Path of the Vampire forum

Santino was born in Brooklyn, NY May 17th, 1990 to a Demetrie and Lauren Ambrogini.

Demetrie owned a small deli that had been his fathers before him, and with the handing down of the business came the expected 'extra bills' of the month, the protection money they were expected to pay to the local family. Growing up in that element, Sonny found himself deciding at an early age which side of the business he wanted to stand on, and by 14, the young would be thug was running errands for a couple new aged wise guys. As he got older, his tasks got more dangerous, the boy possessing a natural affinity for sleaze. By 21, he had his own small crew, sticking tight to the drug trade and theft. Life was going smooth, and the money was easy for the young man, who seemed to have a love for the game. Violence came naturally and sometimes unprovoked and the hustle was what he lived for.

But as such things go, sooner or later when you push and push, life has a way of pushing back. Santino found himself and his boys on the wrong end of a seemingly random confrontation when a couple Mensonna Enforcers came calling, catching the younger punks at their usual bar, well into the night. Apperantly Sonny had paid some many disrespects in the wrong neighborhoods and when all was said and done, the the small timer found himself the sole survivor of his crew, with his old employers after his blood.
Having no safe place to turn in the city he was born and raised in, Sonny ducked out, catching a small boat out of Michigan a week later, leaving the USA behind. His arrival in Harper Rock had not been his intention, but with no other great plan for a destination, he has yet to move on, seeing what this new, unknown place may hold in store for an ambitious heavy hander. And all these newspapers talking about Vampires and other occultist hoohaw was just too intriguing to ignore....

((More to come just trying to get the skeleton of my thought process assembled))

Across the frigid waters of Harper Rock, merely a small vague shape shrouded in the icy must, The North Wind angled toward the small docks. It was a small vessel, and appeared motley and ancient, it's Paint chipped and dirty, and it's deck crewed by haggard men, it's bow pushed through the salty spray slowly but determinedly. Orders were shouted and amid the hustle of men at work, staying out of the way, Santino Ambrogini clung to the side railing and gazied out at his destination, surprised at how few lights marked the area. He had been told it would be unlike Brooklyn but he hadn't imagined it would be little more than a small town.
Ducking as yet another frozen blast assaulted him, he wondered for the hundreth time if he had chosen poorly in trekking north. But, he admitted bitterly, no one would try to find him here in the middle of the Canadian Wilderness. Sighing a thick cloud, he waited stoicly to see his new would be home.......

Santino found the clomp of his boots landing heavily on the dock pleasing. It hadn't been an overly long boat ride from Michigan but to the otherwise boatless history of the young man, he found it plenty miserable. Cramped, soggy, and cold. With any luck he would never be forced to endure it again.
Having already paid his fare at the start of his journey, and having not really become close with any of the men, Sonny gave only a quick general thank you and was leaving even as the crew began unloading their fishing boat, not wishing to remain by the awful sting of the frigid waters. He wandered almost aimlessly, unsure where to begin. Snow coated the ground and the wind bit through his brown leather jacket mercilessly. Running a hand gently over his pocket, he began to consider how best his remaining 80 dollars could best serve him. It was possible he could afford a cheap motel. But then what tomorrow? No. There were better ways...
Smiling to himself, Santino found himself making the same choice as always when he didn't know what to do. Pulling his jacket tighter around him, he set to looking for a bar. It was only the first hours of night. Where better to relax, warm up, and perhaps make a new friend. One thing he had to believe. No matter the country, the bar was the place to go when you had nothing and needed A lucky break. Perhaps he would meet someone looking to hire a new arrival. Maybe a bar fly that would provide a warm bed and good memories...

Pausing before a haggard hole in the wall, Sonny cast a glance over the few motorcycles out front and sounds of belligerence within. Moving his eyes over the neon, he spotted the name of the rowdy place.
“The Handle Bar. Two guesses what sorts I'll find here...” he mused to himself, not overly excited to deal with the local Bikers night one. While possessing a bit of a knack for being able to keep words light and merry, he understood social diversities. And with his more.... Modern style, he would be fighting an uphill battle to make a good impression. Or so he told himself. But like so many of his mental plots and plans, he would likely ditch cunning after his second drink and simply act as he would anywhere. Another fact he knew and one that got him in a tussle just as often as not. He was a jovial man with alot of pride and even more swagger. Cocky, some called it, though like so many aspects about himself, it was but another mask. Surely, he was a cocky punk at times, but when it got at its worst, it was decided consciously to do so.

Snagging a half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray by the enterance, he lightly burned the filter and rubbed it between his fingers before lighting it. Inhaling deep the much loved chemical infused tobacco, savoring the taste. He had run out in Michigan and the boat had worked up a right little nic fit. The brand was unfamiliar and he wished it could be a Camel before taking another drag and snubbing It back in the tray. Adjusting his jacket once more, the small man pushed open the door of the Handle Bar and stepped through without further delay or caution, his stride purposeful and confident......