[hider=Raphael Alfonso Juan Pedro Garcia]
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[b]Physical Details[/b]

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[*]Male
[*]231 years old.
[*]Vampire
[*]6'9"
[*]193lbs
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[b]Personality:[/b]

Raphael has done things in his life that would make the stomachs of lesser men churn. He has killed, he has maimed, he has turned people into quivering piles of meat. Now however? The vampire is a placid, impassive figure. He's much happier to enjoy his time in his house, smoking Bliss and reading one of his many, many books than he does tearing people to small shreds. Which is excellent for anyone that happens to live near him, because he is still very, very, [i]very[/i] good at tearing people to shreds.

[b]History:[/b]

Raphael has forgotten more than most people have ever learned. He has lived for more than two centuries, and in that time, he has committed so many atrocities that he could be called to the Hauge, and they would likely be shocked. He grew up in a Mexico under the thumb of Spanish rule. The Mexican War of Independence was where he was forged, fighting for his nascent country... And paying for it with the ultimate price. Turned during the war by a Vampire who's face even he cannot remember, he left everything he knew behind him in his late twenties, desperately scrambling north. To the states. 

The west was only just starting to become colonised, and he was not an unfamiliar face. A desperate fugitive, he fed from those that nobody cared about, the beggars, the prostitutes, the slum dwellers. Every fight saw him scurrying like a rat from town to town, until finally he had had enough. He recognised then that he was standing at the very edge of opportunity, and Raphael would quickly become a legend, if not underneath that names.

Many boomtowns will record a mysterious figure bankrolling businesses. Shops that sprung up overnight, doctors encouraged to move and given large stipends to do so, all of whom were encouraged by a different name and a concealed face. That man, of course, was Raphael. At first, he started small, but small was never enough. A businessman through and through, he made himself known as a man who palms could always use greasing, and one that could get people places secretly. He may have been a Mexican, but the West, for a time, danced to his tune.

Or, at least it did until he was confronted. Backstabbed, left to dry and betrayed, he was shot seventy-three times by his rivals and dumped where nobody could find him. They thought him dead, not knowing of his undead constitution. That was a mistake. He crawled back, [i]clawed[/i] back, the holes in his body healing as he took his revenge one man at a time. He let his vampiric side run wild, feasting as more beast than man, tearing into his foes and leaving them to be found in the rising sun with mutilated bodies and drained veins. Once he had finally taken the entirety of his revenge, he found himself adrift, aimless.

He had recouped some of his losses, held money, but did not feel content. Slinking back to Mexico, he met a woman there. Henrietta, her name was. A beautiful flower- one he could not leave to wilt and wither as time flowed along. He pined for her, and she gave him some vague semblance of meaning. He tried, however hard, to maybe believe that even a vampire such as himself could live perhaps in peace. For a time, things were good, but then 1910 rolled around, and the vampire was summoned to violence once more.

The fighting that tore Mexico apart ruined Raphael. Any hopes of the man remaining in a peaceful existence were dashed to the side. Henrietta bowed to his fangs, and the pair became a ruthless set of vigilantes. For a decade, they fed well off soldiers, nothing but urban legends in the night, marked only by a few brutally killed scouts, obviously mutilated by the other side, left as a warning. The first of the great wars raged on around them, but neither of the pair cared, dousing themselves in Mexican blood on Mexican soil as the once-businessman carved out another niche for himself, and never stopped, his claws raking further and further even when the war finished.

He cared not who ruled the country. [i]They[/i] cared not who ruled the country. They simply made money. They laughed at fools that thought themselves immune to the police, all the while making themselves larger and larger targets for the same authorities. In the late twentieth century, they were at the top of a crime empire that strung out tendrils across the continents. They rubbed shoulders with Pablo Escobar, sold arms to Cuban rebels, even talked to the CIA and FBI. Then, in 1982, they found themselves out of luck. The police were closing in. The hunters were closing in. Children of the night, however, are not so easy to destroy.

Perhaps one of the greatest mysteries is how the two totally vanished overnight. One day they were there, ruling and living like kings, the next their entire organisation was beheaded, lieutenants and captains left drained dry and potentially millions stashed away. They crossed the border, and once more... The two managed to find peace. Almost forty years has passed since then, and, excluding the unfortunates that he needed to feed on, he has not taken a single life. The fact that he finds himself in Massachusetts is one of life's unanswerable twists and turns, but he considers himself now in retirement- however temporarily him and his wife are no longer in action. 
 
[b]Equipment:[/b]

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[*]Bliss. Lots and lots of Bliss. Manufactured by cutting tobacco, cocaine and blood together, Bliss is a truly excellent drug for vampires, and only vampires. Humans smoking Bliss will be repulsed by the blood, but for a vampire, the delicate combinations of drugs only truly found by a master of his craft are pure heaven in a cigarette. Hence the name.

[*]Maria. A reliable handgun that he's had for far longer than most people have lived for. A Colt New Model Revolver manufactured centuries ago, the gun is a sterling piece of work. Having been carefully modified to allow for the entire chamber to be swapped out at a time, it deals death reliably and effectively, leaving most people shot by it looking less like a human being, and more like slightly meaty, red Swiss cheese.
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