[hider=C.C. Schwarzman][indent]
[B]Name:[/b] C.C. Schwarzman. Not that it really matters, people tend to call me what they want. It’s...usually not nice, but that’s fine. That’s okay. 

[B]Age:[/b] Materialized almost four hundred years ago. Not that our kind really age or anything like that, but I’m sure everybody already knows that. I mean, why else wouldn’t they come to my birthday party. Which I throw. Every year. For the past three hundred year and seventy eight years. Celebrating it. Alone. By myself. 

[B]Gender:[/b] Male. Most of us are male. Our dating scene’s pretty sad. Not that we really get anything out of companionship beside, you know, happiness.

[B]Breed/Species/Type/Lineage:[/b] Bogeyman. That’s the catch-all term for us. Or is it Bogeymen? Boogeymen? Boogie—look, let’s just go with Bogeyman. It’s easier that way. I technically think we would fall in the broader spirit/faerie category, but they tend to disagree. It’s because they’re snobs. Er, don’t tell them I said that. Please.
 
[B]Physical Description:[/b][INDENT]I must be doing something wrong. I thought I dressed well and professionally—black trench coat, black suit, black derby hat, black shoes—but most people seem horrified when they meet me. Supernaturals always grumble, and humans just scream. I guess they think I’m ugly, which seems just unfair. I don’t even have a face for crying out loud, just moving shadows, but even they are so ugly that the humans go running from me.  
 
[center][hider=On Bogeymen]Excerpt from ‘[i]Things That Go Bump[/i] by Jessifer Jericho, Sorceress and Scholar of Spirits, Second Edition
 
But aren’t they just Shadow Men? The short answer is kind of: Bogeymen tend to have no real appearance, or rather, their appearance tends to vary from person to person. Imagine them as the physical embodiment of terror. Around other supernatural beings they just appear to be a shadowy figure in clothes, although looking at them for a prolonged time is prone to give any but the most resilient of supernaturals a headache akin to the same way.staring too long at a stereogram without being able to solve it would. Around non-magic using humans, however, their vague appearance fills them with absolute dread because there is nothing scarier than the unknown, and the bogeymen are the unknown fear manifested.[/hider] [/center] [/INDENT]
 
[B]Talents:[/b][INDENT]Talents? I don’t really have any talents. Or hobbies. Or time off. Uh, I guess my job is my talent...except, I’m not really good at my job, sooooo…
 
Can we talk about something else? Anything else? 
 
[center][hider=On Bogeymen]Excerpt from ‘[i]Things That Go Bump[/i] by Jessifer Jericho, Sorceress and Scholar of Spirits, Second Edition
 
As mentioned earlier in this chapter, Bogeymen are creatures of terror and feed on the fright of humanoids. Their [b]Terrifying Presence[/b] has been described as anything from slightly uncomfortable to somewhat sickening by supernaturals (and magic users, whose open minds allow them to at least comprehend a Bogeyman), and has been known to make even the bravest of human’s turn tail and run. However, studies have shown that it is exclusively visual stimulation that activates this kind of terrordome effect around the Bogeyman. In other words, just don’t look. It also means that those chills human feel when they hear one talking, scratching, or knocking is nothing more than pure, simple cowardice.
 
Yet while looking away from the Bogeyman is easy enough, knowing where a Bogeyman will show up is an entirely different story. Bogeyman are able to [b]Disappear and Travel Through Shadows[/b]. This is a skill necessary for their survival, harkening back to the days when they lived primary underneath the beds or in the closets of children as they feed on their terror only to quickly escape into the confines of darkness or slip beneath a door frame whenever a parent ran into the room of their screaming child. While turning on all of the lights does limit the places a Bogeyman can go without being revealed, tests have found that they are capable of fitting into shadows the size of peas.[/hider][/center] 
 
 [/INDENT]
 
[B]History:[/b][INDENT]We just sorta show up. Mostly ignored. Always unwanted. I’ve been around New Camden since it was settled, following a group of colonists I hung onto from some small dump in Virginia. But does anybody recognize that? Does anybody go, “Hey C.C., you know this place well, where’s the best place to get pizza?” Not a soul. They think because I can’t eat that I can’t enjoy a nice pizzeria. Which I can’t. I heard it really good, too. Anyway, so, early life in New Camden was nice, I guess, before the Court took over. I was something of a sheriff. Only I didn’t have a badge. And nobody really called me when they needed help. And I wasn’t paid. But, I still did my duty. That’s the thing about us Bogeymen. We’re righteous. 
 
So, I spend the next few decades tracking down humans who are up to no good and trying to set them on a more righteous path. I try and get them while they’re young. Before you know it, I’m taking down the baddest of the bad guys. The kind that stay out after dark, that don’t finish their plates, that pop their knuckles. Real scumbags. It’s not really the hardest of jobs, honestly. I just show up, tell them to stop doing what it is they’re doing, and then I run away. Mostly because they always start screaming. I got screamed at a lot. 
 
And then the Court comes into town. They don’t like the idea of others being in charge—which is fine, which is fine. I didn’t do a great job anyway. People always kept turning out bad in the end. It’s cool. I get it. Who would want me in power? I try and step down gracefully, but a part of me is just unable to stop trying to set people right. I try and do it behind the back of the Court. I wanted to stop trouble, not to create it. Then one day I’m hiding under this kid’s bed. The kid was a real bad apple—he swore—so I was trying to scare him straight. Only, it’s not a kid, but a changeling put there by the Court. Next thing I know I get arrested for violating some edict and for failing to pay my taxes. I didn’t even know I had taxes. I didn’t even know what taxes were.
 
Fortunately for me, the Count’s a pretty nice guy and took pity on me. I think I got real lucky, because it turns out I was actually a real bit of scum. Ironic, isn’t it? Here I thought I was doing some good, and turns out I was breaking all sorts of rules. Instead of banishment he offers me a job. I’m gracious, so I take it without even hearing what it is. Turns out I’m what they like to call an auditor. Not gonna lie, it’s a pretty big deal. I make sure supernaturals aren’t doing what I was doing, and if they are I try and set them straight. So now I’m creeping into skeleton’s closets and hiding under succubi’s bed, and popping out at the right moment to make them do the right thing. I’m even allowed to still go after humans, but only once a month and I’ve gotta be real sure that no adults see me. It’s like I’m an actual sheriff this time.
 
But I still don’t get paid. Wait, that can’t be right. I don’t think the Count would screw me over. He’s a real good guy. I’m sure I did something to deserve a deduct. I, I don’t even need the money anyway. I can’t really go to the store, it’s just...that changeling kid does the same job, and he’s always flashing cash. Not that it matters anymore. The guy that would’ve signed my checks probably got melted by some hotshot mummy, too.
[/INDENT]
 
[B]Psychological Profile:[/b][INDENT]I’ve been told that I need more spine. Which is troublesome, because I don’t have any of the other bones to go with it. Apparently I’m more concerned with making other supernaturals like me than with doing my duty, which is untrue. Okay, it is true. Sorry, please don’t hate me, and don’t tell my boss. He’s the first person to ever really rely on me. It’s just that us Bogeymen are real people-persons, seriously we are, and I feel positively drained when I’m not around others. I’d love to spend more time around humans, really. Something about being around them just perks me right up. Now, though, I just get so excited that I become real nervous around others. It makes it difficult to speak. Or think. Or move. I tend to just kind of creep in the background and hope somebody notices me. Also, I tend to get pretty downtrodden, especially when I feel as if I’m being ignored. I’ve been called a buzzkill before; apparently I’m too outspoken against people misbehaving.[/INDENT]
 
[B]Possessions:[/b][indent]I don’t really need stuff. Just, uh, friends. Friends would be nice. [/indent]
 
[b]Yes, and:[/b][indent]I’m pretty sure Parry doesn’t even know I exist. Which is fine, I guess, he’s busy. I’ve only introduced myself to him a dozen times now. I get it. I need to make more of an impression, but whenever I show up around kids everyone gets real uptight. They think I’m going to throw them in a sack or something. But he’s a friend of Rusty’s and I’m a friend of Rusty’s, so I think I’ll get through to him one day. Oh, and when I say I’m a friend of Rusty, I mean that we’re coworkers, and when I say coworkers, I mean that we’re not even on head-nod status yet. But the Alpha was hired on to take down Nemsemet, and that jerk warlock unemployed me and killed my boss. As a good employee of the Court, it’s my duty to take him down...buuuuuut I don’t know what kind of crazy magic he has, and if he took out the Count then he can definitely take out me. But Rusty’s tough! I’m sure Rusty can do it! I’ll just assist from the shadows and, uh, maybe introduce myself to him one of these days. [/indent]
 
[b]Location of Note:[/b] Black Cat Books
[b]Notable Person:[/b] Jessifer Jericho owns it. Yes, the Jessifer Jericho. Beautiful genius sorceress, author of a few dozen books, largest ego in New Camden. 
[b]A fact everyone knows about this place:[/b] It may look like a cramped, cluttered, and dusty used bookstore with an overabundance focus pseudoscience and new age literature, but the back room houses a pretty nifty collection of rare tomes, cursed books, and an alarming amount of supernatural smut. The owner’s known for her rather orbital level of self-worth, and seemingly manages to work that she has written a number of books into almost every conversation she has ever had. 
 
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