Disclaimer: Vampire: The Masquerade: Bloodlines, Vampire: The Requiem, and all of the things that went into them were created by White Wolf Publishing and Troika Games. The rest is my doing.
1: The Luckiest Man in Los Angeles
Andrew McCray was a very lucky man.
That was one of the reasons why he was a darling of the First Estate. Every member of the Invictus wanted power. If they already had it, they wanted more of it. If they had all the power that they could stand, they wanted to keep it. Andrew, or Alder McCray as he was more commonly known, just so happened to have a knack for getting people what they wanted. As anybody who knew him could tell you, you could give him the most seemingly impossible task and he would somehow pull it off through sheer brain power, the power of money, or the power of dumb luck, all of which he had in spades. Some of his fellow covenant members were baffled at that last asset, but at the end of the night, he always got the job done and they and him got what they both wanted. What was the point in questioning something that worked?
He wasn't always so lucky however. His parents were the offspring of Irish immigrants who fled from the country during the Great Famine of the mid 1800s. In the Americas, they found themselves toiling in factories in Baltimore, Maryland instead of on farmland outside of Baltimore, Munster. As there was little chance of advancement for someone of their social class, it appeared that he was destined for the same fate. This only changed when he met his sire: a former slave who himself got a run of good luck and freedom to go along with it. The two just happened to be frequenting the same bar in Philadelphia at the same time and they hit it off. He showed him a couple of tricks and a world of opportunity opened up in Andrew's mind. He could start a new life (or whatever passed for one for his kind) for himself; new city, new story. And he could do it in the most prominent city in America with the help of the most illustrious of kindred institutions. Shortly after he arrived in New York City, he learned that the Invictus would give titles and status to a bum fresh off the street if an elder of high esteem thought that they were useful enough. And as it has been mentioned, Andrew's talents were quite useful.
It was also in New York City that Andrew met the Duke of Los Angeles. Andrew was introduced to Alder LaCroix in the 30s, back when he was a rising star fresh off a plane from London and encircled with rumors. A few of those rumors were troubling, but he managed to rise up in the ranks and earn a few titles for himself nonetheless with Andrew's help.
Unfortunately, as the decades wore on, the future duke appeared to hit a glass ceiling of sorts and set off for the west coast, taking a few of his personal inner circle with him. (In truth, some of his so-called inner circle only went because Andrew had gone along, but no one would dare admit that to anyone else.) There was a First Estate to welcome them, but it was small and hardly influential. Los Angeles was the domain of the Carthians and had been for many decades. It would take a lot of wheeling and dealing and maybe even a bit of killing to dislodge their death grip on the city. Fortunately, such things were the specialties of many in the First Estate. By the dawn of the new millennium, Los Angeles was an Invictus city, a few rogue neighborhoods notwithstanding. Among other things, Andrew was given domain over a few neighborhoods and a place on Alder LaCroix's council of primogen for his numerous efforts.
But with power and status came people who wanted to take it from him. It was common knowledge that he was a popular person. More popular than the duke, in fact. Why, some people asserted that he had done more to take the city for the covenant than the self-proclaimed duke had. The duke had noticed as well, and rumors were flying from the mouths of the harpies about what he was planning to do about his political rival. Of course, the duke dismissed such nonsense. Why would he waste his time on such frivolous matters? Why would he want to remove a loyal and respectable member of the community? He had a city and a business to run. He didn't have time to speculate and worry about the personal requiems of other kindred like they did. And so on.
Still, there was a noticeable tension in the air between the two. Maybe it was just pressure from the harpies trying desperately to find some new scandal to gossip over, or maybe Alder LaCroix really did see him as a threat and he wasn't imagining the somewhat frosty receptions he received during court. Either way, it seemed to him that the two of them were going to have a hard time co-existing in the same city. Though the duke was far older than him (assuming he wasn't lying about his age) and could easily destroy him if their rivalry turned physical, Andrew had a large amount of favors that he could cash in to several other powerful kindred in the city. But no, the wheeling and dealing had grown boring. LaCroix could run his reputation and city into the ground by himself. Andrew was just going to pack a bag, take Jojo, and head to Las Vegas.
Jojo wasn't aware of the plan though. She wouldn't be until he was ready to leave out of necessity.
Jojo, much like Andrew, had had a pretty unlucky mortal life. From what she had told him, he knew that she grew up in a trailer park in Nevada with her deadbeat mother and mostly absent father. She came to the area with her friends to look for a big break, as many transplants to the LA area had before them. They had a band, she said. Unfortunately, no record label had shown even the least bit of interest in them, so they were living paycheck to meager paycheck in a rundown, cramped, and roach infested apartment. The two met in a bar a few months ago, and she proved to be good company. The change would be good for her, and it would be nice to have someone who was local to the area to help him get situated. You didn't need to be a genius or have the backing of someone with a lot of power and money to get ahead in life (or unlife), just a good bit of luck.
Especially in Vegas. Making a fortune in Vegas was all luck.
The night that he was going to leave got off to a rocky start. Jojo was surly when she met up with him, having gotten into a fight with the rest of the band over skipping practice to come see him. But once he got some food and booze in her, she perked up considerably. They went to Madam Voerman's night club, agreed that everything about it was terrible, and checked into a motel in Santa Monica for some private time.
The sex was a little sloppy, but great. She didn't resist when he told her that he wanted to show her something that wasn't his dick, and didn't struggle when he drained her dry. No one ever did. That was the great thing about the kiss.
But then, he hit a snag. Jojo had had way more to drink than he had anticipated, and it hadn't finished going through her system, so her inebriation had passed on to him along with all of her blood. He stumbled out of bed, pulled his clothes on, and sat down in a nearby chair, hoping that she would wake up quickly and that the room would stop spinning before someone caught them.
The second he thought that, the Reeve and his men broke into the room and shoved a stake through his heart.
Author's Note: This is something I've been sitting on for months, largely because I have little idea of how to make the sarcophagus plot work with Requiem's ruleset and fluff. But either way, here's a nice musing about a potential sire for the PC to start.