Name: March<br/>Age: 25<br/>Sex: Male<br/>Species: Human/Vampire (It's weird.)<br/>Race: British-bred, raised in America.<br/>Pred/Prey: Pred.<br/>Special: Needs to consume live prey to gain any sort of sustenance. Regular food makes him sick, but he can handle most drinks.<br/><br/>March rummaged around in the pocket of his ratty old coat and pulled out the dog-eared card. He double-checked the address; he didn't want to knock on the wrong door in this neighborhood. It didn't matter, this was the place after all. March pulled up his collar, glanced furtively down the empty street, took a deep breath to steel his nerves, and rang the doorbell.<br/><br/>(I'll split if I'm not wanted, just gimme the word.)