Opie Fischer

Prodigal Prodigy

Description:

Virtue: Humble
Vice: Arrogant
Mental Attributes: Intelligence ••••, Wits ••, Resolve ••
Physical Attributes: Strength ••, Dexterity ••, Stamina ••
Social Attributes: Presence ••, Manipulation •••, Composure •••
Mental Skills: Academics (Parapsychology) •••, Computers •••, Investigation •, Medicine (Pharmacy) •••, Occult •••, Science ••
Physical Skills: Athletics •, Brawl •, Firearms (Rifles) ••, Stealth ••
Social Skills: Empathy (Insightful) •••, Persuasion ••, Socialize ••, Subterfuge ••, Subterfuge •
Merits: Allies (Blackwell Family) •••, Beast Whisperer, Clear Eyes, Contacts* (Family), Esoteric Armory ••, Eye For the Strange, Family Legacy: Blackwell ••, Interdisciplinary Specialty: Parapsychology •, Language (First Tongue, Latin), Producer, Resources* •, Safe Place** •••, Status: CPS
Health: 7
Willpower: 5
Integrity: 7
Size: 5
Speed: 9
Defense: 3
Initiative: 5
Tactics: Disappear

*Granted by the Family Legacy Merit
**Shared between him, Alegria and Levy

Long Term Aspiration: Become something.

Breaking Points:
• Significant personal failure.
• Indifference to others’ pain.
• Killing someone in his name.
• Being covered in blood.
Accidently hurting someone.

Bio:

Hi. My name is Howard Fischer. And I’d like to tell you a bit about who I am. I’m neither special, or normal. I’m floating some where in the middle. Like everyone I had a childhood, and from what I can remember, it was nice. But that’s just it, I only remember a generalized view of it. Events, people, places, all that nice stuff. I can’t really call any particular memory up. But I remember nightmares. Lots of them. Things in these nightmares are always dark, so I can’t pick out anything detailed or distinctive other than there are things there… muttering something to the tune of “It’s Here”. Or nightmares about red. Fluid red usually, but nothing beyond that. And nightmares about leeches. Big ones that walk and find you, even if you hide under the covers. But they weren’t real, because if they were, I would be dead. Right?

But my years after a child, things were still strange, but relatively normal. I remember my parents often had me medicated for “hallucinations”. I always talked about things as a young teenager that they told me couldn’t possibly be there. One particular moment that comes to mind is when we were in the store, and I met a man with ashen skin, sunken eyes, and muddy tattered clothes that had holes in them with what looked like gaping wounds, and I asked if he was okay. My mother asked me who I was talking too, and apparently he wasn’t there… This went on for a time, and actually it still does today. When I try to make it happen. But I don’t talk about it, because it would mean more medication that makes me feel like I’m not myself. So, when no ones around, I induce myself to hallucinate in a manner of speaking and watch the world from a different perspective, drug free.

Speaking of drugs. I never really was a fan, but I was fascinated about their use and application for the betterment of my peers. After all, if they can be used to treat diseases, and nightmares, and even help quiet the things that aren’t there. What else can they be used for. So as I grew to the age where I would be going to university, I decided I would become a doctor and applied myself in that. It went pretty well, I would say. I was at the top of my class, and my natural but understated intelligence (Nobody has ever accused me of being the brightest bulb, but I have always been brilliant in a quiet and unnoticed way) I progressed rather quickly.

Life was normal, at least I thought so. The nightmares of my youth weren’t present, my hallucinations were under control (though I wasn’t taking the medication for it. It was my private secret. Something I fancied was for me and only me). And then I saw something right out of my darkest fantasies and nightmares. I woke up one night, but I couldn’t move. The room was dark, and my body was covered in a sheet of cold sweat. But there was an icy wetness on my neck… And a weight next to me. Something was there, and it had it’s mouth on my throat. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t do anything but experience this horror as this thing ate my throat. And then I woke up. It was morning, and I was alone as I usually was. My neck was fine and there was almost nothing left to prove that happened. At least, till I saw a trace of blood on my sheets near my neck.

You ever have one of those dreams that turn out to be true. Me neither till then. I said fuck the world at that point and made myself as undesirable as possible. Dropped out of school, even though I was nearly done. Picked up drugs, the harder the better, and utterly disappointed every last person that had any amount of hope in me. But I didn’t want to die. I wasn’t particularly street savvy given my previous life. So I ended up getting under the arm of someone who know what’s what. And they put my skills to work making drugs, of which I tended to take a portion from myself just to quiet my mind.

And for a while… that worked. People knew about me from reputation, but not by looks or even a name. I just was called “Chef Boyardee”. A shitty nickname, I know. But it kept me safe, since I just went by Opie. And never referred to myself as anything else. My “friend” never shared his secret. But he wasn’t really my friend, he just used me as his “mysterious” source of high quality street drugs. Actually, our partnership seemed to last decades, but it was only a few months. A side effect of taking various illicit drugs, was my sense of time got fucked for a while. He actually ended up dead, and I started working for some asshole who was nice enough. But still an asshole. He called himself Dick, weird I know. He was too smooth, and was kinda outa place even though he always belonged.

And I made for him for a while, he payed me, I kept a roof over my head. Food in my stomach, and shitty clothes on my back. But the monsters of my nightmares never came around. I was too dirty and undesirable now. Just the way I wanted to be… So I was safe… Till I went to the zoo…

Opie Fischer

Southern Gothic Skrapers