Abilities/Powers:

In canon, Claire has no supernatural powers, but his strength, agility, and even his senses are kind of ridiculously unrealistic, making it (mostly) ambiguous as to whether or not he's even human (though he has stated he is). His fingers have ripped flesh clean off of throats and he has dodged bullets on more than one occasion in canon. The author of the novel has also confirmed that Claire is strong enough to crush spines with one hand. From various examples of his physical feats in canon, I can infer that both his strength and speed, along with his reflexes, are above that of natural human ability. His sense of sight and hearing have also proven to be unnatural, making it nearly impossible to catch him off guard with his constant state of awareness of his surroundings.

The source of his power and technique have never been really clear, but we do know that most of his acrobatic ability is natural for him. These abilities were perfected in the circus, and from there we can assume he sought out professional combat and torture training before entering the gruesome business of assassin work.

Items/Weapons: A pack of mints, a pocket watch, and a dagger.
Sample Entry: Here's a post!
Sample Entry Two: (I'm sorry this is so long; Claire talks a lot and rather than keeping his thoughts to himself, he just says them aloud. It's annoying, I know!)

Claire honestly hadn't been expecting anyone to barge into the warehouse right after he had finished taking out the last of his targets. If he had known that someone else had been given a late invitation to the little mafia meeting, he probably wouldn't have taken his time! Well, that was actually a lie, because it didn't matter to him one way or the other. What happens, happens, and what was done was done. Why dwell when he was faced with a new issue: the exit being blocked.

A young man, who appeared to be no older than sixteen, trembled before him at a safe enough distance, hands clasped together as he attempted to plead. The warehouse itself had been dark inside, but when the door had been opened, a stream of moonlight flowed in and illuminated the brilliant red coating the bodies, alive and dead, inside. Despite the situation, Claire looked on in friendly amusement, as if his face weren't covered in spatters of blood.

"You really need to calm down, kid. I mean, it should be plain as day that my work here is done." He spread his arms, as if to draw the boy's attention to the bodies caked in blood on the floor. "Shouldn't you be running away screaming, anyway? Why stick around? Just by looking at your face, I can tell you don't want to be here. Are you that susceptible to shock? Come on, get up from your knees."

It wasn't just the boy's age that gave away his apparent inexperience in the business; the way he immediately submitted and cried for his mother did. He was nothing but an errand boy who had yet to learn the concept of fight or flight. He was no threat to the assassin before him or anyone else, but he could have been if he continued to associate with shady individuals such as the former family he worked for. If the boy were no fool, he would realize that continuing to associate with shady individuals meant a most likely gruesome end, as he had just witnessed. This was an assessment Claire made at the back of his mind as he let his more trivial thoughts roll off his tongue without pause.

"Oh! Oh, were these fellows your friends? No, that can't be it! They were just your employers, so that must mean you're shedding tears for nothin' after all. You're afraid and want me to take pity on you, is that it? Well, I'm sorry, I don't sympathize with you at all. You're crying for a silly reason -- "

Just as he took a confident step forward as he spoke, the errand boy faltered, suddenly reaching for the inside of his coat. Claire, having seen the familiar movement many times before, knew what that what he was about to pull out would be a gun. He could have laughed right then and there, at how feeble he expected the oncoming attempt to kill him would be, but he chose to show his amusement through a brief sinister-looking smile instead.

He reacted before the boy could even take aim, grabbing a hold of his thin wrist with a steel grip. His other hand flattened against the top of the barrel as he thrust the boy's arm down with crushing force just as the trigger was pulled. A gun was a dangerous thing to handle with inexperienced hands and Claire was going to teach him just that.

The shot echoed throughout the warehouse, and a strangled cry quickly followed it. The boy hung limply, dangling from the strong hand still clutching at his wrist. A small, but deep hole nestled inside of his shoe, already overflowing with blood. Claire used his free hand to wrench the gun away from the boy's grasp, applying a painful amount of pressure around his wrist as a way of forcing a looser grip out of him. Once the gun was tossed over Claire's shoulder, he knelt next to the smaller figure, eyes wide with warning as they bore into the other's.

"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to play with guns?" He asked with genuine curiosity as he dipped the tip of his finger into the fresh wound, pushing in hard enough to cause the other to shout out. "See? Hurts, doesn't it?"

"You are a fool," he declared with utmost certainty. "But you're a fool with a sense of self-preservation. You don't want to die tonight, but right now, you're probably thinking you will."

When he paused, he tugged at the boy's arm, demanding his eye contact, the fear, the recognition that the man he had just tried to kill was currently holding power over him. His gaze was met with mostly white -- the boy's face had paled considerably, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"I hope so, 'cause the stunt you just pulled was very stupid. You should be telling yourself that you deserve to die. If I were gonna kill you, I would've killed you as soon as that door opened!"

"P-please," the boy whimpered, his entire body quaking with fear as a new set of tears streamed down his cheeks. "I - I don't want to di-high-ieee..."

Everything else the boy tried to say between sobs came out as gibberish to Claire, who nonchalantly tried to pass him a handkerchief, only to drop it at his feet when it went ignored for too long (five seconds). He waited patiently, all too used to the pleas by now, and drove on once he spotted an opening in a pause.

"Ya know, a minute ago, I was going to let you live," he said, lowering his voice evenly, unfazed by the boy's suffering. "I don't kill kids; they don't know any better and they usually mean well. But you're no kid, are you? You're a teenager."

When he let go of his wrist, the boy immediately crumpled to the ground. The assassin known as Vino stayed where he was, observing him with a keen gaze as his bright smile returned, along with a just as bright tone.

"Haha, but age doesn't matter when it comes to these things. You may be a teenager, but you don't know any better! There's innocence to your foolishness," he practically exclaimed.

"So, I'm gonna let you live because of that. But one day, you're not gonna be a kid anymore and you're gonna know better. You're gonna understand consequences more. Whether you take those consequences into consideration or not is ultimately going to be up to you, but your fate," Claire leaned in, a menacing note beginning to surface through his voice and expression, "depending on what path you choose? Is up to me. For I am in control of your life and this world. Remember this: I am the man that let you live."

Not only was a gun a dangerous thing, but an assassin, especially one that owned the world, was as well. In his mind, he decided he would take the liberty of teaching him this final, necessary lesson.

At some point during his speech, his hands had returned to the boy's wrist, but the touch was so gentle that it went unnoticed by the him. Now, Claire was finished talking and could turn the other's attention to the lurking danger that was about to befall him.

The boy jerked when he felt those deadly fingers creep up his arm, deliberate in their movement as they locked against the cloth of their victim's coat. His eyes were glued to Claire's, whose expression had neutralized by then. Without warning, the arm belonging to the hand that had been holding a gun moments ago dislocated from his shoulder.

"And I am the man that can take away your ability to pull a weapon out on someone," Vino declared, loud enough to overpower the wailing beneath him, before taking his leave without so much as a goodbye or reassurance that someone would be coming shortly, despite the assurance Claire felt that the kid would be fine.

After all, he knew better than to end the scene with anything short of ominous.