Overview
Character Name: Samuel Brendan Aubrey
What He Goes By: Sam
Nicknames: Goober and Bright Eyes
Age (beginning of Season 2): 22
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Birthdate: May 28, 1982
Group: Cult of Fascion
Position: Herd (vampire health food)
Description: Height: 6'0"
Weight: 180 1bs.
Ethnic: Quite White
Brendan Fraser has been cast to play Sam.
Click Here for Sam's Picture Gallery
Description (as at the start of Season 2)
Sam is blondish, and, according to his father, stupid-looking. But Bunny, his ex-wife, called him boyishly handsome. His friend Bill always called him "Goober."
The more Sam looks in the mirror (and he looks in the mirror a lot), the more he sees a good-looking guy. Just dumb. Why does he always have to look so dumb?
Maybe if he'd just do it and change out of that green jacket and put on a nice shirt he'd look cooler, better-suited for L.A. Maybe he'll give that a try. For sure.
He's built, alright, though no one can tell under his floppy corduroy pants, another thing he'd like to change while in the big city. His trim, muscular physique comes compliments of working in the timber industry. Sometimes he wishes he'd worked there in high school. He'd have given the bullies a nice little surprise.
Nice. Yes, that's how Sam looks. Boring and NICE. His mother always called him nice.
He has her eyes.
Pre-LA History
Sam Aubrey is a meek, pathetic victim.
He admits it.
He was born in lovely, unlively Grants Pass, Oregon in 1982, and there he grew up only because growing up was what came naturally—-he took no active role in bettering himself as a person. His father, Dennis, was highly intelligent and abusive, and his mother, Sandy, fell into the role of the disappointed housewife. These were his adult models. The prospect of living always seemed pointless to Sam, yet he lived, nevertheless. He lived every day as if walking through a linear maze with walls cut from steel.
Directly out of high school, Sam went to work for Bob Strombeck Forest Products, a mill five miles east of Grants Pass. He only applied because BSFP happened to be hiring the day his father threw him out of the house. He was 18. It would be three months before Sam could afford his own apartment; in the meantime, he stayed with the parents of his high school friend, Bill. This arrangement lasted for all those long three months, then Sam found an apartment in downtown Grants Pass, down below the train tracks. The rent was $240 a month, and the place came complete with a shared bathroom, a shared kitched, and a rape-scene through the walls every night.
But life went on.
His days as an official adult continued as though he’d never left home. He still had to get up early and complete a list of monotonous chores (pulling green chain, his first year at BSFP), and the tyranny of his father was replaced by the tyranny of his new boss, Mr. Kyle. Sam feared his boss.
And still, life trudged on. . .
Sam fell for the first girl who would have him, Bunny, an Asian exchange student attending the Rogue Community College police academy program. They met at a low-life bar (never a good sign, but Sam was never one to notice flashing red lights), and they were married six months later. Bunny turned out to be just like “dear old Dad.” He feared her. And, yes, she wore the foreman's cap in the marriage.
They were married for almost two years.
Sam was twenty when he came home one morning in October after a long night working the graveyard shift—-and discovered Bunny and Bill frolicking in bed together. Sam couldn’t react to this horror, couldn’t speak past the sickness in his throat. He sat down at the foot of the bed and simply turned away, his hands brusing the coldness of Bill's bare feet. Bill quietly got out of bed and dressed. No words were exchanged, no apologies given. Both his so-called friend and wife left the house together. They never came back. Days later, Sam heard the news from Bill’s roommate, that Bill and Bunny had left for L.A. Bunny didn't even return for her things.
And life came to a stand-still.
Sam cracked under the screeching momentum.
There would be no more quietude. He would not be treated like this. He was ready to melt the walls of his maze and step through to the outside, where people fear and die, and love is a mortal thing.
For the first time in Sam’s existence, he found a purpose. He was going to make Bill and Bunny pay. Where better to find violence and vengeance than in L.A.?
Blindly, he took off for Los Angelos like a bat across the moon. . .he took a Greyhound bus. He entered the big city with three hundred and three dollars in his pocket, a skill-less life rotting behind him, and a hateful seed in his chest. Sometimes, even nowadays, he swears it beats but once a minute. He doesn’t even feel human.
In one short week Sam had lived himself down to his last thirty dollars. Finding Bill and Bunny was proving to be impossible, laughable--even he admitted that. She wasn't working for the L.A. police department, not yet anyway.
What was he doing in L.A.? What did he expect to find, really? Was he going to be a murderer? Did he even have it in him? Or was it only wishful fantasizing? And what in the hell was he doing that dark night, rocking a stool in that little shit-hole? What was the place called?
He checked the napkin under his bottle of cranberry juice: "Bob’s Bar."
It was in this small bar that he met Kimmie. Kimmie was beautiful, wealthy (she could afford to buy him healthy beverages), and OH GOD so nice. Sam didn’t know people grew up to be so nice. She talked to him, consoled him, and how blindingly her red hair sparkled under the flashes of the electric Marlboro display! She was all he could see. So nice. Maybe if he'd been born in L.A. he’d have grown up to be more like her, nice and confident. Either that or he’d have grown a backbone like other men. And he is a man now. He keeps telling himself that. Oh, to have a backbone. . .that would be nice.
Nice.
He’s not sure what Kimmie sees in him. She’s some religious freak, he thinks. She’s part of some organization, people calling themselves “Fascions.” And she'd like Sam to join very much. In fact, she insists. More and more. Just this evening, for instance, she brought it up. Yesterday, too.
Join? No, Sam has to find a job, get a permanent residence. He can’t be wasting time with God-fanatics. They don’t understand agnostics like Sam. They'll want to convert him. Maybe they'd have succeded a few months ago with the "old" Sam. But not now! Sam is nobody's victim no more! Right?
No. Sam sighs over his cranberry juice and admits it again. He's a victim.
But how can he refuse her invitation? Kimmie’s letting him stay at her apartment until he gets on his feet. That deserves a little patronage, does it not? Oh, maybe he should humor her. Let her have her way.
A victim.
Okay, so he'll suprise her with a "sure, whatever" the next time she pops in. Sure, he'll meet her friends. Show up for a meeting. Make an appearance. Be social. Whatever.
Odd though. Kimmie never seems to be home. Where exactly does that girl keep herself all night, every night? Perhaps it's time Sam found out.
Items He Brought to LA
* A photograph of Bunny Aubrey, his ex-wife.
* Also a photograph of himself and his ex-friend Bill standing outside the gymnasium of their old high school. Bill is smoking a cigarette. Sam is just standing there looking dumb, as usual. Sigh. One night while mourning over a glass of juice in Bob's Bar, Sam drew a sinister-looking mustache on Bill. A dab of cranberry juice has saturated the picture right around Sam's neck.
* A checkbook, full of bounceable checks.
* A metal box with a few resumes and a letter of recommendation from his high school art teacher.
* Several changes of clothes. One pair of shoes (dirty sneakers).
* A marriage certificate.
* A near-empty book of phone numbers.
* A gold watch his mother gave him upon graduation: hock value of $30.00.
* A Grants Pass Central Credit Union complimentary pen.
* A dime-store novel. He actually bought it at the Dollar Tree two weeks ago, but he likes calling it a dime-store novel. Sounds cool. People like cool in L.A., so he figures. The book is about mice or something, and men and stuff. He hasn't read it, but its author sounds all famousy. Carrying it makes Sam feel smart.
Powers and Weaknesses
Sam is strong and durable, physically. He doesn't smoke or drink or due illegal drugs. His face and body look the part. He has an innocence about him, making him trustworthy, though not necessarily respectable. Again, his face looks the part. On both counts.
He can sing! Just like a member of a choir! He doesn't know about this talent yet. He's never tried. Not even in the shower. That would be embarrassing
Sam is capable of toughness, but he has to fight his meek upbringing. He will kill if necessary, but the chances of him bringing such a "skill" to the surface are not promising. . .unless seriously provoked.
He is, unfortunately, more likely to be taken advantage of. Finding a backbone is his quest. Most of all, Sam longs to be intelligent. He'd sell his soul for a brain. The Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz can bring a hot, throaty sheen to his eyes. This is his gravest weakness.
Treating Samuel Aubrey like a brain will surely summon up the loyalty of a puppy dog. There are already those in L.A. who have gathered as much.
Sam likes it when Kimmie calls him Bright Eyes. He has his mother's eyes. For the first time in his life, he doesn't mind.
A Personal Message from Sid Siclid
Thank you for reading my character's rundown. I started roleplaying with the James Bond roleplaying game. I didn't care for Dungeons and Dragons; instead, later, I fell into the Call of Cthulhu roleplaying game. In the early 90's I ran several successful Vampire the Masquerade campaigns. I haven't gamed in recent years.
I'm 31 now. I work as a night auditor in Arcata, California. I've never kicked the gaming bug. Guess I'm a nerd. Once a gamer, always a gamer.
I've always been a better referee than a player, so this should be an intersting challenge for me.
I own a girlfriend and two guinea pigs. Or maybe they own me. That's probably it, yeah, sure.
I'm very happy to be taking part in this game. There are many talented people here, and if you're a non-player reading this, stick around. You will be made welcome. I've yet to run across a more gracious community of people.
My name is Sid Siclid. Hello. Nice to meet you.
An Interview With Sam Aubrey
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