Hi again, everyone. ❥ I’m Alexis (she / her), here still with Sunan, this time affectionately known as Maew (yes, 🐱) occupying the Pisces skeleton. I’m very excited to begin this iteration of his character, though I’ve retained the aspects of his previous design that I consider core to his functionality and introspection. I’ve a very unfulfilling (very awful, I am aware) assembly of a portfolio and I’ll be forgoing making premade plots as I prefer actively brainstorming together, though I will say I really, really, really like angst. To help facilitate this process, I’ve summarized his information here and am offering my discord to anyone who might be interested! I’m as thankful as ever and really so happy to create alongside everyone again.
Overall, I don’t think much will have changed with him, though maybe in instances where I compare him to a knife, he’d be a duller edge, if that makes sense. I still heavily associate him with the color red, with the moon and other nighttime paraphernalia, knives, butterflies, dusk, eclipses, darkness with a halo, deep water, “I shall be there naked with only two wings for cover,” Marina Tsvetaeva, ‘Bride of Ice’. “You’re like an angel. Nothing touches you,” Fyodor Dostoevsky, ‘The Brothers Karamazov’. Transient and transitional things. Sensitive, emotional things that are susceptible to reflecting what’s impacting them. Pebble in the water, dagger against skin, clouds during the storm. The effect of something. He’s still very contingent on physical contact, instances of touch through his hands and meeting through his eyes. Still very internal, with the same kind of (baseless) self-certainty solidifying the way he speaks, repeated juxtapositions to the aestheticism I try to illustrate him with. Below this, I’ve tried to paraphrase his biography though I’m also aware that it’s a lot. If you read it all, thank you and I’m sorry for how long it is.
The Hiranchai continue being a very prestigious sept, immigrated farmers that, with hard work and perseverance, make a name for themselves. Getting it out of the mud kind of success story. Very respectable. They’re still lawyers, too, revered for their diligence and devotedness, strong moral compass and elitism. They’re known well in their respective social bracket, maybe especially for their unapproachability, most of the time deeming their peers generally undeserving. They have a kind of national renown for their work, too, and are driven by a righteous sense of justice. It conveys a very spotless, “heroic” kind of image to the public, whose doctrine they make sure is similarly enforced onto Sunan. The family discipline strains their relationship with him but he does everything he can to appease them regardless.
Because of this, Sunan lingered on the outlier of the social hierarchy in highschool, though not with the previous disdain. Instead, he simply never fit properly with any clique. He was a very nice, very sweet student whose group aversion stemmed from him being shy, though he would still speak to anyone who spoke to him. Always well known for his potential as an art student, having flourished in the class. The type to take immediate initiative in any situation that called for kindness. Genuinely charitable, amicable, happy kind of grace. He was the type to show concern towards strangers, help someone if they fall, give his lunch if he’s got something that someone else wants, etcetera. His reputation would have been built on that sincerity, so classmates would know of him as the nice kid and it’s a mantle he keeps up until 2015.
In 2015, he came home to his father’s corpse, murdered during a home invasion. The detectives deduce the motive to be related to his father’s involvement in a case. His mother is intent on him attending school through their grieving, though, and so he’s there through the entire process. The perspective he has of classmates tilts horrendously because of the strain the incident has on his mental health and it never being addressed with professional help. He’s riddled with a paranoia that stokes this fear that everyone is talking about him, talking about what happened. That he’s ostracized now, judging him, that his classmates think he’s some kind of a freak, etcetera.
Since he’s never really had an identifiable sect of his own, these thoughts kind flourish because there’s no active force in his life telling him any different. These ideas amass in the isolation and it worsens because of that same aloneness, callousing him. He essentially pulls into himself and begins to hate everyone else because of what he’s imagined they think of him.
To cope with the violent nightmares he has of his father’s death, he starts using acid. It helps him monumentally, thinking that it also accentuates his perception as an artist. This leads to him using copiously, in an attempt to capture everything he’s envisioning during his trips. It’s kind of unsustainable though, because the highs weaken the detail of the pieces he’s creating. To curb this, he begins microdosing.
He microdoses daily even still, accrediting this as the source for his uncanny attention to detail, mimicked brush techniques, color theory, etcetera. His forgery begins mostly out of a reverence for the paintings he’s seen, envying their timelessness in fear of his own, inevitable mortality. He wants to himself similarly remembered, though through almost hedonistic materialism, lavish indulgence and corporeal wealth, even if it is ephemeral. All the fortune he’s amassed is laundered through multiple intermediaries, too, to ensure he’s as safe and as volatile as he wants to be.
Possible connections I’ve envisioned include: fellow art students (classmates in general), other creatives and muses (collaborative kind of thing), users, etcetera! To reiterate, I do really prefer brainstorming together, so if any of this invokes a creative spark, let me know!



















