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Parnell Robinson

"The only one who knows this ounce of words is just a token,

is he who has a tongue to tell, but must remain unspoken."

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Mage: "God help the world, that there are more crazy sons of bitches like me in it."

Cultists of Ecstasy: "Doesn't seem like I'd fit in, but nobody can expand their mind like they can."

Traditions: "Charlatans, freaks, weirdos and rejects. My kind of crowd."

Technocracy: "I made the mistake once, never again."

Vampires: "Never met one, but I guess it's not surprising things like this would exist."

Hunters: "The world is full of ignorant fools deciding what we can't do or know."

Demons: "If I had an ounce of faith in this kind of thing, I'd be scared shitless."

Changeling: "I'd assume they're possible, never discount the craziest of explanations."

Wraith: "Let's hope I just end up gone, and not like these poor bastards.

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Chance: Bright kid, I think he is wasting his potential as is.

Cynthia: A bit off, but she doesn't bogart and that commends her to me at least.

Mallory: What is this chick's problem? She's... off.

Shelby: Bitch throws another bottle at me, I'll kick her ass six ways to Sunday.

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Falcon Square - Apt 206

The place is a bachelor's home all right. The dining room table doubles as a desk, the living room doubles as a bedroom. One back bedroom is stuffed with hastily-packed boxes shoved willy-nilly for storage along with Salvation Army furniture not currently in use. The couch is covered with a bedspread, the non-matching love seat is covered with unfolded laundry and the only dishes that seem to exist are coffee cups. An overused cappuccino machine sits with grounds still soaked and packed. The trash is overflowing with paper plates and plastic cups, and a Siamese cat prowls the apartment eating leftover takeout and microwaveable TV dinners. In the place of honor on a warn, comfy overstuffed leather chair is a glistening baritone sax, well polished but highly scratched and dented. Off into the spare bedroom there is an office proper, complete with desk, filing cabinets and large chalkboard. Butcher paper is piled up on the door, empty mugs on the desk itself and books and shelves have yet to meet. It smells strongly of uncleaned litter box, old coffee and smoke.

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Full Name: Parnell Robinson

Date of Birth: December 4th, 1954

Apparent Age: Early Sixties

Ethnicity: Black American

Origin: Chicago, Illinois

Occupation: Assistant Mathematics Professor

Demeanor: Pedagogue

Tradition: Cultists of Ecstasy

Sect: Traditions

Notable Traits: Resonance: Throbbing (Dynamic)

Enneagram: Four (Individualist)

Height: 6'5"

Weight: 198 lbs

Eye Color: Brown

Hair: Black

Parnell's Song

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RP Hooks
Chicago Born: A native of Chicago's Near North side.

Jazz Saxophonist: Owner of a baritone sax, lover of Charles Mingus, bebop and some R&B.

Mathematician: It's his profession, his doctoral thesis was on Mathematical Analysis.

UC Prospect Professor: Teaches advanced calculus to students at the local university as an assistant professor.

Berkeley Alumnus: Former student at the University of California, Berkeley, class of 1974.

Blue Collar Herbalist: Enjoys greasy food, black coffee, too many cigarettes and a little bit of the doobage on occasion.

Former Naturalist: Originally aspired to become a biologist before

Projects Kid: Raised in the Cabrini-Green projects in the sixties.

Burned Cabal: A trusted friend betrayed his cabal, and he is restarting his life anew.

Socialist: Known to hold support for socialized medicine, collectivism and labor reform.

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