NAME.Ā NicolaiĀ āIndieā Dragos
AGE & BIRTH DATE.Ā 277 & February 3rd, 1795
GENDER & PRONOUNS.Ā Male & He/Him
SPECIES.Ā Vampire
OCCUPATION.Ā Warehouse Worker
FACE CLAIM.Ā Sebastian Stan
( tw torture, violence, brainwashing, manipulation, starvation, abuse ) Once there was a man who loved to dance.
He wasnāt born in a time where it was feasible to pursue this as a career, but it was socially expected for a man to be able to dance and dance well and so he did. Perhaps if heād been born in England or France he couldāve lived a leisurely life of balls and parties and danced to his heartās content. Heād been born, however, in Bucharest, Wallachia which would later unite with Moldavia to become Romania. Nicolai Petre Dragos grew up loved but in a country in turmoil, a country that wasnāt even a country yet, part of a people who had to fight hard for everything. He learned how to fight but he also learned how to enjoy time with people he loved, to fight for a cause, to laugh, dance and soak up the good things in life amidst turmoil. In spite of that, he did join the revolutionaries to fight for what would eventually become his nation and fought for a long time. He shouldāve married but didnāt, never quite settled down. Eventually what happened to many soldiers finally happened to Nicolai; he died.
At least, he shouldāve died.
He was bleeding out in a forest, filled with musket balls and slashes, wishing he couldāve danced with that pretty girl one more time when someone approached him. A demon, maybe? An angel? Nic wasnāt sure and it was never really clear to him. But he was fairly certain he died in that forestā¦until he woke up again, miraculously healed and aching with a thirst the likes of which heād never felt before. He was still in the forest, there were still people bleeding and dyingā¦and it was the blood he wanted. The blood? He acted more on instinct than anything for that first little while and found himself drinking the blood of the wounded, fellow revolutionaries and enemies alike, the only thing that slaked his thirst. Was he the demon now? He learned, soon enough, what it was heād become. Heād heard stories of creatures of the night, folktales, and yet it seemed they were real. Vampires, specifically, were real and heād become one of them.
Over the decades, he learned to control his thirst. He became better acquainted with his sire, learned about this new world. While heād loved his people, the nation they were trying to build, there was more of the world he could see now, more circles to move in, and heād been too afraid to stay near family or those he cared about while he was still learning how to control his thirst. So he left, travelled, learned. Soon enough, he was dancing again, enjoying things again. The vampires had their own world, their own hierarchy, and while he wasnāt desperate for power he was good enough with people that he eventually moved up so that the vampire queen learned his name. He was fairly certain it was because he was a good dancer that he was invited to court sometimes but he would take it because it was a good time.
For about 175 years, Nic kept dancing his way through this new immortal life. He learned languages, made friends, took lovers, and fought for things he believed in. The fighting was less physical than it used to be but sometimes it got that way and he never minded that. He invested in charitable causes, went back to Bucharest semi frequently, and thought he was making the most of what heād been given.
It was sudden but brutal on evening in 2007. Nic didnāt go down without a fight but eventually they overwhelmed him, the Eye, and the relatively good life heād been living vanished. It became a true nightmare of labs, cages, knives, scalpels, wooden stakes, but never to the heart, no that wouldnāt have been what they wanted, would have been too easy. Pokes, prods, experiments, dissections, and always pain. He fought against it for a long time but after a while it became hard to remember what he was fighting for. Had there ever been another life or had he always been here? Leech, they called him. He had a feeling that wasnāt his name, didnāt want that ugly string of letters to be his identity but what else was there? He had an aversion to the very idea, engrained in him by his sire and his bloodline. A leech? No, he wasnāt that. Sometimes, when they thought he couldnāt hear them, they referred to him as āN.D.ā. He could no longer remember what that stood for but it was better than Leech so he started to think of himself as Indie, to at least have a name that wasnāt Leech. While names and details and memories of a life he used to have (had he had it?) began to fade, it was harder to forget what he was. There were instincts in the body, ways to use it to fight, even if theyād weakened him, hurt him. As long as he could fight, as long as he could vaguely feel his sire, the connection to his bloodline, there was a reason to get out. Surely there were those who knew him, who could help him remember if he got out, who might be looking for him? He just had to hold out, to keep fighting.
They began to starve him. No blood, nothing, until he got so desperate that he wouldāve eaten anything just to get some relief from the gnawing hunger, the ache in his fangs, the desperate thirst. Anything was put in front of him; another vampire. Heād been reduced to an animal version of himself, practically feral, so desperate for survival that he did what he needed to to survive and fed from the other vampire. Relief and power flooded him at the same time that those vague connections that were more a part of his being than consciously felt snapped and were gone. Power heād never wanted, that heād only needed to take for survival, and now a true loneliness that overwhelmed him. He cried that first time, broken sobs even as they dragged him back in for more abuse. A surgery, training, electricity thrumming through his body as he begged for it to stop and aversion to mortal blood so strong that even the idea made him sick, that his body would shudder with the remembered pain. There was only enough food, enough of the new food, to keep him on the edge, to make it so that was often the only thing he could think about or want. Heād become theirs now, had been molded into their weapon, and finally they released him into the world with the purpose of going after the other vampires. He would have to report back, be controlled, but he had a measure of freedom now if only to satisfy his hunger and complete their plans.
He doesnāt dance anymore, he hasnāt for a long time.
+ obedient, loyal, efficientĀ
ā violent, guarded, distrustful
PLAYED BY SAM. MST. She/Her.
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