<strong>Norman Black</strong>, Nosferatu (App 0, Enchanting Voice, Harmless)<br/><br/>He knew the place well, though it had been years since he was able to walk through the front door. In his past life, his mortal life, he had often come to the Kennedy Center to immerse himself in the symphony or indulge in the opera. The feel of the plush red carpet under his feet as he strolled through the Hall of Nations had always instilled in him a sense of reverence. Norman was a skilled violinist, though never at a professional level. Skilled enough to appreciate the virtuosos of the world, at least, even if he would never join their ranks. His own talents fell into other areas.<br/><br/>Ten years ago, though, even the simple pleasure of attending a concert had been stripped away from him, along with so much more. As he walked into the Golden Circles lounge his face froze into a mask in more than one sense. Except for the cluster of his own clan, predictably in the darkest corner, he despised these people. What had they lost when they had turned? The light of the sun, true, but what else? They were beautiful, all of them, according to the tastes of their sires. Monsters they might be, but only he and his kind wore their beasts openly. The Nosferatu had no place in the society of kine, day or night, and never would.<br/><br/>He still attended concerts here. The enormous building was riddled with maintenance tunnels that lent their particular acoustics to the experience. If he could not see the stage, he could still, at least, appreciate the music. He had even attended the Phantom of the Opera once, indulging himself in the sick irony.<br/><br/>Norman was tall, though not strikingly. Thin, but not rail-like. Well dressed in a modern gray herringbone suit and white shirt, eschewing the fashion for blacks and reds. He dressed like a well-to-do human, in fact, although the hideously melted pale flesh of his face would never again allow him to walk in their company. He carried in his breast pocket a bundle of ridiculous parchment envelopes with wax seals.<br/><br/>In ten years he had built a profitable business upon the remains of what his sire had left him, providing an interface to the modern world to those kindred who considered themselves above the grubby modern business of networks and databases. In particular he catered to those, like his now absent sire, who secretly feared their inability to comprehend the complexities of the modern world. Norman represented a safe, harmless way for them to access the greater world without leaving their comfort zones. Hence the envelopes, containing laboriously hand-written results of web searches, electronic investigations, hidden financial reports -- anything he could access through the Internet, put into digestible form for those who might choke on a printout and who wouldn't have the foggiest idea of what to do with a flash drive.<br/><br/>He loathed these people as much as he depended on them. They were his society of necessity, not choice. With a servile smile fixed upon his face he began his rounds.<br/><br/>Still, the music was nice.<br/>