Lacy Pinkerton

"Lacy Pinkerton, pleased as punch to meet you." The greeting was always the same. It was followed by a handshake, up and down, twice. If you laugh, you die. If you have a weak grip, you die.

Lacy Pinkerton was a man who had a head of snow white hair at the age of twenty. He had a woman's name. He had zero tolerance for being made fun of. It wasn't a chip on his shoulder so much as a massive shard.

He studied art in school, made it into a decent art college and graduated with a degree in art history. Although he enjoys working with clay, he likes working with flesh even more. Lacy has always had a fondness for killing. First it was animals. Then he moved onto bigger and better things. The horror only made it sweeter. He found an ice cream parlor, and set up his studio. Hidden away from prying eyes, this place serves as a haven for his creations.

His latest works remain in the freezer until they're finished, at which point they join the gallery in main dining area. Favorite works are given a place of honor in the basement, where they are cast in acryllic. Oddly enough, he keeps ice cream in the lair alongisde his art supplies, offering beautiful victims a last meal.

Lacy's beast is a Rakshasa, a massive well muscled woman standing at seven feet tall with six arms, each ending in slender hands bearing claw like nails. Her mouth boasts four razor sharp curved fangs, and eyes as red as the setting sun. Her skin is a deep midnight blue, and she is dressed in a cruel cross between a monk and a warrior. Lacy has taken to calling her Bhadra. The two share an odd sort of partnership. He largely treats her as an instrument, something he plays to create great art.