Smoke - not his real legal name, but may whatever gods you pray to help you if you attempt to use that one - is a master of the fine art of pyrotechnics and special FX, with a myriad assortment of movie and TV credits to his name, in addition to routinely being contracted to handle various convention appearances.

A decade past having to get carded in a bar, he long ago perfected the art of looking carelessly put-together... mainly through giving approximately zero fucks about his appearance in the first place. His hair is rough and unkempt, his favorite attire an array of faded classic metal t-shirts and worn jeans over heavy work boots, the flesh of his arms and shoulders marked with a smattering of black-inked tattoos that are themselves interrupted by scattered thumbprint-sized blotches of smooth, bare skin. Not ripped by anyone's standards, his physique still gives the impression of belonging to a man that hits the gym on a regular basis, and when he moves it's with purpose and direction, his stride heavy and confident. Quick to crack a joke, he laughs easily, an action that these days displays the neat set of fangs permanently at home among his teeth... thankfully, the average idiot buys that he's 'had them done'.

As fond of his clove cigarettes in death as he was in life, the sickly-sweet scent often lingers about him, sometimes overlaid heavily upon a tinge of what could only be described as brimstone.

Prestigious Sire: Clara
Status: 1

Smoke's themesong
Smoke's truck