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A turbo—exhaust gasses go into the turbocharger and spin it, witchcraft happens and you go faster.

~ Jeremy Clarkson

Alexander Wardenclyffe

Just a bit over 6ft tall and blessed with the sort of athletic physique that only comes of countless hours not spent working out. In fairness, he does seem to get some form of regular if not particularly strenuous exercise, but there's something so remarkably focused about his attention, and agile about the way he can dart from one topic to the next that makes it quite evident that it's his intellect that is highly developed, not his abs. Pleasantly easy on the eyes if you like the type, with a mop of rich auburn hair, pale blue eyes and faintly eurethnic features. His accent is washed–out, possibly Pacific Northwest, and he could be wearing literally anything, with a decided slant towards more casual attire.


Whether your involvement in charitable, civic–minded, public–spirited, culturally exchange–inclined, human rights–involved, educationally– artistically– historically– scientifically– environmentally– or any otherwise–oriented foundation or event is as a benefactor, a volunteer, or a recipient, you may well have spotted Alexander before in some apparent capacity. Possibly contributing, or maybe assumed to be a student counterculture–media journalist, or a grad student, volunteer, recipient of aid, junior family member of some presumed older, wealthier relative who couldn't be bothered to attend... Well, really, unless you've spoken before it's likely that he was just another person present at whatever event or committee or clinic it was you might remember him from.


Just because a man anonymously channels 999‰ of the vast €, which his contributions to solving the global dependency on fossil fuels entitles him, into a bewildering number of educational, cultural, medical or otherwise philanthropic foundations, while remaining refreshingly unpretentious and largely unaffected by the urge to conform, or define his sense of self–worth in terms of stuff, much less try to impress others with any of it does not mean he has to live on the streets, wear the same outfit for months at a time or deny himself from indulging in such vices as wine gums, the In-N-Out secret menu or a new Lamborghini.

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This quick glimpse at his oceanside house should make his embracing the bachelor lifestyle all too evident.

What it means is that, his hopeless addiction to driving Italian sports cars aside, such things have no hold over him, and that he is quite comfortable being himself. His bedroom doesn't have vaulting ceilings, vast panes of framed glass overlooking the Pacific Ocean where one wall would normally be, and pairs of twelve–foot high dark walnut doors to impress anyone, or a fireplace, widescreen flat–panel display, claw–foot soaking tub with not only a standing candelabra, but a sculptured crystal chandelier as well in his bathroom to be pretentious. It's because it's fun, even faintly ridiculous but never wasteful or taken for granted.

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He's most at home in a pair of well–worn pair of Levi's and a t–shirt that's been laundered so many times it's as soft as cheesecloth with a slogan that's long past legible, but once introduced to the bliss of having a pair of Crockett & Jones shoes hand–made for his feet alone, there's no way he'd go back to lesser footwear because truly comfortable shoes are not something he's prepared to live without. His A. Lange & Söhne wristwatch would be hard to justify, except that he doesn't need anyone's permission to buy himself a watch, and the precision and artisanship involved in its creation inspires him. In summary, there's nothing artificial or calculated about him, nor is he falsely trying to seem unaffected. But most of what truly holds his interest are ideas, particularly his current ideas for using his talent for invention to make the world a better place to live in. For everyone.


Likely the last thing many would expect a dedicated conservationist to drive would be a 6½ litre, 700 horsepower Lamborghini Aventador roadster with its 0–100 km/h acceleration time of three seconds flat, top speed of three–hundred and fifty km/h, outrageous, eye–catching styling and not even a roof to shield the driver from the scorn and envy of all those offended by such excess. And yet that is precisely what Wardenclyffe very enthusiastically whips about town and while the lusty Italian V–12 bellow of its exhaust note pounds at the delicate sensibilities of those who drive more civilized, albeit less awesome vehicles.

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As Jeremy Clarkson once observed, you might as well be fuelling the thing with baby seals and diced lions.
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The secret to his apparent hypocrisy, of course, is precisely the sort of solution one might expect of such unconventional genius. He's had the Aventador, chosen precisely for the excess it represents, and, admittedly, because it's utterly mad fun, modified to be more fuel–efficient than any Prius, and cleaner to run as well. He first did this to demonstrate to prospective investors that, while prohibitively expensive and beyond the capability of current mass production techniques, solving those issues could make his patented synthetic petroleum a clean, inexhaustible alternative energy source on a global scale. Needless to say he's found no shortage of venture capital, and as an unexpected perk a number of highest–end automakers have expressed an interest in meeting him as well!

A Modern–day Tesla. Any would–be Edisons can fuck right off!
Demeanor: Bon Vivant
Occupation: Inventor and Philanthropist
Fame: ●●○○○

Tradition: Sons of Ether
Arete: ●●●○○○○○○○

Appearance: ●●●○○
Charisma: ●●●○○
Manipulation: ●●○○○


Inspiration rarely confines itself to the comforts of a laboratory.


These represent the sort of classic, iconic sports cars he began collecting once he found himself with the means to do so.