#grayson.

/j

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖙 - GRAYSON / GRAY.

BASICS.

age: unk. date of birth: unknown date. the earliest sighting ever recorded of this beast is first mentioned within the 700s AD. gender: agender. has no physical form or primary body - fluctuates based on the body they have become host of. pronouns: they/them or it/its languages: fluent in many. family tree: the devil (creator) alignment: chaotic evil.

SPEICES / LORE.

species type: animanorsher ( meaning: soul-eater ) abilities/powers: this demon/entity is considered to be truly immortal. they cannot be killed, there is no weapon forged or spell that can entirely destroy them. this creature can only be destroyed by the one who created it - the devil. the animanorsher do not have a physical body or form, they are nearly invisible/present as a faint mist when they're not inhabiting a host body. they are stealthy killers, able to make it appear as if their victims died of natural causes. these demons heal very quickly (when in a host body), can occupy a host body of their choosing - which dies once they leave it and send the person to hell, devour the soul of humans and have quickened speed. diet: primarily human souls/essence. while in a physical body, they do enjoy normal food. purpose: to seduce the evildoer, kill them, and cast them into hell. grayson, however, has taken this purpose and made some adjustments of their own. gray believes that the will of humankind can be bent and that any "holy" or "good" person can be led to do the unspeakable. gray enjoys manipulating their "prey", enjoying the psychological torment of watching even the best of people break, before killing them.

MANNERISMS

gray presents as very arrogant, sarcastic, and egotistical. they often act on impulse with little regard for any consequence that may occur. gray is slightly offputting, to anyone who is able to sense supernatural creatures, gray can keep very still when within a human host. they are highly observant, methodical, and diabolical.

RELATIONAL HISTORY

; feelin’ frisky…

warning: it’s a little abrupt

Blow:

"Go get it yourself, Grayson." You undressed, anxious to bathe in the warmth of a shower. It's practically freezing throughout the house, and you wanted something that'll warm you up inside and out, as well as some seclusion from everything.

Grayson was in a mood all day, for some odd reason, and all he wanted to do was lay in bed and binge some newer movies with you. At least something to pass the time with.

    Oh, Piltover.

    “For business or pleasure?”

    “I am an artist.”

    “Okay. For business or pleasure?”

    How you are nothing if not arduous.

    Khada Jhin, rankled, mulls over the virtue of a more colorful reply in his native Zhyun-Ionian before he restrains himself enough to spot the official with a winning, annoyed smile as he says, “Business. Might I get on with that?”

    “That depends. Does your baggage contain the following: Noxian ale, unsanctioned artifacts determined to be magical in nature, quantities of alcohol in excess of twenty drams, any undisclosed substances…”

    Needless to say, by the time customs is finished with him, it’s by no small miracle that Jhin doesn’t scream.

    Today he is Irae Dawn, an artist from a hamlet on the contested lands between the Noxian and Demacian border. Irae Dawn does not really exist, of course, but his paintings have become something of a fad among the more fashionable houses of Piltover, depicting such scintillating scenes as angular lines and boxes within boxes deliciously paradoxical for depicting emptiness but also exploding with meaning… or so they breathlessly tell their guests. And the newest, a print of a body falling into the canvas from a height? Majestic! Excellent! Nothing short of avant-garde! They just had to organize a midnight gala to invite the man himself! Houses spoke to agents, agents spoke to servants, and the servants…

    Khada Jhin is here to see to the last dance of one Klaus Werner.

    Baron Werner has been sticking his nose in places he shouldn’t, according to the vellum Jhin received in Kaijn City. Noxian business. Difficult to determine for what, but that doesn’t bother Jhin. As far as he’s concerned Baron Werner is about to have the happiest night of his life—he gets to die.

    And beautifully.

    Still, Piltover is Piltover and that has put the Golden Demon in an unusual position. Thanks to custom officials most nosey, trying to smuggle in any of his normal performance supplies as-is would have been tantamount to suicide, and he doesn’t make habit of going to his benefactors like a worried child for their help, either. What’s an artist to do? For Jhin, that’s meant taking the fundamental materials of his work: gold, silver, steel—raw and unaltered to transmute once getting past the border. No easy task.

    But when has Khada Jhin ever smart in the face of effort, if it meant good art?

    The gala is agonizing tripe, as expected. People—if you’re willing to deign to call them that, which Jhin would struggle to—smother him with praise, asking him pointless questions that he pointlessly answers, sometimes. Alternatively he just smiles as if to say it’s not his role to part with any secrets and downs another leg of what is most definitely Noxian ale. Tch.

    The gala drags on and he manages to invite Baron Werner to have a private conversation on a balcony, much to Jhin’s delight and diffusing frustration. It’s no trouble at all to lock it behind them. Tinted windows, ostensibly to protect a House’s privacy, a plus.

    Werner is leaning off the railing, clearly drunk. He mumbles something and Jhin doesn’t hear it. He’s getting ready. Werner’s too far gone to notice, which is almost disappointing, really; with the mask on it’s euphoric for him to be seen. To watch as their tiny, ignorant brains seize with fear and their eyes go as wide as almonds. Art is beauty. Art is terror.

    He takes Werner by the hand and asks if the Baron would like to be reborn again. Werner laughs and says that maybe, if he could be a mouse. Jhin frowns. He passes Werner a lotus flower, and tells Werner that for the first time in his life, he is going to have real meaning.

    In four seconds, the lotus bomb explodes.

    Jhin rappels down from the balcony, briefly sad he can’t stay for the aftermath, but his attention is quickly pulled elsewhere as suddenly, klaxon horns on the street begin to blare. This early? When has Piltover’s Enforcers ever been this… nevermind that. He needs to get low and fast. He kicks off from the building and ends up in a slim alleyway, just enough to disrobe and disintegrate the evidence into their basic matter and—

    —flashlights are on him.

   Kurwe, hisses inside his head. Shit.

   “H-hey!” Some man who is Khada Jhin and is not Khada Jhin blurts out, obviously startled. He throws his hands up. He’s in normal clothes, maybe a servant, something normal. “The explosion—upstairs, at the gala! I-I’m just taking out the bins!”

Cop

Acceptable jobs for Dick Grayson:

Haly's circus owner (canon)

Professional Kori cheerleader (canon)

EMT

Donna's photography assistant

Dick Grayson, professional Nightwing impersonator for birthdays and events