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@Subject Zero Maybe Raven and Reggie could be acquaintances. I mean, since they're both involved in criminal enterprises, it makes sense that they would've done business with each other at some point in time, no?
“Nothing is permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles.” - Charlie Chaplin
Name
Thomas Richard Eames
Nicknames
Tom, Tommy, y’know, the usual. Seriously, what else can you get from Thomas?
Age
37
Gender
Male
Sexual Orientation
Bisexual
Occupation
Cinematographer
Appearance
Standing at a perfectly average 5’9”, Tommy isn’t as big and scary as he appears from afar. The combination of distance, tattoos, and a strong, solid physique lends him the illusion of appearing taller than he actually is – not that it’s ever bothered him much. He is, after all, an adult, and that means he has better things to worry about. Like taxes. And his mortgage.
Tommy’s eyes are a darker shade of blue, and he often bares his crooked teeth in a too-wide grin. There is a small scar under his right eye from when he’d gotten slapped by an ex-girlfriend while she was holding a set of car keys (not something he likes to talk about).
Recently, he’s taken to getting his head shaved at the sides, though it’s mostly out of convenience rather than any real desire to look his best. All the same, it’s undeniable that he’d almost be handsome in a gruff sort of way if you could actually see his face underneath that beard of his. Often times, you’ll find Tommy dressed in Lacoste or Ralph Lauren polo shirts along with khaki slacks. Basically, “golf dad” is kind of his aesthetic – he’s even got the Rolex watch to go along with it.
His tattoos, however, are a whole ‘nother situation altogether. Just get a look at him without his shirt. Not every single one has meaning, but for those that do, he’d be happy to explain, if asked. To name a few particularly visible ones, he has the words “LOVE” and “HATE” tattooed across his knuckles, a tribal half-sleeve on his left upper arm (hey, he got that when he was eighteen, don’t judge), crashing waves on his right, a cross over his left pectoral, a small, black crown on the side of his right hand, and finally, feathery wings on the backs of his shoulder blades.
“That sounds fucking ridiculous – I want in.”
Personality
Tommy enjoys a cigarette and a bottle of whiskey on the weekends, loves his dog a little too much, and could probably do with seeing a barber more than once every six months. But for all his tactlessness, he really does mean well. When he asks a question, he really does want to know the answer, and when loves, he loves pretty ferociously. Then again, growing up with such a supportive parent will probably do that to a person.
His sense of humor, however sarcastic and crude, will never fail to bring a smile to people’s faces, and even if that doesn’t work, his laugh is deathly infectious. Tommy is one of those guys you hate to love, and he knows it well. Even so, he can be unpredictable, adamant, and dislikes making commitments, especially those he is not sure he can keep. But whatever one might be led to believe, Tommy is an extremely passionate, and emotional person. When he truly takes interest in something (or someone), he puts all of himself into it, and momentarily forgets about everything else.
This, however, means that he is very bad at relationships – really, really bad. He often comes as pushy and overly aggressive, in both his work and his life outside of it. One of Tommy’s defining traits is his volatility. Some days, he almost seems like a ticking time-bomb, ready to explode at a moment’s notice. If things don’t go according to plan, his temper often manages to get the best of him. It’s something he’s trying to work on, of course, though he knows that it isn’t going very well.
Likes
Dogs
Pumpkin spice lattes
Cold weather
Sushi
Working out
Awful pop music
Dislikes
Quinoa
Reality TV
Salad
Hypocrisy
Planes (Or flying, in general.)
Kids
Fears
Above all else, Tommy fears never amounting to anything. He’s already let one opportunity slip through his grasp, the last thing he needs is for history to repeat itself.
“Okay, yeah. It’s not that you’re wrong, it’s just… you’re extremely not right.”
Strengths
Honest
Enthusiastic
Decisive
Hardworking
Friendly
Weaknesses
Blunt
Disorganised
Stubborn
Aggressive
Reckless
History
Tommy was born on a sunny August day to Mary Anne Eames, a young waitress from Toronto. Mary’s religious upbringing had, unfortunately, left her homeless as soon as her parents realised their “sinner” of a daughter had gotten herself pregnant out of wedlock, not a boyfriend to be found. Fortunately, Mary had a friend living in Michigan, and while she hadn’t the time or money to get herself an education, she was able to raise her son with a roof over their heads whilst she continued to work.
Tommy’s first brush with the industry happened when he was 11, when a film company shot scenes for a movie in his neighbourhood. He was fascinated by the crew setting up lights and cameras, and soon sought to do the same. With all the grace and enthusiasm of a child tearing open his Christmas presents (which incidentally, included a second-hand camera that year), he began shooting his very own collection of home movies and short films.
After graduating high school, Tommy found a job as a production assistant at a TV station. Which, in layman’s terms, translated to getting bossed around by his superiors while he did all the grunt work. Within a couple of months, however, he managed to work his way up from fetching coffee to shooting low-budget PSAs for $125 a week as a cameraman. Tommy eventually moved on to doing some freelance work when the routine got old, though most of the time, he was recruited as a grip or electrician, and he was dying to get behind a camera again.
Then, at the age of twenty-one, Tommy managed to put together an impressive enough resume and demo reel that earned him a full-ride scholarship to the American Film Institute in LA. During his second year, a collaborative short film made by him and a couple of his classmates earned itself a place at Sundance.
Once he’d graduated from AFI, with both a degree and work experience under his belt, Tommy found it a hell of a lot easier to get the jobs he wanted. Not that it was always ever a smooth ride, he’d had to deal with his fair share of rejection along the way, and the only reason he managed to pull through was because he had thick skin. But soon enough, he was earning enough money to move his mom from their crummy, one-room apartment in Detroit to a nice house in the suburbs.
Of course, as the saying went, all good things must come to an end. His mere involvement in a critically panned film in the 2004 was enough to cast a questionable shade on his reputation, and for years, Tommy was stuck in a quagmire of terrible B-movies.
It’d taken no small amount of luck (and shameless self-promotion), but finally, in the summer of 2012, an up-and-coming director decided to take a chance on Tommy, hiring him as the director of photography for an ambitious, neo-noir thriller. Tommy drew on his prior experiences, and just like that - his unique, stylistic approach to the lighting and framing of characters, combined with great creative direction from the director - won the film an Academy Award for Best Cinematography.
Since then, things have been looking up for him. While some still have their doubts about Tommy, thinking of him as a one-hit wonder, his latest work has seen him stepping up his game. He knows what’s on the line, and getting complacent simply isn’t an option. (Insert Name Here) will be the second, big-name feature film he’s worked on since his comeback.
Favorite memory
Winning that Academy Award, of course. Sometimes, he still finds it hard to believe that it wasn’t just something he dreamt up.
Least favorite memory
The low point of his career, when the only work he could get was shooting awful movies for awful cable TV.
Why did you decide to work for this movie?
Why wouldn’t he? Even with an Oscar under his belt, he still finds it kind of surreal that he’d been offered a gig for something as big as this.
“To be honest with you, I only ever listen to about a third of what you say.”
Birthday
August 25th, 1978
Astrological Sign
Virgo
Twitter Name
Twitter: @TommyEames78 Instagram: @ThomasEames (Because he’s just that creative.)
Miscellaneous
Never Have I Ever > Into The Wrong Hands > Soulmates (Also, he owns a Pitbull named Rocco, just as an FYI.)
“This little man just walked into my apartment. No tags, no collar... So, I guess I have a dog now.”
Age: 134 (Embraced in 1919, aged 36.) Gender: Male Appearance:
Standing at a solid 6’1”, and weighing in at around 180 pounds, it’s safe to say that Reggie cuts a pretty intimidating figure. This stature of his is something he often uses to his advantage when dealing with others, and the effect is magnified by a smattering of tattoos all across his skin. Just get a look at him without his shirt. Each has meaning, and can be explained if asked, but whether he’d grace you with an answer or bash your face in is a whole ‘nother matter. There are a few that he’s particularly fond of, however. The words “LOVE” and “HATE” are tattooed across his knuckles (a massive fucking cliché, but what’re you gonna do?), half-sleeves of dragons and women, a Union Jack over his left pectoral (sentimental nonsense, really), a small, black crown on the side of his right hand, and finally, twin pistols crossed at the small of his back.
Reggie’s eyes are a pale, washed-out blue, nearly grey, in fact, and he often bares his crooked teeth in a too-wide grin. He’d almost be handsome in a gruff sort of way, if you could actually see his face underneath that beard of his. Not that he’d ever cared much about his appearance, anyway. All the same, his fingers are often decorated with stolen rings - gold, mostly, though he isn’t prejudiced against other precious metals. His dressing style can best be described as “non-committal”, in that he just throws on whatever he manages to excavate from his disaster zone of a closet. Most of the time, it’s t-shirts, flannels, and ratty, old jeans, though he isn’t against dressing nice, every once in awhile.
History: Edward “Ned” Marlowe was the only person Reggie could look up to as a child. His mum wasn’t the best person to have around. She was there - but barely. Always had this faraway look in her eyes as she puffed away on an opium pipe all the livelong day. And Ned, of course, Ned couldn’t care less. His girl was content, high as a kite, and Ned was too busy working at the factory to pay for their crummy apartment in East End. Back then, Reggie’d follow Ned to work. He’d follow Ned around London. He’d have followed Ned to the ends of the Earth if it meant being alongside his father.
The people who accused his father of being a deadbeat loser were a pack of stupid gits who could take their shit for brains elsewhere. Ned was a good father, even if he spent most of his off days hanging around bars, leaving with some slag, forgetting that his son was still waiting outside. Ned was a good dad, even if sometimes, when he got really drunk, he’d hit him. He was a real good parent, if you could look past the fact that he wasn’t much of a parent at all.
But Reggie felt that Ned was enough, and that was all that mattered. He had a father, a mother, and a roof over his head. What else could he want? There were people all over the world who had a hell of a lot less. Ever since he was a lad, Reggie knew that he had to count his blessings each night and say a quick prayer to whoever it was that listened, if anybody at all.
By the time he’d gone and turned fourteen, Reggie found out about something; he had a memory that’d put a bloody elephant to shame. Hyperthymesia, it was called, a name that would only pop up decades later - a condition where a person remembered an abnormally vast amount of their life experiences, and Reggie utilized it to the best of his abilities. He was smart. Unable to forget; able to remember everything - the ace in the hole for any street gang looking to make it big.
And that was when Reggie, barely grown into his limbs, found one.
No name to them, not even a symbol to set them apart. Just a group of kids, looking to make it big.
It started out with petty thievery, nothing too dire. The last thing they needed was the coppers on their ass. In time, however, they moved on to more daring jobs, and that gave Reggie and his pals the money they needed to really get started.
Soon enough, the sprawling spiderweb that was Reggie’s empire began to weave its way through East London. It was a slow process; one that took nearly a decade to build, and another to solidify, but God, was it worth it. Plenty of older groups thought that they were encroaching on territory that’d been claimed decades ago, but Reggie was undeterred. He’d had seen countless good friends get gunned down in showdowns between rivals. But at the same time, they spilled their fair share of blood in the streets; ridding the world of their enemies.
Things could only go up from there.
And for years, that’s how it went. Up, up, up. They needed to expand their territory, really push their borders outwards; something they accomplished with gang fights that stained the streets with blood. Reggie told himself that in the whole scheme of things, these sporadic explosions of violence were nothing. If they truly wanted to make it into the big leagues, what were a couple of casualties on the way there? For the first time, Reggie truly felt like he had found his place in the world, like he could tackle anything that came at him.
...Not that he had much time to savour the moment.
They’d come for him before he could seek them out. Reginald Marlowe - crimelord of East End - so caught up with the success of their recent foray into bootlegging, was caught off guard. A man dressed entirely in black had attacked him on the walk to the distillery, the pointed toes of his Italian leather shoes digging into his ribs. He’d fought back, but what good was it? The stranger seemed to have the strength of ten, no, twenty men. Maybe he’d beat him to death. Maybe this was how his story ended, the story of a man whose ambition got the better of him.
Whatever he imagined might happen, however, Reggie soon learned that he was meant for a different path. A bag was thrown over his head and he was hurled, kicking and screaming, into a car.
He’d thought they’d kill him after that, too. When he saw a bright light and found himself tied to a chair, taking in his surroundings to be a warehouse. A man stood in front of him, with eyes like ice. He’d introduced himself and promised Reggie that their time together could either be painless, or the exact opposite. It all depended on him.
That day, he learned of the Camarilla. Of its reach. Of its existence and its ways. That day, they would either exterminate him or induct him into his ranks.
A choice. Accept the offer, or watch everything he’d work so hard for crumble to dust? It was obvious, at least it seemed to be, at the time.
Reggie died that night, but it only served to free him from that dreaded mortal coil. He wasn’t the clan’s best, but if they wanted a job done, and they wanted it done right, they trusted him with it. He had the connections. He was strong where they couldn’t be. He was willing to make the decisions that nobody else could. He was intellectual, but equally bestial if need be. He was everything and nothing. A ghost at sunrise, and a phantom at nightfall. He stood among gamblers and killers and sadists and could only grin wildly at how far he’d come.
Since then, he’s been part of the Brujah, handling the more criminal part of their operations. Sure, it’s not the most glamourous of jobs, and frequent changes in identity are bread and butter, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Personality: To those with a discerning eye, Reginald Marlowe might seem a little off his rocker. While his levels of crazy are nowhere near close to those of Malkavians, the black streak in him is unmistakable. Needless to say, he is an extremely passionate, and emotional person. When he truly takes interest in something (or someone), he puts all of himself into it, and momentarily forgets about everything else.
One of Reggie’s defining traits is his volatility. To say that he has a bad temper - well, that’d probably be the understatement of the century. When he gets angry, he yells. When someone disobeys or frustrates him, he either puts a gun in their face, or breaks their jaw. For Reggie, violence is always the answer. Even when he talks, his speech is flavoured with language vulgar and graphic enough to make a sailor blush. He was raised Cockney, after all.
Interestingly, while he has a rather obnoxious habit of grandstanding, he has very little tolerance of it in others. Reggie frequently admonishes others to get to the point. It’s a powerfully controlling behaviour, subtly belittling others for wanting to make an impression, and gaining him back control of the situation. But whatever one might be led to believe, Reggie is a Brujah, through and through. With a keen wit, a penchant for absurdism, and a horrifyingly macabre streak, you get the sense that Reggie always has a snicker hidden at the corner of his mouth, even if everyone around him is a little afraid to join in.
