Note: Much of this is assuming the city we're in is predominantly Camarilla. I'm also not expecting things to work out as Tony intends--I'd be perfectly happy with him serving as muscle in some official or unofficial capacity where he'd do quite well for whatever reason. Lemme know how you'd like to fit him in.

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Name: Anthony 'Tony' Harper
Gender: Boy
Age: 11

Clan: Brujah 
Disciplines:
Potence 	2
Celerity	1 

Backstory:

Once upon a time, Tony Harper was watching comets.

Meteors, actually--there was a shower of them that night, and he'd wanted to see it. His mom had told him to stay put, that with his dad gone off to the war she wanted the man of the house home while to keep her safe, but it was just for a little while and he knew she'd be fine. In a little town in Oklahoma, there wasn't exactly much for her to worry about. Almost ready to head home from the baseball field down the block, he sat up and realized for the first time that he hadn't been alone. There'd been someone else watching the stars with him that night--or at least, watching him.

"Uh...hey."

He tried talking, to his credit, but the woman didn't say a thing. There were more of them too, he realized, four or five of them now that were walking towards him, but the woman never took her eyes off him. Someone laughed.

"You guys...y'know...like the stars?"

He was, he realized, scared.

"Yeah, we like the stars." One of them snorted, watching him with a look that said they couldn't believe how damn stupid he was. Another of them looked nervous or anxious or something, and he walked up to the woman who was eyeing him like a meal and grabbed her by the bicep.

"Come on, he's a fucking [i]kid[/i]." Tony could hear him say, but the woman tugged her arm out of his grip and made her way over to Tony. She was tall, and pretty--kind of like his mom, only she had blonde hair. Ellen Harper had been a brunette. He was, he realized, [i]really[/i] scared. And also in a lot of trouble, if the smile on her lips (and her very white teeth) were any indication.

"Naw." she drawled, her voice deeper than he'd expected. "He's an appetizer."

Tony Harper died that night. He would have stayed dead, too, if Jonathan Masters hadn't gotten squeamish about the whole thing. In a fit of guilt the Brujah drizzled a bit of blood into the lifeless kid's lips and adopted him into the messed up little family that was his pack. It was hard to take it all in at first, especially the part 'Oh by the way, you're [i]dead[/i]' part and the 'p.s. You're also a bloodsucking monster' bit, but Melody--that was the woman's name, he learned, Melody Kincaid--didn't really give a shit. She also didn't like kids, didn't put up with whining, and was more than happy to beat him into shape. He was, he learned, part of the Sabbat. He was, he learned, going to deal with it. And he was, he learned, going to earn his keep. She made it clear she had no expectation that he would last long, and that the only one he had to blame if he couldn't hack it was himself.

Ironically, Tony lasted longer than she did.

In the coming years, Tony did in fact earn his keep. The Sabbat is no place for a kid to grow up but he wasn't a kid anymore, he was a soldier like dear old dad. More than that, he was a survivor--if that meant bucking up and learning to roll with the big kids, so be it. In the years to come, Tony would prove himself a member of the team in a dozen little turf wars, more than his fair share of sieges. They were soldiers so they fought, with Melody leading the charge. She wasn't much of a leader but they still had to follow, and he watched his fair share of packmates fall before he finally stepped up and managed to put her down himself.

A few years later a siege went south. The rest of his pack got taken down by some badass Cammie that went by Bell. He probably would have gone under too if the building hadn't come down on top of them. By the time he kicked his way out the heat was gone and the only thing left of his pack was ashes, and it occurred to him that maybe... that was alright. Maybe that meant the fight was over for him.

Tony Harper died again that night. Who walked out of that mess, well...that's the question, isn't it?

Personality:

Tony's an old fighting dog in a young pup's body.

The only role models Tony ever had were hard bastards. His father was one, a construction worker of the strong and silent variety. Melody was one, a bitch of a woman with a 'survival of the fittest' outlook and the chops to back it up. After more than half a century of fighting for the Sabbat he's no stranger to violence and doing what he has to, but at this point he's messed up enough people--living and not--to really prefer not to have to anymore. Having spent most of his life fighting someone else's war, he's ready to try and make an unlife for himself.

A believer in the old-school traditions of stoic masculinity, he's not much for talking. You could call him old-school and not be far from the truth, even if his exterior looks like it ought to be getting off a school bus. He doesn't take shit and walks the walk, an old hand at proving himself by now, and he has absolutely zero time for people treating him like the kid he never really got to be.

Personal Goals: 

Tony mostly just wants to carve a little place for himself in the nightlands that doesn't involve him having to use his very specific set of skills. He has vague notions of getting himself a proper education.

View on humans: Having viewed humans as little more than collateral damage at best and walking blood-packs at worst, Tony is actually trying a little thing they call empathy these days. It's not natural for him, but he still remembers what it was like to have his life turned inside out by a psycho bloodsucking monster, and if he can get around doing that to someone else he will.

Still, there's only one way to make an omlette...

Extras: Tony has previously committed diablerie twice.