OverviewEditShadow Name: Hugh Drake
Real Name: Unknown (it's fairly common knowledge among the local Awakened that Hugh Drake isn't his real name, though that's what's on his legal records)
Order: Silver Ladder
Cabal: Info pending
Concept and Inspirations: The Host with the Most
1931: Hugh Drake first arrives in San Francisco, having recently returned to the United States from a harrowing adventure in Africa, relocating from his old stomping grounds in New York. He spends most of his time inegrating into the local nightlife, though - for the most part - he steers clear of the criminal element.
1933: Prohibition ends. Hugh purchases the derelict Grand Oriental Nightclub and begins the arduous process of having the dilapidated structure completely restored and refurbished, investing much of his personal wealth into the project.
1938: Hugh opens his new club, which he christens the Sunset Pacific Ballroom. Very quickly, the place becomes a hot local nightspot, a place to see and to be seen. Hugh builds up something of a reputation, however, for being a sucker for sob stories: the girl who packed up and headed west to chase her dreams, only to find nightmares; the bitter, broken young GI with guts full of shrapnel that the doctors will never be able to dig out; the poor sap drinking himself to death, because she's never coming back. He makes it a haven for the lost souls whom life steps on and then tosses aside like yesterday's trash - a place where even the smallest person can feel like a bigshot for an hour or two, every now and again.
1943: Siobhan O'Dair (known among the local Awakened as Rosemary) takes a job as a taxi dancer at the Sunset Pacific, and moves into one of the apartments above the club.
Character DescriptionEditHugh Drake is, by most folks' estimation, quite the handsome devil. He's got a disarming smile and a jovial, easygoing demeanor that insinutates itself into very nearly everything that he says and does. His hair is styled just so as to give the faintest impression of being a little bit mussed, without actually having so much as a strand out of place. His neat black mustache lends him something of a roguish air, while his dark brown eyes glitter with laughter, as if from some fantastic joke that he's just about to share with everyone in the room.
Hugh favors elegant formalwear as day-to-day attire; as far as he's concerned, there's never a good reason for a man in his position to dress like a schlub. He carries his cigarettes in a silver case, inlaid with ivory carvings in a North African style. While he's a "life of the party" kind of guy, Hugh doesn't seem to bask in the limelight - rather, he turns that energy outward, so that others can enjoy themselves: getting lost in the music, cutting a rug, and maybe tipping back a drink or two.
Hugh's nimbus causes the throat to tighten, as though with deadly thirst, while the skin prickles with heat, and a sense of crushing loss and loneliness grips the soul for just an instant. When Hugh works especially powerful vulgar magic, the air shimmers as it would under the noonday heat of the desert sun, and his face takes on an eerie quality, akin to a chillingly lifelike mask in danger of falling off.
- Hugh Drake - whatever his real name is - murdered someone overseas, and that's why he abandoned his old life on the East Coast to start over in San Francisco. He's covering his tracks and getting as far away from the scene of the crime as he can.
- Hugh uses the Sunset Pacific as a cover for something, but no one knows if it's shady, or on the up-and-up.
- Some nights, after the club is closed and the lights are down, Hugh sits in the Sunset Pacific and drinks alone until the sun comes up. On those nights, there's no laughter in his eyes, but he never lets himself get drunk, either.
(Please feel free to add.)
"What do I believe? I believe that every Average Joe deserves the chance to feel like a movie star for a little while, or like he just won the World Series. Every Plain Jane should get just one night where she can dance with a prince, or feel like the Queen of Sheba. What kind of world is this if all of the good things go to the bad people, and vice-versa? That's no kind of world fit for decent folks." - Hugh