Tara Kearney, Brujah Prince of San Diego
They call her “traitor”, but what do they know? Bunch of spoiled little Anarch shits, posturing and tearing everything down, never building anything up, fighting for the ragged scraps of a city they’re running right into the ground. Tara Kearney believes the Anarch Free State, the Status Perfectus, all of it is bullshit, the squabbling of spoiled children who don’t understand that the mark of a leader is what they build and how they lead. Ambition is not a fucking sin. And now she’s vilified while a bunch of men who couldn’t operate their dicks with both hands and an instruction pamphlet are lionized as heroes. What a joke! MacNeil was full of swagger and Scottish bravado, but didn’t have the balls to lead under that kilt. Garcia? That dime-store Che Guevara was always a coward at heart, and now he’s riding the Kuei-Jin’s bologna pony in San Francisco. Serves him right. And Isaac, that fucking hypocrite. He runs Hollywood like his own personal kingdom and he’s got the balls to call her out? To Hell with him. Tara’s ruled San Diego for almost eighty years, it’s hers, and now with the weight of the Camarilla behind her she’s more powerful than ever. She’s toyed with the idea of becoming Prince of L.A. but not in its current state – she knows she’s as beloved as syphilis among the Anarchs. But then again, whoever does become Prince of L.A. is going to need her support to do it, which is almost as good.
Maximillian Strauss, Tremere Regent
“Goddamn Tremere are a sea of gray and here comes this dude in his shiny red wizard-pimp suit, lookin’ like un-dead Morpheus. And I think to myself, what kind of bad motherfucker must you be for the grayfaces to let you get away with a suit like that?” – Some Anarch
Maximillian Strauss is an enigma. Some see him as a deeply sinister character; others argue that he’s downright noble (for a Tremere anyway). He prefers not to intervene directly, instead quietly reaching out through others to accomplish his goals. He seems to be a true partisan for both his clan and the Camarilla, in roughly that order; some say that Strauss was the one who pulled the trigger on LaCroix at the end of the 2003 war. As a politician, Strauss is measured; he knows L.A. isn’t going to be won with force, and the city doesn’t rattle him the way it does younger Camarilla Kindred. “Young Kindred prefer anarchy,” he has been known to muse, “but as they get a little older they rapidly lose their taste for chaos. So if we promise safe hunting and stable domains, and then deliver on those promises, the Camarilla’s victory is inevitable. It’s only a matter of time and demonstration.” It’s not a flashy solution, but a string of failed, “brilliant” Princes shows he might be right…
Cock Robin, Nosferatu Archon
He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good…
Cock Robin is the Nosferatu Archon (he served his term as Justicar after Petrodon was assassinated) charged with overseeing the Camarilla’s efforts to reclaim Los Angeles – among his other duties. And he is not fucking amused. Time and time again he’s watched some swaggering idiot step up to the plate – time and time again he’s seen them make the walk of shame back to San Diego – or worse, he’s had to show up and recall them himself so that they didn’t burn the goddamn city down with their bungling. As if he doesn’t have other things to do.
Cock Robin doesn’t intervene in L.A. directly and only the Prince and the occasional other Kindred of exceptional influence like Strauss end up nose-to-beak with the Archon. He’s been given broad powers by the Inner Circle to support any would-be Prince as he sees fit, and to enforce the Inner Circle’s desires upon the same – there will be no Autarks in all but name, no more Little Napoleons in the City of Angels. When Cock Robin is in the area, he operates out of San Diego. Any Prince of L.A. who wants to stay Prince had best attend him promptly when summoned there.