Matías Agustín

Player handle: Cid

Character name: Matías Agustín

Birth-date: December 24th, 1980

Species: Kindred

Date of Embrace: February 29th, 2004

Sire: Ellora Reese

Generation: 10th Generation

Clan: Malkavian

Sect: Anarch

Derangements: Borderline Personality (severe) and Schizophrenia (mild).

Disciplines: Auspex, Dementation, Obfuscate

Appearance:

He has dark brown, curly hair of medium length, which he cuts most nights. His eyes are a deep green accented by dark circles underneath. He is pale as most vampires, with light freckling on his face and shoulders. His short beard is patchy and mottled. He is relatively tall at 5'11", thin and lightly muscled, suggesting a level of physical activity while alive. His arms and torso are half-covered in various colorful tattoos. Tending to dress comfortably, his wardrobe usually consists of printed t-shirts, jeans or slacks, and faded flannels. Along with the odd business attire and leather jacket hanging up. Not to mention his love of Converse shoes.

The feathered serpent, Quetzalcoatl, wraps around his right forearm. A bear with trees growing out of it's back stands on the right side of his ribs. A white-eyed wolf's head emerges from the skin of his right shoulder. A portrait of La Catrina adorns his other shoulder. An intricately stylized Fleur-de-lis sits on his left wrist, in black and white. A nautical star hangs at the top of his back, with laughing magpies circling his shoulders. A vibrant Poinsettia looks pinned to the flesh just under the inside of his left elbow.

Haven:

An old brick house from the 60s, with sun-bleached Spanish style roof and light paint, Agustin's haven only looks worse for wear. Surprisingly, the structure is still satisfyingly sturdy. Bought mostly for the windowless basement below, the small home doesn't offer much else with it's two bedrooms and single bath. The few windows that sunlight could shine through have been adorned with heavy curtains, actually nailed securely to the wall around to shut out the sun's murderous rays, which probably doesn't really block enough to keep a Vampire safe from grievous harm above ground. Located at the end of a shady cul-de-sac smack dab in the middle of Maryvale, the worst suburb of Phoenix, it being far enough away from any local schools makes it relatively comfortable for a drug dealer.

Topside, the first and only floor above the basement is furnished simply. A living room with a couple couches and an old CRT TV center the place, with standing lamps and small bookshelves filled with anything from comic books to classic literature and college textbooks litter the corners. The disused kitchen contains only an empty, unplugged fridge and oven. Slightly dusty dishes and utensils are neatly piled on the counter among the non-existent appliances. The two bedrooms are used mainly for storage, with more books, musical instruments, computer parts, and old consoles and unused furniture occupying the space.

Down below, the basement is his actual Haven. With a king sized bed and sleek leather sofa at one end and a custom built entertainment center on the other side with various consoles and a flat screen television. In another corner lies a multi-monitor desktop setup on a glass and metal desk. A simple wooden armoire with his minimalist wardrobe occupies another corner, hiding a locked safe behind it. The generally neat and purposefully arranged order of the large concrete room is broken by seemingly random posters and litter. The stairs leading up topside are heavily carved and painted with amateur graffiti, ending at a reinforced door that Matías often forgets to lock.

The lawn is dirt and rocks, framed by worn grey tarmac out front and a cracked driveway on the property itself. A single ornamental cherry tree shades the front entrance and stands out against the grungy neighborhood in subtle contrast. Six foot black iron bar fencing around the front makes it seem slightly foreboding, while the miniscule backyard is encircled with cinder block walls. There's a small pool out back, but empty and covered in less than stellar graffiti and caked with desert dirt. The one-car garage on the side of the main structure has a darker shaded door, again windowless. For reasons. He keeps in there, locked tight, a black CTS-V coupe. Stolen, of course.

Story:

The sound of metal hitting smooth concrete ground echos along the solid walls as a man stumbles backward, terrified. He shot him. Emptied the chamber straight into his chest. So, then, why did he stand up only after that last click? "Argh! You fucked up now, bitch." He laughs angrily, with holes in his chest. The shot man is barely even bleeding. It looks more like the blood seeps out only to cover the wounds, stitching them up in the process. He steps forward with a comfortable stride, adjusting his shirt as if he didn't just absorb six pieces of lead. "This was one of my favorite shirts, asshole." He exclaims calmly, looking down at it with a mixed expression of anger and sadness.

A second or two of silence passes, as if a response was expected. "Which is why I fucking SLEEP IN IT!!" He screams suddenly hoarse and predatory. Then comes the sounds of a body crashing to the hard floor, the shooter having tripped in his confusion. "W-what?" The man on the ground asks. "I. Said. This is one of my favorite shirts. What do you not get, bitch?." He pulls the cartoon printed t-shirt off and throws it at the object of his disdain on the ground.

"Ugh. I'm not gonna ask yer name before I kill ya. Not even gonna ask why ya did it, or who sent ya. I don't care, really. It's more fun lettin' 'em wonder, y'know? Did I recruit you, or did ya just bitch out and ditch the city like the punk you so clearly are? Nah, they prolly know yer dead, tho'." He says, monologuing as he shuts the only door back upstairs and locks it. "But I'll tell ya who I am, so you know who you fucked with. Alright? First off, my name is Matías Agustín-"

"My name is Inigo!" The man cries from the ground, still shaking. "Think yer fuckin' clever... Huh? Montoya? Come for revenge?" He laughs again, this time lower and more of a growl to it. "Unfortunately for you, this is real life. Neither I, nor you, are the bad guy in this. But someone has to die, no? Guess who..." Matías crouches down in front of Inigo, picking up the peashooter left on the ground to examine it casually. "I'm kinda glad ya tried whatever the fuck this is supposed to be, tho'. Like, especially right when I was gettin' up. I don't usually get breakfast this early, y'know?" He says as his mouth splits wide into a toothy grin, fangs clear as anything in the dimly lit basement.

Inigo tries to crawl away, but only hits his back against the concrete wall behind. He continues to scramble, slipping again as he tries to get away in his terror to no avail. If only he'd gotten here sooner, he could have just gotten away and even all Matías would've had to deal with was some holes. But nope, his fate was sealed with laughter. "Calmate, pendejo." Matías commands, with no power, but a chuckle. "You ain't goin' anywhere now. Like, even if you got up and through the door, I'd catch yer stupid ass. Carajo." Seriously.

Matías stands back up as he realizes something. Passion. He'd been working his Dementation on the poor soul on the floor, which is why instead of running he fell to the ground in the worst possible reaction to one's first encounter with the supernatural. He lets it go, seeing no reason to keep it up. It had been an almost instinctual reaction, to strike back. Mentally. But now there was time to enjoy the moment for what it could be. "Okay! So, where are we? Right, the very beginning! Stop shaking, fucker. I ain't messin' with yer head, at least not anymore." He says with a chuckle. "The boring parts first, yeah? Then we get to the real interesting stuff."

As the effects of the Discipline begin to wear off, or ebb and flow, Inigo tries to rush to his feet. Only to be slammed to the ground by a surprisingly strong kick to his chest, knocking all the wind out of his lungs. "Yer dead, fucker. Accept it, and it won't even be all that bad. It's almost a mercy, anyway. Like, what the fuck kinda life would you continue if I let you live? Just go back to doin' whatever lowlife criminal shit you stepped in here with? You'll actually enjoy what I'ma do, too. Yer gonna want me to finish you. It's really gonna be like that, don't you worry. I'll be gentle, if you only let me." Matías kept a somewhat defensive stance, though nothing skilled looking.

Leaning over the downed man, Matías whispers. "Are we clear yet? Gonna try to fuck around again..? Nope. Good." Then he takes a step back, in some sort of show of trust. Mercy. "To begin... I'm from L.A. City of lost angels, yeah? Well, not really. No angels to be found there. Or here, but that's beside the point. My mom and dad were a couple of junkies, and the old man occasionally a pusher. Family business, eh? Meh, he wasn't that good at it. He partook of his own stash, y'know? That's a terrible practice for a businessman. Imagine if the manager of yer local Burger King ate up half his stock, he'd be dead within the day. Apt metaphor? I don't know, you tell me!" Matías begins to pace as he speaks, while Inigo quickly comes to the conclusion that the standing man is insane.

"Alfonso, is my dad's name. My mom's Susana. Mexican family, of course. Anyway, so they were terrible parents. Didn't stop 'em from havin' six kids, tho'. I was the second son. Three boys, three girls. Cute. Only good thing about the litter was our looks. We were all some decent lookin' kids, 'cept I took a bit longer. Bit of an ugly duckling, yeah? I wasn't very popular in school, nope. So, aside from that! Apparently, mental illness and shit like that runs in the genes. Like diarrhea." Again, he breaks into giggles. Louder this time.

Matías continues after a few seconds of the ruckus. "Ah. Schizophrenic, Bipolar, stuff like that. Sometimes pretty hard, and sometimes not even noticeable. Usually the former for us. Oh, and my older brother Carlos was gay. Mom and dad acted like it was a mental condition, too. But... why kick him out of the house if he was just sick in the head? No choice, y'know? That never sat right with me." He turned to look directly at Inigo, offering a moment for the man on the ground to give input. But he didn't bite. Pity. "He hung himself in prison, tho'. There on some bullshit drug charges, too. It'd be a waste, tragic, if I really believed anything could have been changed." His head falls, almost mournfully until he comes back up with a contradictory smile. "But bad parents and the US government are some stubborn bitches."

"Anyway. Like I was sayin', I was the most normal one out of all of 'em. Yeah, sure, I had my bout of Depression or whatever when I was a whiney little teenager. But for the most part, I was completely rational and calm. In fact, if it wasn't for me, that fucking family would have collapsed so much sooner than it did without me. Parents dead or in prison, with the kids in foster 'n' shit. Ya know how those stories go. That prolly would have been better, tho'. But I didn't leave that toxic shithole behind until I was, oh... Nineteen, I think. Hard to remember, cuz that's when I first started dealin'. Lots of adrenaline and other such chemicals those nights." Another chuckle broke the monotony of monologue, offering the rare respite for Inigo's poor senses.

"I kinda had a death wish at that point. Going nowhere in life 'n' all, there was not much hope or comfort other than the drugs and what came with that. A little bit of money and women. Not enough to really fill that hole in my soul, y'know?" Matías explains, with a heartfelt expression that soon cracks with a titter. "Heh." Inigo tries to sit up, and as he struggles he brings his legs up to his chest. As if it can protect him from the stated inevitable. He doesn't want to listen, but what choice does he have anymore? Reality is beginning to blur for him, too.

Matías smiles as he supposes the man is rapt in his attention. The story is going somewhere, yes. Very interesting, indeed. "Okay. This is fun, eh, but not so easy as I thought it would be. Hold on for a moment while I collect my thoughts, amigo." He says sarcastically at the end, then pauses to pace some more. After several seconds of tension, Inigo's eyes darting back and forth from the door to his captor, Matías looked back at him. He caught the glances and looked almost shocked. "What, Inigo? You don't like my story yet? Hold on, it gets better. There'll be, like romance and action and shit. Shootouts and sex scenes, seriously. Or do you get enough of that in your own life?" He laughs, yet again. This is a common occurrence. "Again, like I said, sit put and don't worry. Relax and enjoy my autobiography thing. Not a lot o' people get to hear this shit, y'know!" He continues, nodding sagely.

His eyes fall back on Inigo, with an intensity to them that only breaks once he starts speaking again. "I dropped out of high school, like a lot of people. Pretty much a loser up until I started dealing, yeah. Didn't even lose my virginity until I was damn near twenty." He laughs again, seemingly reminiscing. "Kinda picky with women, y'know? Always been a romantic at heart, but that doesn't get ya very far. Gotta have money, or be a manipulative asshole to get anything in life. Or death." This time his chuckle sends a small chill down Inigo's spine. It's sinister in it's truth. "I suppose that brings us to one of the big reveals, right?" He trails off...

With a furrowed brow and fangs peeking out from his upper lip, Matías sits down in one quick submission to gravity in front of Inigo. "I'm a Vampire, y'see... Yep, they're real! We are, that is. Now I really gotta kill ya!" His loudest laugh yet, this time trails into a cough. "But seriously, like I was saying- bullets like those really only sting. Can't kill me anymore. Believe me, you're not the first to try. I had my own attempts, too. Not very thorough, what with a certain survival instinct becoming more prevalent as a predator. Apex. Humans are our prey now, like the books. I suppose that's the main thing the books got right. Drinkin' blood. Everything else gets pretty different, complicated. I'll spare ya the details. Maybe Lucifer will fill you in once you make it to hell?" He concludes with an optimistic expression, toothily grinning. This is unnerving, no doubt, to the young man on the opposite of Matías.

"So, I'm a drug dealer. You know that, I'm sure. Which is almost certainly why you're here, on behalf of a rival of mine. Maybe 0the local street gangs? I never joined one of those. Too much of a loner-type, y'know? Who was it, tho'? Sally Salamanca? That bitch didn't learn the first time when his boys tried to jump me? Is this an initiation right nowadays for you amateurs to bite off more than you can chew? Never you mind, amigo. I'll figure it out soon enough. No need to even snitch on anyone." Matías nods for the second time, crossing his tattooed arms and giggling half-suppressed.

A moment passes, Matías nodding in silence as Inigo waits anxiously. The unfortunate shooter is about to speak up, turning into a squeak as the Vampire abruptly decides to continue his story. "That's how I got involved with Vampires. One of 'em, the one that Embraced me, likes to prey on lowlifes like you or your boss. Criminals. She toys with 'em, confiscates their ill begotten fortunes and whatnot. Some weird sense of justice, I guess. Karma. Somethin' like that. So, she picks me up thinkin' I'm some asshole selling to kids or something. Those are the ones that need to be punished, amirite? Of course I am. Any decent pusher worth their scales knows not to fuck with kids. That's just fuckin' evil. Bad luck, y'know? God'll get 'em, if not the cops. Or a fuckin' Vampire!" His laughter, though disturbing every time, is beginning to no longer catch Inigo off guard.

"Well, she made me a Ghoul. Um- I mean, how do I describe these things to the uninitiated..?" Matías asks to the room, taking a moment to ponder. "Well, I guess the easiest way to put it is that Vampire blood is pretty much a drug in itself. Makes ya feel good, y'know? Also kinda like a love potion. I fell in love with her after a couple drops. I'd do anything for that bitch, y'know? Even risk my own life. Which is what I did, quite a few times." Matías smiles, without laughing this time. This seems to unnerve Inigo even more. "I helped her fuck over some real lowlifes. Assholes that do much worse shit than push a bit of weed and coke, y'know? Fuckin' murderers and perverts. I won't go into details, that's not what this is about. But that's how I earned it. Embrace. Immortality. By being a good servant. Soldier. The other Ghouls were mostly idiots, couldn't do a damn thing other than lose their shit and die." He shakes his head, momentarily placing his palms on his face. He rubs his eyes, then, as if still tired. Groggy from just having awoken, though it was more like death than mortal sleep.

When he looks back up, his eyes are slightly pinkish but full of energy. "That's the interesting part. I died. It's kinda like suicide, y'know? I asked for it. Death from my old life. Though this one isn't really too different from the first." He laughs yet again, then sighs. The sentiment was difficult for Inigo to read, especially under duress. "After that, and a little bit of indoctrination in her view of my new existence, she let me go. I did stuff for other Vampires. It's a lot like any other kind o' work, y'know? The young get stuck licking the old fuckers' boots, no matter how much meritocracy they trumpet around with words and promises. Even fucking rallies and leaflets But hey, gotta find a niche somewhere. So, I run with Anarchs. There's a whole political thing going on with us Vampires, you wouldn't want me to get in on that. It'd take all fucking night! We'd never get to your reward-slash-punishment..." His toothy, fanged grin emerges again. Matías' eyes seem to dig into Inigo's soul, looking for weakness, or something...

"The thing is, there's a lot of different kinds of shit that goes bump in the night you ain't supposed to know about. Like, there's these Asian Vampires. They call themselves 'Kuei-Jin'. I call 'em cunts. They come from fucking China, acting like they have a right to just fucking invade our shit. Conquerors, which I could almost respect, if they weren't such dirty lying scoundrel bastards. It ain't fair what they do, y'know? They slaughtered some of my friends, too. My-" He stops, becoming increasingly angry. "I did my best! Tried to help, with like the war effort and shit! But those fucking chinks are sneaky, even as a horde. I swear they outnumber us. Otherwise they couldn't get away. They ain't gods or anything, as much as they wanna believe it. When I'm older, stronger and shit, I'ma go back and reconquer California. The Free State. My own Kingdom, y'know? It might almost be worth it, I get to rule and slaughter those bitches."

His giggling at this point is intermittent, crackling at once and low as he leans closer to Inigo. "I came to this city cuz the fuckers are relentless. Nothing much I can do about home now, not without some serious power. But I keep my ear to the west. We ever strike back in force, I'll go. I hope for it, too. But for now, I'll bide my time over here. I'd rather be alive for as long as possible than rush into battle like a dumbfuck, y'know? I'll get my shot. Some night." He leans in closer, starting to crawl as Inigo hugs the wall. He's hyperventilating as Matías speaks up again. "Well, I guess that's it. That's my story. I think I forgot the sex scenes an' shit. Oh, well! The outcome is still the same."

With one quick lunge, Matías clamps onto the victim's neck. The vessel convulses with shock and pleasure from the Kiss as life seeps quickly away. His mind goes blank as darkness envelopes him. Soon enough, it's all gone. Matías stands back up, satisfied. But with another corpse to clean up, he takes solace in the fact that it was in defense of his home and livelihood. And it was fun, for once, to share. He whispers his thanks to the remaining husk as he drags it away, whistling a happy tune...


Matías met Gabriel Folsom through the drug trade shortly after relocating to Phoenix. He speaks with an exaggerated Mexican accent, but when he's not trying to be more intimidating actually sounds closer to some proper (American English) gringo-speak with a clear Californian lilt. Matías is an unreliable narrator, at least when it comes to past events. This stems somewhat from his Schizophrenic mind. He is very intelligent, though often hindered by his Derangements and overall personality traits. Not to mention ingrained societal leanings and opinions. He's stubborn, but likely to succeed at lone projects in which he correctly guesses the best course of action early and by himself.