Mr Sandelio de Rabiffano “Biffy”

“Biffy was an agreeable young blunt with stylish proclivities and prodigious physical charms who always seemed to turn up when least expected and most wanted. Had he not been born into wealth and status, he might have made for an excellent butler.”

Biffy, originally Lord Akeldama‘s favourite drone; is the newest werewolf of the Woolsey pack. He is having great trouble adjusting to his new supernatural state as a werewolf, given that his adult life up until this point has been in preparation for becoming a vampire. He misses Lord Akeldama greatly.

As a dandy, Biffy has a particularly keen eye on fashion. He takes care of Lady Maccon‘s wardrobe, and is always up to date with the current fashions and fads. He often wishes to instill better fashion sense in others, and pays special attention to cravats.

He is an excellent spy often able to gather valuable wanted information from a number of sources, although his has lost his ability to go unnoticed at parties and social events.

Biffy’s full name is known only to a few.

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Biffy Character Sheet

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The following quotes from The Parasol Protectorate novels give some insight into Biffy, but are not required reading for the character. Your character sheet, supplied at the con, will have all the information required to play this character.

A personable young man appeared at his elbow with a solicitous cooling cloth draped artistically on a silver tray. Lord Akeldama dabbed at his brow delicately. “Oh, thank you Biffy. So thoughtful.” Biffy winked and skipped off again. He displayed impressive musculature for all his grace. Acrobat? wondered Alexia. Lord Akeldama watched the young man walk away appreciatively. “I should not have favorites, of course…” he sighed.

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A toff of the highest water, dressed to the nines in a lovely cut-front jacket and stunning lemon yellow cravat, tied in the Osbaldeston style, materialized out of the darkness behind a brewing pub, where no toff had a right to be. The man doffed his top hat amiably at the naked werewolf.

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Biffy arched an eyebrow at him. “You know, I would offer you my coat, but it’s a swallowtail, hardly useful, and would never fit that colossal frame of yours anyway.” He gave the earl a long, appraising look.

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Above and beyond the call of duty, Biffy, utilizing a few stray metal coils from one of Dr. Neeb’s machines, had twisted Miss Tarabotti’s hair into a beautiful rendition of the latest updo out of Paris.

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“Why, Mr. Biffy, you talk such scandal.”
“You wrong me, Madame Lefoux. I never gossip. I observe. And then relay my observations to practically everyone.”

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The earl’s stubbornness was rewarded when, just before dawn, before all his labor would be lost to the sun, Biffy’s eyes opened, as yellow as buttercups. He howled out his pain and confusion and fear as his form shifted, and he lay there, shuddering but whole, a lovely chocolate-brown wolf with oxblood-red stomach fur.

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Lyall was at a loss to know how a cape could be of assistance when breaking and entering, but Biffy had insisted. ‘Dressing the part,’ he had said, ‘is never optional.

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Biffy does not need a lover, husband – he needs a purpose. This is a matter of culture. Biffy has come to you of vampire culture. Lord Akeldama’s vampire culture.

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Biffy appeared at her elbow, blood red tailcoat in place, pure white cravat emphasizing his pleasant features, and matched red top hat on his head. He may have had to sacrifice a good many things to take up his new role as a werewolf, but he had refused to sacrifice his tailor.

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“Oh, I can abide a while among such loveliness as this.’ The young werewolf waved a graceful gloved hand at the forest of dangling hats displayed all about him. He brushed his fingers along an exaggerated ostrich feather, much as a young girl would trail her fingertips through a fountain

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Biffy felt the absence of his Alpha as a kind of odd ache. It was difficult to describe, but the world was rather like a tailored waistcoat without buttonholes – missing something important. It wasn’t as though he could not function without buttonholes; it was simply that everything felt a little unfastened without them.

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