Ana was a quiet child, more from force of habit then from
choice, but she was prone to being more of a watcher than a
doer, when she was little. Her grades were passable, but
not exceptional; the truth being that the taunting of the
other children being very distracting to her. She knew she
was no mathematician but she enjoyed classes such as art,
gym and writing.
She had learned, at an early age, to keep her private life
quiet... It was easier that way. However, when her mother
died, everyone suddenly wanted a part in her life. In
frustration, she dropped out of school and took to the
streets. She did not wish to follow in her mother's
footsteps but it was easy money... She developed a drug
habit which had an appetite which she could barely sustain.
Nevertheless, it dulled her pain and removed some of her
inner turmoil. No matter how short a time this was for, it
was worth it to her.
In the fall of 1998, she made a trip south with a couple of
her 'friends', travelling down through Michigan and into
Ohio. She lived for a short period of time in Cincinnati
before getting together with Mike Scott, a local dealer,
and moving to Columbus, Georgia. At first, everything
seemed wonderful but, as time progressed, she realized it
was merely another of her fairytales that her mind had
concocted.
Once again, Ana found herself on the streets, doing what
she had to in order to survive. Her plight was obvious in
her sunken features and thin frame; the combination of
drugs and missed meals beginning to show. It was then that
she fell in touch with a local group who called themselves
The Northern Hammers. They were a bit wild for her tastes,
a bit violent but she was desperate for money when she
agreed to come to their party.
The house shook from the loud music, the sounds of
something breaking carrying out to her ears as she walked
up the small drive. She glanced back the way she'd come,
thinking maybe she should turn back but, about that time,
they spotted her and motioned her inside.
"Just another party, Ana... You'll be fine," she
told herself as she walked up the steps and unto the porch.
Her dark eyes were curious as she glanced around... They
were an odd group. While some of them resembled the street
thugs they acted like, others were dressed in suits and
evening gowns. She smirked slightly, thinking of the
perversity of the rich, trying to act so posh while they
were 'slumming' or so they thought. They wouldn't know a
slum if they drove through it in their BMWs.
She had a few drinks and indulged in a few 'party favours'
some of the Hammers offered her. It wasn't long before she
was feeling better, her pains sinking away from her and
falling into the murky darkness. With a contented sigh, she
relaxed back on the beaten couch, her glazed eyes taking in
her surroundings with a happy indifference.
It was then that one of them came over to her, taking a
seat on the couch nearby. His voice was a warm purr as he
asked her, "Feeling better now, Ana?"
She frowned slightly, not having recalled giving her name
to anyone but she said nothing... not even when he raised
her hand and kissed the backs of her fingers lightly. In
fact, her lips curled into a smile at the thought of a
chivalrous gangster... She leaned back, watching him
through glazed eyes as he kissed a path to her wrist,
giving a slight gasp as she felt the pierce of something
sharp... her eyes finally closing as the pleasure of the
kiss swept over her.
Several of them fed from her and she quickly learned the
pleasure of what it was they did... as the last one
approached, she offered her wrist to him willingly, a
silent plea in her eyes.
And so began her new addiction... When the Hammers were
disbanded by an angry Prince, she picked up what few
belongings she had and hopped the nearest bus. She had just
enough money to get to New Orleans and, with the offer of
Mardi Gras, it seemed like a likely place. She had heard
the vampires speak of it and the fun they enjoyed there and
so she set out. Her only goal was to find herself some new
hosts which she could sell herself to.
Standing a gaunt 5'7", Analyese is what would best be described as 'sickly skinny'. Usually travelling with a lackadaisical stride in a thin white halter top and skin tight stretch pants, she has an almost otherworldly beauty mixed with the hardness and sometimes unkept look of a dying crack whore. Commonly seen in the company of Brujah and a frequent party favour of the Toreador, Analyese can be bought by any...for a price.
Analyese Sinclaire was born February 2, 1979 in Toronto,
Ont, Canada. Her mother, Janiese Sinclaire, was a
well-known prostitute within the city, her father; merely
one of the johns Janiese picked up. Perhaps it was her
desperate attempts to escape her lifestyle, maybe it was
merely that she was sloppy... the truth remained unknown to
Analyese, even after her mother's death, in 1995, of a drug
overdose. She never once heard her mother refer to her
father, beyond "that bastard that knocked me up."