Bobby

Born to Martha and Collins Jordet, Barbara had a privileged and lucky upbringing. She was surrounded by a big house with big walls and driven to her big private school in a big car by a big woman who was paid big money by her big father to pay big attention to the girl. Because, of course, he had better things to do.

The old 'My daddy never paid attention to me and always insisted i succeed' cry may be common- even if the permutation where things are thrown at you and you're locked out of your big house and sleep under the stars in your big yard for not living up to big expectations at the big age of seven isn't as common- but it is was no less true for this particular little rich girl than many others. Martha wasn't a help, too fearful for herself and stuck equally with the idea that her daughter might've merited such treatment anyways to do anything about the behavior. This with a retail therapy addiction soothed by her own parents' money meant the woman had just as little time for her worrisome child as her spouse.

Wonder of wonders, Barbara grew up. She went through puberty, lost her taste for gentle folk songs but kept the guitar, and started looking for more rebellious places to give energy to, as upset teenagers are wont to do. She went on to make friends outside of school, start a garage rock band, spend weekends out under the guise of club-buddy sleepovers and evenings under the guise of study. She inked 'Dynamite For Free' onto white T-shirts for the gang to wear out, she started sneaking into bars and parties, started spending less time isolated in friends' garages and more time out and about town- by sixteen, she was fed up enough that when her parents so proudly announced their second expenctancy, she'd fumed and snapped and screamed. By seventeen, she had tattoos and angsty songs written and pinned passive-aggresively to the front door to match her screaming matches with her mother and her throwing arm grown to match her father's. By eighteen, she was damn good and ready to get the hell out of dodge. Unluckily for her, teenagers rarely get the long end of the stick. Her merry band of ne'er-do-wells fell victim to teenage friend groups' greatest rival; out-of-state post-secondary education. And also petty squabbles they were too immature at the time to sort out. Her relationship with her family was sundered. Any hope she'd held out for her parents learning or apologizing was seemingly funneled into the toddler trundling around, who recieved more tenderness than Babs ever thought there was room for in that house.

She hadn't meant to run away alone, originally. But the only person she'd had left to think to ask had said no, and then it was out of her hands, and then she was gone. Earthly belongings all packed into a nice car and peeling away from town, she would eventually find her way to Houston, Texas, where she would ration out the cash she'd siphoned from her parents before leaving and play the streets and at small openings.

It was luck that got Babs spotted by Helen Blakely. Good or bad, she still has no idea, but luck of some sort. A Vampire, a Kindred, looking to handpick out a childe. After all, a cunning independently aligned vampire will tell you that there's safety to be found in loyalty and promise. And immortality and power is quite a grand and tempting promise to make.

After a few weeks of repeated patronage and a very charitable offer to connect Babs with a few venues she was connected with, Helen made her offer. Babs accepted. She doesn't remember well the first few days after her embrace, though the sanguine flashes of newfound euphoria and purpose remain unwantedly bright spots in her skull.

She wasn't to know at the time the depths of the complex and idiotic web of politics spun in the night, the hungry grabs at power and territory. All Babs knew was what she was shown by the charitable parental figure who wished only to see her succeed in the world.

Helen didn't participate in the world of the sects, she had always said. Preferred to keep her distance, uninvolved and unseen, as was safest. Looked out for her and hers. Her few existing childer who she watched close under her wing stayed nearby, within a couple states. Close enough to keep watch.

It wasn't until a few years of swift upwards flight in the local music scene and curious border-pushing of newfound abilities that anything of note happened. Helen embraced another childe, a girl called Lila, sweet thing with a crooning voice and bandaged hands. (Bit of a pain to be embraced with open cuts. She never had to keep them, Bobby never understood, but she's since grown to be of the mind that perhaps the girl simply wanted to look delicate.)

Like Babs, Helen had sought to showcase the delights of unlife to Lila without delving so thoroughly into the 'tenser' sides of things. The girl learned vaguely of vampiric history and sects, but as per Helen's tendencies, not as much as she was interested to. More than once she suggested to Helen that it may be a good idea to ingratiate themselves to one side or the other, to try to at least have some standing somewhere, but ever-stubborn Helen declined. Babs was inclined to agree with their sire and mentor. Now, Lila and Babs being the only of the woman's childer to live in the same city meant they saw one another quite often, and due to the nature of their differing perspectives, did as sensible vampires did when annoyed with one another; make personal digs and trade rib-cracking blows when things get heated. Nothing unusual for petty rivalry.

Almost a year passed since Lila's embrace before Babs had recieved a message from a retainer of Helen's (along with the others she'd sired) that Helen had gotten into a rough fight with a small local group of Camarilla folks. Less than an hour after, a second message about the fight's resolution and no longer calling for assistance from those Helen had brought closer expressly to maintain her own safety.

But Babs, a loyal fool, found herself concerned. Found herself unlucky enough to come into Helen's home to find the woman's weakened and bent body in Lila's arms, stinking crimson waving red flags of base-level kindred social rulings.

She never did get a better look at the other silhouettes that had been standing casually in that room. It was on feral instinct that she fled, outnumber and without aid.

Once more she ran, and once more she landed, this time in a west coast town called Alta Vista. Once more she clawed herself a place in local music scenes, buying a new identity with everything she'd had left at the time and fighting hard to only be seen in one very particular way. With a bit of help from her vampiric blood, she's built a quite decent footholdand has managed to end up with a damn good little name for herself. A new band formed, two albums out, a damn good record deal; A nice, big house with high-end security systems and a larger than normal hound keeping an ear out at all times. She takes time to meet with a handful of very stupid groupies after shows to feed when she can't find the right type of person at a bar. Bobby's made a damn good third chance for herself, and continues to do damn well not to piss anybody else off.

Not too much, at least.