Beatrice Hildebrandt

Name: Beatrice Hildebrandt
Nicknames: Mamma B, Bumblebee, Bea
Appearant Age: 45ish
Actual Age: 52
Sect: Camarilla
Clan: Malkavian
Status: 3 - Primogen

Mortal Life

Beatrice Hildebrandt, or Mamma B, as the workers at the Senior Center would call the lady when she would come to bingo nights, had lived a long and rather lonely life. She never got married, she never found love. Heck, she had never really looked for it. She wanted grandchildren, but was born in a generation where she was not likely to do anything outside of marriage to be able to initiate that cycle and frankly, she did not want a husband. When asked why she never married, her usual response was, “I 'd rather have me one'a them custom built models, not one'a 'em kinds right off tha line.” Her response is somewhat linked to the fact that her father worked at a car assembly plant when she was younger and she was somewhat fascinated with the contraptions in her younger years.

This fascination changed to obsessiononce she was old enough to drive and so she became the local lead-foot that gave women drivers a bad name in her small town of Waverly, TN. Her vehicle-handling skills were top notch but the police were not too fond of her propensity toward speeding. Luckily, a Hollywood movie director who was in nearby Nashville meeting with a music artist discovered her when she pulled an interesting maneuver to get around him. The director was somewhat impressed and, since he was working on more of an action-oriented film, followed the young woman until she finally pulled over on the side of the road and pulled out the .38 Special Smith & Wesson that her father had gotten her and trained her to use once she started driving to the big city unaccompanied. Though she was relieved to find that the man chasing her only wanted to make her a job offer, the adrenaline junkie of a young woman had a faint hint of disappointment.

The offer was accepted, of course, and in the weeks before she made the big move to Hollywood, her father and uncle stepped up their gun training with her to be certain that she could protect herself in the big city. The move was not as stressful as she had thought it would be and she adapted to the even bigger thrill rush of being involved with movies, stunt driving, and mingling with celebrities. Everyone was impressed with, if not confused by, the young woman’s driving abilities as well as her desire to do anything so risky.

Beatrice was an adrenaline junkie and that was easy to see. Though she did not have time for men, and was pretty enough to find one if she thought that she ‘had time’, she had all the time in the world for fast cars and meeting new people. She made friends fast and kept them well. Charming and somewhat manipulative in her younger years, she was able to get her wealthy celebrity friends to foot most every bill while she saved every penny she earned from her thrilling antics as a professional stunt driver.

Through careful investing and saving, Beatrice Hildebrandt quickly became a wealthy woman. It was not until her mid-thirties that she started to have more difficulty finding stunt-driving opportunities. At that point, she retired from her Hollywood career and moved back to Tennessee for a few years. Much had changed. Her father had died young of a stroke. Her mother followed shortly after of a broken heart, or so her uncle had told her.

She lived with them for nearly a year, helping on the farm while her investments continued to grow. Eventually Beatrice grew too antsy to live in the middle of nowhere where nothing ever seemed to change. She craved excitement. Her aunt suggested that she settle down and marry, assuring her that marriage was ample adventure.

It was not one month until Beatrice moved into a townhouse in Texas. To pass the time, she took back up the hobby of shooting. Her skill grew and so did her renown at the local range. Sharp eyesight and quick reflexes that had once helped her as a stunt-driver also served their purpose in making her quite the crack-shot.

A friend convinced her to enter a local contest and she won with ease. Time passed and soon she was competing at the regional and then state levels, earning prizes and placement if not coming in first at each event. By her late 40’s, she had begun to tire of that as well, though she continued entering sharp-shooting competitions as it was the only sport that she actively enjoyed.

Things never slowed down for Beatrice for too long, however. A twister tore through her house when she was away in California visiting an old friend. She laughed as she picked up the pieces and realized that perhaps that it what she had been waiting for: a new adventure, a reason to keep up her antics elsewhere.

Still active as ever, Beatrice moves to Springfield, Massachusetts after having been hired for her charisma and skill to be a spokesperson for the .38 Special. For whatever reasons, the ads take off for a couple years and she further pads her bank account. A few friend attributed it to her graceful aging, though she

The Embrace and First Night

One night after a late photo shoot for a magazine ad layout in Garden & Gun, Beatrice makes her way to her car only to find that she had not locked the door. While normally this would have set off her mental alarms that something was wrong, she was not used to staying up so late and thought nothing of it. After climbing into the car, she closed the door and pushed the lock button before beginning to rummage around in her purse for her car keys.

From the darkness behind her, Beatrice heard a dry and haunting chuckle that caused her to forget the keys and reach straight for her .38s, Ol'Betsy and Blaze. Even with her speed at drawing her gun, she did not manage to get the gun from the holster within her purse before a dark figure from the back seat lunged at her, his fangs piercing her neck deeply as he begins to ravenously drain her blood. The aging woman finds herself unable even to scream for help as the unknown attacker continued his assault.

It was not long until things began to fade to black for her, death had come for her, or so she had thought. However, she was partially right. Before sweet peace could take her, it was over. He no longer drank from her throat; the wound was sealed. ~What was that? What was that villain doing now?~ Something moist flowed over her lips, a few drops. It dripped past, onto her tongue. ~What was it? Somewhat sweet, metallic, yes, it was blood. ~ It burned somewhat, a pleasant fiery burn. Oh she felt alive like she had never been before, and yet she could feel she was dying.

In the darkness of the parking lot and inside her car that she had so foolishly insisted on having the windows tinted dark, no one could see the movement inside as the dark figure pulled the woman from the driver’s seat and bound and blindfolded her. He then slid into her place and hunted out the keys from the woman’s purse, stuck the key in the ignition and revved the engine. It was such a fine car.

Nothing made sense to her right then, and yet it all did, at the same time. The attacker drove away with her still in the back seat. An unfamiliar route.

She writhed in the pangs of the change. A dry and eerily calm voice reached her from the driver’s seat, “My, my. How are you doing back there, Beatrice? I /do/ hope that my driving is not too rough for you. Oh yes, that is right. You were a stunt driver. Well, then, I bet you are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Still unable to reply, Beatrice listened. He knew her name. “You are probably wondering how I know your name, Beatrice. No, of course you aren’t. Your name is connected to plenty of ads and you had more than your 15 minutes of fame, didn’t you? It is amazing what fame can cause, isn’t it? Admiration, wealth, and boredom. You were growing bored of each hobby so quickly; you wanted this, didn’t you, Bea? Oh, and that is quite the lovely nickname for such a busy bee of a woman as yourself. Quite fitting.”

Her fangs extended and she let out a growl of annoyance as she struggled against her bindings. “Lemme loose ye low-down sonnovagun a'fore I-” Beatrice practically hissed as she tried to free herself, her words getting cut off as her captor and sire slammed on the breaks. “We’re here. You may thank me now,” came the chillingly calm reply as the man exited the car and proceeded to lift the woman as if she weighed no more than a pillow.

Beatrice wriggled, kicked and tried to bite at the man who carried her. All was of no avail, of course, but that did not stop her. He was carrying her somewhere. Upstairs, down a long hall from the sound of his footsteps. Then she smelled something, something that she desperately had to have. A door was opened and she was tossed not-too-gently into the center of a room.

He loosened her bindings and held her down with an impressive amount of pressure as he stooped to whisper in her ear, “Don’t try to escape, Beatrice. And don’t even think of taking off the blindfold until I tell you that you may. You are about to learn a great deal, or at least enough to prepare you for your next adventure. That /is/ what you wanted, wasn’t it? A new adventure?”

The woman clenched her fists in anger of a deeper level than she had ever felt before, yet managed to remain relatively still. Finally, the pressure of what she could only guess to have been a knee pushed against her mid-back lifted. A moment later, there was a click and a locking sound.

Beatrice wriggled out of the ropes that had held her and tore off the blindfold in a near panic. She could still smell it. Her eyes scanned the room and immediately she saw a pile of three huddled, unconscious bodies. A mother and two teenagers, from the looks of them. Something compelled her and she lunged at them, fangs bared, sating her hunger body after body.

It was only when the heartbeat faded from the last of her victims, a young man of roughly age 15 if she had to guess, that she began to realize what she had done. What was that? Something had fallen out of his pocket when the force of her lunge had shaken his body. A Gameboy, purple casing and in decent condition. “Poor kid. Le'see what ye were playin',” she says as she turns the unit over and laughs sadly. “Pokemon-Blue, huh? Reckon I'll haveta fig're out howta play'n finish't fer ya.” The Gameboy is clutched close to her stomach protectively as she stands.

Just then, the now familiar smooth, yet dry, voice became audible through what had to be some sort of P.A. system, “Well done, Beatrice, that’s it. Give in to the Beast. You can learn much from it, if you are careful not to give in too far. Wasn’t that good, though? Your first meal as a vampire. Oh, do /not/ look so shocked, Beatrice. I can see you through the two-way mirror over here, and yes, that is what you are now. A vampire. Of the Malkavian clan to be precise. I am not much of a fatherly figure, so don’t expect me to repeat any of this to you or coddle you in any way. As a vampire, you will need to consume blood in order to continue living. You now have abilities that mortals don’t… I will leave it to you to play around with those and see what all you can discover. You would prefer it that way I am sure. Don’t try to fight the urge to feed, Beatrice, else you will fall into frenzy and there will be more dead bodies than you’ve already produced this night.”

The disembodied voice continued for nearly a half-hour as he described the bare minimum knowledge that a new vampire might need in order to survive in both intermingled kine and kindred societies. The words were committed to memory, though she developed a hatred for his voice. “'at arrogant sonnovagun,” she mumbled to herself and stared at the two-way mirror.

Finally, his ‘speech’ was over, the smooth voice adding in sing-song tonality, “School’s out, school’s out. Time to let a new Malkie out…” There was a dry chuckle and then a click as the door was remotely unlocked. Beatrice bolted for the door.

She ran down the hall, down the stairs and out of the building. Her car was waiting on her and she dashed to it, opening the door. It was unlocked, her keys resting in her seat and her purse next to the gear stick. Hesitant to make the same mistake twice, she glanced in the back seat before climbing in the car, slamming and locking the door.

Sliding the Gameboy carefully under her left leg, she started the car and tore out from that fated place in search of anything that looked familiar. It did not take long before she could recognize the street names and she searched her purse with one hand for her cell phone.

Got it. Speeddial 2. Waiting. A sleepy voice answers, “Miss Hildebrandt, is that you? What time is it?” “'is'here cell phone says 2 a.m. Claire, I needya ta do me'a favor. 'at Smith & Wesson contract, I needya ta break'it off.” “Beatrice, it’s 2 a.m. and plus it /is/ a legally binding agreement. What’s going on?” “Why yew think I had 'em put in tha termination clause. Ye know I git bored'a things easy. S'time fer me ta move on ta my next a'venture. Tha termination fee'll be wired ta yer office by morn.” The voice on the other end sounded a bit confused but replies, “Alright, Miss Bea. It’s been nice being your manager.” “S'been a real blast fer me too, Claire. Ye take care now, ye hear? Bye.” Click.

It was 3 a.m. by the time she reached her apartment and realized that she had a bit of work to do before the sunrise. She neatly folded enough clothes for a couple weeks and tucked them into a suitcase, adding a few grooming necessities, and then set to work changing her answering machine and voicemail to say that a friend had stopped in to see her and that she would be gone all day. All the while, she kept the Gameboy in her pocket.

Her bathroom, thankfully, had no windows and she drug her fluffy comforter into the bathtub and plugged her alarm clock up on the bathroom counter. Nearly 4 am. Beatrice wrote herself a quick to-do list for the morrow and decided sleep would be best, for dawn was fast approaching.


The next night, Beatrice awoke to start making arrangements. She gave notice to her landlord of her intentions to move and managed to snag a deal on a nice place in New Orleans. She had always wanted to go to the Big Easy. A party city, one with plenty of activity. Somewhere she wouldn’t grow bored.

Until the move, she could practice her newfound abilities…Things were finally beginning to look interesting again.

The City of Sin didn't hold so much of an attraction for Beatrice for long before she decided to talk to her contacts back in California, see if she could get in touch with old friends. Los Angeles…City of Angels, broken ones at least. Beatrice soon found herself in a position as Primogen, using her Hollywood hookups to help her Prince gain anything she might could help with. Life was once again full of challenges and surprises…oddly enough, dying had given her a new lease on life, and she certainly was living it up.

Beatrice travels with her purple Gameboy with her at all times and can be seen jabbing away at the controls and all but cursing little wildly colored Pokemon. Her two best friends, Ol'Betsy and Blaze never lead her side, but seldom are let out to 'speak' anymore except with approval from the Prince.

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