangsters, and so forth. A few of the gangsters taught her how to fight using switchblades, revolvers and so forth. They figured since she couldn’t talk, she’d have to have some way to protect herself out here. ‘Cides, even if she could talk, it wouldn’t help her much in a situation on the streets. One guy even showed her the ropes of goin’ about buying weapons on the black market since there were being so many laws passed on gun control.
Her art though was her true passion and by ’95 she was makin enough money off of it she didn’t have to do the side job. She moved into her own flat, close to the beach. The thing she loved most about her art was the reactions, if she got a smile there was something wrong. She could handle a slight wrinkling of the nose, better a cringe, but better still was if the people looked away or were to horrified to tear their gaze away. Surprisingly her stuff sold, though not her most early work. It seemed they were a bit too much for the public at the time.
Temerity went to every showing of her work, her pitch-black hair done up, simply wearing a paint splattered T and tight jeans. Even in those clothes she managed to fit in at the galleries with her hair and brilliant green eyes.
She quickly gained popularity for her fairly gruesome pieces, not to mention money. She gained friends, though many she was indifferent to. ‘Course, truth be told, not everything went her way after she left. Boy did she get pissed then. More then once did people literally become a part of her artwork at those times. Or so the rumor goes.
Next two years she mainly spent traveling, her artwork was spreading out of the city and she figured she should spread with it.
Dec. ’96 she came back to Miami more for a break than anything else, that and her art was hitting a bump again. Pissed her off. Things didn’t turn her way quick, there would be hell to pay. Her Broker would be the first to see it, and he knew what she was like when that happened.
Her broker managed to get some of her art in at a local gallery just after Christmas. Close to the closing of the show (Mid Jan, ’97), her current Pack passed by and one stopped. He jotted down her number for later. The Toreador bought some of her work and watched her for several weeks trying to figure if she’d be any good to the Sabbat. In the beginning of March he finally contacted her, and arranged a meeting. Temerity agreed to go, though she did think 2am was a bit strange. Then again it was Miami.
The night of the meeting Temerity wore a tight shirt hugging her body, and baggy jeans and a black jean jacket in hopes of surprising the man. Also to help hide her dagger stashed behind her back, which she got from her street “friends.” After thinking about it, she figured the gun might be better. So she tucked that in the daggers place, at her back under the coat and tucked in her pants.
She met him, or was attacked by him more like, and after a round or so of her firing he had her. He tied her down and waited. Didn’t talk or anything, even while Temerity kicked and fought the rope. Eventually he must have grown bored of her shit ‘cause he knocked her over the head with the butt of her own gun. When she woke up there were several more peeps around her, and the same prick who had tied her down. The others conversed a bit, once in awhile someone glanced over at her. She just pictured cutting them to pieces when she got out. Then the Tori approached her, grabbed her by the jaw and forced her to look at him. Then he told her what he was. Showed would be more appropriate. He told her she could be one of them “if” she did a certain favor whenever the “minor” problem came up. ‘Course she wouldn’t have to worry about that it for at least a bit, she’d have to prove herself first. And if she didn’t, well she’d get what she deserved. The whole favor thing seemed pretty simple; she just had to talk to the elders (whoever/whatever they were) if the pack ever did anything wrong. No biggy, less this pack was full of troublemakers. She agreed, and wham bam shabam she was embraced. ‘Cides she couldn’t really ask questions, and she figured if she didn’t take the offer she’d end up dead.

Her sire didn’t make the adjustment the slight bit easy for her. He kept her tied down where she was for most of the first night. He came back close to dawn, muttered something of how the sun tended to kill their kind and that maybe he’d see her the following night. Then the guy left.
In complete frenzy she jerked about, the ropes loosening just enough so she could escape. Rope burns on both arms and chest. She found one unfortunate mortal who she (duh) drained before the first hints of dawn approached. She managed to make it a good deal home before her skin began to blister. Temerity slipped into the sewer and decided to wait the day out. Soon enough sleep came to her.
The next night she climbed out of the sewer, angry that she’d have to resort to that. She finished her journey home, grabbing a bite to eat on the way. Since her home was near the beach, she discarded the body in the ocean hoping the tide would take care of it.
At home she showered and changed her clothes, picking a long sleeved black shirt, black slacks and a pair of Docs. She let her hair hang loose, trying to cover the damage done by the sun and ropes. Finishing off the outfit, she put on some shades.
When she stepped out of her bedroom, there her sire was, sitting on her black leather couch like he belonged. He lifted his own shades and studied her. The he told her she could finish healing her wounds just by using the blood she had consumed earlier. Still pissed at him for leaving her there, she had a feeling by his stare that he could care less what she thought. Then again, he didn’t sound like this trial stuff would be easy, so she took it silently like she always had. She did as he said, and was amazed that it worked. Most of the next several weeks (on and off) were spent by him explaining basic things (‘bout Sabbat’s, Ritae’s, Camarilla, etc.) and doing “minor” tests. She did them all with no complaint (via looks and so wise), eventually taking them as challenges to be beat.
Somewhere around 6 months down the line her sire locked her in a room with no lights, the rats her only friends. Her sire wasn’t so nice however just to lock her up. He positioned her (ironically) like one of her paintings, “Crucified.” (Guy hangs upside down, his feet nailed to the ceiling, arms nailed to the wall. Behind the guy is a painting of Jesus’ crucifixion, a stream of blood runs down the wall) A couple nights later, a man broke into the room (slayer) and attempted to kill her. Make it short, the slayer was the one who ended up “crucified” on the wall.
Early ’98 was the year of her first Camarilla kill. She didn’t know much about them ‘cept they loved mortals and made it a point to be weak. She also knew something that the enjoyed being ruled by others. She hated the thought of that. Reminded her of the damn blubber filled nuns. Anyway yeah she killed the Cammi, she didn’t know what clan he was….didn’t really have time to ask. Sucker didn’t die easy either, but boy did he writhe in agony when she torched the guy. Though she did think the whole thing was kind of comical when he tried to coax her into giving her clan and so forth. All she did was look at him and smile. She had figured the guy wasn’t Sabbat by his whole attitude towards the mortals that had passed by. Temerity’s humor however dwindled as he started talking shit about how Miami was being run. She smiled pleasantly at the guy, her green eyes stone cold, and left the table (dumb kid followed her). Then she attacked him. Nobody talked shit about her town and got away with it. She never regretted it either, though sometimes she wondered if the guy ever had a clue.
Soon after she was involved in her first Vaulderie and she fell in love. No longer was the blood just a way of conquering her enemies, it was a way of uniting yourself with others who had somewhat the same look as her. By the time her Blood Feast happened she was a fanatic about the whole Ritae thing. She promised herself the nuns she was forced to live with would be at least a portion of her meal if she ever held one…well if they were still alive. Right after her embrace she was taught the basics on fighting, learned celerity while she was without any weapon. Was forced to learn real quick how to survive without one. Auspex was her main priority, hearing something ‘bout her being able to communicate easier with people through mind contact, but through the stuff she was being forced to endure so quickly she didn’t reach it easily. Presence was a thing she doubt she could learn, but she managed to at least learn Awe, helping her in public scenes saving her from otherwise exploding when she grows impatient.