Harwood Pecker

**Sect:** Camarilla

**Status:** 0 (technically): Acknowledged, *Brutal*

**Dignitas:** .9 (Well, at least he's not Caitiff.)

**Aliases:** Rocco Cox

#### **Identifying Scars/Marks/Tattoos**

* Stylized silhouette of a scepter, right side of neck below shirt collar (black)
* Stylized silhouette of a dagger/knife, inside right arm from elbow to wrist (blue)
* Scar from below left ear to right jaw near chin

**Acquittals:** 31 / 31

#### **TALK**

All characters can have heard these rumors.

* His skull is three inches thick.
	+ Beneath the semi-solid crust lies a molten core of liquid skull all the way to the center.
		- There's actually indication that at the very centre there's a super-compressed *inner core* that's fused by the massive heat and pressure into a *solid* of incredible density.
* The four words he is allowed to say at Board meetings are: Yes, No, Sir, and Sorry.
	+ You misunderstand, that's all he *can* say.
	+ He just doesn't speak English well. Mr. Pecker was a surgeon back in Yugoslavia.
		- He doesn't seem to understand Serbo-Croatian, either.
* Why Primogen Nobbend endorsed his Embrace, I'll never know; as a Retainer, his aptitudes were largely limited to torturing people. I guess when you can't talk your way out of trouble, you *really* need a Rook to duck behind.
	+ The way I hear it, baby, Bevis could find a use for a Man with *those* proclivities.
* His firearms specialty is "Tommy guns" ha ha.
	+ GHLP
	+ His firearms specialty is "guns n stuff"
	+ His firearms specialty is "shooting them"
* Has an extremely complicated fantasy rota scheme laid out with Harry Clamm except instead of american football statistics, it's all based on which bones of which Clans they break.
	+ They tally it at the Christmas Ball every year, while their bosses are safely *mingling*.
		- *Cranium* is a bullseye, but *vertebrae* are worth plenty, too.
		- Ventrue bones score highest of course, the bastards. Brujah least.
			* Good, they'll to a *better* job on their *own* guys and leave us alone.
			* Scarcity of opportunity: getting a chance to break a warlock's leg is like your special teams fantasy-draftee scoring a touchdown off an on-side kick.
* Lost three fingers on his left hand and sustained serious burns, out near Cedar and Clinton the other night.
	+ *And* they ruined his Armani.
		- They can buy him a new one, ffs
	+ He'll be alright in a couple of months.
		- That's some *serious burns.* Their car catch fire or what?
			* Man I think a body burn his eye out with a road flare.
	+ They say a fight with some Anarchs blew up and got really nasty.
		- You could axe Mr. Clamm, he was there.
		- How come Mr. Coddpiece ain't coming around with his checkbook out?
			* They *lost* cuz.
			* They lost because Clamm didn't shoot.
				+ That's private Board business now.
				+ Pecker's boss wants him dead for it.
					- Mr. Uranus, too.
				+ *Refused* to shoot an Anarch? What the fuck ever.
		- Mayfair ain't 'narc territory.
			* Can't we drive down the goddamn street?
				+ For real, minding our own fucking business and they lay into the side of our range rover out of nowhere like it's a fuckin' cosa nostra hit.
			* It ain't Ventrue territory either.
				+ Maybe if the fucking Rabble could police their own Rack...
					- Maybe it doesn't need *policing*, guv.
					- You suits appoint yourself Sheriff or something?
			* You sure? How many of them Brujah still be jumping when Nasty Nastos say to?
* He's on The Video.
	+ I don't recognize any of them guys.
		- I can't even tell which one is supposed to look anything like Mr. Pecker.
		- You only barely see like half of one or maybe two faces, what are you supposed to recognize, his boots?
	+ Sure isn't, but he'll forward it to anyone who wants to see it.