𝔻𝕣𝕚𝕗𝕥

ENTER THE CHRONOSCOPE .

You're up at the break of dawn and the first to turn in at night. Very much an early bird you're happy to chirp and chitter your way on the way to work. Make new friends, catch up with old ones, file every ounce of information away to organize later. The bright smile you adorn isn't fake by any means. You take everything into account, really listen to those that need to be heard. The reason for doing so is just.. a little-lot misplaced.

EXTRA STATS .

Special Powers: Aquamancy & chronokinesis

Sexual & Romantic identities: Biromantic & bisexual

Job / Workplace: The Nameless leader

Relationship status: Singlest Pringle ever

Appearance: Typically tidy with his upkeep. Sensible fashion that can also be utilized to his advantage if ever in a tight situation. Does prefer to side with comfort ( though still fashionable ) when retiring at home. Yes, this includes a row of robes and slippies.

CONNECTIONS .

tba

DOSSIER .

One parent absent in his childhood, and another present but just barely. Reinaldo was left to fend for himself early on.

It built character, most adults proclaimed as the years passed.

It made him strong and independent when he should’ve lived as a child had.

But such was life, wasn’t it?

It was greed that robbed his mother’s life. She tried to double cross someone just a hair smarter than her. Someone that had known about his existence, and decided to leave him out of their affairs. With his mother gone, the increase of freedom wet his appetite for excitement. Most of which came in the form of greed and violence.

More time slipped by and Reinaldo worked his way into a well renowned crime syndicate located in the West. Funnily enough, the people there had latched onto him in the best of ways. A found family, lifelong friends, and even a temporary dash of love. On and off as they were, their bond grew ever stronger after they even had a son. Unlike his own mother, Reinaldo adored and doted on his child as much as he could.

It was by a strike of misfortune that his wrongdoings paid him a visit. Both his girlfriend and son got caught in the crossfire of a home invasion. Reinaldo made it out alive, but at the cost of overwhelming grief. Devastated, he crumpled back into his old habits of unbridled anger and vengeance. And though he was enraged, the witch kept his wits about him. He vented his frustrations in a way that called forth the attention of something largely unknown.

Time, as they say, heals all wounds.

And by the grace of this terrifyingly beautiful thing, Reinaldo understood what he couldn't before. No matter how small or big it may be, change is inevitable. And it's that very change he quickly warped all of that anger and grief into unshakeable devotion.

EXTRA STATS .

Special Powers: Typical vampire thangs — notably stronger with shadow manipulation than compelling others & transforms into mist

Sexual & Romantic identities: Biromantic, bisexual, polyamorous

Job / Workplace: Deathrunner captain

Relationship status: Open marriage

Appearance: There's an impressive collection of five entire outfits in his closet. Has a prosthetic left arm. Almost always scowling.

Personality: The quiet sort. Doesn't enjoy talking just for the sake of it. Would much rather be in his own company, despite him not being able to stand even that most of the time. Despite not enjoying small talk, he’s relatively decent at it. Knows when to be polite and when to be firm. His taste for violence hasn’t necessarily lessened, so much as it’s been transformed. Kept under careful lock and key, and only allowed to be honed when a situation calls for it.

FISTFUL OF INFORMATION ( dossier at end ).

TD;LR: comes from an emotionally restrictive family > runs away and yeah, he wasn't missed > fell into street / cage fighting > didn't take an offer to lose the next round and broke his opponent's elbow by accident woopsie > got-got because that wasn't very cash money of him to do > should've died, but didn't. surprise! some vampire kept tabs on him ( i mean, have you seen dev patel angry and bloody? ) > dragged into the deathrunners by the scruff > chilled out with the rah rah hiss hiss punch first, ask second as he climbed the ranks to captain > .. uhh profit.

Operates as a captain within the Deathrunners. Primarily set to recruit other undead, but is also tasked with a secret agenda to keep an eye on the vampires within the gang / is primed to hunt others of his kind specifically. Cannot stress enough how the latter is only known / upheld with @ascnsionismx 's Mathias.

Married to @strangedevotions 's val, but it's .. y'know, hot and cold, on and off, up and down, etc.

Guilty pleasure ( to him ) — gardening. has a surprisingly green thumb and takes pride in his sweet peppers ( they're award winning, wow ).

Speaking of gardening — he likes to restore community gardens and routinely tends to them / the plants within.

CONNECTIONS .

Sire: Literally whoever, I don't have any ideas / thoughts on this other than they watched Rayaan's matches for a good amount of time before turning him at the nick of time.

Wine & dining: Select people he feeds from, though he goes into this relatively detached. Can form friendships if you squint / wait hard enough.

Fruits of his labor: He might garden, but he sure as shit doesn't eat anything harvest. Only selective of who he gives his sweet peppers to ( no, that's not a euphemism ). Everything else is free game, but don't thank him — he'll just brush it off and be grouchy about it.

Open to having Rayaan be the sire to other vampires!

While he keeps a smaller pool of friends, there’s no shortage of acquaintances and connections.

DOSSIER .

Expectations were to be set high and flawlessly achieved even before Rayaan's time, as was the Iyer way. Born with a gilded spoon in his mouth, the very same was also to be used as admonishment whenever needed. Sometimes even prematurely to nip rogue habits and thoughts in the bud – if only to ensure a concrete mold to his path in life. Always a quiet soul, the rigidness of his upbringing was seen as unwavering obedience. When in reality, that was far from the truth.

The love offered by both parents may have not been intended as conditional, but it certainly was interpreted as such. Unlike his coveted sister, the golden star of their family, Rayaan never felt immersed at home. Always a few steps back, always on the cusp of shadows, he still met the world with scintillate, starry eyes and a laugh that shook the evening sky itself. And while the beginnings of his rebellion wasn’t exactly welcomed, he made sure to wield the simmering ferocity with a tight grip – be it at home, school, or otherwise. Something that gleaned a droplet of pride from both dearest mother and father.

How ironic it would be to have the very same notion serve as the cornerstone to future tension.

The tragedy that befell his father was more devastating than anyone could have predicted. It was too soon, too abrupt, too painful for all friends and family to withstand. Without preexisting, solid connections to those still around, Rayaan was simply unable to process such a thing. So he vanished shortly after, gone at the age of sixteen.

Where his path twisted was left to the whims of rash choices and quick cash. Not once did he stop in a city for more than a few months. There was already a comfort in discomfort, of a fast lifestyle, of living on the outskirts of what the city life illuminated to the unassuming eye. Years passed and he was hardly a stranger to busted knuckles and deep bruises. Violence had been such an addictive vice to cope and stay alive. Hidden spots to trade spilt blood for cold cash, he keeps at it because it's all he knows to do.

With fame came the slacken ease of his own hubris. Unbeatable was he as reflexes and skill were honed razor sharp and lightening fast. Rayaan hadn’t thought much when approached by a hotshot prospect all those years ago. Some tall, thin, weaselly build of a man that always got his way. If not, well — he wagered that’s what the spread of hired muscle was for ( sad hairlines, ill-fitted tees, and all ).

“My guy, I like your style, but why don’t you go down in the second and make three times your worth?”

My worth? He wanted to scoff, let a rare smile whet that steely gaze. But he doesn’t. Not a single muscle moved aside what’s needed to give a timely response. “No thanks. Not worth my time.” It’s the wrong thing to say to an influential figure, but moneybags wasn’t the only one haughty with pride. Of course, there were more words to be said, he was certain of it, but it wasn’t given the chance to take air. There was a match to be done and he intended on getting his share fair and square.

Turns out, consequences can’t always be avoided entirely. Some borrowed time can certainly go a long way, but to think oneself impervious to the finality is just downright foolish and stupid.

And that’s what he’d been.

Fucking stupid.

None of the details really stuck in the end. Someone, or a few someones, got the best of him somewhere at some time, relocated him from joint to joint, kept him passive by some substantial damage. The works of some revenge plot wanted by someone with too much time on their hands, i.e. the aforementioned fat cat with deeper pockets and even deeper connections.

All he knew was that his audacity of defiance wasn’t something taken lightly. That much he could understood. To disrespect someone’s status apparently warranted punishment fourfold. Not to mention how he broke his opponent’s elbow like a twig and made their most prized cash cow useless for ‘far too long’.

Then nothing. Not a single blip stored in the banks of his bruised, sore memory.

The state he found himself upon waking was fucking awful. Whatever pain he’d known prior couldn’t even begin to compare — hopefully never will ever again. And if that wasn’t enough cream to the spoiled crop, things kept getting progressively worse. The more rooted he was in reality, the more aware he became of three specific things.

The first, and arguably most important, being how dead he was supposed to be. How he’d actually been dead until a new sort of vitality had been imbedded into him. Being awakened as something undead wasn't easy to stomach, even less so when he hadn't been aware a vampire had been keeping tabs on him for months.

Secondly, he now walked the world a limb lighter. The mangled mess that was once an arm couldn’t be saved. Remember that cash cow? Remember how cleanly that joint had snapped by his own doing?

Maybe it’s best that he lacks the details after all.

There’s hardly a stump past the junction of his left shoulder, but it still doesn’t click. Not completely. Couldn't, when a delicately disguised ultimatum was soon placed at his feet. Accept an offer to bind him to a name, a popular organization around some muggy parts of New Orleans, for having saved his mottled skin at the last minute, or be killed again.

That alone awoken the throttle to run again — run as fucking far as he possibly could. Rayaan tried to scramble upwards despite the calm warning given by his new sire. And, shit, that fucker was right. There he went like a off centered pendulum. No one tells you how unbalanced one less arm can be, but he still fought to make headway. Didn’t stop until he went ass over teakettle again.

EXTRA STATS .

Special Powers: True faith

Deity: Hestia

Sexual & Romantic identities: Biromantic & bisexual

Job / Workplace: Chef @ [insert restaurant here]

Relationship status: Single and too busy making wackass dishes to mingle

FISTFUL OF INFORMATION .

Very passionate chef that some might liken to an alchemist with how peculiar his craft is. Said craft being culinary ... experiments that look more like a disaster ( like, insert redacted image here bad ), but it always tastes extraordinary. Is it sensory hell half of the time? Yes, but the flavor profile's bangin'.

Serim favors seasonal ingredients and changes his menu quite often. Yet rumor has it that he also tends to experiment with ... lesser known and/or used ingredients. Listen and watch a little closer and some will find how such gossip actually has some meat on those bones. Whatever happens after hours stays behind closed restaurant doors indefinitely.

Very important to note — he has no formal training as an actual chef. So watch him cook at your own discretion and/or if you want to be super stressed out. I'm talking about barely proper knife techniques, probably way too much fire, etc.

Restaurant is a neutral grounds of sorts. Yes, he does have some beefed up security to help maintain the no fighting policy. Yes, there are a bunch of feline creatures running around to run errands ( on their hindlegs, mind you ). Yes, most of his staff can't quite understand him, but they were all hired for one specific reason. They know how to keep their mouth shut. And, well, the pay's awfully good from the more bizarre, deep pocketed clientele he's managed to gather over the years.

Strange as his life's turned out to be, his history's remarkably boring ( to him ). The usual woes of being a first generation immigrant followed him from across the seas. With his family only consisting of his parents and a quick tempered younger sibling ... let's just say everyone got on like oil and water. His stumble into a more serious take on culinary arts was an accident — though he'd been plaguing his friends and family with those horrible looking meals early on. Dated around in his young adulthood, but more or less gave it up mostly due to a lack of interest.

He does have the tendency to size people up 😐 like they're cuts of meat 😐 because they are, to him ( like the picture below🫰)

CONNECTIONS .

Staff / security — Serim's notoriously picky with who he hires and is never forthright as to why. Most chalk it up to keeping the less ... savory happenings after closing quiet, though.

One or two flings or whatever — He might not be out trapezing through the area to keep his bed warm or his heart full ( in a romantic sense ), but it's happened once or twice before. Honestly, the most exciting part for him was probably cooking the morning after.

Clients with a hankering for the strange — Serim never openly advertises the more special dishes, but there's still a steady stream of intrigued stomachs to put on a waitlist. While he's never been strict with which cuisine to pursue / expand on, he's mostly known for his take on Hanjeongsik. These customers actively seek out and/or at least try his more strange dishes ( mostly made of monster parts ), and he's never been happier.

Taste tester on call — Only one or two he'd trust to taste test new dishes ( of the monster variety ). Again, looks godawful but always tastes insanely good ( maybe infuriatingly so ). But, hey, at least you get to see him sparkle with stars in his eyes and actually be excited about something?