Seth MeadowsActual Age:
Short-term bursts of heightened strength, speed, and sensory awareness via V ingestion/injection. Altered states of perception grant very minor
resistance to illusion. Complete and utter disregard for safety of others, self-preservation or personal hygiene. Skills:
Ropework, phlebotomy, improvised weaponry, bladed weapons, improvised explosives, word and number puzzles, cake decoratingOccupation:
Human fragility, suffers frequent audial/visual hallucinations, often hears nonexistent voices, mild obsession with picking up dropped or scattered coins, hardcore V addictPersonality:
"They've all...What? No thank you, I don't want pie -- yes, they all have to die. Freaks. Leeches. Monstrous maggots and miserable mongrels masquerading as 'mainstreaming' making mankind mop up motley messes merely means more militant malevolence in my mind. There are others, too. Think like me. Everywhere. We're everywhere. But they're everywhere, too. Hidden. Down in the dark with the rats and worms. Down in the cellar. What? Yes. No. That's...no, factor of seven, not five. You whittle with the grain, see? Gives a sharper point. Yeah. There was one. A good one. Heard about him. He did good work. But they got him. Probably they got him and took him down in the dark. It's ok. They got him. But they won't get me. I'm gonna have me some fun, hee hee! And those things...all those pretty dead things...they're gonna scream
Seth was born in Chicago, to what probably would have been a happy, idyllic family...if his mother Cassie hadn't died giving birth to him. His father, a floor manager for a local factory, was unable to deal with the loss of his wife, and fell into a bottle. Seth did his best to be a good son, keep his grades up, stay out of trouble, but unfortunately there wasn't much he could do to earn his drunken father's approval. Without the love and care of his better half, Carl Meadows proved to be a mean, rotten son of a bitch when in his cups, and to young Seth's heartbreak, home proved no safe haven growing up. Often the boy would spend his days wandering the city's safer streets, but as he grew he began exploring the darker alleys and back roads. By the time he graduated high school, he was living on the streets more often than at home...not that his father took notice.
When Seth was nineteen, Carl Meadows took his last shot of whiskey before his liver gave the great 'Fuck You' and quit on him. Seth watched, numb, from across the street as the paramedics hauled his father's corpse off to Sisters of Mercy Hospital. He waited maybe an hour before he packed a bag and struck out for the East Coast. He found Bangor when he was 22, having spent a few years snorting and smoking his way up and down the coast. When the vampires came out and V hit the streets, it was like a revelation. Fuck coke, to hell with smack, piss off meth; in the immortal words of Socrates, V was the shit
. Of course, one can't just mainline one addiction after another without breaking something, and after the first few hits, Seth's mind finally cracked the big one. Reality became Something Other People Did, and much of the next couple years were spent in dim, dullwitted, delicious delirium. But then came the voices...the ones that slithered through the haze and instilled in Seth a purpose his drugged out brain saw no reason to refuse. There were monsters out there, right? And monsters needed to be fought, right? And people who fought monsters were heroes, and heroes got whatever they wanted, right?