Name: Adalyn Chantal Elayna ‘Ace’ Bertrand (goes by Ace few know her real name)

Gender: Female

Age: 23

Apparent Age: 23

Place of Birth: Quebec

Species: Vampire.

Coven: Independent

Appearance: Ace stands a long and lean, 5’ 9” with measurements 35C-24-34 and a weight of 120 pounds. With her height and measurements her body makes for quite a curvy form, something she is very proud of. Her height is made mostly of her long legs, though not so obviously long as to make her seem disproportioned.

Her hair is blonde and slightly wavy, and like many with such golden tresses, her eyes are blue. Her skin is somewhat fair though it does have a slight tan to it. Even after her turning her skin did not lose its colour, making her seem very much the mortal she used to be. Her face is oval with a slightly pronounced jaw line, though it does not distract from her attractive features. Her lips are plump but not large and distracting like some, which complements her soft cheekbones and button nose. They used to call her a devil with an angel’s face in school and she was well deserving of the title.

When it comes to the animal side of her, the vampire inside, her features change little, save for the colour of her eyes converting from blue to red and her canines elongating to sharp fangs. The last thing about her that changes when the animal takes over, are her nails. Her neat and short fingernails grow long and sharp like talons and she has learned to use them as such.

Distinguishing Marks: Ace has several tattoos that she got between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one. Her first is a small Chinese symbol located on her stomach below her navel and over her pelvis bone. The second are two fairies located on her lower back. The last two are of a spade on the inside of her left wrist and a diamond on her right.

Personality: Competitive, emotional, disarming, blunt, seductive, cocky, reckless and insubordinate. I am a woman of few words when it comes to describing me; I prefer to let my actions do the talking.

History: I was born in Quebec Montreal, though I have lived many other places since then. I never knew my parents, the cowards that they were dropped me on the nearest doorstep and disappeared. The nearest doorstep was St. George’s Anglican Church. You might think that I would have tried to find them someday, but I never did. What did I want with people who didn’t care enough to stick around?

I digress.

I suppose I should introduce myself, and in the spirit of trying to be polite I will, though it really isn’t my nature. Call me Ace, just Ace, nothing else. Okay, fine I will tell you my name. Adalyn Chantal Evalyn Bertrand, but call me that and I will rip your hair out. Oh I forgot, the one thing my parents did give me was my birth certificate with their names neatly cut out. So I had a name, a birthday but no parents…nothing. I was born from air as far as anyone was concerned.

As with most who find themselves left on doorsteps to the care of strangers, I was put into care, an orphanage to be precise. They raised me as well as they could, but I have to admit I was never an easy child. I don’t do well with easy. The nun who taught me when I was ten said in one report, “Adalyn shows aggressive and temperamental traits, with serious authority issues. Counselling is recommended.” Bullshit. I just didn’t like her so I made it my business to make sure she knew it. I can’t believe she thought I had authority issues, whatever gave it away?

From the ages of five to ten I lived with forty other children in one room with my own cot. It was fabulous! If you can’t get the sarcasm in that statement, let me try again. It was the most uncomfortable, annoying and isolating experience that I could go through. If you’ve ever lived in an orphanage you might understand, but if not…goodie goodie for you!

I had no friends there, children didn’t like me. I don’t know why, but they just didn’t and I never really tried to make them. I always liked being on my own, I had more fun playing games and smashing toys. I was a bit of a tomboy, I preferred a G.I Joe to Barbie. The woman who ran the orphanage, Miss Gleeson, I liked her; she was the only person I can remember liking in that hellhole. She had grey hair, wore a green sweater and smelled of baby powder. Don’t ask me why I liked that smell. I mean it…don’t.

She was all I needed there, the nights I would cry myself to sleep because some other child got adopted and I didn’t, she was there. When I fell and cut my knee, she was there. Then one day, she wasn’t. I was thirteen when she died, an old woman by adoption terms. At thirteen no one wanted you, hell by eight no one wanted you. People like babies, children they could mould into what they wanted, but after seven your mind was set and you were who you were going to be. I used to ask why no one ever wanted me, but I learned I was better off.

After Miss Gleeson died, I changed. I made friends finally, when puberty hit and I grew a few inches and got tits. What can I say; boys seemed to like that sort of thing. I met Sam when I was fourteen, by then I had a reputation for being trouble, pulling pranks and skipping school. I had no reason to want to be there, I had no reason to try to make something of myself. Who was I doing it for…them, the smug nuns with their peace and love? Hell no. I was doing what I wanted to do for me and no one else.

Sam was older, he was seventeen and just as much trouble as I was. He had dropped out of school, rode a motorcycle and was the hottest thing on two legs. Of course I was interested the minute he spoke to me, after all I was the girl no one noticed till she ‘blossomed’ and the hottest guy I knew was one of them. We dated for a while; I even gave my virginity to him. Someone might label it ‘an act of a troubled and lonely child.’ I say it was a horny teenager who wanted to find out what sex was. I wasn’t stupid, despite what they thought, I always knew precisely what I was doing and why.

Sam left town when I was sixteen and I never saw him again, but by that time I had friends to keep me occupied. We partied, we drank, we smoked, and we lived it up in every way possible. I dropped out of school at seventeen and got a job serving drinks in a bar. I wasn’t legal but my boss didn’t seem to care as long as my skirt was short enough and I showed a little bosom. We got along just fine. I was proud of my body, and I enjoyed the pleasure it could bring me. I liked pleasure, I liked fun and that was what I wanted to do, have fun for the rest of my life. Little did I know my life could be much longer than I thought.

I worked in the bar moving from serving drinks to making them, allowing me to party as much as I wanted. It was heaven. I got a nickname there, “bitty bitch” because I was so tiny but my mouth made up for it. I didn’t know the meaning of the word nice; I found it more fun not being nice. Geez I hate that word… ‘nice.’ Don’t you?

I worked there for a year before I moved to Demaitre with Rico, this gorgeous Hispanic guy with abs like a washboard and arms of steel. We had our fun but as with most things, he began to bore me. He wanted to settle down and be… normal, and I didn’t. I don’t know if he ever got the note I left him telling him I was leaving, but I guess he would have gotten the point eventually.

My life became a blaze of parties, guys, sex and drinks once I started working at the White Mice Club. Having as much fun as I could for as long as I could, and then…things changed. A month ago it happened and I suppose if I am telling you about me, I have to include it though I don’t entirely understand what happened.

It was February and I’d been partying all night, it was going on to five in the morning when I finally left the club. It was my night off and I was spending it trying to pick up a distraction for the night, and I found one too. His name was Stan and he was decent looking and had a nice smile, I don’t really remember much else about him. We were walking to my apartment when we sidetracked to the park. I had never had sex in the park before, though I had in the open. I thought it would be fun. Okay, I was really drunk and not caring about anything but satisfying the lust in me. I would apologise for it if I were sorry, but I’m not.

Sadly we never got started, we kissed and just when it was about to get a little more physical Stan turned as white as a sheet. I never saw what he did, but I know it was terrifying by the look in his eyes. He was a deer in headlights. My heart raced as I attempted to see what was behind me, I knew something was there and close, I could feel breath against my neck but I never got to see. Strong hands grabbed me from behind and I tried to fight, I screamed, I cried and kicked with all my might but it was no use. It was like being in a vice with someone turning the handle squeezing you. I never felt such a grip in my life.

I thought I was about to be raped or murdered, something that happens a little too often around here sometimes, but neither did happen. I was shoved to the ground, my face against the dirt and grass and then pulled up on my knees as if I weight nothing. Hands wandered my body before I felt the first pain in my shoulder. I cried out but my reaction seemed to only urge them on. I could feel blood running down my shoulder and then I felt release. I whimpered as lips travelled up my neck whispering to me in a tone so low I could not understand and then pain.

Teeth sank into my neck as my head was held firm by the pulling of my hair. I cried but made no sound came, tears rolling down my cheek. I can’t describe the feeling, it was pain but on some level…I liked it. I know that sounds strange and somewhat masochistic in nature, but it’s true. It was like getting high. And before you ask, I do not derive pleasure from pain, but this experience was like nothing I can define. My mind got cloudy and I could feel myself get weak. I had long stopped fighting and I could feel life leaving me. He was killing me. I know it was man, I felt his chest against my back as he drank from me.

I don’t remember what happened after that, I vaguely remember the taste of irony liquid in my mouth before it went black. When I woke I was in my apartment, laying flat on my bed in my underwear with Stan lying beside me. I felt weak, weak and incredibly thirsty. I rested on my elbows staring at him. He was so good-looking under beside lights and I found myself staring at the way his neck looked, his head being turned away from me. I couldn’t help it, I was transfixed by his neck and the twitch of his pulse under his skin, so close and warm, and…I bit him.

I don’t remember my fangs growing before I sank them into his jugular, but I do remember how sweet his blood tasted. It was the greatest high I had ever experienced, warmth, comfort, fulfilment. It was like an orgasm and I loved it. He woke at some point, I heard him try to tell me to stop and but I couldn’t, I needed it. When I realised what I was doing I stopped, I recoiled in shock and what I’d done but it was too late Stan gurgled and then stopped. He was dead.

I cried and to my shock it was blood. I ran to the bathroom to see, but there was nothing. My face, my body were gone yet I could see them clearly when I looked with my own eyes. it was night and I panicked, I had a dead body on my bed with his blood in my mouth, I knew I had to do something. I changed into dark clothes and wrapped him in a sheet, my intention was to carry him somewhere and dump him. I knew it wouldn’t be easy; after all he was thirty pounds heavier than I was but I had to do something. I placed my hands under his arms and pulled hard, ready for his corpse to fight me, but it didn’t. I lifted his body with ease. Again, this will sounds strange, but I was excited by it.

I dumped his body in a dumpster a few blocks away and returned home to clean. I moved out a few days later.

Since that day I have worked the bar at the White Mice, or partied there nightly looking for prey. I learned the hard way about this new life of mine. I read what I could, trying to decipher fiction from fact. I knew what I was, and it excited me to be one of them…a vampire, to be able to live forever without having to answer to anyone.

I learned my tolerance for different things through trial and error, though it took no time for me to determine that I could never walk in the sun again. The second time I fed I drank past his death and was sick for days after. I was almost too weak to feed after that, but I needed it to get better. Don’t ask me how I knew that, it was instinct. Everything for me became instinct. It didn’t kill me, though I am sure if I hadn’t forced myself to feed again that it surely would have. After that I learned when to stop, just as the heart slowed to a smooth even tone.

I’m enjoying myself, without having to answer to a single creature. Humans no longer matter to me, they didn’t really care when I was one of them, so why should I care now that I was better than them?

One thing still puzzles me though. Who did it? Who made me into this thing, and why? I don’t know if I ever will know, but if I do, I’d like to rip him a new one. I might be enjoying my life, but he took my old one from me. I want him to know how I feel about that. Maybe one day I’ll get the chance.


Features/Abilities:

- Mental abilities: telepathy, mesmerism, command, and mind-reading (however she has not come into these abilities yet)
- Telekinesis (has not come into as yet)
- Resistant to flame
- Stronger than most humans
- Faster than most humans
- Retractable fangs
- Slightly enhanced senses

Weaknesses:

-Burns easily in sunlight, direct or indirect
-Can be killed by a stake through the heart
-Burns if touched by a cross
- Can move around moderately in daylight but prefers not to as it is very draining
-Needs to feed at least every other day—prefers to do so nightly
-Dead blood makes her very ill, and can kill her if she doesn’t get fresh blood soon enough

Accepted.