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[center][SUB][COLOR=7d12ff]Vogel Pierce V
◄  28    ▎  MALE    ▎  5'7  ►[/COLOR][/SUB][/center]

[SUB][COLOR=7d12ff]P R E S E N C E[/COLOR][/SUB][hr]
	Ever since he was a little boy, Vogel thought he was going to become a soldier. His namesakes were all militia men, born and bred with fingers already twitching to pull all the triggers, and whose first cries were probably already marching orders, executing orders on behalf of the great corporation that is the Union. But as fate would have it, the young Pierce's father died before he was born. Primarily raised by his mother and in the company of his three younger sisters, he drifted away from the well-worn path tread by the Pierce clan and took after his mother's as soon as he finished the required military civilian training. Being a restorateur and cultural ambassador, his mother effortlessly taught her young son the basics of the culinary and hospitality arts, then decided to let the boy find his own way when he started showing signs of restlessness and an eagerness to make his name in the world.

	Vogel enrolled in Oakridge's top culinary institution, then summarily graduated to the top of his class after starting three successful restaurant chains, as well as one peculiar, yet critically acclaimed bar. To broaden the menu selections and drink ingredients, as well as refine and educate his palate, Vogel traveled the three Unions frequently despite the threat of war. Vogel is generally uninterested but informed in military affairs, knowledgeable about politics, culture and trade and has used his connections and charm to further his own commercial agendas and has also used them to damn malicious rivals into financial ruin - perhaps even driving others to suicide out of despair.

	He is often found at his bar, manning the counter himself, entertaining the customers and serving up drinks that have been said to refresh both the body and soul of those who imbibe - this has sparked rumors of strange, addictive and illegal substances being mixed into the drinks. Vogel neither confirms or denies the rumors, and the people come all the same, always hungry and thirsty for more.

	Despite his financial status, Vogel rarely spends on luxury services and prefers living a simple and predictable life. He is also very protective and caring of his three younger sisters, all who, ironically, aim to be high-ranking military officers in the Union, and sends them food he made himself whenever he is able, as well as using his influence and charisma to speed up their promotion and increase their resources without their knowledge in an effort to minimize their contact with bloodshed.

	Vogel hopes to use his status and knowledge to bring people together and help end the war, often making anonymous donations and visits to war victims, the neutrally aligned communities as well as bribing politicians on the brink of war to postpone their decisions or choose a lesser evil.

[SUB][COLOR=7d12ff]C H R O N I C L E[/COLOR][/SUB][hr]

Vogel gives his first customer of the evening a coaster as he prepares to make him a drink. The man smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling, and revealing his age.

"Are you the guy?"

Vogel nods and gets straight to work.

Soft music plays in the background, something ancient and jazzy, as he breaks ice the old way. Sharp chunks of crystal blue ice makes its way into a pristine whiskey glass, to which Vogel pours a bright green fluid, which hisses and glows as it flows down into the ice.

Then, with a well-practiced smile, he serves the beverage with a soft clunk on top of the coaster. The thin metal tray rattles on the bedside table with an unsettling clink, and pills of various sizes roll out of the way.

"Fairy, Number #08af2d."

The man admires the drink; Vogel can almost imagine the pictures he has taken with his eyes and scattered all over the network. Probably not as perfect as the professionals, but still publicity all the same.

"Hits the spot, guy," the man says, voice husky after a sip - not the smoothest drink in the bar. Blood blooms bright through his soiled bandages, and a rusty smell leaks out as the man shifts his mangled torso.

Vogel stood, watching the old soldier die with a grin on his face, and wondered if his father would have liked absinthe, too.


[SUB][COLOR=7d12ff]M E M O R I E S[/COLOR][/SUB][hr]
	Vogel Pierce IV: The father Vogel never knew, except through second-hand accounts of family friends, his mother and the old commander's journals. He sometimes wishes he were as strong as his father, but is happy that the man's death enabled him to begin a new path without conflict.

	Cybil Watanabe-Pierce: Vogel loves his mother dearly and maintains a warm relationship with her. They make frequent public appearances when opening new restaurants or visiting other Unions on official matters.

	Beatrix Pierce: The eldest of the Pierce sisters. She is currently serving in the military as an intelligence agent and weapons AI designer, and is married to an engineer. Vogel respects her opinions greatly and often goes to her when he is having problems.

	Iris Pierce: The middle Pierce sister. She works as a trainer in the military. Vogel is least close to her due to a difference in political opinion, but they still maintain a civility towards each other.

	Tiffany Pierce: The youngest Pierce sister. She is still in university, but is planning to follow in the footsteps of Beatrix. Vogel likes to spoil her, and has been trying to convince her to try a different path in life.

	Cornelius Yeung: Vogel's long-time friend and business partner. The two met in culinary school and have been inseparable since. Despite their difference in economic and social status, Cornelius treats Vogel with frankness and simplicity and does not let it get in the way of their friendship.

	Marcus: A frequent client of Vogel's bar. Vogel has given the man a coveted VIP membership, despite his lack of connections to the elite, as he quite enjoys the honest feedback the man gives his concoctions. He also secretly enjoys seeing him cut in line past all the other more sharply dressed guests - perhaps a way of vicariously sticking it to the pretentious social climbers coming in to his bar just for the pretty pictures instead of enjoying the experience.

[SUB][COLOR=7d12ff]A E S I R[/COLOR][/SUB][hr]
[center][hider=Quezacotl][img]https://i.imgur.com/zUtUNyF.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]

[center][SUB][COLOR=7d12ff] ◄  E N C O U N T E R  ►[/COLOR][/SUB][/center]

The people sneer at me, I can feel it. No doubt they only see the veneer of my wealth. That I am evil because I have more than they do. That I am a thing to be feared because I know more than they ever will, in this strife. They are right beside me, but their hearts and minds are far away.

"On behalf of the Union's rationing program, your power generators will be shut down-"

"We don't want the Union here!" An old man shouts from the back, but he is silenced by those who still have the sense to swallow their bitter anger.

"Rest assured, this endeavor will not influence the current neutrality of your territory. This is only a measure for-"

"That is a lie! You are like the fire. You burn and consume, and soon, there will be nothing left of the earth!"

And that is the truth. We all know it. I am nothing but a mouthpiece for the monster that will devour the world, the monster in all of civilized society. To create by destroying, to give by taking - this is man's prodigious talent. This is the Union.

A drop of water wets my skin. It takes me a while to realize that it is raining.

The crowd begins to disperse, and I am thankful. Like an answered prayer, the rain pours harder. The podium is uncovered and I feel the wetness run down my skin. Then the sky rumbles. I know not why, but the sound of thunder brings me calm. And the rain, quenching the earth, washing away all the filth - it is as if the world has chosen, once more, to give us a fresh start.

Like the rain, I too, wish to be a part of hope. But why does it feel like I am doing everything wrong?

No.

I am not wrong.

It is this judgment that is wrong.

But-

What can I do?

A flood of despair runs through me; I am afraid, terrified, no - exhilarated! The hairs on the back of my neck rise in anticipation of something, I know not what. It is as if a bolt of pure energy is about to come crashing down on me, and for some reason, I cannot bring myself to move. Only my eyes are free, and in the corner, I spy a little girl. She, too, looks at me with disgust.

So I prayed. I prayed to whatever being was out there, above or below us, that I be struck dead by lightning. A fitting end to a flash in the pan that is my life.

There is a severe flash of light, and what sounded like a shriek or a roar - I close my eyes and feel a cold burn for one infinite second - then I hear the thunder.

When my eyes are open, the ground is scorched, the generators are brimming with power, and the girl, she's...

She's smiling at me.

[SUB][COLOR=7d12ff]T E C H N I Q U E S[/COLOR][/SUB][hr]
[i]BEAM[/i] ★
[i]ORB[/i] ★
[i]VORTEX[/i] ★ 

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