Grant Ellison
Grifter With Devil's Luck
Author: signcontrast
PC in: Philadelphia By Night
Race:
Level:
Game System: Vampire: The Requiem
Description
Description
Grant generally wears weather beaten jeans and a worn leather coat, and heavy riding boots. Alternately, he may be dressed in a leather biker’s suit. In either case, he’ll have his characteristic red-brown rabbit’s foot dangling from his neck. His eyes match the color of the rabbit’s hair, and his disheveled, brown hair still carry the luster of some distant Native blood. Occasionally he’ll wear the circular tinted glasses of a time when his eyes were beginning to dull. Looking about 30, he’s broad-shouldered and sure-footed with a loose and confident posture.
Flaw: Deathwish
Ever since the night of fires, that night he last saw Portia, Grant’s been living life in the moment. It’s as if he died that night and his body hasn’t realized it yet. With his earlier illusions shattered, he has to take each night as it comes, knowing he can’t count on anything. And if he’s already dead, then he might as well enjoy each illusionary moment. If that means driving his bike through flames on the outside chance he’ll catch his prey, he’ll do it. Why play it safe. It means he’ll never back down from a challenge, even if he knows he’ll lose, because after all, what does he have to lose? Pride? No he lost that a while ago. And if there’s a young woman that’s about to be sucked dry by a well-known elder? Well, he doesn’t just ask the kindred to stop. He puts his foot to his chest and tells him to get lost. Anyone who sees these stunts probably assumes he’s either stupidly over-confident, he’s a thrillseeker, or he really has a deathwish.
Questions, Questions…
How old are you?
Grant died in 1989, exactly twenty years ago. He’s 51 years old, and looks 30.
What was unique about your childhood?
He doesn’t think of his childhood often. It’s a long way away. He’s lived as a vampire for almost as long as he lived a mortal life. Childhood was brief and hard. His mother passed away from cancer and his father drank too much. He was like many children: left to his own devices. For him, this meant he didn’t have long talks about his future or college or taking over the family business. Instead, as soon as he was old enough, he spent hours upon hours fixing up the red camero his father left in disrepair. Eventually he owned it- a sort of apology from his father, and acknowledgement that he was finally a man. Philadelphia was the only town he knew as he was growing up, and for a long time that was enough.
Maybe the only thing unique about his childhood was the eerie way in which people disappeared from it, but he didn’t really consciously acknowledge this. Philadelphia was and is a hard city. The crows always seemed to understand him when he looked up at them. They watched thoughtfully, and cawed to each other, remarking on him.
What kind of person were you?
He could not have been said to be exceedingly nice or exceedingly mean, neither arrogant nor humble. He was a very average guy. He liked his Yeungling lager and he liked to watch the occasional game of hockey or soccer. He read more than most mechanics he knew, but the stereotypes about mechanics always exaggerate. When Grant looks back on his life, he wonders what did keep him going. He remembers spending hours on subway, asking himself the same question. In may have only been a matter of time until something like this happened, and the fact that he avoided it until he was 30 seems quite remarkable. Evenings were spent reading, riding the subway, wandering the streets, or on his current project at the shop. Anyway, he figures: he was surviving. That’s what kept him going. Many of his friends lost themselves in heroine or depression or angry drinking. Sometimes he wonders what it is about Philadelphia that does that destroys people. Maybe it was just the group he grew up with.
What was your first brush with the supernatural?
Portia. As far as he knows. Unless you count the crows.
How did the Embrace change you?
In every way. He stopped reading. He travelled too often to repair much of anything except his bike or Portia’s. Portia took him to clubs and taught him to dance, and he embraced the feeling of losing oneself. She taught him to take notice of the looks they got, and how to pull people in with subtle cues. She taught him to look people in the eyes just so, so that women felt like they were someone absolutely unique. And then she taught him how to make everyone around him feel utterly boring. And he took it all in. His brown eyes seemed to grow deeper with each night, his muscles toned, his clothing took on a rougher, looser look, and he began to feel very much the wolf.
Now that’s everything apart from falling in love harder than he ever had before. For Grant, the Embrace is inextricably linked to falling in love. When he found out more about both, his illusions were shattered. Whereas before he didn’t think anything as tender and magical as love or vampirism would ever happen to him. Now that it happened, he doesn’t believe in either like he used to. Love is an illusion. And vampirism uses illusions. All those high ideals he once grew reading about were probably an illusion. It’s nothing to cry about. It’s just a shame it took him so long to realize it, and when he finally did he was left holding a fresh steaming package of shit. At least now he’ll have some fun with it, especially now that he knows his curse doesn’t just work against him.
Who was your sire, and how did she treat you?
See character background. Portia didn’t really plan to hurt him so badly. Grant knows this, and in fact, it’s that thought which led him to lose confidence in the idea of love. What they had was real. There was no Brood conspiracy. There was no planned betrayal. Portia just lost interest. It simply ended. Grant suspects, but doesn’t know for sure, that Portia knew Ezé before she met Grant, and that she saw Ezé in Chicago. Something happened there which changed Portia, and made want to end things with Grant. He’s right about all that. Perhaps Ezé mad a convincing argument to join the Brood. Perhaps she loved him from before and realized she still loved him. Perhaps he just shook her world up. Grant will probably never know.
Were you presented to Kindred society?
Yes. Unceremoniously in Mexico City. Quietly in LA. And in private here in Philadelphia. He’s been attending Elysium gatherings, though, if only to stay informed of who’s who in the city.
How did you meet the others in your coterie?
About to find out. I sent the rest of my ideas already.
Where is your haven?
See the map. Grant sleeps in the basement. His dog, Bones, keeps watch from the room above.
Do you retain any connections to your mortal life?
He occasionally visits his senile father who lives alone, as dangerous as it is, in a cramped apartment and refuses to go to a nursing home. No one else.
What are your habitual feeding grounds?
Biker bars. Electronic and jazz clubs. Semi-private gambling dens or restaurants with small bars.
What motivates you?
This is perhaps the hardest question to answer. One thing to note is that I changed my virtue to Fortitude. It fits incredibly better. This is perhaps what motivates him. He’s lost much of himself, but he still has his humanity. He knows it because he can still feel its pangs. He reflects on who he is as he walks the streets or rides through them, and wonders if he’ll ever lose himself entirely. He doesn’t exactly know it yet, but he’s looking for something to give him meaning. Until that happens, he will appear to be the thrillseeker and drifter to everyone.
He does not wish to embrace anyone. Ever. He doesn’t want revenge. He does long to look on the sun, but he doesn’t really dwell on that, and he knows his mortal life is dead. Seeing his aging father reminds him of that very quickly. He tries hard not to get involved in inter-covenant conflicts and gangrel leave him alone. He has a passing interest in the Ordo Dracul or the redemptive features of Lancea Sanctum.
!
!
Bio
Interview 1
Interviewer: Don Castillo
Scribe: retainer or agent of Don Castillo’s (Grant is unsure which given his state at the time)
Interviewee: Grant Ellison Nigh
DC (Don Castillo): Very well, Señior Ellison, why don’t you tell me how you met your sire. I should very much enjoy this story, and I’d like to come to understand how you came to travel with the Brood yet did not embrace their beliefs. Please, spare no details. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that many of my subjects wish to see you dead. And you have my word that everything you say shall remain between the three of us.
GEN (Grant): Well that’s not exactly it. I didn’t exactly travel with the Brood. It was probably close to 30 years ago. I never considered myself very lucky. So when she came into repair shop off of Rte. 309 I didn’t even think I had a chance with her. She needed a quick and quiet fix to her hog, and she was willing to pay in cash and throw some extra in for immediate service. I stayed late, closing the front door and rolling the garage door down. Sure, it wasn’t my place, and my boss would have a fit if he found out I let the woman just hang out in the shop after hours, but no one would know if I did the lady a short favor. I could feel her eyes on me as I slowly worked on the bike.
It was a nice hog. She asked him what I knew about bikes, and she asked me what I did for fun. When I said I mostly read she laughed – ‘a literary mechanic’ she called me, or ‘the scholar mechanic’ she suggested. We talked about books I liked and books she liked. I preferred stories of the lost: Catcher in the Rye, Rule of the Bone, The Invisible Man. She preferred stories of those who found themselves: Siddhartha, or Steppenwolf, Faust or The Passion or even Metamorphoses. I didn’t think much of it. A woman like that, she’d never go for me. I amused her, I could tell, and so I obligingly continued conversation, happy to look into her twinkling dark eyes or watch her graceful features shift under the dull orange light of the garage. But before long the work was finished and I was walking her outside. She kissed me on his cheek and left her cool breath on my neck.
It was maybe a month later when she rolled up around the same time and needed repairs again. She’d been pushing the hog far beyond its limits. Its tires were worn, its brakes shot, suspension flat, headlight cracked, banged up body- a real piece of work. This would take few nights. So I started that night, and we talked some more. She watched me the whole night from behind the counter, curiously far away, but with that same amused look. This time, somehow, she got me talking about my father and his drinking habits. Sure, we had a few scuffles, and she seemed to think that bruised me. He squints to the side Asked about my mother and her cancer…about my dreams of studying abroad…and finally how I settled on the fact that scholarship wasn’t really for me. When I finished the night’s work she left me with a fistful of cash and a long kiss. Helena, as I came to know her, came back the next night so I could finish, and this time she even got me to tell her about my silly childhood dreams of animal spirits, crows in particular, and failed relationships. I felt stupid afterward, and she sensed it, so she offered to take me for a ride. I’d ridden bikes before, so she generously offered to turn it over to me. Her cool body pressed against me. I never felt so free.
But the work wasn’t quite done, so we agreed to meet a few nights later. I remember that it was pouring that night- a severe storm with heavy rains that covered the streets with sheets of rain. She did the talking that night. She told me about her life: freedom. Not some hippy dream of freedom, not a simple life of bottle to bottle, party to party. Real freedom. Exploration. Coming to know oneself. Listening to yourself. Then she kissed me like I’d never been kissed before, and made me know fire in my heart again.
Helena came again the next night, and I drank fire. And something cold in me stirred slowly and began to crack its hard shell and expose soft earth. And she came a third night and from then on she had me. I left with her soon after that, following her north to New York. But before we left, she took me into the forests outside the city. Bats flitted through the trees. And there she pulled me to my knees and hugged me against the enormous willow tree and sucked the sadness from me and sucked some more at the forgotten places of my heart until she tore my life from me. Then she gave it back. And laid me into the soft soil of a grave she dug. She was there to catch me when I dug my way out in near madness, let me feed from animals she brought me. Then we left for NY.
Together we knew no fear. We didn’t play games with each other, and we took care of each other. They did what their hearts told them to do. We stole, we ignored feeding territories liberally then ran from the provincial kindred we angered. We occasionally got involved in politics, but it didn’t really matter what side we were on. As long as there was a chase or a thrill something to test our nerves. We spent some time in New York and during this time she trained me to hunt and to keep moving and to avoid capture by other kindred. …But that was a comparatively short time I suppose. He looks to a dark corner as if searching his memory. When we left, something changed, as if the show was over. It was then that I noticed the crows.
DC: The crows?
GEN: …Yeh. They watch me. I can’t explain it. It’s not important to the story anyway.
DC: Then please continue. I would like to hear how you came to Mexico City and how my Revolutionarios captured you.
GEN: In Chicago she was distant; she disappeared for a couple days without warning and then reappeared just as suddenly. We spent long rides without a word between us, and when I broke that silence she barely responded. By the time we arrived here in Mexico City everything between us was …very different. His eyes said ‘gone.’ She began to leave bodies. I would find them in bathroom stalls. She scorned me for worrying. One night when I confronted her over some teenager’s corpse she shrugged and told me, “Life was passion and to truly live life, you have to follow your passions.” Then she flicked her cigarette on his motionless chest. I saw the look she had in her eyes as she walked past me. Nothing remained of the love we shared.
Something must have happened in Maxwell’s domain in Chicago. Maybe that’s where she originally met Ezé. Maybe she never loved me, and it was all just one more …experience…in a succession of passionate experiences. In either case, a few nights later a Carthian coterie came hunting for us. And they weren’t looking for a conversation, nor an apology. They nearly beat us to pulp but somehow a couple of them ended up beneath some cars. I think they tripped over a fire hydrant.
DC: Yes. I’d heard of this. It caused a 6 car pile up and required some negotiation with the morgue to save a couple of my Revolutionarios.
GEN: Hmm, well I’m sorry for that, but we were really just defending ourselves. And they were the ones who attacked us right outside the nightclub. …Now that I look back on it I think it might had something to do with Ezé, the kindred we met in Él Río Callíente. Helena recognized him from some earlier time. In any case, he was ranting about the lies of the covenants, about their complacent servitude to inhuman masters. I couldn’t understand much of it- the terms were too unfamiliar, and his ideas were so complex, but I could see he wanted Helena to join him in his crusade. He talked about her gift, and how she couldn’t let it stagnate. In the coming weeks Ezé and Helena spent a lot of time together and it was clear I was uninvited.
DC: Yes, I think I know what was happening. smiles Five explosions in eight nights, mass murders of the kind that even my worst barrios don’t generally experience, small riots- it seemed a little piece of hell had arrived in my domain.
GEN: I only saw Helen once more then. The Carthians finally caught up to Helena and Ezé, and as luck would have it, I was there too. I told you. I’m not very lucky. I wandering the city, wondering what to do, how to get her back, who was I… anyway, I visited Él Río Callíente. I was just coming in as they were leaving. I followed them out; I don’t know why. Suddenly I heard the sound of gunfire, screams, crowds running in all directions, sirens calling. A few moments later the place was rocked with an explosion. I think it was a grenade. I managed to get outside. In the smoke I noticed Helen watching me from across the street. She had that smile on her face, and I thought I saw her watching me with those same eyes she had in the garage almost a year ago. And then the Carthians came out from behind me and one of them, an obvious lunatic, threw a grenade straight at her.
DC: Interesting. They weren’t clear how the explosions occurred, but they depicted it as something your Helena caused. Please continue.
GEN: You know most of the rest. When they lost her and Ezé they turned on me. Once they had me they interrogated me back at their haven. Was I one of those Diablos? What was I after? What did I know about Ezé’s coven? Where did that cursed devil, Helena go? (So I guess she’s still alive.) And how recently had I diablerized? Who had I diablerized? They didn’t like my answers. I didn’t even know I diablerized someone. I don’t think I have. They worked on me relentlessly for several nights until they finally brought me here to answer for my “crimes” since Ezé and Helena were never found.
That trial was a joke by the way. Just look at me: I can see my ribs, I can feel the air on my bare flesh on my face. Luckily I can sit now, since you were kind enough to let me heal my kneecaps.
DC: Amused Indeed. Well you have my sincerest condolences on the troubles you’ve experienced. That’s why I have a proposition for you. I would like you to help a friend of mine: the Nosferatu Prince of LA, Jocelyn Marsch. I’m sure the Revolutionarios will be irritated, but I have my own concerns about their behavior. They shall have to answer for them. Still, I can’t just let you walk away. You bring a sort of chaos with you. Let us see if we can remedy that by entrusting you with someone more subtle than your sire. …I have been told that you have the ability for a certain type of …’medecine.’
Conversation
Conversation Participants: Jocelyn Marsch, Nosferatu Prince of LA and Grant Ellison Nigh
Circumstances: On one of their last evenings together, overlooking the glittering city.
JM (Jocelyn Marsch): So what did you think of me when we first met?
GEN: (shrugs) Well I suppose I was surprised to see that you were so beautiful.
JM: Oh come on now. I can’t trust a word you say. I’m not a school girl neonate who might forget she’s Nosferatu.
GEN: Yes, well, I could overlook the certain sense of… the predator about you. You’re ivory skinned, and frailer than a mortal might be, and who could ignore those wild fangs of yours, but I don’t think you’re hungry for my blood. And me, what did Castillo send me to you for?
JM: You don’t remember. That unluck of yours, it was quite useful for me. The city and its plotting kindred, they had a difficult time in Court with you around. Somehow they’d ended up coughing up their meals at just the wrong time.
GEN: Yes, but that was rather insignificant.
JM: But Don Castillo and I knew that ‘medicine’ you have could be used even more effectively once I had you trained to be my Hound.
GEN: That’s right. You insisted pretty early on that I study under Master Phan. He’s a terrible monster, you know, for being mortal. (smiles)
JM: Yes, well, he did his job. His skill, coupled with your medicine, has made you one of my most useful hounds. Although you’re still a lot more fragile than many of our kindred. (patting him in a playful condescending way)
GEN: Thanks for the reminder. That is of course why I’m leaving. Too many people already suspect the work I do for you.
JM: You mean, too many suspect our relationship.
GEN: Bah, you and I know we’re just playing games. We drank too often of each other.
JM: (thinks for several longs moments, looking at Grant) You’re going back because of her, aren’t you.
GEN: (looking down at the city) No. I’m going back to Philadelphia because it’s been a long time. I miss the place. And it’s just time to go.
JM: (She continues to look at him, searching his eyes for the many things he does not say, or can not say, or does not even know. Finally she responds.) Yes. That’s why I’ve contacted Sophe Peregrin, an old Carthian friend. She’ll introduce you to Duke Gerald in Philadelphia. She’ll know your story, but she’s very good at keeping secrets and you’ll need someone like me. (She furrows her eyebrows.)
GEN: You know I don’t get attached. It’s in my blood now.
JM: Don’t flatter yourself. She’s far too refined for that. She won’t let you play games with her.
On the Road
He’s coming home now. He doesn’t know why. He only knows the crows lead him there, and that he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go.
At the Falcon Perch, Philadelphia
Sophe Peregrin: Grant, I think you’ll make a wonderful addition to our society here in Philadelphia.
Grant: Mmmm, I suppose. What are people saying about me?
Sophe: (laughs) Oh, you know, very much what you’d expect. That you’re a diablerist, but that you’ve paid for your sins. Some, like Meir, think you’ll never pay enough. Others just find you dangerous, perhaps cursed by some devil or mortal coven of witches. Others find you sad, a sort of lost soul. And then there are others who are intrigued, even as they recoil from what terrible past you must have lived. It’s really not worth dwelling on. Since Gerald has acknowledged you, though, people are content to let you operate. They don’t seem to know about your …unfortunate quality. How are you settling in?
Grant: Well enough. I have a garage now- actually the same place I used to work at. It was basically abandoned when I came here. Fixing up an old mustang. Tuned up my old hog from the long drive here. Annabelle’s been good about suggesting places to feed. I use the nightclubs well enough, but sometimes I try the dive bars just outside the city.
Sophe: (smiles) You haven’t really changed that much have you? Still like the same crowd.
Grant: (shrugs) I never used to make it out when I was alive. Now I always seem to be out – when I’m not working in the shop or reading.
Sophe: Forgive me if I am being too personal Grant, but why are you here anyway?
Grant: …Everybody’s asking me that. Even before I came here. Maybe I’m here to find that out.
Grant’s ride:
!
!
