Estelle Victoria Gennings
État physique: sous-alimenté.
État mental: Dréary mais sain d'esprit.

Atteindre votre sac à main. Oui, les clés sont là où elles devraient être. Verrouillez la porte et bougez-vous, pas de temps à perdre. Le jingling métallique de ses clés d'appartement sonnait à travers l'air froid de l'hiver, bien qu'ils ne l'étaient certainement pas. S'emparant d'un souffle nuageux dans le vent, elle a remis ses clés dans son sac et s'est tournée vers le monde. Neige, c'est joli, n'est-ce pas?
Etre en retard de quelques minutes n'était pas quelque chose qu'Estelle avait prévu, bien que les chiffres aient été particulièrement insistants ce matin qu'elle reste à l'intérieur, loin de... quoi? Elle ne pouvait pas le dire. Un bain, une robe, des chaussettes à genoux, des bottes laquées, un long manteau d'hiver, des gants, un chapeau, le tout accompagné d'une tasse de café noir. Le matin n'a rien demandé d'autre, même si ces quelques minutes faisaient toute la différence, de cela elle était sûre.
Avec la première croûte de la neige fraîche sous ses pieds, elle pouvait déjà sentir l'engourdissement de ses orteils à l'intérieur des bottes. Pourtant, la sensation était meilleure que la piqûre de sa mère et de cette maison, la maison avec du sang pour toujours tacher le sol et des échos d'histoires passées retentissant dans les couloirs et les couloirs. Arkham était le meilleur choix, le plus logique, le plus intéressant. Ses pensées ont inondé d'un froid encore plus bas que la température, et ses yeux remplis de l'obscurité des nuages de neige au-dessus, elle a rapidement fait son chemin à l'Université Miskatonic. Ce n'était pas loin.
Tournant le coin de la rue Lich, elle aurait remarqué une aura étrange assise sur le trottoir, si ce n'était pour quelques cris de shrill et le bruit d'un homme en panique pour briser le silence de l'air du matin. Son visage est resté passif, son rythme s'est accéléré. Peut-être qu'aujourd'hui serait plus intrigant que tous les autres. Un nouveau patient, peut-être? Non, pas aujourd'hui. Tandis qu'elle se dressait le long du sol de l'Enterrement, ses yeux scannaient la disposition, espionnant quelques parcelles potentielles pour la tache cramoisi sur le trottoir devant elle.
Name: August Dupin
Nickname: The PI, "KC"
Gender: Male
Age: 35.
Build/Physicality: Standing at a whopping 6'6" with an equally impressive weight of 370 eye catching pounds-the term gentle giant is somewhat appropriate.
Appearance: As stated above, August is an extremely imposing figure. Not truly "muscular" in any real since of the word but is instead that rather odd type of "big boned" that knows how to throw his weight around in a rather dangerous fashion. He is usually squeezed into a cheap suit accompanied by his large signature beige raincoat that hangs off his massive frame, the beige fabric dangling mere inches from the same ground his black oxfords scrape against as he walks. His face rather suits his bulky frame with the rounded top of his bald head flowing into his impossibly square cut jaw line. Beneath the brown fedora he always keeps ever so slightly cocked to the side are a set of piercing hazel eyes that stair down a rather pudgy nose. All in all he looks more suited for pitching hay like a dumb ox instead of sleuthing about the city.

Psychological Status: August is rather sound of mind but suffers from a state of constant hyper vigilance due to his shellshock/PTSD from The Great War.
Quirks. Ticks, Conditions, Sensitivities to the Paranormal: As of late August has been having odd dreams of dead comrades from the war trying to tell him something...luckily(?) he has convinced himself that these are in fact "just dreams."
Magical Potential: Low to mild
Personality: To sum up his personality he is: Street smart, distantly friendly, chivalrous (soft spot for women), and is surprisingly well spoken.
Hometown: Kansas City, Missouri
Education: Dropped out of school at the age of 14 to work in a butcher shop. He Is able to fluently read and write English as well as having a basic understanding of math.
Occupation: Private Investigator
Achievements: While serving in the 80th Infantry Division (1917-1921) August participated in "The First Battle of Somme, Meuse-Argonne, and the battle of St. Michaels." He is also the proud owner of the following medals: The Victory Medal, The Occupation of Germany award, and double barred distinguished service cross.
Sexuality: Closeted Homosexual
Religion/Philosophy: Raised Catholic but is by no means devote.
Martial Status: Single, never married
Family: Between the disappearance of his father and murder of his younger brother a mother is the only immediate family he still has left. She currently lives in Kansas City.

Biography: August was born to the son of a butcher in the sprawling metropolis of Kansas City Missouri. Like most families of the time he was raised in a household without much disposable income and grew up in a small, sweaty, rattrap of an apartment. With a father that liked to drink and gamble it wasn't long before August found himself dropping out of school in an effort to support his mother and brother. He made damn sure none of his money went to his fathers debts or drinking-not even when the DiGiovanni brothers had their men come a knocking. One day his dad just never came home and that was that-not that it really mattered much at that point because for all intents and purposes he had been the man of the house for years.
August was well aware just how tough life could be; a fact life decided to remind him of as his place of work was practically shut down overnight. Fortunately just as that door closed another opened in the form of a "help wanted" add for the local police force. He applied to "join up" so to speak while simultaneously applying to several other odd jobs. The police were the only ones who got back with him and so for the next several years August spent his days on the street as a beat cop. That was until Uncle Sam needed him.
He'd had the honor of serving among the brave men that made up the 80th Infanty division; a division that would go on to do some serious fighting in the closing years of the war. Like most men of the time he had gone to war voluntarily only to return a very different person. He did his best to forget those years overseas but, like many, he is still heavily haunted the things he both did and saw-not to mention the friends lost.
Returning home at the tail end of 1920 August was shocked to see Kansas City turning into a much darker place. The baffling newfound prohibition laws combined with the corrupt Pendergast political regime had made it a particularly dangerous place to live. He got his old job back as a cop but couldn't stomach the work; these days it seemed like everyone was iether the wrong kind of "dirty cop" or focused on ruining lives over alcohol-niether of which appealed to August in the slightest.
The five years between returning home from the war and arriving at present day Arkham had been rather eventful for August in drastically important ways. The first milestone was him legally getting a PI license which had, predictably, been rather easy to obtain in the vast corruption around him. For a good three years August pounded the pavement as one of the most on the level PI's in Kansas City-he'd almost reached a point in his life where he could even drown out the nightmares.
The shortly lived feeling of being content was shattered the day the local police fished his brothers bloated body out of the Missouri river concrete shoes and all. For some reason this event in particular seemed to somehow worsen or enhance his nightmares, the recurring dreams of his broken and bloody comrades having new company in the form of his now deceased brother. Much to Augusts horror it seamed whenever his brothers bloated cement shoe wearing body tried to speak all that would come out was an sickeningly wet sounding gurgle-for some reason the boys of the 80th thought the sight was rather funny each time and those that still could laugh did.
The actual reason he is in Arkham is a missing persons case-his client being the somewhat literal ghosts from his past.

Combative Belongings:
-A Konsberg Colt .45 handgun. (Konsberg M/1914)
-2 spare fully loaded 7 round box magazines.
-1 box (24 rounds) of .45 caliber soft point bullets.
-1 10$ roll of quarters
Non-Combative Belongings:
-Suitcase of clothes (in hotel)
-1 book of matches, partially used.
-1 full carton of Marlboro cigarettes
-A pocketful of varying business cards
-A Kodak "Vest Pocket Kodak", or VPK, with a modified lense for slightly clearer pictures.