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Character History
Annabelle Elizabeth Carlisle
Brujah Anarch
Don’t call me Annabelle. Only my parents called me that. And I didn’t like them much. I don’t like most people, but I really didn’t like them. They sent me to finishing school. Do you know what that shit is? It’s when some old biddy who couldn’t find a husband tells you what you need to do in order to find a husband. That’s some bullshit right there. I learned to curtsy and serve tea and walk with a book on my head. A fuckin’ book on my head. Ms. Hannigan or whatever the fuck her name was was a tall woman with a pinched face. She would glare at us over her glasses.
“Straight back, ladies!” Her voice was shrill and piercing. It got in to your brain, you know? I could not wait to be done with lessons for the day. As soon as them big wooden doors opened, I was gone. I’d be climbin’ trees and scoopin’ frogs out of the creeks and ponds around our big white house. All the fancy houses looked the same in those days. Long straight roads lined with trees, working their ways back to big white houses with wrap-around porches.
I didn’t care for the big house. I mean, it had lots of rooms. Plenty of places to play and hide. But my mother always wanted it so pristine. And, since she ran the house, the maids and such were always on her side. I didn’t have any of the allies that usually befriend a young heroine in books. Yea, no one cared about an uppity young girl. They were just mad when I ruined another pair of stockings or ripped the hem on a new dress.
I spent a lot of time alone when I was home. When I was out and about I was more of a scandal than anything else. I led the other girls astray. Most of them was prim young ladies who never would've thought up climbing trees or playing in mud. What can I say? I was a bad influence.
As soon as I could, I took off out of there. I moved from the deep south well before it was proper for a young lady to do so. They wanted nothing more than wives and mothers down there, and I had little desire to be either. Seriously. Why does a woman have to love a man and spit out children to be worth anything? Well, that life sure as hell ain’t for me, simple as that.
I ended up in New York, just past the turn of the century. I found the Women’s Suffrage movement, and those suffragettes, they were my kind of women. Well, for the most part. Some still had husbands and kids, but I tried not to hold that against them. They seemed like they were the ones people were more likely to listen to anyways, since, you know, they’d made something of themselves. Sad part was though, too few of those gals were really on board with the cause. A few hundred of us would start a march, and only a dozen end up in jail. Really thinned the herd, you know?
Well, I wasn’t settlin’ for the slow progress that most of them seemed content with. Next time a policeman tried to bring me downtown for the night, I clocked him in his big clean-shaved jaw. I probably broke a bone or two in my hand that day. It was worth it though, to see the look on his dumb face. He’d probably never considered that a dame in a dress would ever throw a punch at him, let alone connect and chip a tooth. Well I ain’t never been a little gal, and I had more than enough boys back home willing to teach me how to throw a punch. They’da been proud, I bet. Well, maybe if it weren’t a policeman that I hit so soundly.
Anyways, he throwed me in jail again, of course. That’s where I met Lizzie. She was like me - a rough and ready girl who didn’t need no man to run her life. She really didn’t need no man, if you catch my drift. I didn’t know what amazing things a gal could do to another ‘til Lizzie showed me. I don’t know if it was love at first sight, but the group showers sure helped. Lizzie was a dish and a half. Her hair was a little longer than was the fashion, but that just meant there was more to hold on to. She’d come from some family farm out west. Big older brothers and a mean old Pa had been holding her down for some 20 years. She ran off soon as she could and ended up in New York, fighting for the cause, just like me.
God, I loved that bitch.
Lizzie wasn’t all I found in prison. Though I guess you could say that he found me. I sure as Hell wasn’t lookin’ for a job. It was one of the guards that told me about this “opportunity”. Seems the Boss had gotten wind of my clash with the coppers, and he was impressed. Well, he had this young guard and half the parole board in his pocket, so I was out before the month was done. I sent word through the chain though that I wasn’t leaving without Lizzie. I guess the Boss thought it was cute, so he had her hearing right behind me. I made sure not to cooperate until her papers were stamped and signed, just in case. You can’t trust anyone, and especially not a man, and especially not a man who calls himself “The Boss”.
So me and Lizzie were freed from the bighouse, but we wasn’t really free at all. See, now we owed him. And that’s how he liked it. He liked people owing him. He set us up in a little room above a cleaner’s somewhere in Manhattan. It was a shithole, but it had a bed, sink, toilet and window, not to mention it had my Lizzie too, of course. We was happy as two piss poor ex-cons could be.
The Boss put us to work to start paying off our debts to him. See, lots of people had debts. He needed help collecting, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to get his hands dirty. We’d get a place and a name, sometimes a picture. They were usually clubs and speakeasies. This was during the prohibition years, ya see. You had to be sneaky to get drunk. But people were willing to take whatever risks they needed to. Gettin’ that buzz, dropping those inhibitions; that was worth the threat of jail time. I can’t say I blame them. I tried to stay above the booze, but it was a hard life we led.
I told ya how Lizzie was a looker, right? I knew I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Men turned to watch when she walked by. They had no idea she wasn’t into what they were offering. I’d follow my Lizzie into the lounge and slip off to the side while she chatted up our target. It was almost too easy. These fools were falling over themselves to buy her them fruity mixed drinks and show off their dancing skills. Idiots. I loved to watch her work. Sure, I was jealous that they got to touch and hold her in public; that weren’t ever something we could do. But I knew her eyes were only for me. She’d find me, looking over their shoulders through the haze of smoke in some basement dive. God, there was nothing sexier than that look. Her eyes were somewhere between blue and grey. You’d think they’d blend in with the smoke in them dark places, but they shone through like headlights, drawing me in. She’d wink at me over their shoulders, and I’d melt right there. Slide out’a my seat and be a puddle on the floor. I never could resist that woman if I’da tried. Well, at least not at first.
So she reeled ‘em in, got ‘em good and drunk. Then she’d lead the putz off to a dark corner or maybe out into an alleyway. He’d think he’s getting lucky, you see? Poor fool’s at half mast by the time I slide up to the pair. Sometimes that just made the sucker rise to the occasion all that much faster.
I wasn’t never hard on the eyes either, but there’s always been som’thing about me that seemed to put off the average guy. I guess he could tell I wasn’t going to be nobody’s good little quiet wife. Used to hurt sometimes, but then I didn’t need them anyways, did I? I had my Lizzie.
So when we’d got the guy good and loose, maybe a hand on him just for good measure, we start whispering all kinds of nice things to the bastard. Gotta get that
guard down so far he ain’t never getting it up again. And then we’d strike. Sometimes just a few extra words was enough. A few good threats, mixed with a good grip on his johnson, well that’s enough to scare the weaker ones in to making good on their loans. Men’ll do pretty near anything to protect the family jewels, even cough up Gramma’s jewels. More than one fella had to come up with a story about how he’d “lost” his weddin’ ring in the rain that night. You’d be amazed how easy gold slides off’a skin when all parties are properly... lubricated.
Some fellas took more convincing. A good grip, even with Lizzie’s long nails, wasn’t quite enough to convince them of the gravity of their situations. In those cases, we had fists, elbows, feet, and each other to use against the idiot. I hit the hardest, for sure, but Lizzie knew the right way to hold a guy for me. Again, she’d give me that look over his shoulder while I’m driving knuckles into his gut and... shit, it was hard not to throw her down on the bloke once he was out. Like I said, our place wasn’t no Ritz, but it had all I needed to keep me happy.
So some months go by like this. I didn’t love my life, but it was working. Lizzie was getting a little tired of working the guys over night after night. The Boss liked us, see, so he started sending us after the hard cases - the repeat offenders and the chronic dodgers. Some of them got so drunk we could just take a billfold and leave them in a clump with an unbuckled belt and a smile. Those were less than satisfying, but at least it made for an easy night. The Boss didn’t like those though. Turns out he was watching us some nights. He liked ‘em to lose a little blood.
I found out later that he owned half of the clubs his debtors drank in. They didn’t know that of course, but it was how he found the guys. As soon as someone couldn’t pay a tab, he got the word, and the ball started rolling. Some of them we never saw - they got their acts together and learned from their brush with the Big Apple’s ugly side. Not all of them were that smart though. That’s where Lizzie the Looker and Bella the Bruiser came in. Yea, I didn’t make up the names. The Boss seemed to like pet names - most of his goons had something more than the names their mamas gave them. If you were smart, you never told Boss what ya thought of your title.
So we kept working. Kept asking when we’d be done. Kept wondering just how much he spent on gettin’ us out of the klink. I was ready to be out from under his boot almost as soon as I got under it and I know my Lizzie felt about the same. But we didn’t seem to have a choice. Ain’t a lot of job prospects for a girl from the farm and a failed Southern belle.
So we worked the guys over. Some with stroking and some with sockin’. I’d rather of hit all of ‘em if I had my way. See, some of them would get their hands on Lizzie before I could move in. There was something different in her eyes those nights. Somethin’ a bit more violent than the average Joe could un’erstand. I don’t mind telling you that it scared me, but it was excitin’ in a way too. But that ain’t somethin I care to think about right now.
So months and months went by. We’re getting worn out an’ pissed off and the Boss starts to notice. He’s not ready to let go of some of his best workers, you see? So the one night, he tells us this is it. Our last job. And like idiots, we believed him.
They guy he sics us on is huge. I’m surprised he had enough skin to stretch over all the damn muscles. We do our usual routine, but no matter how many drinks he poured down, he just didn’t stagger. And then when we got to the hittin’, well the bastard was hard as a rock and just as cold as one. He lays us both out in the alley and stands over us, laughing. I don’t think I’d ever been more scared. I remember the look on his face. He had this shine in his smile like he hadn’t a care in the world. My Lizzie’s blood was on his hands. I was ready to kill him. I wanted to kill him. Hell, I had been trying to kill him right up until he cracked my head off a brick wall so hard that I heard the Star Spangled Banner playing inside my skull.
He scooped up Lizzie with one massive hand and held her over me, teasing me like you do a dog with a bone. If I could’a moved, I’da killed him. That’s when the Boss showed up. I don’t know where he’d been, but I assume he’d seen the whole thing. He had a smile like the big guy’s; all giddy with the spillin’ o’ someone else’s blood.
He gives me the ultimatum right there - while I’m laying in the gutter with my brains leaking out like pudding. He tells me I can join him, or die where I’m at. I don’t get what he means for a while. I maintain that it was ‘cause of the whole leaky brain thing. Turns out the Boss ain’t exactly human. While that was enough of a surprise, I get an even bigger one when Lizzie accepts his offer. She was dangling on the end of the big guy’s arm, like a puppet with cut strings. The Boss barely finishes his sentence about bein’ immortal and she’s a breath away from beggin’ for it. Maybe she was hurt real bad and just wanted the pain to stop. Maybe she was more afraid of death than I’d ever realized. Maybe she wanted a life of power - not being under the heel of no man ever again. Whatever was the reason for it, she jumped on the chance to be like him. To be a vampire.
I layed there in the stink at the base of that brick wall, watching my love die. I don’t know if she realized she had to die to live forever, but she did. And the Boss didn’t make it easy on her. I remember the big guy laughing again as he held the Boss’ hat. That fat old man bit into her like she were a ripe peach. She screamed and twitched but couldn’t of fought back if she wanted to. Just about when she stopped squirmin’, he poured a bunch of his own blood into her mouth. Lizzie sputtered and gasped, but she took it in and held it. The bug guy flipped her around like a rag doll and carried her off, away from me.
I tried to scream. I really did. The Boss just looked at me. He knew my answer then. He knew I’d do anything to get back to my girl. He picked me up by the scruff of my dress and did the same give-and-take to me. I couldn’t believe what was happening. This bastard was biting my neck and sucking down my blood like it was laced with good gin. Then he fed it back to me like it was the most natural thing. He didn’t give me enough to keep me going, though - just enough to make sure I didn’t die in the car. Seems we had somewhere else to go.
I don’t remember much of the rest of the evening. I do remember bein’ surrounded by a bunch of other folks, all chanting and hollerin’ and cheerin’ at me. There was a whole lot more blood, too. Then I remember wakin’ up in a hole in’a Earth and diggin’ my way out with nothin’ more than fingernails and anger. I was pissed to hell an’ back. Once I got out, I got knocked the hell out by some bastard with a shovel. Prob’bly the same asshole that buried me, but I don’t remember faces. I do remember being damn hungry. They brought me someone when I woke up again. I don’t know where the poor bastard came from, but ate him like he was a slice of Christmas ham. Seemed like one big gulp and he was gone.
With a full stomach I could think a little better. First thing I thought about was Lizzie. We was brought together not long after. She’d just eaten too, I think. There was still some blood on her lips. I tasted it when I kissed her. It wasn’t right though. Not the blood, I mean. I meant the kiss wasn’t right. Lizzie didn’t feel the same. She was different. Hell, I’m sure I was different too. I don’t know if I can even spell out what was so different, but it just didn’t feel like my Lizzie in my arms. If she felt it, she didn’t say anything. She just started talkin’ about everything the Pack had been telling her. She was so excited. I didn’t give a damn about the Pack, or the Boss or anybody else in this little evil club. I just wanted to take Lizzie home and get on with whatever it was a vampire did. Lizzie wouldn’t have it. She knew that we could get a lot more than an undersized apartment with oversized rats if we stayed with the Pack.
I tried. I really did. I tried for years and years. I told myself that I could be happy, so long as I was with my girl. I told myself that I’d learn to love the killin’ and eatin’, just like the rest of them did. True enough I enjoyed a good beating, but... it still weren’t right. Whatever it was about Lizzie that I loved... well, it musta got sucked out along with her soul. Now it only makes sense that I was different too. Far as I know, the same thing happened to both of us. We was broke down and remade. We were stronger, but we were meaner. The worst part was, she didn’t even notice.
I thought I knew Lizzie. I thought I’d love her no matter what. But I didn’t love what she was now. I didn’t love what I was either. I started thinking about leaving, and it broke my heart. But what shattered it, my heart I mean, was the fact that she didn’t see it. There was no response to me pullin’ away or hanging back. No response to less kisses and damn near no sex. Me leavin’ didn’t seem to slow her down one bit, even when it brought me to a grindin’ halt. I got to thinkin’, if my leaving didn’t have no impact on her, why would me stayin’ make a difference. There was nothin about her that I wanted any more, and that hurt like hell.
I left New York in the winter, when the nights were long enough to travel. I caught up with some other Biters and played dumb, like I was a new made Leech who got left to her own. They bought it, and brought me into their club. I lived in the Camarilla for a long while. I “yes ma’am”ed and “no sir”ed for decades, ‘til I couldn’t take that no more either.
It was some shit hole town up north that did it. We’d just taken the place back from the Sabbat - that’s the name of the team I was “born” to. I was ready to piss on the map and mark it as mine, but the rest were so damn calm and controlled. They got mad when I’d have discussions with my fists. They didn’t want no Scourge, ‘cause it “wasn’t necessary”. The didn’t want me bein’ Sheriff ‘cause I seemed too set “on punishment and not prevention”. Fuck those wastes of vitae. I spend years gettin’ taught to play by the rules, and then I get judged for followin’ them too much? When the Torrie Prim started spouting some shit about “social experiments”, I was done. I left that town and left the club, all in one fell swoop. I’m an Anarch now. I tried both sides, and neither one has their shit together, so why bother picking one? I’ll hang out here in the middle, thanks.
I went back to NYC then. It seemed like it’d been long enough I could try again in my sort-of home town. I met a first class dame there. Holly McGaren. She’s tall and blonde and kicks as much shit as I do. We had a few good years in the Big Apple, and then we flew southwest to Pittsburgh. Kind of an up-and-coming place, then. Well, we got into some shit with a huge Nos named Nicos. He was not the kinda man to have as an enemy. Probably not even safe to have him as a friend neither.
When we pissed him off, we high-tailed it Ireland. Pretty enough place. I bet it’d be nicer in the day time, but ain’t no way to know, is there? I liked it there for a while - plenty o’ good drinkers and brawlers. They made fun of my accent a lot...
A few more years go by and we get word that Pittsburgh’s in need a bein’ cleaned out. Seems the Sabbat came in and took over. Wasn’t long before the Cam raised a stink to get it back. I guess you could say I helped with that. I punch a Bishop in the face. Felt good.
Now I’m in Pittsburgh. It’s a pretty town with a lively scene. Plenty of schools n’at to snack in. N’at. Damn people can’t talk right and it’s gonna rub off on me. Just like the New Yowk shit rubbed off on me. I can pull out the southern drawl when I gots to, but I’m a city girl, it seems.
So I’m here, and I got my girls. Sydney, Holly, and Kitty. We’re a fine ass cadre, if you ask me. Lots of muscle, plenty of brain, even more tits, and just enough crazy to keep things interesting. There’s Holly of course. She’s still got the best accent I ever heard. Sydney’s got the most delicious... style. Bitch keeps our motors runnin’ full throttle. And Kitty... well, I’m pretty sure Kitty started World War II, but who am I to judge, huh? I got my soul sucked out by a fat man in an alleyway. I can’t judge no one for how they live their lives.
See, the thing is, none of them know how I got “made”. Holly knows I got some ties to the Sabbat, but she don’t know the full story, and I don’t need her to. My girls; they’re all still in the club, and I can’t have ‘em knowing that I started this game battin’ for the other team. I don’t think they’d do anythin’ major, but the more people know your secret, the more chance it has of becoming not a secret, and I can’t have that. The bitches on their side are uppity. They already don’t trust me since I ain’t in their gang, and if they find out that I’m a born shovel-head, well, I can kiss this unlife goodbye for sure.
Other thing is; I’m starting to enjoy myself. I like to push buttons and piss on shoes. Since I ain’t got to worry about Status an’ shit, I have a bit more freedom that most. I may be at more of a risk, but that means I get to have more fun.
Still do miss Lizzie though. She liked to have fun.