InsaneJournal

About

For every consumer demand, there is a market, and Margot has been supplying those markets for many years. She didn't create the demand, she will tell you, she's a businesswoman first, and a true advocate for the wellbeing of those who supply the customers at her blood dens. Most of the humans she has claimed will tell you that she treats them well, gives them plenty of down time, doesn't allow them to come to harm, and creates homely places for them to live together when they aren't at work. There are times when one of them will develop a closer relationship with a vampire who frequents the establishments Margot runs, and should the human consent (and only then) she will allow the sale to their new owner. She has won several awards, not only in the United States, most recently in New York City, but in her home country and home city of London, for her ethical business practices. Humans who are older, or who are less keen to work directly with consumers have options when working with Margot as well: they can instead donate blood in more clinical ways, and even work in her packaging, processing, and shipping facilities when the time comes that they are less in demand.

For every vampire interested in a safe and ethically-run blood den, however, there are those who are interested in darker things, and humans owned by Margot who are less cooperative, less attractive, or simply drawn to darker things themselves, will find themselves in more expensive, more remote, and definitely more secure establishments, where Margot is not at all the face of the operation, protected by several degrees of separation, but with a keen eye for what's going on and a lack of trust in anybody managing her businesses but herself.

Player: EJ

Age: 40s

PB: Catherine Deneuve

Contact: Discord - bottledupmemory#8672

Personality

When you first meet Margot, you will find her charming, pleasant, always interested in you. Her questions are warm and inviting, designed to tease out a sense of trust and belonging to her inner circle. She enjoys being surrounded by friends, many of whom benefit from what they see as a generous nature to those she loves. She will be willing to drop almost anything to help, and will flatter and charm her way through your life. If she likes you, or sees that you are useful to her, of course.

To her humans, she is a generous mistress, full of compliments and care, always willing to listen to what you really want, and to create a home away from work that is calm and tranquil. She dislikes any kind of disharmony, though, and will often dismiss squabbling as silly and petty, with a little warning to stop. Drama-mongerers don't last long in the homes.

Deep down, Margot is a narcissist, with a distinct hatred for men, especially powerful ones. She categorically refuses to be controlled, and dislikes being thwarted in any plans she may have. Business competitors may find that they are charmed into oversharing, or take her information as true, only to turn around to find that she's undercut them in some way. She particularly enjoys bestowing gifts on those she wants to control, as a means of flattery and building trust. At heart, she is utterly self-serving and driven by a need to be in charge of her own life. Go deeper and the bedrock is hurt and harm, but she doesn't allow anybody close enough to see it.

Appearance

Margot is pale, blonde, sweet-faced, and with wide eyes that convey a sense of innocent charm. She smiles often, and uses light, slow gestures that give her a feeling of being wondrously enchanted with the person she's talking to. She is of average height, and without makeup could easily blend into a crowd. When she's recently fed, she has a light blush to her cheeks, which are soft and warm, but the longer she goes between feedings, the colder, paler, and harder to touch they become.

Her style of dress ranges considerably, depending on which audience she is preparing to meet with, but she is most often in dresses of some type, and with a full face of makeup. She tends to wear her hair quite full, with artful yet heavy makeup, and a definite sixties or seventies vibe. She wears minimal jewellery, small drops or studs in her ears and perhaps a bracelet or watch, perhaps a necklace. Rarely more than two pieces at a time, and never three. The real expense is in her shoes and handbags, of which she has an incredible array, ordered in her closet by brand. She enjoys the challenge of working out, and her workout gear, while quite minimalist and even modest, is highly-expensive and visibly branded.

Height: 5'7"

Build: Slim

Gender: Cis female

Sexuality: Opportunistic

Hair: Dyed blonde

Eyes: Grey

Species

POWERS & LIMITATIONS

The Vrykolakas is immortal, forever fixed at the age of death. Although not possessed of the enhanced speed or strength of vampires, many of their attributes are similiar. They have somewhat-enhanced senses, with perfectly-clear vision, hearing beyond the human range when it comes to volume, and a stronger sense of taste. They cannot reproduce through natural or supernatural means. To survive, the Vrykolakas can consume human livers, or the sensations of fear or pain. Most subsist on both. After feeding, they become warm to the touch, their skin soft and supple, and with a human-like healthy glow. When coming close to needing to feed again, their skin becomes pale, increasingly hard and cold. The older they become the less they need to feed. Immediately following feeding they find themselves in a state of heightened senses, and feeding is exceptionally pleasurable when the victim is still alive. They possess the skill to seduce and control their victims, and to lull them to sleep, or maintain their wakefulness. They are not limited to going out at night, however are strongest at night and their circadian rhythms are more nocturnal than humans. When another of their kind is close, they can sense it immediately, and communicate with them through focused intent, but they are not beings which are comfortable being around each other. When injured, they heal quickly, and cleanly, broken bones will snap back into place, skin will mend. This process is exceptionally painful.

Information

A Vrykolakas is not made, but rather reborn after their first death. To become a Vrykolakas, you must have lived a debauched life, to have harmed others, and to have committed acts of sacrilege prior to your death. You must have been murdered, and buried in unconsecrated ground. Your grave must have been marked in some way. On waking, the Vrykolakas has an instinctual understanding of what they are, and what they must do to survive. They remember their past explicitly clearly. They can be killed by cremation, being impaled by a wooden object through the head or the heart, and can be incapacitated by being staked back into their own graves or into an area in which their individual gravedirt has been scattered, using iron.

History

Born into post-war Britain, Margaret Snell quickly learned her place in life. The middle child and second daughter of busy working parents, she learned to follow her sister's lead and stay out of the way. As she grew, she knew her place was to care for her baby brother, keep the house, and keep her nose clean at school. Grades were unimportant to a girl destined for marriage and a family of her own, weren't they? She married at seventeen: a love match with the boy from the end of her street, after a whirlwind courtship, but it wasn't to be. Once out of their parents homes, he wanted to be free to make his own choices, and took off with their savings, the dog, and their car, less than a year into the marriage.

Margaret didn't want to accept defeat, and her parents and in-laws assured her that he would be back, so she took a job as a shopgirl, quickly learning that the stigma of being a separated wife was going to take another toll in the forms of the sticky hands of her boss. Afraid to say no, afraid to leave without a job to go to, she bought a second hand typewriter and a drill book, and taught herself a skill that would be useful in a more serious job, where she was sure she would be spending her days filing and taking dictation, and not submitting to the demands of a man who smelled like gobstoppers and newspaper ink. Only of course, in her office job, it was more of the same. Until Graeme started. He was a new middle manager, up from London, and she was immediately enchanted by his posh mannerisms and his polite deference, and found herself entirely seduced. It was more hurtful than perhaps anything else when she, face-to-face with his wife, was dismissed as nothing more than a silly girl, with the brushed-off aside, 'Darling, this is what men are like'. Oh they were, were they?

If this was what life was, then, she'd chase it, and soon found herself with an upper manager, and then a CEO, and by the early seventies was living in a luxury apartment with every amenity save a wedding ring, and the only mountains she'd have to climb now were frosted with cocaine. When he was jailed for fraud and embezzlement, she moved straight on, this time to a well-known local man of a dubious reputation, suddenly finding her niche when he put her in charge of his madams, declaring that only a woman would understand women. She was a natural, not only at upper management of his establishments, but in finding young girls, pretty girls like she was, often straight out of their catholic schools to be grist for the mill, and by the age of twenty five, found herself the queen to the empire, second only to her King. It was a glorious, wonderful, hedonistic half year, because Margaret, now Margerite, had learned not to care. Not one bit.

Her King had made enemies though, and she was identified as the chink in his armour, so one night, while he was away in Liverpool for his own business, they broke in, and broke her, throwing her body into a ditch and shovelling dirt over the top of her, laughing as they scrawled the word, 'BITCH' on a broken-off branch and driving it into the dirt above her head. When she rose, she went back to her man, and together they plotted revenge, and enjoyed every second of it, her most of all.

Time marched on. The world changed. The war split nations apart and communities in two, and Margot planned, transitioning brothels to the more profitable blood dens, and securing young men and women with a jaded, long-practiced eye, rebranding herself, now openly a supernatural being and thus superior, as Margot Hall, procurer to the most discerning of palates, with outlets in London, Paris, Berlin, Los Angeles, and now, New York City.