Bobby Lime

This Face? Its What Y'all Dream About

Its Lime's eyes that are what usually get people talking. They are just that enticing, piercing, dreamy, all wrapped in two sky-blue orbs of perfection. Standing around 5'10, he usually dresses in dark colours that are just so cool, like Twilight cool! When he talks to others, his voice still has some of his Louisianan twang present along with a dashing smile. A dash of Lime. Oh, I should totally use that!

His Real Interesting Story

They say video killed the radio star, and in the case of Bobby Lime, this is not only correct but a very good thing indeed. Overnight, God had a new rival and it was called the Celebrity, and young Bobby drank deep from the fountain of MTV.

Growing up fantasizing of being a musical genius, Bobby really had little talent at all. Oh, he dabbled in various instruments as well as singing but had no hope of hitting the big time.

Which is why God created the groupee, or if you were being harsh, the professional stalker. Bobby would attend as many gigs and nights out in celebrity hot spots as he could in the vain hope of spending a few precious moments in the limelight. Sometimes, it even worked.

Over the years, Bobby's name was synonymous with hanger-on, but he really couldn't care less. Who had all the stories? Who could walk into any club in LA? Who had the likes of Jack and Kelly Osbourne, one of the Kardashian’s (not the main one) and Jean-Claude Van Damme on speed dial? Well, Bobby tried to be that Who, certainly. True, some of the facts were embellished but all in all, Bobby loved his life and all the haters could go play on the highway. So what if he hadn't quite made it, he was living the dream nonetheless. Ok, ok, sometimes, things didn’t go according to plan and a fracas would break out, but wasn’t that what the paparazzi wanted?

When Lille Hyatt first came to him, Bobby was enthralled. She was everything he wanted to be and like a moth to a flame, Bobby soon found himself drawn to her light. Maybe that was the dusting of sparkles that was powdered across her pale skin. If Bobby took the time to think about it, he wasn't really sure why she was such a celebrity. Then again, the way she would purr into his ear and offer him words of wisdom, all of Bobby's concerns would evaporate away into the smoke of whatever she was smoking.

By the time he realized she was playing him, it was too late and he was made into her ghoul, her lapdog to fawn over her and ensure all the jobs of the bitter daylight hours were fulfilled, her everlasting curse requiring a mortal servant. Eventually, she embraced him to showcase to her entourage just what hard work can achieve. All in all, it could have been worse.

Soon, however, worse did come a’knocking. The Prince of LA had had quite enough of the Mekhet’s tantrums and the way she walked the line of Masquerade breaches too often. He sent his hounds and the rest was history. Well, not for Bobby, who had heard of the impending trip to Ashville from a fellow kindred that seemed to like the young neonate (for some unknown reason) and decided to make a break for it, weighing up his options between a Final Death and moving away from the limelight.

Bobby chose moving away, saving his own hide, heading for a place where he could perhaps work once again on his own dreams. Looking at a map, he headed for Sacramento, wondering if there were any decent clubs in the city.

It ain't like he's getting any younger, right?