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vicecityhq · 2 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: the clicking of dress shoes along marble flooring, the trickling of ice through your veins when you’re scared, the smell of expensive tailored suits . With a slight resemblance to CHOI YEONJUN of/the TOMORROW X TOGETHER (TXT).

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FULL FILE:

last name, first name: jeup, dragan alias: reign, the white dragon, the white flame, boss realm of birth(if earth, nationality): earth age: 22 date of birth: june 2nd, 1999 gender: cismale preferred pronouns: he/him species: dragon-blood, pureblood vampire occupation: night bloods boss, law student/intern sexual orientation: straight could be questioning haven’t decided yet

VISUAL FILE:

skin color: pale eye color: one green, one smoke grey scars: a few from fighting one under his right eye on his cheek bone no others of significance piercings: a few up his ears tattoos: a white inked, dragon tattoo up his side and then around and over his shoulder, night bloods tattoo on his inner wrist (usually covered by a watch or bracelet) hair color: white with smokey grey tips naturally currently dyed black abnormalities: the absence of pigment in his dragon form due to his undead form as a vampire horns/ wings/ etc: sharp fangs transformed form: dragon form has long fangs from his vampire side, all white scales and white eyes with a smokey grey mane.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: N/A

SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / patience / justice

KNOWN LANGUAGES: Korean, English

SECRETS: It is not a secret to most of those in the Night Bloods but Dragan is the product of an affair his father had with a young girl, to which he got rid of in order to cover it up, though he raised Dragan with his other children.

SAVVIES: swordsmanship, acting

powers & abilities: General Dragon Powers include: Atmospheric Adaptation,Aura Sight (the ability to see ones aura), Elemental Breath (cold smoke), Supernatural Condition, Fear Masking, Wing Manifestation, Pyrokinesis (white flames), Smoke Manipulation, Ice Manipulation (Asian), Water Manipulation (Asian), Poison Manipulation, Blood Consumptions, Blood Empowerment, Blood Flow Vision, Contaminant Immunity, Immortality, Hypnosis, Claw/Fang Retraction, Soullessness, Undead Pulse, and Venomous Fangs.

traits: resilient, venomous

BACKGROUND CHECK:

date of birth: june 2nd 1999 date of death: [ if applying for an undead character ] crime record: while he’s broken plenty of laws a lot of apd is in his and his families pocket therefore his only one on record was a fight he got into during his first week of college.

Background/Biography:

(tw: mention of a large age gap relationship, mention of murder, mention of parental death)

what is there to give to a boy who has everything? born into an empire at the hands of a mistress, the word chaebol runs through his veins in the absence of blood. once the trailing child, behind centuries worth of a clans rule, he was the king of agdoeg’s bastard, sort of. it wasn’t that his father hadn’t claimed him but dragan had spent most of his life, training in the shadows to take over a crown that could never actually be his, not by birth right. his brother could live for ever and he could only lie in waiting in hopes of mere acceptance let alone royalty.

living in the shadows of his elder siblings wasn’t inherently the origin to this story. he wasn’t left out by any means though the sly looks and the absolute subtle disdain of his ‘other mother’ tended to make it all feel heavy. the disappearance of his own mother, the king of agdoeg’s mistress, remnants of her lying only in the journals she’d left, not sure for him or herself, but they told a tale of what she thought was love, such a young age falling for such a monster, and yet it was what dragan had wanted to become.

he followed his father around like a protégé even if he’d gain nothing from it. he’d practice his speeches in the mirror, mime his gestures, sit in his seat when he wasn’t around. he’d always craved the respect the man had, always yearned for his spot at the top. those who bowed to his father treated him as an off handed add on, the primary focus, the purest of bloods, the one’s who held the clans name in their palms simply from being born. dragan didn’t get that luxury, at first, and it wasn’t until the death of the woman that his mother stole from that he’d be able to even taste what his siblings were able to have.

his father had taught him everything, and in his brother’s downward spiral in grief conversations went from hushed tones to loud enough for him to hear every word.

‘birthright didn’t mean capable.’

‘we need someone stronger than that to take my place,’

the list would go on and on and dragan found himself at the center of attention, just how he liked it. it was an insatiable thirst, and daring hunger to be at the top. he fought for it, he hurt for it, he killed for it and they worshipped him.

he was everything his father wanted him to be, ruthless, vile, evil, but most importantly loyal. but sinister must be hidden, and his father taught him a skill he hadn’t taught his other children, how to become someone completely different. how to jar and pickle your true identity, only allowing the wafting of beautiful smells in it’s wake so he became the charming boy. the boyish crush to walk through university doors. he was all letterman jackets and styled hair, high top converse and light washed jeans.

going on he studied the law, being a criminal empire’s heir only meant he needed to know more about it, and he’d become good at it too, top of his class and into the law grad program of his university, all under disguise.

his father’s death brought only...satisfaction, finally... the throne was his. and so it became, he ran it with such furry, hands stained with blood until he became a legend to those trickled at the bottom, he was a shadow again, but this time dark and brooding, not hoping to be noticed, but feared.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

a dark, angry chuckle dipped along the mixed-breed’s lips. pouty lips no longer held their innocent boyish smile and the mask melted away. the officers turned to each other in confusion, who was he? what was he?

“c-can i just talk to the guy in charge please?” he pretended.

the bellow in his voice only made agdoeg’s very own scurry in confusion, the leader of this troupe strolling in, a look of pity, and humiliation flashing across his face as he came into view of his own nightmare.

“choi...jung-won.” he stammered out slowly, pointing to the the two way mirror, to which the man in front of him nodding, forcing his subordinates to turn it off no longer being able to see.

“have a seat. i see you have yet to let your lackey’s in on your little under the table deal with me. why am i in here? why am i in cuffs? and why! are my men! out! side! in fucking! holding cells!” dragan banged on the table with every single word he yelled, the officer swallowing as he sat down.

“I don’t like when people don’t hold up their ends of the deal choi jung-won.” he turned his head cocking it to the side, “you get your disgusting free access to the clubs and drugs that you want and we don’t send photos of you hog tied with a fucking hard on to your wife and my men stay out of your precinct, is that not the deal we agreed on?”

“yes...sir but the knew recruits they don’t...the didn’t know.”

“that’s not good enough.” the white dragon spat, lifting his pointer finger in the air and beckoning him closer, “quickly, choi jung-won.” slowly, the officer leaned in close, trembling as he placed his ear at mouth level for dragan to speak into. “my men, out of those cells now! now! right fucking now!”

the elder man scrambled to his feet, practically flying out the door, “release them all. that’s an order.” music..to his ears. it felt good being so untouchable. but as the other officers filed in the mixed-bloods face fell into a pouty look of hopefulness. “i’m sorry i couldn’t be more help thank you so much for your work.” gentle bows to those who unlocked his cuffs in confusion, waves to the officers still settled at their desks as if he was prom king walking out the door of the precinct, but the monster was still there. a glint in his eye as he made eye contact to the man under his belt.

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood #vcdarkspawn #rp #rpg #oc rp #oc rpg #gang rpg #gang rp #mafia rp #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg

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vicecityhq · 3 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: leather, the sound of rain falling on a roof, the comfort of a lullaby . With a slight resemblance to KIM DONGYOUNG (DOYOUNG) of/the NCT 127/U.

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FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Cheong, Kyung-soo Alias: Whispers Realm of birth (if earth, nationality): Earth, Korean Age: 625 Date of Birth: September 10th, 1936 Gender: Cismale Preferred Pronouns: He/Him Species: Vampire (turned) Occupation: Night Blood’s Escort Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Pale Eye color: Dark brown/Gold Scars: None Piercings: Several on his ears with hoops most of the time but sometimes just studs. Tattoos: Night Blood droplet (placement n/a) Hair color: Black Abnormalities: None Horns/ wings/ etc: None Transformed form: His transformed form is like most vampires, with extended claws and rows of teeth that file in. His eyes change to gold.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: None. He doesn’t believe a higher power can stop him or any of the Nightbloods.

SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / patience / justice

KNOWN LANGUAGES: Korean, English, Japanese, French, Sign Language, Cantonese

SECRETS: Kyung-soo accidentally killed someone he loved

SAVVIES: Skilled with languages, good at blending in when he needs to, photography

Powers & Abilities: blood consumption, blood empowerment, blood flow vision, contaminant immunity, conversion, immortality, supernatural condition, hypnosis, claw/fang retraction, soullessness, undead pulse, and venomous fangs

Traits: Charming, Judgmental

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: 09/10/1396

Date of Death: 11/11/1421

Crime Record: He has certainly killed before (intentionally and unintentionally) and likely will again. Kidnapping, theft.

Background/Biography:

Cheong Kyung-soo was born in the Joseon Dynasty during Taejong’s reign. His family was in the middle class, his father working as a scribe and teaching Kyung-soo to follow in his footsteps. Kyung-soo was bright, and while he helped his father, he also picked up some things on languages and started teaching himself where he could. He was just coming into his adulthood when Sejong the Great ascended to the throne.

His intelligence stood out, and he was soon utilized as an interpreter as well as a scribe for some noblemen. He became highly sought after, and ultimately this led to him meeting his vampire sire. His sire was never very clear on all the reasoning behind his choice to turn Kyung-soo, but the main given one was that Kyung-soo had a talent for language and words that would be wasted in one lifetime. Kyung-soo was turned at the age of 25 and it changed every expectation he would have in his life.

He struggled in the first few decades of his vampire life to control his thirst, though at first he felt guilty for hurting those that were innocent, only targeting criminals or lower class people who he wouldn’t concern himself over. But as time went by, and Kyung-soo accepted who he had become, his concern lessened and he started to enjoy it, and find ways to draw out meals. He learned how to charm people closer to him, and how to use his looks to get what he needed.

He forced himself to leave Korea for a time, after he realized that his lack of aging could soon work against him. He traveled through Europe, through what would one day be known as Germany and Austria, France and all. In most places he stayed a decade or two at most before moving on. Kyung-soo didn’t really return to the East until the 1900s. He fed with delirium during both world wars and almost lost himself again before he met an old vampire friend who helped him regain himself. It was in this way that he finally ended up connecting with the Nightbloods gang, and not long after he became a member.

Kyung-soo offered to gather intelligence in whatever way worked best. He knew his charms and how to be most useful. And with just a whisper Kyung-soo could convince someone that they needed him to accompany them somewhere. This was how he came to be an escort. Most of the time he would simply keep company and learn what he could in the places he went. Occasionally if he thought the person attractive enough and interesting enough he also would offer his body. Anything worked as long as he could gain something from it.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

“Why do you believe it was me?” Kyung-soo asked, filling the silence between him and the officer examining the street area where some helpless soul had died. An eyebrow raised as his head tilted at an angle, staring down his nose at them as if they were an irritating bug that he might squash. “W-Well the attack was by a vampire and-” The rookie interview was practically shaking which amused Kyung-soo a bit, lips quirked up in amusement. “And what, I’m the only vampire you’ve ever met? You must realize how ridiculous that sounds.”

He turned to his companion, a rather beautiful young woman who looked rather dazed by the events. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, tone completely shifted as his attention drew away from the largely irrelevant (in his mind) officer. The woman glanced between the two of them. “Y-Yes but…are you…did you…” She seemed to struggle to even ask the question, which honestly made her less interesting. Kyung-soo preferred people with more spark. But she was rich and he wanted to get into the event that she was involved with. “Of course not. My main focus has been you. When would I have had such time?”

Kyung-soo seemed to think the matter settled, glancing over at the officer, looking surprised that he was still there. “Well? Aren’t you leaving? You’ve already wasted enough time.”

#rp #rpg #krp #krpg #oc rp #oc rpg #gang rpg #gang rp #mafia rp #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg #vcaccepted #vcnightblood

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vicecityhq · 3 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: cigarette butts, the sound of a gameboy booting up, and bloody knuckles . With a slight resemblance to HWANG HYUNJIN of/the STRAY KIDS.

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FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Jin, Malachi 'Kai' ALIAS: Haise Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Earth Age: 19 Date of Birth: October 31st, 2001 Gender: Cismale Preferred Pronouns: he/him Species: Half-Ghoul/Half-human Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Occupation: Game Developer/Night Blood lacky/Weapon’s Tech

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Pale Eye color: One dark grey, the other black with a red iris Scars: plenty of them on his knuckles, one across his nose, and on his upper cheek Piercings: Up both ears, and one in his belly-button Tattoos: both sleeves of sparse stick and pokes and little tattoos, and notably large centipede up his side and around his back in red ink. Hair color: White Abnormalities: His ghoul eye Horns/ wings/ etc: Transformed form: Before he dyed his hair and when he was younger, it would turn white and his normal eye would become the same as the ghoul one. Now that he's older he transforms almost completely with centipede esk legs out his back, and a beak like structure that resembles a plague doctor mask and two extra eyes form.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: N/A SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: English and Below Average Korean SECRETS: He is responsible for the string of 'animal attacks' that have been happening in the camping/overnight area of the park SAVVIES: Technology and Model Architecture, Electric Guitar, Drums, Bass, Song Writing Powers & Abilities: Ghoul Physiology Traits: prideful & protective

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: 10/31/2001

Date of Death: [ if applying for an undead character ]

Crime Record: Petty theft, Assault, Assault and Battery, Robbery, Avoiding Police, Assault of a Police Officer, Fleeing the scene of a crime, Drug Possession, Tampering with Evidence, Minor in Possession, Minor in Consumption and solicitation, all expunged at 18 and done in the US.

Background/Biography:

Malachi or 'Kai' Jin was a household name for the LAPD. There wasn't a week where the boy wasn't encountering the officers that hunkered down in the East area of the city. From shoplifting to being in possession the file the young half-ghoul began at such a young age only got bigger as the years went on. He'd even spent a spell in juvenile detention for severely beating another young boy for bullying and taunting a close friend of his (see:crush). Being raised by a single mother with two younger siblings, a mother who'd rather drink or do drugs to escape her own problems didn't help in the rehabilitation of the troubled teen. Fighting, stealing and making quick cash to feed the less than poor quartet was all he'd known.

The cards seemed to be turning in the delinquent's favor. At the young age of nine he was transferred to a school for the rich and incredibly intelligent, and the Jin family hadn't been rich at all, but Kai's smarts were enough to send him to the school two cities away. He leapt his way to the top of the class, a studious student that teachers tended to coddle because of his class status. Students followed suit and his entire school career in the prestigious system was a revolving door of detention and suspensions.

But as Kai got older, there was more of an issue at hand, the raising of the siblings his mother brought into the world and the money that didn't come with them. As the teen entered high school his life turned into school days and nights on the streets doing whatever he could to bring home a meal. A lot of the young ghoul's anger grew, losing a lot of his childhood to children he didn't have and for awhile he didn't want. An anger and grudge he had with his mother, even still holding her up in everyway possible. Many nights holding her hair back or making her vomit on his own, holding her while she cried or icing bruises, as if his mother was one of his own children and not the mother to them all.

The ghoul looked for a distraction, he and the other delinquents forming some sort of garage band, and who knew they’d actually be good? But his distractions didn’t stop with the song writing and the vibration of a drumset beneath his fingertips, it fell into the arms of a Chosen Child not so up to his speed, not that he minded. He’d let his friends be the ones to shield him from the life he was subjected to at home, a family of sorts trying to raise the child who not only had to raise himself, but others.

He'd never looked for his father, assuming he'd split before his mother could ever look up after his birth, and even when the well spoken, gangly man who'd seemed to linger was said to father his little sister and brother didn't cross his mind. And even when he found out that the well spoken man was his own father, he crossed his existence from his mind. Anger bubbling over at the thought of Yacht parties and Jaguars while he and his family struggled to eat daily. He chose to keep him at arms length, that he didn't need him, his money or his other family, that is until his mother's demise. He'd come home to a sobbing eight-year-old, and stoic two-year-old watching their mother's lifeless body as he trotted around a private high school.

Kai tried his best to keep them afloat on his own, using his body, or selling drugs if he needed, but the eviction notice still came after long, and Kai found himself making a very embarrassing call to the older brother he never cared to acknowledge and making his way to the Korean hub of Agdoeg to start over, a new life...maybe. But even as things seemed to shape up, the teen’s discourse with his natural hunger came blindsiding after his break up. He’d found himself being consumed by the hunger of others out of inability to control his emotions as an adolescence. Where typing code and playing video games inside a corporate building only led to him moonlighting as a killer, an animalistic instinct taking over anytime he was rattled mentally. He’s struggling to control it now, choosing to starve most days, but starving....is proving more and more difficult.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

A smirk crawled across Kai's lips, he crossed his arms, tattoos on display. Chuckles fell from the expression as he cocked a brow. Were they that dumb? Thinking he'd speak on it just that easy, "Nothing." He said again, finding it comical how the officer's faces fell. They all sighed, he'd been in the interview room for hours now but he hadn't broke.

He'd been behind the scenes most of it, toggling through the camera's he hacked into to gain access , he watched the gangs every move, from the moment they entered the bank to the moment they crawled back through the ceiling. He'd been the one to turn the alarms off, disable the code needed to get into the vault and sat back and sipped a redbull as they cleaned out the safety deposit boxes.

"I was at home, with my....I wont say boyfriend, the whole night," the half ghoul gave them another smile, "I'll spare you the details, but we had nothing to do with anything, I haven't seen nothing, heard nothing or touched nothing so if you'd unlock these cuffs I'll make my way home, I do have work in the morning, dickheads."

#vcnightblood #vcghoul #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin fc #krp #krpg #new krp #oc krp #gang rp #repost due to gang change

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vicecityhq · 3 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: smell of ink, hickies, wolves. With a slight resemblance to NA JAEMIN of/the NCT DREAM

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FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: jeup, isaac ALIAS: zero Realm of birth: divine Age: immortal Date of Birth: dec 1, xxxx Gender: cismale Preferred Pronouns: he/him/his Species: mixed-blood (vampire/dragon) Occupation: nightbloods bookkeeper Sexual Orientation: pansexual

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: pale Eye color: dark brown/gold Scars: n/a Piercings: n/a Tattoos: single blood droplet behind his left ear Hair color: originally dark brown, currently dyed blueish grey Abnormalities: two-toned eyes, right eye dark brown, left eye golden Horns/ wings/ etc: none in human form Transformed form: Long, scaled, serpentine creature with four legs and long horns. Both eyes turn completely golden. Elongated, black claws and two rows of spikes teeth.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: n/a SINS: greed VIRTUES: diligence KNOWN LANGUAGES: korean, english, japanese, mandarin, latin SECRETS: [redacted] SAVVIES: books, creative writing, penmanship, chess, violin

Powers & Abilities: asian dragon physiology, elemental manipulation, enhanced senses, blood consumption, blood empowerment, immortality, hypnosis, venomous fangs, claw/fang retraction

Traits: (+) observant (-) calculating

Aesthetics: smell of ink, hickies, wolves

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: [redacted]

Crime Record: none on record

Background/Biography: ( tw: death mention, parental death mention )

in the midst of the long, shapeless dark night, a new member of royalty is born. your father was never one for tradition, even under the pressure to marry within the family, to keep the bloodline pure, he found your mother in the rain and brought her home to be loved and adored. the elders never loved your mother, undoubtedly a dragon with her golden eyes and blue scales trailing up and down the small of her back, but your father did. and that was enough. for a long time, that was enough.

you’re a pretty little thing when you’re born, half vampire and half dragon. all that glamour of fire and blood. a blemish on the centuries long perfection of pureblood vampire offspring. not enough to be loved, but not enough to be cast out either. you play at being a ghost, hiding in cupboards and behind curtains, climbing atop library shelves until someone calls your name. you’d spend hours like this, lost in the hallways of the manor, wondering how long it took for someone to search for you. you’d play out movies by yourself, long epics focused entirely on the story inside your head.

your mother always found you first, picking you up with an exasperated sigh.

her little ghost. her baby. her love.

baby, you are so loved!

you liked it, when she said it. the teasing lilt of her words as she guided you back to reality.

they haunt you later, when the elders cup your face with cold hands and black nails and call you hollow.

you wonder what they meant by that.

you haven’t figured it out yet. you’re not sure you want to.

—

jeups are old money. old, old, old as fuck money. it bleeds into everything. you’re technically not criminals, not on paper anyway, but there are bloody footprints in the hall and screaming in the basement and you’re rather sure none of your school friends have a closet in their home filled with drugs and dinner with the mob. it’s nothing new, it’s older than your great grandfather, but it startles you no less. it’s like pieces in a puzzle, little hints until it comes together in the big picture.

how did you never realize before?

little bookworm, shy behind his mother’s back, too observant for his own good.

you’re told to keep secrets, to keep promises. little pinky promise, no one can find out, isaac, so shut your pretty little mouth, and so now you know.

you have to be smarter than this.

—

in the dark of the night, between soft breathes and hesitant, delicate hands, your lover whispers to you: you’re a safe bet.

it’s no fault of your own, no sin under your belt or blood on your hands, but the love in your veins and the curiosity in your eyes speak volumes to the world...you’re soft.

you want too much. you love the comfort of your home, but you crave the danger of the unknown. it’s an adrenaline rush you never knew was so addicting. your first has bright, gleaming teeth and dirty hands, you wonder if the others can see the blemishes around your wrists, on the small of your back, between your thighs. smudges left by careless hands, like fingerprints on a vase.

it feels like a secret. one for you only.

you wear gloves, prim and proper. all buttoned up, barely a sliver of skin showing. a charming smile, nose buried in your books. the perfect little prince with your handsome face. trustworthy. warm. the hearth in the home, it’s you.

what do you want?

press your pen to paper, dark ink on smooth cream.

what will you do to get it?

the ink pools beneath your pen tip, a blemish, a smudge. a bit like you.

—

you and death, you’re old friends. you’ve shaken hands before, brushed shoulders, met eyes. over slow, agonizing ends and quick, bloody executions. you’ve never bargained before, not the way you pleaded the night your father died. you mourned your mother before, so painful it feels like a blur in your memory. you hadn’t realized how earth shattering it would feel to lose your father.

there’s only one path forward.

vengeance.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

what a pretty picture this must make, with the stark lighting and dull color scheme. solid gray walls and a firm metal table ( it’d be so easy to bend and break if he wanted, if he would just indulge himself in a little bit of chaos ). he flexed his hands, long and nimble, just to watch the interviewing officer flinch. just for fun. as if he would pull out his claws for something this boring.

“it’s just so...tragic. those poor officers.”

there’s no sympathy for any of them, not for a family made wealthy on blood and fire, but even petty little officers hoping to get a big win by catching a case linked to a name as big as theirs...well. would it kill them to be a little bit smarter? dainty metal handcuffs and two officers who couldn’t pour water out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.

“you can run through it with my lawyer. until then,” he smiled, sugar sweet, and shook his chained wrists, “i think it’s time for these to come off.”

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood

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vicecityhq · 2 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY THEY REMIND THEM OF: a set of burning eyes emerging in the middle of a darkened alley, the slow slide of a silk tie slipping from his shoulders, careful brush strokes caressing a canvas, lips curling into a smirk moments before a kiss is pressed to the back of a hand . With a slight resemblance to KIM MINGYU of/the SEVENTEEN.

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FULL FILE:

last name, first name: San Shinseok alias: The Black Knight realm of birth: Earth, near Mount Kumgang of the Korean peninsula age: Appears mid-twenties, actual age is 247 gender: Male preferred pronouns: he/him species: Vampire - turned occupation: Art Conservator at the art history museum & Nightblood smuggler sexual orientation: Disaster bisexual any associated/owned businesses: N/A

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: He maintains his sunkissed tan, however the lustre grows dim when he’s gone too long between fresh feedings Eye color: Normally a burnt umber but when invoking his vampire aspects they turn into a molten yellow ochre Scars: A jagged circle that goes through his left palm to be mirrored on the back of his hand from a stake he purposefully grabbed Piercings: Helix on his left ear, typically wears a cuff earring Tattoos: Helix on his left ear, typically wears a cuff earring tattoos: A red ink phoenix on his back, with the nightblood droplet coming from the bird's eye Hair color: Black Abnormalities: Through contact with a cursed Oni mask, his transformed form has been enhanced as described below Horns/ wings/ etc: Transformed form: A black lacquer Oni mask manifests over his face and sets into his features before his bones crack and separate to make room for a pair of tusks to grow from his upper jaw. Curved horns snap from his forehead. From behind the mask, his irises glow with a pale yellow light. The fangs on his upper jaw elongate to the size of chef knives and end near his chin, a set also grows from his lower jaw that emerges past his lips. Instead of two rows of serrated teeth, it appears as if his entire mouth becomes a jagged cavern, the teeth often snapping and regrowing as they push against each other to fit. The claws consume the entire lengths of his fingers, emerging from his bones in segments to allow for articulation. Similar black stained bone plates erupt up his forearms almost like a scaled gauntlet ending at his spiked elbows. He can control the length of his claws in his form, growing them to drag across the floor or keeping them trip depending on his needs. The act of transforming releases a sudden rush of heat that steam wafts from his body and his skin remains hot enough to inflict burns at prolonged contact. All of the new bone will regrow and replace itself if broken or removed.

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Indifferent, still holds onto some of his sindo beliefs from when he was human

SINS: lust / gluttony / greed / sloth / envy / wrath / pride

VIRTUES: chastity / temperance / charity / diligence / kindness / patience / humility

KNOWN LANGUAGES: Korean, Japanese, Mandarin, Manchu, Hindu, Mongolian, English

SECRETS: After he was turned, he eventually returned to his village in the mountains. His curiosity turned into rage upon arriving. The legend of the 산 악마 “Mountain Devil” was born when the destruction and mutilation of his village was discovered.

SAVVIES: Combat Prowess: He has training in Taekkyeon, Gungdo, Muay Thai, Kenjutsu, Hung Ga, and Pencak Silat. His weapon proficiencies are Gakgung and modern equivalents, swords with a preference for shortswords and single edge swords, expert marksmanship, and knife fighting. With his typical loadout being a compact recurve bow, Daewoo K5 handgun, M40A7 bolt-action rifle, Karambit, and aconite poison on special occasions. Artist: He’s refined his painting skills and typically paints landscapes in the Romantic style. He can play piano and has taken a liking to photography.

Powers & Abilities: Blood Consumption, Blood Empowerment, Blood Flow Vision, Contaminant Immunity, Conversion, Immortality, Supernatural Condition, Hypnosis, Claw/Fang Retraction, Soullessness, Undead Pulse, Venomous Fangs and Bezerk Form

Traits: + Charismatic - Ruthless

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: December 18, 1775

Date of Death: August 12, 1800

Crime Record: Clean as a whistle but not for a lack of trying. Having a sire in the highest of places comes with numerous perks.

Background/Biography:

Content warnings: violence, mutilation, gore, murder,

As much as he tried to distance himself from his original, pathetic, mortal life, the foundations it set were as sturdy as the mountains that surrounded his tiny village. He was an ember, struggling to burn bright as the mundanity of peasant life threatened to smother him. The spare to the eldest brother’s heir, he became a hunter, escaping into the woods to avoid scrutiny and comparisons between the siblings. A season of sickness had swept through the village, stealing their parents in quick succession as the brothers could only barter for so much medicine from the healer. As their sister recovered, the eldest spoke pretty words to honour them while he dug their graves and fashioned their biers. His brother became a merchant in the footsteps of their father, while he focused on making sure their sister never went hungry.

An altercation with an official changed the course of his life, as he couldn’t hold his tongue while watching his brother be squeezed for every last coin in their coffers and their sister leered at. He was thrown out into the mud in front of a black horse and rider, the tax collector’s thugs intent of teaching him a lesson. The onlookers watched with baited breath as bones cracked under his hands, teeth shattered and stuck into his knuckles, and even an ear was torn off and spat out in the fray. He stood tall in the end, smearing blood away from his mouth, and had the decency to haul the unconscious bodies off the road to let the rider pass, huffing out threats under his breath as the official had fled the scene at the first scream. He didn’t think much of the situation, assuming he had scared away the official and that his family was safe.

Finding the man bound and dazed in the middle of a hunting trail a few days later was surprising to say the least. However, he didn’t have much time to ponder that detail as the rider drew his attention, lowering her hood to reveal molten gold eyes shimmering with tainted curiosity, smile wicked and sharp as she asked him to show her if he truly meant his savage promises. He started with the man’s limbs, twisting and wrenching bones, flaying skin, and peeling away muscle until he could see the threads of marrow fraying and snapping with each convulsion. He carved fissures into flesh, yanked at sinew and crushed delicate organs, careful to leave the official just enough to struggle for breath until he was satisfied. Every built up frustration finally finding a release amid agonized screams. He granted the man death by ramming his mouth through a branch and leaving the corpse to dangle from the tree. Having forgotten about the woman in his frenzy, her lips on his drank deeply from the inferno now coursing through his veins. His hands painted her in crimson as her nails clawed at his skin, digging as if she could find and coax the fire of his being into something greater, to blaze brighter. Her teeth sinking into his neck seared a new future into his flesh.

They descended the mountain guided by the moon. The weight of leaving his family lessened with the knowledge that lingering would only cause them problems. They were better off without him, better suited for their pastoral lives and free from the burdens his temper caused. He had new horizons to chase, lessons to learn, with his sire at the pinnacle of it all. The raw brutality he carried in his heart transformed, reshaped by her expert hands into a refined and elegant violence as his pulse echoed hers. At her side, she revealed to him the world, painted his nights in revelry and showed him the true meaning of living. Offering his complete devotion felt like a pittance in comparison.

A century of discovery developed him into a renaissance man, capable hands and a discerning eye exploring the arts where he took to painting with a particular fondness. His sire being his muse was hardly a choice but came to him as naturally as breathing. A true Romantic at heart drew him to capturing expansive vistas, rendering the world in its raw awe in an attempt to seize those fleeting moments that insisted on how small he truly was. Rising above people was easy but nature was unconquerable. Despite how hard mortality struggled against that fact. As the wilds were snuffed out, pillaged and tarnished, he turned to the arts out of a desperation to preserve what he could of the past. Conserving the world that remained unsullied in his memory through the brushstrokes and sketches of masters who saw it the same way.

It was this increasingly futile endeavour that had him examining and handling a private collection of a kitsune. Priceless for its historical value alone, he was giddy while opening each crate, changing his gloves between each antique to handle them with the due reverence. Until he found himself staring into the unblinking voids of a lacquer Oni mask, a consuming darkness showing his eager reflection back at him, distorted across the glossy surface. The urge to place it over his face cinching itself marrow deep. It belonged with him. He placed it back into the crate without comment, replacing his gloves to examine a woodblock print. The hairs on his neck raised as he sensed a gaze lingering on him with no source.

The kitsune was a gracious host, inviting him to sign and seal their business over a dinner catered to his particular appetites. He still cannot recall what happened after the first drops of blood coated his tongue only finding himself standing tall above a room of carnage, viscera still hot as it coated his hands. As the thought entered his head, his sire was at his side as the shadows grew heavier. Working together, they handled the incident swiftly and a few plucked strings later it was as if the kitsune never existed in the first place. The collection had always been in his sire’s estate. Which only left the matter of uncovering what he actually did. They came to an answer the next time he fed, the stars and his sire watching as the mask manifested and seized his body. As with his previous transformation, they took to training when it became clear that removing the mask’s connection to him wasn’t an option.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

"And then a unicorn came out of the sewer, neighing a prophecy that I was to pull the sacred sword from the volcano to-"

"Stop wasting our time," the officer snarled, making the corner of Shinseok's lip curl until his fang glinted in the light.

"But I was just getting to the good part," he shrugged, practically lounging in the metal chair despite the cuffs digging into his wrists.

A flutter in his chest drew his attention to beyond the room, twisting the metal restraints until they squealed and popped free just as the door opened. Her presence came with a brief tickling sensation cascading down his neck, a smoldering heat settling into his gut and a bitter tang coated his tongue. Irritation flashing through his body as he focused on the residual emotions. Something had displeased her and the growing simmer had him worried for only a moment that he had taken his games a bit too far.

"It's been a pleasure gentlemen," he called, crossing the room with a flick of his wrist, rubbing it in that they never had him in their grasp. He was out of the building almost instantly, carried by his curiosity and concern. Ducking into the g-wagon, he couldn't help but grin at her. Even when she was obviously putting effort into maintaining her poise, although that might have only been obvious to him.

"Stop being cute," She huffed despite a dimple trying its hardest to appear on her cheek. He finally drew it out by pressing a kiss to the back of her hand while sliding into the seat beside her. He refused to let her go too far with a hand idly tracing along her skin while she ranted about sushi and hissed some threat that involved fish fingers.

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood

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vicecityhq · 2 years

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WITNESS(ES) SAY THEY REMIND THEM OF: Tailored three piece suits, a hot wok slicked with oil, smokey jazz bars . With a slight resemblance to SEN MITSUJI of/the ACTOR/MODEL.

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Last Name, First Name: Okada, Junji ALIAS: Enra Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Earth / Osaka, Japan Age: 34 Gender: Cis male Preferred Pronouns: He/him Species: Necromancer Occupation: Bookkeeper for the Nightbloods Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Any Associated/Owned Businesses: Equity shareholder of St Agnes Company Ltd., proprietor of three jazz clubs in London (The CopyCat, The B&M, The Devil’s Part)

VISUAL FILE: (please match the listed visual descriptions on the species page)

Skin Color: Tan Eye color: Brown with red flecks Scars: Small scar on scalp, long vertical scar on left calf Piercings: Lobe piercings on both ears Tattoos: Small black script reading For The Departed beneath his left collarbone Hair color: Black Abnormalities: Symbol of death branded behind his right ear Horns/ wings/ etc: Transformed form: [ you can find these in your muses species section here.]

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Polytheistic

SINS: lust / gluttony / greed / sloth / envy / wrath / pride

VIRTUES: chastity / temperance / charity / diligence / kindness / patience / humility

KNOWN LANGUAGES: Japanese, English, Korean Mandarin, French

SECRETS: He had the opportunity to resurrect his dead lover but chose not to.

SAVVIES: Cooking, mathematics, speed-reading, chess, languages

Powers & Abilities:Aura and soul absorption, Conjuration, summoning, and reanimation, Undead, spirt, and soul manipulation, Demon Creation, Corpse conversion. Death magic

Traits: + Diplomatic, - Insensitive

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: April 6, 1988

Date of Death: [ if applying for an undead character ]

Crime Record: [ Relationship with authority, laws broken, and crimes committed. In what Realm did you break the rules? ]

Background/Biography:

Junji Okada was born in Osaka, Japan, to a Japanese father and an Australian mother. His parents were Haruki Okada, a necromancer and esteemed academic, and Grace St Agnes, an Australian socialite, civil rights activist, and member of the prominent St Agnes family. Junji's father gave him the power to utilize magic involving the dead and taught him the ways of a necromancer.

Junji was sent to top boarding schools in Australia and Sweden, graduating with honors. He later attended the University of Oxford and earned a degree in economics and comparative social policy.

In 2016, Junji decided to leave England and move to South Korea, where he got a job working for the Shinhan Financial Group. He eventually left for a bookkeeping job with the notorious Agdoeg gang, the Nightbloods.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

It did not benefit Junji to be forthcoming with the officer. This exchange was a waste of both of their time - a Shakespearean play-act made worse by the fact that only one of them was aware they were performing.

Junji crossed his long legs under the table, his angular face as clear and open as a reflecting pool.

A deputy had brought him a white paper cup of what he presumed must be coffee but looked more akin to the black bile that oozed from a diseased corpse. If this meeting did not prove too big a nuisance, Junji would have to send the station a few bags of Tanzania Peaberry grounds, his brew of choice. He'd probably send them regardless. It was a crime against humanity to consume such putrid caffeinated sludge, something he wouldn't wish upon his nemeses.

"What your young deputy saw that night was likely my assistant, Solomon. I understand his appearance is quite disturbing, but I assure you he is harmless." Relatively. "I promise you that he nor any of my associates had anything to do with this recent rash of homicides. If you would like, I can provide security camera footage and financial statements to affirm their alibis." Junji glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. "I'm sorry that I cannot be of much help, officer,” he said, not meaning it. “But I must request that we continue this conversation at a later date. I have a prior engagement." He failed to mention that this engagement was with one of their murder victims.

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood #rp #rpg #oc rp #oc rpg #gang rpg #gang rp #mafia rp #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg

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vicecityhq · 2 years

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WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: leather thigh high boots, the sound of hushed moans under red lights, and clicking of heels inside of an empty art museum . With a slight resemblance to AHN HYEJIN ( HWASA ) of/the MAMAMOO.

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Last Name, First Name: Kangjeon, Sena ALIAS: Absinthe Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Lightspawn (Mythological) Age: 29 Date of Birth: 04-11-1992 Gender: Cisfemale Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Species: Dragon-Blood (Asian) Occupation: Night Bloods Consiglere, Civilian job - Tattoo Artist/Art Curator Sexual Orientation: Straight/Curious

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Tanned Eye color: Paled Turquoise ( reference ) Scars: faint lines around her wrists and ankles from when her step-father chained her up, faded with time. Piercings: up her ears and one in her nose. Tattoos: a black dragon up her hip ( reference ) , another in the middle of her back ( reference ), ‘Hyerim’ in Hangul behind her left ear, night bloods droplet on her rib, ‘duel-ssi’ tattoo on her middle finger matching with her cousin, ‘awaken the beast’ in hangul on the back of her neck following her spine. Hair color: the starkest and darkest black Abnormalities: Not really an ‘abnormality’ but she has knee length hair, sharpened canine teeth on top and bottom Horns/ wings/ etc: retractable horns on her forehead Transformed form: A long dragon with the blackest scales imaginable that shift with a turquoise iridescent, her mane onyx on the top of her head before fading into smoke and then pure white at the tail with glowing Aqua eyes ( reference )

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Absolutely none SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: English, Korean, Chinese SECRETS: She was indeed the one to send her family home up into a blaze, killing her entire family inside. SAVVIES: Art, Sketching, Tattooing

Powers & Abilities: Atmospheric Adaptation, Aura/Chi/Magic Manipulation, Aura Sight (the ability to see ones aura), Semi-Immortality, Elemental Breath (Smoke & Fire, can also be Ice for Asian Dragons), Supernatural Condition, Fear Masking, Wing Manifestation, Pyrokinesis, Smoke Manipulation, Ice Manipulation (Asian), Water Manipulation (Asian), Poison Manipulation.

Traits:

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: 05-31-1992

Date of Death:

Crime Record: Assault and Battery, Petty Theft, Solicitation, on record. Off record - Assassinations, Kidnapping, Murder of her family.

Background/Biography:

tw: rape, gang rape, child abuse, allusion to murder

Trying to acclimate to a new life, in a new country, with even new civilians was something starkly abrasive. She’d remembered the island, the little castle right off of Jeju. The sight of pure white dragon’s flying in and out of view. It was usually Father or her Grandfather, and every now and then her Grandmother would take to the skies, smaller dragon’s of all colors trailing behind her for her safety.

She can’t remember much of it now, grey stone walls and dark tunnels, pretty yet decaying with the elding of them all. Nothing lasts forever and even Grandmother was hitting the cap in her age, but the Kangjeon Dragon’s tended to outlive those around them. It was fine then, life was settled like dust, and it took a lot more than notches in your belt or a flick of the wrist for it to all rise, when it did it was fire and brimstone, and someone’s bloodline was left wallowing in their extinction, but Kangjeon’s tended to stay on top.

They weren’t inherently ‘rich’, there was no ‘royalty’, maybe back in those times, but the castle was only what remained of their dynasty, centuries later and here it stood, the new generation of Kangjeon, and his children living in it...happily..at first.

Sena could remember when her father had gotten sick. Not even the most well known witches and alchemist could cure him, simply only make him comfortable with pills, medicines and elixirs, mostly so that his two loving pride and joys, didn’t watch him suffer as he coughed blood into pure white handkerchiefs. And even more so in the fear of his death, as Grandmother Kangjeon wasn’t elated with the eldest of his lineage being a woman, but Seungyeol was much too young to be the head of their clan, but it wasn’t just Sena’s gender that had those before them at such an abrupt stance on her inheritance, but rather, she was the first dragon of their clan in over two hundred years to be born with solid black scales, and the infamous blue flame. Black dragons aren't inherently rare, they’re seen pretty often, but the birth of a black dragon in Kangjeon clan is on the sign of impending doom, there is a reason why you’re only used to the pure white, iridescent scales and grey to white manes as they float heavenly around the pillars of the castle that tended to kiss the sky. The last time a black dragon was born into the clan, it was the extinction of them all that threatened to sweep through their village. And Sena’s blue flames and cerulean eyes were only an added smudge on their legacy.

But her father never treated Sena that way, in fact he favored her, showing her the beauties of art and dance, both talents of which she’d gained from him. He would spend hours in his study working with the smudge at his feet, and simply ignoring the lingering family of his that could not rapid their heads around his daughter's impurity. He wouldn’t allow them to blame her mother, a dragon of just as high of a stature with beautiful white and blue scales, as she was chosen to guarantee the ‘pureness’ of the bloodline.

The patriarch of the Kangjeon’s clan on their little island had only little time to live, as his illness swept over him not long after Sena’s birth, and only lasted him until the fifth birthday of his unblemished son. Only for the hope of what was left of the Kangjeon legacy to die shortly after, of the same unknown illness his father had come down with.

It was then the clan could openly shun Sena and her mother, sending them off the island to Korea’s mainland with the close on their back and whatever her father had left them, it was there she’d met Sean Groskook, a traveling broker who fell for her ‘foreign’ charms and courted her until she finally agreed to marry him, and uproot their lives do west Texas. What Sena thought would be a big suburban house on acres of land, Little House on the Prairie dream, was a living nightmare, not only for her but her mother as well.

Sean was a religious man, a man who ran his life by The Book, and for The Book. They were to eat together every night and pray together, to his god and his god only. As if Sena and her mother didn’t come from a world of myth and impracticalness, where the person next to you could be a god themselves. She couldn’t diminish herself to his world, the world of the man he claims is his maker and the maker to all, but if she refused to follow, he refused her regular parenting duties, food, shelter, clothing and on occasion subject her to violence unless she bowed down to his word and the word of the being he claimed to worship.

But Sena had grown up the black sludge of her family her entire life, she’d even become the odd one out in this family as well, Sean had his own children, boys from another marriage, and Sena’s mother had grown pregnant quickly with another son. She was cat-like eyes and long dark hair in a sea of hazel hues and blonde locks, her brother even being born with more of Sean’s features than her heritage. And being the only female child in the house she was diminished to exactly that.

She’d continued to rebel, lugging black-eyes and bruises to school, but a God-fearing man to the community could do no harm, and to them Sena was the problem, she’d gotten those injuries from a stupid fight or working on the farm, that’s all she did anyways, constantly getting in altercations and hoping someone would hear her cries for help. But it wasn’t until Sean had caught Sena with a neighborhood girl, cuddled behind a hay bail as they watched the cows and horses graze. Nightly the trauma played through her mind, like scenes from a bad horror film. When she closed her eyes she could see him dragging her across their land by her long black locks, ones she’d grown proud of growing as they settled at her ankles at just fifteen years old. She’d remember the way she screamed for her mother, who only stood there and cried, the way he threw her in that God-forsaken closet like she was a heap of trash and the way he used her body in the name of the ‘Lord.’

The way he forced her legs apart, ignored the slaps and clawing at his face and body and kicking and screaming, the way he prayed in her ear as if this is what his god would have wanted. She remembered thinking it was over, and the way those boys opened the door, with solemn looks on their faces, tears in the youngest ones eyes as they lined up, and one by one, defiled her, that wicked man standing over and praying for them as he watched, as they all watched.

It was all darkness after that, as if the lights went out, only to be illuminated by blue flames that turned an angry red as the house slowly caved in on itself, their screams for her silent now, as she held to the phone shaking, wishing her mother didn’t have to go with them.

It was years, in and out of police stations and court rooms, Sena found not guilty as according to them there was no evidence that she’d set the fire, and her battered and bruised body mingled with the blood caked on her thighs when they had found her, lead officers to not pry too much on what happened to her, and what needed to be done for her escape. The liberation of rusty police station scissors, leaving her long dark hair on the grimey tile as they whisked her away to testify.

She’d found solace in a cousin that had moved to states then, running thick as thieves and rebelling in the streets, she’d found happiness and drugs and men but ultimately the pain that America had left on her soul sent her back to her home. It was strip club to strip club to make money, things were hard when you were on your own, when your family finally turned against you, but it was meeting the one man that would show her life’s meaning, after she felt she’d lost her cousin to marriage and a peaceful life, that seemed...to turn it all around for Sena.

But letting go of that rebellion was hard, making it in a ‘pristine’ world when you’ve been tarnished was hard, and joining the Night Bloods, made that easier. They’d gotten her the apartment she dreamed of, and the tattoo shop she yearned for, they’d gotten her the connections to further her search for the art she found joy in but they also had earned her, being alone all over again. Sure now, a five year old beautiful girl ran around her apartment with all her lovely joy and laughter...but she’d lost the man that had given her life meaning, and she’s clinging desperately to him...and everything else she’s got left.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

She picked at her chipped nail polish, rolling her eyes again. Sena was tired, so unbelievably tired and she’d had to relay this story over and over again until finally she landed herself here, the captain, social services and a psychiatrist sitting in front of her.

Sena ran through the events again, in grooling detail, every touch, every prayer, every slap every time he pushed his disgusting c*ck into her and every time his sons followed suite.

“I told you guys, I don’t remember how the fire started, everyone was just screaming and my mom yelled for me to get out.” She lied, remembering how pretty the blue flames bloomed over her finger tips, how the walls dared her to touch them, how the sounds of their screams made her feel, absolutely nothing but triumph.

Trembling hands rand through her choppy new look that she’d given herself the other day in the restroom. Her case worker had promised to take her to get it shaped and evened out but she honestly hadn’t cared, she would shave it if she could.

“And why did it take you so long to report it or get help Sena, the house was practically bare bones when fire fighters got there.”

She shrugged, “I tried calling, the reception was bad or something, why do we have to keep talking about this?”

“Yes Sena we do...people died in that fire, your mother, your step father, four of your siblings died, we have to know how to get to the bottom of this and make sure no one is targeting you so we can protect you.”

“I can protect myself! I’ve been protecting myself my whole life! You guys weren’t trying to protect me when he beat me, when he left me without food! When they raped me. And now that their dead suddenly I need protecting? Fuck you guys. I don’t know how it started, and frankly I don’t care.”

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood #vcdarkspawn #rp #rpg #oc rp #oc rpg #gang rpg #gang rp #mafia rp #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg

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vicecityhq · 2 years

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WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: cigarette butts, the sound of a gameboy booting up, and bloody knuckles . With a slight resemblance to HWANG HYUNJIN of/the STRAY KIDS.

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FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Jin, Malachi 'Kai' ALIAS: Haise Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Earth Age: 20 Date of Birth: October 31st, 2001 Gender: Cismale Preferred Pronouns: he/him Species: Half-Ghoul/Half-human Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Occupation: Game Developer/Night Blood lacky/Weapon’s Tech

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Pale Eye color: One dark grey, the other ruby red Scars: plenty of them on his knuckles, one across his nose, and on his upper cheek Piercings: Up both ears, and one in his belly-button Tattoos: both sleeves of sparse stick and pokes and little tattoos, and notably large centipede up his side and around his back in red ink. Hair color: White Abnormalities: His ghoul eye Horns/ wings/ etc: Transformed form: Before he dyed his hair and when he was younger, it would turn white and his normal eye would become the same as the ghoul one. Now that he's older he transforms almost completely with centipede esk legs out his back, and a beak like structure that resembles a plague doctor mask and two extra eyes form.

PERSONAL FILE:

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: 10/31/2001

Date of Death: [ if applying for an undead character ]

Background/Biography:

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood #vcdarkspawn #rp #rpg #oc rp #oc rpg #gang rpg #gang rp #mafia rp #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg

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vicecityhq · 2 years

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WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: fallen wisterias, blue flames and gun metal . With a slight resemblance to LEE DONG-MIN of/the ASTRO.

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FULL FILE:

last name, first name: Han Minjun Alias: Nightcrawler, Jun realm of birth (if earth, nationality): korean Age: 1000+ date of birth: sometime around 1020, Goryeo Dynasty gender: male preferred pronouns: he/him species: huli jing/dokkaebi occupation: nightbloods caporegime sexual orientation: pansexual

VISUAL FILE:

skin color: pale eye color: dark brown/black, during moments of transformation have a tendency to glow blue Scars: a brand on his chest he never talks about, it’s centuries old, but somehow has never faded Piercings: none Tattoos: none hair color: black Abnormalities: yeowoo guseul, held between his teeth and thus not usually in sight, only appears during transference of powers/when he is literally sucking the life out of someone horns/ wings/ etc: a set of prehensile nine tails that, when cast in a certain light, seem to glow ominously transformed form: a white nine-tailed fox, sometimes known to carry a book in his mouth

PERSONAL FILE:

religious belief: formerly buddhist, currently aligning more non-religious sins: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath virtues: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / patience / justice known languages: korean, english, can read chinese because goryeo lol secrets: he hasn’t eaten a human in over 500 years, and only gains his powers through transference from his yeowoo guseul, and only steals it from people he believes to be the worst of the worst, or even those who are at the brink of death and seeking a way to end their lives peacefully, also he lies about his age a lot because he hates being called old savvies: good at communicating has been known to crawl through seedy bars as a hobby and hang out with whoever is willing to talk to him, organized and methodical and plays lots of strategy games (i.e. go).

powers & abilities: immortality, fox fire, life-force absorption, Dokkaebi Physiology (Korean), Sleep-paralysis Inducement, Supernatural Beauty, Possession, Shape-shifting, Illusion Manipulation, Insanity Inducement, Dream Manipulation, Nine-Tailed Fox Physiology

traits: caring, but ultimately guarded

BACKGROUND CHECK:

date of birth: sometimes around year 1020 date of death: n/a crime record: has a healthy fear of authority, in the past had stolen from the rich in order to feed the people of the villages he would pass through (eat the rich baby!)

Background/Biography: (tw: cannibalism, death, suicide)

In the height of the Goryeo Dynasty, Han Minjun was born as the result of an affair between a gumiho and high-level palace scholar. Han Minjun, for multiple reasons, had been kept a secret all his life. Despite being stowed away from the outside world at a young age, he had a somewhat peaceful and quiet upbringing. He and his mother moved away from the capital city right after he was born, in a remote village where they prayed they would never be found. His father visited as much as he could, despite his continued work for the palace.

For a time, everything was perfect. Minjun’s mother worked as a farmer, and was doting and fiercely protective, often giving him small treats every now and again. His father, during his visits, would teach them how to read and write, and would also send gifts from the palace. His parents were happy, and therefore, Minjun was happy.

But as he grew, he started to change. He had been raised with no mention of his inhuman heritage; he only knew that day by day, it was becoming increasingly harder to withhold his hunger—he would often resort to eating his meals raw… and eventually… human. It sickened him, and could only stomach eating that sort of thing every other month. Despite that, the ill feeling and his disgust towards that, his hunger still grew. And with his hunger, came the powers, the shifting, the feeling of something like a marble growing in his throat. His mother, understandably worried about the new development, decided it would be better to train him so that he could gain better control of himself, or better yet, prevent his powers from manifesting at all.

She tried everything that she could: not feeding him for a thousand days, feeding him too much for a thousand days… nothing seemed to work and with the passing days and months, Minjun became too powerful to withhold. Resigned and heartbroken to the fact that her son would live life as a monster, his mother gave in, ultimately teaching him the ways of the nine-tailed fox. And after years and years of training and practice, he had almost made it out without having been caught.

Almost.

It started with a village on fire, bodies shrivelled into ash and cries for help coming from all sides, his mother forcibly yanking him awake and running through smoke and fire, tripping over themselves in their hurry to escape. At the entrance to the village, stood his father, eyes alight and proud even as he was hauled to his knees by palace guards, with blood spilling through the gaping hole in his hanbok.

And then they took his mother.

Many years passed, and riddled with grief and anger, he did all that he could to spite those in power. Stealing medicine and food from rich lords and handing them off into the villages he would pass through. He lived this way for centuries, and watched as his country grew, changed, helpless and also just a tad bit pedestrian—he had grown up to live in secret, and old habits die hard.

In the new century, Minjun had somehow found himself running with what he could only call a gang; it was out of character for him—so high profile, so open, and yet it abetted him with a sense of belonging, so he stayed. And while their ideals were far too extreme for his own tastes, he had grown to be fond of this weird little family, and chose to dedicate his time to them.

It helped that he was just a little bit blood hungry. Just a little.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

“Well,” Minjun sighed passively, staring plaintively at the wall above him, “it was all so sudden…” Truth be told, him and authority figures have never gotten along—what with his history and all. But it came with the job, didn’t it?

“And truth be told, I can’t recollect a single thing; I pay no mind to fickle human matters. I’m a thousand years old, nothing phases me enough to be memorable.” He hoped and prayed that his false bravado and his evident distaste would be labeled as yet another trope aligning with ‘he’s rich, aloof, and doesn’t pay attention to things—he may be a little stupid’ in their books and let him go. Thus was the incompetence of the enforcers of law nowadays.

“If that’s all, I’ll be taking my leave.”

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood #vcdarkspawn #rp #rpg #oc rp #oc rpg #gang rpg #gang rp #mafia rp #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg

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vicecityhq · 2 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF bloody knuckles, whiskey on the rocks, neck kisses . With a slight resemblance to IM CHANGKYUN of/the MONSTA X.

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FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: jeup, alucard ALIAS: angel Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): earth Age: 26 Date of Birth: 09/26/1996 Gender: male Preferred Pronouns: he/him Species: pureblood vampire Sexual Orientation: bisexual

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Eye color: green Scars: n/a Piercings: ears, eyebrow Tattoos: multiple Hair color: black Abnormalities: n/a Horns/ wings/ etc: fangs Transformed form: claws and fangs

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: korean, english, japanese SECRETS: depressed over his mother's death SAVVIES: murder, sex, manipulation Powers & Abilities: Blood Consumptions, Blood Empowerment, Blood Flow Vision, Contaminant Immunity, Conversion, Immortality, Supernatural Condition, Hypnosis, Traits: intelligent but impulsive

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: 09/26/1996

Date of Death: n/a

Crime Record: many murders. never caught.

Background/Biography:

Alucard was the second born Jeup child. He was also the first born son. From birth, it had always been decided that Alucard would take over the Jeup empire. For years, the middle child was taught etiquette and the ways of the family. He had to learn the business side of things but also how to charm people. And he was charming. He was smart and everything his parents could have ever hoped for. He got along fairly well with his two siblings and was looking forward to taking over, one day.

Now, Alucard had always been close to his mother. They say the middle child is always the one that got least amount of attention but that was false, for the Jeups. They all knew that he was her favorite although she loved all of her kids to death. So, when the matriarch died, Alucard completely shut down. The once calm mannered and obedient son was spiraling out of control. Alcohol, drugs, sex, anything to keep his mind off of the fact that he’d never see his mother again. His presence in the Jeup house became scarce and at the age of twenty-two, he bought his own penthouse apartment.

His father began to notice that his son was no longer fit to take over the empire and switched the role to the youngest son. Alucard was not happy, to say the least. He’d been demoted to hitman. Now, he lives his life between bedsheets and murder. He isn’t sure if he even wants the role as leader anymore. He just knows he isn’t happy to have it taken away from him.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

Alucard scoffed as he crossed his legs. "No matter how many times you ask me, you're going to get the same answer." He checked his nails and made eye contact with the investigator. "I wasn't there. I'd picked up this pretty little thing, down at Ketsuki. Ass tighter than Jonas Brother's jeans." He chuckled. "Took him home and fucked him all night. I mean, you can check the CCTV." He shrugged. He always had an alibi and he never got caught. And he had taken someone home that night. That much was true. But he had also left back out and handled business. But of course the footage of him leaving would never surface. "If we're done here, I'd like to get back to pretty boy laying in my bed."

#vcnightblood #vcjeup #rp #rpg #oc rp #oc rpg #gang rpg #gang rp #mafia rp #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg #vcdarkspawn

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vicecityhq · 3 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY THEY REMIND THEM OF: fast asleep in a swinging chandelier. somebody crying in another room. crowns of teeth and jawbones and wire. With a slight resemblance to KIM HONGJOONG of/the ATEEZ.

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FULL FILE:

last name, first name: han noeul alias: fate realm of birth(if earth, nationality): earth — norway, then norge age: visually, 22. born est. late 1700s gender: male preferred pronouns: he / him species: necromancer occupation: nightblood — caporegime sexual orientation: pan any associated/owned businesses: unnamed word-of-mouth underground side gig dedicated to deceiving believers into hopes of a proper afterlife in exchange for their servitude.

VISUAL FILE:

skin color: neutral eye color: black, flecked red. scars: scarified compass rose; center of the chest. battle wounds, assorted; many. piercings: ears only, 7. tattoos: jormungandr around the thigh, 'wonderland' below the navel, nightblood mark center of the lower lip. hair color: silver abnormalities: n/a horns/ wings/ etc: n/a transformed form: n/a

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: modern satanism ( only loosely practiced )

SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice / temperance

KNOWN LANGUAGES: norwegian, english, moderate latin

SECRETS: locations of spirits he has bound and hidden; most notable of which is his brother's.

SAVVIES: craft ( jewelry of teeth, corsets of bone. ), music ( cello, piano, lyre in the past. ), generally clever, a natural leader.

Powers & Abilities: absorption — of life, power, knowledge, or other enhancements of the self.mediumship/divination — communication with the dead, summoning, etc.astral manipulation — trapping/binding of spirits, exorcisms, banishment.death sense — shinigami-like abilities.resurrection — limited by timemanipulation of the dead — control, communication, bestowment of anti-regeneration.traits: charming, manipulative.aesthetics: fast asleep in a swinging chandelier. somebody crying in another room. crowns of teeth and jawbones and wire.

Traits: charming, manipulative.

BACKGROUND CHECK:

date of birth: est late 1700s.

date of death: n/a

crime record: serial arsonist, kidnapping. murder. substance abuse. trespassing. in regards to evading law enforcement, he's bold with bribery, slippery in sticky situations. rarely places himself at the scene of a crime unless it's personal— he will compel corpses to carry out anything else, thus his record is relatively clean, even if his hands are not.

Background/Biography:

can be viewed here i'm sorry the formatting is just giving me a hard time hhh!

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

a man sits in a room with a handgun, a tape recorder, and a boy called fate.

his uniform is too tight around the ribs, the coffee cold. the lighting flickers, leaves them both awash in cold subtle blues that rinse the life from their skin. he can hear the bars of neon humming if he holds his breath, and hold it he does. there's a one-way mirror to the left. the boy is handcuffed to the table. the belt around his waist holds his gun, his taser, a remote to call for assistance. he's had months of training. he's been in the field for years.

but mere minutes of silence with fate feel like dodging bullets; the eyes on him are alight with something strange, as if the being across the table hungered for the air in his very lungs. for all the sayings about staring death in the eye, none have ever mentioned what to do if it looked back.

"c'mon. let's not make this any harder than it needs to be."

"i don't believe i've been anything but compliant, officer."

"you didn't answer my question. what happened—"

"you know what happened."

"listen, the long con ain't gonna get you nowhere. we've been letting you off light for months, huh? so let's talk."

the words leave his mouth, and the air changes. a note of finality rings somewhere on a grand piano; elsewhere in the city, a dance has finished. an elderly man dies in his bed. a child sees his mother cry for the first time— and for some reason, the man hears all of it. he refocuses on fate's face then, its pleasant features, whose voice sounds like burning books; whose voice sounds like he knows everything man could ever dream of learning, and more.

"c'mon, i got plenty of time."

fate smiles and shakes his head.

"no you don't."

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood #this has been my favorite graphic so far #rp #rpg #oc rp #oc rpg #gang rpg #gang rp #mafia rp #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg

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vicecityhq · 3 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: Expensive cologne, sultry gazes, and glossy lip . With a slight resemblance to PARK JIMIN of/the BTS.

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FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Seong, Minjun ALIAS: the Arctic Fox (due to his cold personality and white fur) Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Earth - South Korea/Korean Age: 26 Gender: cis male Preferred Pronouns: he/him Species: Gumiho Occupation: Escort for The Night Bloods Sexual Orientation: Pansexual Any Associated/Owned Businesses: N/A

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: Slightly tanned Eye color: Green with golden flecks Scars: Has one on his shoulder. He’s tried very hard to get it removed/cured, so it’s very faint. Piercings: Only his ears have multiple piercings, however he wants more Tattoos: The Night Blood’s single tear droplet located on his upper thigh. Hair color: Natural hair is white but he never leaves it as such and is always dyeing it different colors. Currently it is a light blonde Abnormalities: N/A Horns/ wings/ etc: Nine tails. Occasionally wanders around with his ears and tails out, but otherwise he keeps them from showing. Transformed form: Transforms into a white nine-tailed fox. The tips of his tails, his ears, and paws have red streaks in them that almost appear like blood if you just glance at him. He has these same marks on his forehead as well.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: N/A , doesn't seem to care about it. Pretty cynical about everything.

SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice / temperance

KNOWN LANGUAGES: Korean, Japanese, Chinese, English, French, and Spanish

SECRETS: He has only ever killed one person, but he's not a man-eater like the myths and legends say. A bit of a kleptomaniac, but he never steals from clients.

SAVVIES: (specific things they are good at or are a hobby of theirs): Good at reading people, can appear outgoing and diplomatic when he needs to be, and a good actor. He likes music and running as it clears his mind.

Powers & Abilities: Dokkaebi Physiology (Korean), Sleep-paralysis Inducement, Supernatural Beauty, Possession, Shape-shifting, Illusion Manipulation, Insanity Inducement, Dream Manipulation, Nine-Tailed Fox Physiology

Traits: + astute, - cynical

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: October 28, 1996

Date of Death:

Crime Record: Has been questioned a couple of times for stealing, but has never been charged with anything. He manages to sway most police officers and gets away with things. Makes them feel dazed or uneasy around him.

Background/Biography:

DEATH TW

Most people love a rags to riches or an underdog story. It makes them feel good and, to foolish people, makes them believe they too have a chance in the upper circles. These stories never talk about what happens afterwards or the price one pays to get to the top however, which is why Minjun despises them.

The earliest memory he possesses is of his mothers warm embrace and her soft singing. Like any true tragic beginning, the memory is tainted with blood and screams as he watched from under the bed as his mother was killed by hunters. While Gumiho’s are strong and powerful, his mother had become soft. She believed there was always good in people, which is ultimately what led to her demise. They wanted her beautiful tails, her powerful yeowoo guseul, and they wanted her dead because she posed a ‘threat’ to humans. Gumihos used to be respected and believed as benevolent, but humans are ruled by fear -- and with fear comes violence.

The minutes, hours, days after her death were a blur to Minjun. He spent most of it in his fox form, running and running, hoping to get far away from the town they had resided near. He finally succumbed to exhaustion and when he awoke, he was back into his human body on an unknown bed. He had been twelve at the time when an older couple had found him and cared for him. He could even say he felt happy for a bit while living with them. That was until they offered him up to one of the gangs in exchange for money. Not only had they seen him in his fox form, but he had always had his ears and tails out in his human form. The couple figured Minjun must have been worth something and so they sold him, like an animal.

Minjun has done just about every job, working his way from the very bottom to the top. Sure many people wouldn’t call being an escort ‘the top’ but it was to him. He received expensive gifts, wore designer clothes, expensive cologne, and was given a lavish penthouse. If he had to go out with a couple of people to a couple events and act interested, then so be it. Plus, deep down (and he’d vehemently deny it) it felt like he belonged to a family. Sure, a terrifying family where he’d be booted out if he no longer did his job, but he belonged to something. Not only that, but he didn’t actually have to sleep with his clients. In fact, he’s only ever slept with just one and Minjun would never repeat that mistake again. Instead, he used his powers to make his clients believe he did something if his clients were adamant in wanting more (which wasn’t often anyway). He just had to make them happy, there was no harm in making them believe they had had the elusive Arctic Fox. He loved the attention, the money, and the power, but he often felt empty. Was this all there was to life?

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

“Just run us through what happened that night.”

Minjun’s sultry gaze landed on the officer in front of him, years of practice kept him from openly showing his disdain and annoyance. He would get out of this quickly and hopefully have none of The Night Bloods hear about this, not that they would care much. He thinks. He hears the officer clear his throat and…oh right, the man had asked something.

“Officer, I was on a date. With a very very handsome man, and we were just shopping around. Is that a crime?” He smiled lazily, putting his chin on his hand. If he wasn’t so tired, he would have used some form of hallucination or mind trick to get out of this faster, but he couldn’t be bothered. It’s not like they had any real evidence against him.

“Look fox, your tactics don’t work on me. I see right through you,” the burly officer growled. And wow…Minjun had his work cut out for him. It was only time though, no person was truly immune to him.

Leaning a little closer and batting his eyes a little, Minjun purred, “Right through me, officer?” He watched the officer intensely, taking every small detail in and every change in his expression. For a few seconds, Minjun believed that he would have to use his powers after all, the officer looking as unimpressed as ever. However, his predator eyes caught the small twitch of the officer’s eyes and the small red that started to appear on the tip of his ears. Minjun had caught another prey in his claws.

The officer coughed a bit, trying to clear his throat and stutter while trying to come up with a response. Minjun sat back, letting his loose sheer shirt slide down his shoulder a bit, collarbones on display. “I don’t have a need to steal. I had a handsome rich date with me, offering to buy me whatever I wanted. There's no need for me to take anything, and frankly it’s a little insulting.”

Minjun juts his lower lip out, inwardly scoffing at his own act. The officer wasn’t even looking at his face anymore, his eyes trained on Minjun’s neck. Men were so weak, it seemed as though this officer had a thing for the innocent type.

“I-I no, of course not. You- You don’t look like you would steal, you’re right and I’ll make sure this is cleared up immediately.” The officer said quickly, standing up just as fast to signal the end of the interrogation. Minjun gave the officer the most innocent smile he could muster, willing a blush to come on to his cheeks.

“Thank you for listening to me, and I’m sorry for all the trouble. I know you all work so hard to keep this city safe.” Minjun stated as he started to follow the officer out, letting his shoulder brush against the man’s chest. He heard more than saw the officer take a sharp breath, and he grinned a bit before schooling his face to something more neutral as he made his way out of the police station.

#rp #rpg #krp #krpg #oc rp #oc rpg #gang rpg #gang rp #mafia rp #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg #vcaccepted #vcnightblood

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vicecityhq · 3 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: candles burned to the wick, night forests blanketed in mist, piled papers inked with ancient writing . With a slight resemblance to XIAO ZHAN of/the ACTOR.

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FULL FILE:

last name, first name: zhang rowan alias: malice realm of birth (if earth, nationality): earth-born, europe age: appears 30 (decelerated aging, actually 200+) date of birth: november 13, 1865 gender: how they identify themselves. non-conforming (amab) preferred pronouns: he/him species: necromancer/demon (physical) occupation: nightbloods (hitman) sexual orientation: pansex/rom

VISUAL FILE:

skin color: on the pale side, but natural eye color: wine red scars: shallow knife scar that runs diagonally across his back piercings: none tattoos: ‘symbol of death’ behind ears, tally-marks on each hand extended from fingertip to forearms hair color: black abnormalities: none horns/ wings/ etc: manifests black, shadow-esque wings that are intangible but functional transformed form: none

PERSONAL FILE:

religious belief: atheist

SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice

KNOWN LANGUAGES: mandarin, korean, english, latin

SECRETS: orphaned from birth (doesn’t talk about family at all or his past in europe)

SAVVIES: chess, blacksmith, sculpting, archery/hunting

Powers & Abilities: weapon creation / wing manifestation / darkness manipulation / semi-immortality / conjuration / soul manipulation / blood manipulation /death magic / teleportation /telekinesis

Traits: cultured but compulsive

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: november 13th, 1865

Date of Death: N/A

Crime Record: in the human realm, rowan avoids authority. that doesn’t mean they avoid him, believing he has done many bad things. the only problem is they’ve never been able to prove it. rowan taunts them sometimes, but is otherwise untouchable.

Background/Biography:

(contains loose ties of the ‘jack the ripper’ lore) the back-end streets of 19th century europe were mixed with those of all races. such was the workings of the red light district, a place not unfamiliar no matter the realm or race. it crawled with sin, bred misery. tales told that one born to a harlot would never leave the dilapidated recesses of the red light district, bound to be feasted on the evils that lurk there. what no one ever considered was the potential of the district, festering with wickedness, could breed a monster. the alleys enticed a demon, sentient yet no less fiendish, who quickly fell into the allure of lust with a necromancer who had been passing through the city, fresh off the ferry from the china mainland. she had been searching for an opioid parlor, and when flecked-red met pitch black, embers flew. but this was no tale of star-crossed lovers, or of romance; this was pure and unbridled lust, a powerplay of sorts. tango of darkness; and from that rowan zhang was born.

rowan became an orphan the moment he left his mother’s womb. the only thing he had left of her was his name; and of his father, the notion that he was a hell-dweller. subsequently born in the red light district, rowan was stuck like every other child raised in the pits. he saw many things; many dark, terrible things no child should ever have to witness. but these things were nothing compared to the dark things happening within him. as he grew older- in mind rather than appearance-rowan came to realize he was different. certainly not unique, but a different in that he had a particular craving to understand vitality. a person’s soul, their heart, their very being; just what made them tick? he wondered. and so rowan came to research the only way he knew how; necromancy. he blurred the line between the good and evil of his abilities, tainted by his half-hellish self. his only call to morality was that he never targeted the innocent; not the piteous woman nor the child. only those who had offended him, or mistreated one of the people he’d taken under his wing as a long-time resident of the red-light district. and they were every unassuming, poor fools. lured by his bright eyes and sweet smile, only to be swallowed by his blood-curdling anger, that same smile imprinted in their petrified expressions, even when they roamed as living corpses.

for years, rowan led this honest life until he grew bored as times changed, and the world morphed around him. he left europe and returned to the mainland of china, where he took permanent residence for quite some time, familiarizing himself with a culture he’d never gotten to experience. this placated him, quelled some of the passionate fire of his youth; though he was no less aggressive, only passively so. not long after, rowan moved to south korea on an anonymous tip that what you’re looking for was waiting for him. and they had been right.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

rowan snuck a glance at the time on his wrist, then tilted his chin to inspect the scuff of his shoes. when he looked up through dark lashes, the officer was still staring at him. accusatory, knowing. rowan bit back a smile, amused by the officer’s front.

“i’ll have you know i’m a very busy person. if i had the time, i’d happily relay my tale but,” rowan watched his watch tick from minute to minute. “i shouldn’t be staying much too longer.”

the officer reddens; perhaps from frustration...or maybe the way rowan’s shoe tickles their shin. “you’re going to tell me everything you know.”

“am i?” rowan blinks, feigned shock. “that seems quite demanding, i don’t think the boss would like that.”

“boss?”

rowan covers his mouth delicately, though the smile behind his palm stretches too wide for comfort. “oh dear- i’ve said too much already.”

metal screeches as the officer stands, the sound grating on rowan’s ears. his jaw ticks, eyes fluttering closed as he reins in a low growl. he hates that sound. “several officers saw you come out of that building earlier- so how is it that several hours later three people are found dead.”

rowan tilts his head left. then right. “a coincidence?”

“you didn’t even bother hiding from the main camera as you left. there was blood on your clothes.”

“hm?” rowan smiles, bright and charming, cuspids gleaming. “are you sure it wasn’t a bloody mary?”

a fog sneaks over the officer’s eyes, expression slackening in confusion. “we-”

rowan leans forward, brow raised, eyes practically glowing. “hm?”

the officer frowns, scratches their head. “well, you did come out of the building. but that was-”

“six hours before the murder.”

“-six hours before the murder.” the officer blinks into the air, then at rowan. “there’s no way you could have done it if you were gone by then.”

rowan nods, the brightness in his eyes cooling. he stands, gently, from the table, glances at his watch. its been thirty minutes past meeting time- boss is going to be highly upset. he wonders how he’s going to placate his boss this time, contemplating a very expensive bottle of wine, or maybe a meal, when the door to the interview room opens. a familiar face pops in, antsy and wide-eyed. one of his newer...followers.

“sorry for taking so long, they wouldn’t let me in.”

“did you tell them who you were here for?”

“zhang rowan.”

rowan rolls his eyes, clasping a hand on the other’s shoulder with only a slightly painful grip. “i’ve told you not to say that name, didn’t i?”

his lackey grimaces, sweat on their brow. “y-yes, malice. my apologies.”

“very good,” rowan grins, appeased, smoothing the lapels of his winter coat as he walks out of the precinct, smiling candidly at the employees that follow him with disbelieving (and disappointed) stares.

he bids a cheery, “have a lovely day~” before he walks out of the building and into the streets of agdoeg.

#rp #rpg #krp #krpg #oc rp #gang rp #mafia rp #vcaccepted #vcnightblood #oc rpg #gang rpg #mafia rpg #supernatural rp #supernatural rpg #literate rp #literate rpg

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vicecityhq · 3 years

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██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: strong hands adjusting cufflinks of gold against a pressed suit, the dichotomy of a polite half-grin and painfully gritted teeth, the disconcerting waltz between a tortured demeanour and a wandering ghost. With a slight resemblance to WOO DOHWAN of/the ACTOR,

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Last Name, First Name: moon yongtae ALIAS: blaze Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): earth, korean Age: 150 y/o Date of Birth: 12 july 1871 Gender: male Preferred Pronouns: him/his Species: dragon blood Occupation: night bloods ( caporegime ) / major shareholder in multiple companies Sexual Orientation: straight

VISUAL FILE:

Skin Color: fair Eye color: black with flecks of red Scars: n/a Piercings: n/a Tattoos: n/a Hair color: black Abnormalities: n/a Horns/ wings/ etc: large patch of crimson scales along left sleeve, spanning the length of his forearm. Transformed form: once transformed, he is a large dragon standing at 25 feet tall with alligator crimson scales and six black horns. as for his eyes, they are a dirty gold with the increased occurrence of ember flecks closer to the vertical slit of his black pupil. he has two rows of sharp, glinting teeth and a pointed tongue.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: atheist SINS: wrath / envy / pride VIRTUES: diligence / temperance KNOWN LANGUAGES: korean, japanese, mandarin, english, russian SECRETS: he killed his mother in rage, but this secret is repressed even by him. to this day, he does not recall the event and, if brought closer to the truth, will fly into a fit of destructive rage in his mind’s attempt to protect itself. SAVVIES: golf / boxing / horse riding / painting / pottery

Powers & Abilities:

enhanced senses: this includes the five senses: sound, smell, taste, touch, vision.

immortality

dragon physiology: yongtae can turn into a crimson dragon at will. transformation itself can last up to a minute and can sometimes hurt. as a dragon, he is also less capable of rationalisation and is guided by innate emotions and wants. isolated parts of his body can contort into dragon form for a brief moment (unstable shifting), in which he will be able to access a fraction of the intensity of the subpowers that accompany dragon physiology. at the moment, yongtae has not learnt to control his unstable shifting, so it is mostly instinctive and almost exclusively influenced by his rage. when extremely angered, his unstable shifting is more of a weakness as different parts of his body rapidly switches between a human and half-dragon form. the subpowers are as follows:

supernatural roar: yongtae can let out a fierce roar that can induce fear, sometimes paralysis, for a brief moment. his roar can also temporarily deafen anyone closeby (<1 metre away from him). this subpower can also be accessed if unstable shifting involves his face and mouth.

fire generation: as the element associated with the moon family is fire, yongtae is a fire-breathing dragon. he generates fire from his breath. this subpower can also be accessed if unstable shifting involves his face and mouth.

enhanced condition: this includes enhanced durability (from dermal armour), endurance, regeneration, stamina, strength and vision. enhanced durability, regeneration and strength can also be accessed through unstable shifting that involves his skin and arms, and the enhanced condition is limited only to the body part that is directly affected by unstable shifting.

flight: he is granted the ability to fly through his wings. this cannot be accessed during unstable shifting.

magic resistance: yongtae’s dermal armour can act as a barrier against forms of magic that can physically harm him. he does not have any resistance against forms of magic that targets his mind. this can also be accessed through unstable shifting that involves his skin and arms, depending on the location in which the magic hits.

thermal immunity: yongtae can survive in extremely hot climates with no discomfort. he is resistant to cold temperatures due to his ability to generate fire through his breath, but he is not immune to the cold and extremely cold climates can hurt him. resistance to heat can be accessed during unstable shifting of his skin, and resistance to cold can be accessed during unstable shifting of skin, face, and mouth.

natural weaponry: yongtae is able to utilise his fire breath, horns, sharp claws and teeth, prehensile tongue and strong tail during combat. he is also able to utilise his supernatural roar to temporarily weaken his enemies to gain an advantage during combat.

Traits: (+) polished, (-) volatile

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: 12 july 1871 Date of Death: n/a Crime Record: murdered his mother but was never discovered as forensics at the time (early 1900s) was poor. he was suspected, but sexism was also rampant at the time, so it was easy to believe that his socialite mother committed suicide as opposed to a devastating tale between an esteemed man who murdered his own mother.

Background/Biography:

tw: emotional abuse, murder

mother describes you as this.

a pleasant sunday morning that holds, within its belly, the most anticipated daytime soiree of the year—nay, the decade!—all prettied up with a blanket of blooming bouvardias and silver dusty millers. the dress code is white. the guests spring towards the decorated open space in ivory organza dresses and pristinely white suits, with the most elaborate pieces of vintage jewellery falling from their small necks. in a distance, a looming rain cloud inches closer and closer in angles too ambiguous to tell if one should run for shelter or count their lucky stars.

don’t be mistaken, for you are neither the sun, nor the soiree, nor the wind that lends to the bounce in their steps, and you are most certainly not some pretty flowers. no, you are the storm, in all your raging thunder, an omen of bad luck of past, present and yet to come.

see, mother says you have always been difficult. that is to say there is nothing easy about you. even as you were carefully held in the warm knit of your mother’s womb, you had made sure to sink your blackened claws into her soft flesh. and as you left, you had torn her pretty skin to bloodied shreds.

too often does mother remind you of the scars.

{ 5.

mother says you are a slow learner, though one could easily argue that you are the model pupil of destruction. see, where others sob and laugh and blush, you only feel an overpowering fire blazing through the gaps of your ribcage and spilling into your digits with the consistency of magma. you curl your fists and dig your bitten nails into your palms, so tight that you puncture skin, and you destroy. around you is your own personal ruin of splintered wood, shattered glass and burnt fabric, ingredients that make up the ring of debris encompassing you, its beating heart. in this instance, you think are five though you cannot be sure, for there have been far too many instances quite like this and they all blend into the supercut of your childhood. that is to say, it does not take much to welcome your rage.

you take in mother’s frightful scowl, the wicked curl of her scarlet lips, and your eyes stalk her slender arms’ erratic movements, from the panicked grip atop her charcoal hair, to the petite digit gesturing madly at the mess you’ve made. spit hurls from her mouth as she screams terror.

( at least you think she is yelling. you cannot be too sure when all you hear is a loud ringing in your ear. )

at some point, mother sinks her manicured nails into your shoulder and yanks you towards the tall hallway mirror, and you are contested with the stubborn red hue that paints your skin, the glowing embers that dirty your irises, and the ugly sneer that your boyish features has permanently morphed into. a wild rage bubbles from within your chest, and you predict it will pour out in a scream, but instead you hear it erupt as a deafening roar. you watch as your face flickers uncontrollably into something not quite dragon enough to be considered powerful and noble, yet so little is its resemblance that it would be an injustice to call it human; no, here you stand so frighteningly fragmented between the two. it cannot be denied any longer, not even by yourself, that you have turned into something akin to a monster. and as your eyes shift helplessly towards mother, the horrified way in which she gapes back tells you that she certainly deems you to be so.

get out!, she screams, get out of my house!

as you are dragged towards the exit, she reminds you—once, and again a second time—to kneel in repentance and not come back until you have learnt control, until you have learnt composure, and until you have learnt to fix this defect that lies within you.

it is half past six in the evening when you sink your knees into the melting snow, and you blow your fire into the palms of your hands to keep yourself warm. at some point, you hold yourself, and you will claim that this is simply a means to fight the biting cold. ( unfortunately, you are also a terrible liar. )

it will be precisely nine eighteen at night, when you are staring raptly at the inconspicuous specks of dirt dotting the snow to the left of your knee that you feel mother’s warm hand on your shoulder, and your shoulders sink in reprieve. she kneels beside you and pulls you into a familiar embrace, and she whispers into the cold that she is so, so proud of you for the steps you have taken to reign in your misbehaviour. in the next few months, she will claim that you have become too big for this, but for now, she cradles you into her fur-coated arms and carries you home. this time, you are honest with how you melt into her warmth.

{ 24.

in your house lives a wandering ghost.

he is the great moon yongho, they are eager to tell you, the very personification of power, strength and composure and one of the greatest dragons to walk the four realms. they lament his death, long before you are old enough to remember, and curse the mobsters who murdered him in foul play. mother chitters in kind as she reminisces the days in which he would be the one to walk beside her instead— well… instead of you, with a firm hand placed securely on the small of her back.

( it is not that she does not prefer your company, she carefully explains, though you are also well aware that this sentiment is heavily reliant on your ability to walk in straight lines. unsurprisingly, you have always been awful with your balance. )

perhaps once, you were curious. once, you too viewed him with the sun and stars glimmering in your eyes, lips parted in awe at the portrait of this great man who was so closely related to you, and yet so far out of reach. your curiosity does not last, for no matter her mood, mother does not hesitate to regale you with tales of his excellence.

that is to say,

i) when mother is content, she tells you she is excited for the man you will become, for his blood runs within your veins, and his heart beats in your chest, so as he has done great and wondrous things, so will you. ii) when mother is worried, she speaks of all the times he would appease her fears, how he would draw his heavy sword if it meant he could conquer her demons. now that he is gone, she finds there is simply no one competent enough to take up his mantle. iii) when mother is disappointed, she rips apart the sinews of your chest and shows you all the parts of yourself that are missing, and she sneers that she would have joined your father in his lonely grave long before ever getting to see the day you are finally worthy of sharing his name.

on one quiet evening, when mother has fallen asleep on the couch in the hall, you slip your strong arms into the back of her knees and across her shoulders and you carry her—just as she once did you—up the stairs to her bed. before you leave, mother grips your arm, so tight and desperate, and in her sleep, she calls you by your father’s name.

that night, you do not sleep. instead, you stare jealously at your father’s portrait in the hallway as you restlessly await the day that he will finally, truly die.

{ 32.

years pass, and today, mother has deemed you fit to accompany her to a grand ball. see, you have made so much progress in exorcising the trigger-happy nature of your fury, and mother acknowledges this graciously. here, you are nervously searching the mirror for any creases in your black suit when mother glides in, an endearing smile on her lips.

“let me help you,” her voice is melodious like wind chimes tinkling in the wind.

mother’s velvet fingers whispers along the falling strands of your otherwise perfect hair then drops, like a falling leaf, to cup the curve of your strong jaw. it is moments like these that will be etched into the forefront of your memory, and you allow yourself a second—perhaps you even steal two—to sink into her warmth.

you find yourself at the venue’s steps, mother’s hand held tightly against your hooked left elbow. you pause at the tall entrance and you take a deep breath. you are nervous, it is clear as day, and doubt creeps into the innards of your skull. mother understands, and as she places your hand on her bicep in comfort, you swear you spot a look of pride in her chocolate eyes. this fuels your confidence to charge forward, so march on you do, into the critical eyes of high society. you were only a teenager when you last accompanied mother to a prominent event such as this—one whose end you would much rather forget—so as you had expected, mother’s inquisitive friends gravitate immediately towards your tall frame the second they catch wind of you. eyelashes batter as they jokingly chide your mother for hiding you away, and they ask you questions that you have practised answering in the mirror. your confidence swells, and your words sit readily at the tip of your tongue, ready to fall when—

“pardon me, but you look exactly like your father,” another of her friend interjects.

you freeze. see, to understand this, one must first be aware that it has been almost a decade since you had last been compared to your father, the great yongho. you had been putting in so much effort and you were doing so well, from counting to ten, to closing your eyes, to practising fucking mantras, and it had taken so long for mother to even notice. but as the days had gone by, when you began to count more successes than failures and when the frequency in which mother compared you to him switched from daily to hardly ever, you thought that you could deceive yourself into thinking that you had finally, finally filled his void.

you force a polite grin. the words leave your tense lips like claws on chalkboard, “thank you—”

“no, truly— i did catch a small resemblance when i saw you last, but gods, you are the spitting image of him now!”

they glance at your mother for support, and mother’s preening and enthusiastic nodding is all it takes to induce the difficult battle of fighting the snarl off your otherwise handsome features. you tilt your head in an attempt to conceal your growing annoyance.

1, 2, 3, 4—

“yes, i agree. the resemblance is truly uncanny,” another sings, her voice dripping with longing. when you curl your fists, you notice your fingernails morphing into claws. your heart falls in fear at the sickening thought of mother’s friends having to witness the unsightly monster that you can become—one that your mother so abhors—so your eyes dart rapidly across the room in search for an exit.

“i— i need to go,” you announce to the group, and mother shoots you a threatening glare and she tightens her grip around your arm. your name falls from her lips as a warning.

“oh— is something wrong—?” her friends ask, manicured brows furrowing in confusion.

“i just— i need a moment.”

you snatch your arm violently from mother’s fist and storm towards the dimly-lit gardens.

the next time you see mother is to escort her to the car. she glances at you once, disappointment ample on her features, and she darts past you into the car as though loathing to spend even a moment within your presence. you take a deep breath in—1, 2, 3, 4, 5—a slow breath out—6, 7, 8, 9, 10—and you follow her into the vehicle.

the car ride is silent, thick with animosity, and you wonder if today, you will be spared from her wrath. you argue technicalities in your head, reason that you did manage to conceal the brunt of your rage from her peers, so perhaps she will simply storm off into her room and save you from her rebuke. ( of course, it is a foolish endeavour, as mother sneers the second you arrive home. )

“what is wrong with you?” her rhetoric is laced with insult. in the past, you would retaliate instantly, but you think you are better now, so instead, you clench your jaw and stare furiously at a spot on the wall.

“i never should have trusted you,” she scoffs, shakes her head incredulously, “if your father were here—”

perhaps you say you are better, but the way in which you retort is so akin to your former self—your intrinsic self—that you question you have made any progress at all. mother scoffs and her face contorts into a look of disbelief, eyes widened so large, you can see the scarlet lines of blood vessels like vines crawling within the whites of her eyes. she allows herself a moment’s pause then soldiers on with her lecture, and perhaps if you were calmer, you could dismiss her arguments as hysterical. what happens instead is you find yourself transported to palace gates, like a knight with chipped armour sent to slaughter the undefeated dragon that is the rage that lies within you. as usual, you fail.

“you would embarrass me—me!—in front of everyone!”

claws dig into your face in an attempt to hide the shame accompanying the contortion of your ugly features and—

“too long have i toiled for this family, and you would burn our reputation all to the ground—”

—a hideous roar spills as you bare your claws and—

“just look at you.”

—something in you just… snaps.

the day exists in your memory as a poisonous fog that you can neither touch nor clear. after a hasty investigation, they conclude that it was self-inflicted, though you cannot deny a persistent scepticism itching the bottom left of your skull. you cannot make sense of it, but deep within your core, there is a substantial part of you that surprisingly cares very little for finding out. ( and perhaps, there is also a much smaller, more sinister part of yourself that promises that you will not like the answer. )

today, you are wearing all black. the car is ready for you out front, but you stall to bid your final farewell to your beloved mother, as if by doing so, you could deceive yourself into thinking that she still roams these halls. yes, you tell yourself, you are merely waiting for her to be ready. fashionably late, dear, you hear her teasing voice in your thoughts.

so you linger, and at one point you intend to contest with yourself in the mirror; yet somehow, you instead find yourself facing the full portrait of mother’s small frame. you study the small, brown strokes that form her chocolate eyes, the ones that appear in both your most pleasant dreams and most terrifying nightmares. a familiar, crackling voice crawls eerily up the curve of your neck.

“see? you have always been difficult. there is nothing easy about you.”

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

ah, perhaps a simple question to the common person, one who he foresees would lack the auxiliary, vitality or monetary capacity to fit more than one single activity into their early evenings. it would be a simpler life, he muses, one that he may even enjoy—though only temporarily, he decides a skip later, as he may very well pass from its dullness. for a man like moon yongtae, the question would require a complex, likely lengthy answer to reach anything close to reality; but he supposes he could, of course, confess to the conversations he shared with his inherited superiors—a parting gift from the father he hardly knew. he could also continue with details of the instructions he received from them, one which he had diligently passed on to his inferiors whilst completing the final fitting for his velvet suit. all of that which was mentioned is, of course, highly illegal, though that would hardly invoke surprise nor response nor action from the officers that he holds under his belt. he deduces then that perhaps they may want to know about the fancy ball, in which a square foot’s worth of decorations could amount to more money than they could ever make. perhaps, the more intimate details that came after, though for that, he would have to unveil mother’s most buried skeletons, the impressive timbre of her ugly, ugly tirades and her yelling, her screaming, him being woken up by the glaring sun piercing through mother’s voile curtains, confused at how he had ended up on father’s side of the bed whilst locking mother’s pillows in the tightest embrace, and walking downstairs to the metallic smell of blood and—

well, what did happen that night?

“we were at a ball,” he drawls, if only for the sake of responding, “it was pleasant. then we went home.”

he meets their stare and, after a few silent beats, notices that they mean for him to continue. it is only a moment, the way his nose twitches in annoyance, so subtle that it is unlikely that they notice it.

“she was… upset about something… i believe something happened during the party, and i think she meant to tell me, but i can hardly remember the details of our conversation now,” it is at this moment when he nears the memory of finding mother’s cold, lifeless body bleeding into her favourite carpet that he begins to show emotion, brows furrowed and eyes darting left to right in panic, as though he is transported back to morning in which he stumbled towards her, hands bloodied from cradling her to his chest, and his agonising screams as he buries his head into her pallor neck. his voice croaks, “.. by morning, there was a lot of blood.”

he means to hold his head in his hands, overwhelmed once again at being confronted with the reality of mother’s death, but he feels mother’s disappointment from whence her body rests. so he instead maintains the composure she so loves, and tightly grips his thumbs within his fists. as he does this, he searches his mind for any memory that could possibly lend to his understanding of the night prior. of course, he comes up with nothing.

“i am truly sorry, but i am of no use. i remember nothing.”

#vcaccepted #vcnightblood

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vicecityhq · 3 years

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FULL FILE:

VISUAL FILE:

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: N/A

SINS: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / patience / justice

KNOWN LANGUAGES: Korean, English

SAVVIES: swordsmanship, acting

traits: resilient, venomous

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Background/Biography:

(tw: mention of a large age gap relationship, mention of murder, mention of parental death)

his father had taught him everything, and in his brother’s downward spiral in grief conversations went from hushed tones to loud enough for him to hear every word.

‘birthright didn’t mean capable.’

‘we need someone stronger than that to take my place,’

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

“c-can i just talk to the guy in charge please?” he pretended.

“choi...jung-won.” he stammered out slowly, pointing to the the two way mirror, to which the man in front of him nodding, forcing his subordinates to turn it off no longer being able to see.

“yes...sir but the knew recruits they don’t...the didn’t know.”

#vcaccepted #vcnightbloods #rp #rpg #new rp #new rpg #krp #krpg #gang rp #gang rpg #mafia rp #mafia rpg #yeonjun fc #choi yeonjun fc #choi yeonjun #txt fc #tomorrow x together fc

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