The life of a fire fighter was hardly one of nobility, but there was a certain kind of person it called to, and that person was a hero.
Or so Michael Dropes had originally thought when he joined the Academy to become one of New York's finest. It wasn't easy to be sure, considering that New York Fire fighters were required to take the same classes to be an EMT along with their own physically arduous tests. He stuck through it though, through sheer force of will and desire to be able to help people on a level that most quaked in fear.
He'd never been more proud the day he graduated and received his status in the community. The missions were daily almost at times, the training while all inclusive had left him require to develop further skills and abilities, his mind sharpened, assisting in his reaction time. He quickly learned how to think on the fly, and be able to change strategies as it was necessary, and in a burning building that necessity became more than obvious.
He managed to work for a couple years, but with a standard schedule of three days on and four days off, he found he had a great deal of free time. His hands needed something to do, so he turned to fashioning clothing for the firefighter on the move, taking the basic principle of a fire fighters heavy and protective gear and downsizing it not only for weight but for plausible deny-ability. No one would run into houses on fire if they weren't going to be protected from the flames themselves right? As of current he hasn't taken this level of his hobby out to be made a cash cow, but he does fashion his own clothing this way, even if he hasn't started wearing it yet.
His life was going swimmingly, working as a fire fighter by day had him earning a fair income, and he had the time to go about doing pretty much whatever he wanted when not on duty. That was when the redhead came into the picture, he'd picked her up at some bar, having earned her attentions by sharing some fire fighting stories. That seemed to perk her up something fierce as she enticed him to come out of the bar later that night for a little heat of her own.
Michael wasn't about to turn down a ladies affections and slipped out the back with her. Only to find her attentions were not as gentle or as entirely sexy as he had hoped that they would be. When she all but tore his arm out of socket by jerking his hand, and followed it up by throwing him into the wall across the alley she had definitely captured his attention as a threat rather than a lover to be. Unfortunately while he attempted to put up a decent fight was easily out classed by the smaller woman. Rather than disparaging remarks though he simply kept getting up.. as long as he actually could, it didn't take 'Winter' many blows to see to it that even his steadfast determination was rather easily walked upon.
He blacked out at some point during the battle, when he was forcibly awoken some hours, perhaps nights later, he found himself chained to a wall in some dingy little warehouse, or at least it looked like one there wasn't much he could see at this point but he could hear someone moving around in the shadows. It was her, he'd recognize the voice of the woman who'd beaten him so profusely anywhere. And she said, "show me you're worth the work I'm going to do for this, and then you can find me again." There was a sharp pain in his side before he could feel his blood leaking out onto the knife. "Once you prove yourself true, you'll know how to find me. I've seen to it." Her voice started to distort, as his blood pooled on the floor of the warehouse, a matter expedited by the fact that she removed the blade. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out once more was the bitter taste of iron on his tongue and the sudden pain of what could only be his death.
There was a rash of murders later that evening that had several people lain broken in the warehouse, their bodies drawn through his own blood to hide the fact that their corpses had none of their own. When a pack of the Sword of Caine had found them as Winter had planned all along he had already eaten his fill and seemed to be less prone to frenzy. It was with this pack, with whom he traveled and learned the basics of being a true member of the Sword. Through dedication to this temporary pack's ideals he proved himself time and again in battles against the Camarilla that kept trying to infiltrate the city to minor pack skirmishes that he would earn the title of true.
On that fateful day he was given a simple name, the name of the cainite who had brought him into this world, Winter Vale, with only the knowledge that her frequent haunting area was the Pacific Northwest. He was then 'kindly' asked to get the fuck out of their city.. to make his way to find her.
