#jippie!!

The night is young as Jip stands in front of their mirror. Their hands fidget with a strand of hair, trying to braid it into what is supposed to be some kind of rat tail. They struggle with it for a while before they eventually decide to give up. Fingers drop the strand, reach out instead to a piece of charcoal which they swipe under their eyes.

Their appearance should not matter. In the mass of bodies they're planning on disappearing into, appearance does not matter. Yet they find themself doing and redoing every small detail in an attempt to look exactly how they know She wants them to look. Sure, they should be able to dress themself how they want, but something in the back of their mind makes them reconsider every single item they put on their body.

Eventually they settle. Black pants that are slightly too tight, held closed by a hairtie. Chains. A fishnet excuse for a shirt. A thin, leather collar hanging around their neck loosely. Who cares if it's Winter in Amsterdam when you're about to head into the night, right? Their combat boots will keep them warm. She will keep them warm eventually.

They make their way to Club Escape from their student accomodations. It's not very far, and they're better for it. They skip the line with a small nod to the bouncer. They've been here a lot recently, the two of them are pretty much on a first-name basis, if they had ever bothered to introduce themselves to one another. It's a small victory to not have to stand out in the cold for too long.

Inside it's warm. It's busy. Bodies press together and Jip loses themself in the beat of the music for a while. They order beer, one of the few drinks they can handle without too much of an effect on their composure, because they know they water it down. Half of it ends on the floor anyway. They have a fun enough time, until what they perceive as a tug on the collar around their neck draws them towards the stairs. The VIP area is just for that: VIPs, but for some reason Jip is never stopped when they try and make their way up.

They slide into one of the empty booths. Don't bother ordering drinks, Nicole keeps the champagne coming. They know Her preferred type involves an excessive amount of the French alcohol and they're more than happy to oblige. They were never too big on champagne before, preferred the purer alcohols like vodka to truly forget who they are or what they're doing, but there are few things they'd not change for Her. They bring the flute to their lips, eyes half-lidded as they keep their eyes on Her direction. It won't be long now until it's their turn. She spends her time speaking with others like Her, discussing things impossible for them to comprehend. They can't hear Her, can barely even see Her, but everything in their body knows that She's right here.

They're five drinks in when a man walks in their direction. Oddly enough, they also seem to have lost a sense of where She is. Another flute, but this time with the message that he's to take them aside. They get up, cheeks flushing due to the alcohol in their system and the sudden movement. They steady themself by placing their hands on the table, accidentally knocking over one of the empty glasses. An attempt at an apology is made, they reach to pick up some of the shards, cut a small gash into the side of their finger. They cuss, one of the few words they retained from their early childhood. The man tells them to suck it up. The staff will take care of it. They should really follow him now.

The man - did he ever introduce himself? Jip can't remember through the haze of alcohol - leads them through a door that reads 'Private'. They stop in front of a door that looks… inconspicuous enough, and the man knocks. "She'll be with you shortly," he then states, before he turns around and leaves Jip in the hallway.

Their heart beats in their throat when the door opens. Although it doesn't open fully, Jip takes this as a sign that they're allowed entry. What they see is simultaneously what they expected and not what they expected at all. They stumble over the small doorstep, barely manage to hold the champagne flute level - or level enough to not spill the liquid. The room is relatively dark. Like a painting that's spent too long in a room with smokers. The colours faded, the dimmed in a way that could be made beautiful if they got their hands on it. They throw the champagne back, wander deeper into the office until the door closes behind them.

It is as if someone turned on the light. Their attention snaps into the direction of a sitting nook, where She has taken a seat on a couch that looks like it's more expensive than their rent in the Amsterdam centre. She raises an eyebrow, they're drawn to Her like a moth to a flame, no words needed. The cut on their finger is long forgotten, by Jip, anyway, and they place the champagne flute on the first available flat surface they find in their path. It ends up on a mantle, next to a pair of unlit candles.

"Jip." Her voice breaks the silence they unknowingly kept sacred. She taps the couch right next to Her, inventing them to sit down. They can't help but obey obey obey. They slink down next to Her, body angled into Her direction. It's hard to focus on anything but Her. Their eyes wander from Hers down to Her neck, Her shoulders, Her arms until they're staring at Her wrist. They compare Her blemishfree skin to their own, to the cut on their finger, to the remnants of oil paint under their nails. They can almost see the veins and arteries under Her skin, can almost taste Her blood. Alcohol makes them crave it more.

"Jip." Another mention of their name from Her mouth snaps their attention back to Her face. They can't read Her expression, they might have had too much to drink. Their face flushes, they don't know if it's the alcohol or embarrassment. They can see a trace of a smile on Her lips. "You know you are my favourite, right?" They follow Her fingers as they reach over to the collar around their neck, fidget with the clasp and tighten it flush against their skin. If they were sober, it might have been a bit too tight, but they're drunk and they're with Her and everything's fan-tas-tic. They gasp, Her smile grows.

"I know what you want."

Of course She knows. Jips mouth hangs ever so slightly open as the beating of their heart pulses against the leather around their throat. They dare not speak, She hasn't suggested they do. With fascination that borders on desperation, they watch as She brings a hand to Her mouth. The cut on their finger they had long forgotten had not gone unnoticed. She slides a finger along a fang, wills Her blood to the surface before She holds out Her hand, bleeding finger now extended. Their eyes fixate on the vitae instead of Her face, they're so close they could almost taste it.

"On your knees."

Jip slides off the couch and falls onto their knees. They slide their legs under the coffee table, scoots in between Her legs with their eyes still focused on Her finger as She rubs the vitae along a second digit. She lowers it to about their eye level, uses Her free hand to reach behind their neck and pull on the collar ever so slightly. "Open up, you know the rules."

Their lips part, She moves Her fingers between their lips. Lets them hover just out of reach. If they move their tongue, surely they can—. A tug snaps them out of that line of thought as She lightly bumps a nail into their soft palate. Her voice sounds harsher now, more controlling. "You. Know. The. Rules." Jip can only whimper in response. Of course they know the rules, but the thing they want most is so close and they're not thinking clearly and—. Her free hand has gripped their chin now, forcing their eyes up at Hers. She doesn't need to do this, Jip'll heed every word she speaks, but Her eyes boring into theirs as their chin is held with inhuman strength really do something to them.

"Break."

And Jip does. Like a fucking dog they let their lips close around Her fingers, tongue darting up to tentatively lick the vitae off them. They feel Her eyes on them still, even if they can't help but close their own as they suckle on Her fingers. They can pretty much feel her grinning. Her hand slides down, grips the collar again and tugs on it, restricting their airway ever so slightly before She jams Her fingers into their mouth, curling them and flexing them and forcing Her vitae onto Jip's tongue. They moan, involuntarily, desperately trying to keep their gag reflex at bay when Her fingers nearly hit their uvula. Their tongue slides between the two fingers, licking at every hint of vitae they can get.

Jip's eyes flutter open when Her fingers are removed from their mouth, but they don't get much of a chance to catch their breath. Nicole pulls them up into her lap by the collar. They can feel a slight warmth coming off Her skin, something that's not always a given. Maybe it's their own body heat reflecting off of Her, Jip can't tell the difference. They open their mouth to speak, instead find themself gasping when She tears at fishnet, using Her nails to gash the trace of fabric and expose their shoulder and collarbone. They can still feel the thick vitae coating their mouth, a phantom sensation that hits them harder than it should when She presses Her lips against their neck. It won't be long for them to move down to the newly exposed area until—

She pulls away. A small gash, similar to the one on their finger. Blood wells up and follows gravity over their collarbone. It moves more quickly than it usually does, a side effect of the amount of champagne in their system. She adjusts them in Her lap, makes them sit on their knees, one leg on each side of Her, pressed against Her lap and with their collar bones perfectly on Her eye level.

"You're so pretty when you bleed…"

Jip shifts under Her gaze. They need Her lips on them, Her teeth in their skin, yet they know they shouldn't ask for it. The shifting doesn't help, either, if anything it leaves them more and more bothered. She adds another, slightly deeper gash with Her fingernail before leaning forward, teasing at the blood with Her tongue as they grind down on Her lap. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

She grasps at their sides, their hips, whichever part of their body She can reach to hold them down with Her vampiric strength before She bites down on their skin, slides Her fangs into their subclavian vein. The pain is instant, but it gets washed away by the intense pleasure it comes with. Jip cries out in pleasure, their hands reaching to find purchase in Her hair. She swats them away, drinking deeply, sucking the life essence out of Jip's intoxicated veins. The only thing they can do is hump against Her lap. They can tell She's enjoying it, though, maybe even more than they are. And Jip's enjoying it a whole lot. They can't form words, their moans nothing but noise until She decides they're being too loud and once again slides Her fingers in their mouth to keep them quiet. Maybe if they suck on Them enough, they can find a small trace of vitae.

It seems like time's speeding up, their heartbeat working overtime to keep their blood pumping, while at the same time no time is passing at all. Her tongue drags along the gashes She's created, leaving nothing but pinker skin as it neatly heals over. Her fingers are still in their mouth, although they've stopped sucking on Them a bit ago. Their heart's working overtime, their eyes barely open as they end up slumped against Her. She's taken more than She usually does. They feel more lightheaded, more tired, more empty than they have in a long time.

Their eyes flutter shut, they barely even notice when She pulls Her fingers from their mouth. It is only when She casts them aside as if they're nothing. Gets up. Smooths out her shirt. Jip finds themself looking up at Her. They're shaking, floating on the high of the act they've just committed.

"Nicole?" Their voice is shaking, too.

Her expression is impossible to read. That is to say, they don't think Her expression matches the mood. They feel like a bug under Her gaze, when She's basically the Sun to them. Had they been sober, they might have noticed the way Her nose scrunches up when they speak.

"You can leave now."

How would you describe your character’s mindset? Their personality, their attitude, their mentality and self-philosophy…

Jip comes off as really cool and collected, but they're really just stuck on the outskirts of any group they're ever around. If they were to describe themself, they'd probably end up somewhere around mousy. They process information differently to most everyone, and uses that to their benefit, even if it often comes right back around. Jip's brings a laissez-faire attitude to vampirism, doesn't truly care much about what happens as long as they don't actively get got for it. They feel like life happens to them and that what happens will happen regardless, which is probably a remnant of them being shipped around by everyone all of the time.

What is the best thing about your character? Be it their talent, skill, or a trait.

The one thing they're truly proud of is their art. After finding their passion before heading off to university, it's always been their one thing. They poured so much energy and love into learning the ways of the old masters, and secretly looks forward to the future where they can say they've worked with the new masters rather than only studied them. That's the best part about being kindred to them, anyway.

What is their worst quality? Do they realize it?

Ask anyone around them and they'll mention their odd behaviour, those closer to them know it stems from an addiction to bloodletting, a need to get their blood drained by kindred. They don't see this as a bad quality, to them, it quiets their mind and makes everything feel more normal. Jip themself would probably say something vague about them not speaking up all of the time, but really? It doesn't in the slightest get near their wanting kindred to literally drink their blood-thing.

Everyone is created by something whether they like it or not… What was the moment in their lives that pushed them into who they are? Was it bloody? Was it peaceful?

In a way, Jip's entire life led up to their embrace. They were born out of wedlock, the child of an American soldier and a Korean mother. Not Korean enough to be accepted by society, too Korean to assimilate into the Dutch culture in the 70's, 80's and beyond. An easy victim, until they started taking charge. Found the vampiric hangouts. Ended up working at the haven of one of the bigger names in town. Made a name for themself. On the night of their embrace, they were hosting a fundraiser, a small event for the biggest donors of the museum. They didn't really want to go, but their boss insisted that the donors would want to see what they were working on, how they were going about their work to guarantee the best results. One of the main donors tried poaching them off the museum to work on their private collection, but when they asked to think about it (because the man has an... interesting private collection, which is by no means the type of art Jip likes working on) they ended up dead. They don't remember much about it, their sire fled the scene, left their body to be discovered by one of the Toreador's ghouls, and she had them shipped out of the city centre and dumped in Anarch territory, because it was their best shot at not being murdered again for simply existing.

People have goals and desires, what are theirs and will they achieve it?

Jip doesn't like to aim too high. They're glad when they make it through the night without too many issues. They're not made for greatness and tend to put themself in a more aiding situation. If their friends are fine, the thinbloods and the kids they look after are safe, that's enough for them. Maybe there's hope for them in the future, they'd like to open up a museum in the future, or maybe find their way back to the museum they used to work at... but they're unsure about how realistic these goals are and are therefore not truly working towards them. They could end up like the Oracle of Delphi for all they care.

When it comes to people, was there anyone they idolized or someone that was/is important to them? Why are they important?

They idolise the greatest artists of the Dutch golden age, because that's who they wished they could be. They lowkey idolise the people in their coterie, because they seem to have their lives together a lot better than Jip does, and they're glad they're willingly hanging out with them. A specific mention should go to Marinus, the former ghoul who brought them to safety after their embrace, and who now still watches over them even though technically Jip's been a vampire for longer than Marinus has been.

Fear is only human nature, are they scared of anything? Is this fear rooted in any experience or memory in particular?

Jip truly just wants to live their life in their little area of Amsterdam, and they're afraid that it might be taken away from them, be it by the Camarilla, or anyone else. They've been hauled around plenty throughout their life, so it's a fear that's always lingering in the pit of their stomach.

Break down how they look. Why do they wear what they wear? Any scars, tattoos, or piercings on them?

They're on the shorter side, they got embraced with a miserable off-kilter haircut, but they know how to dress themself. They wear mostly blacks, even when they're working, and their clothing style truly would not look odd in German night clubs. They've been club-ready since their early 20's, have been keeping up with the styles popular in Berlin since, and has probably started a few trends in the Amsterdam night club scene over the years. They don't mind showing off skin, will abuse the fact that their collar bones and neck are absolutely stunning to lure in vampires and humans alike. They're usually wearing smart boots, preferably with insoles to get some height added to them.

Everyone is perceived in one way or another. How is your character perceived by others?

Jip is the mysterious stranger in the corner of the room. There's something that pulls others in, something else that pushes them away. They feed on people they deem interesting, people who don't know they're there until it is too late, simply because they blend in well enough. To other kindred, they're known for their art, they're known for their... insights, wherever they might come from. To the thinbloods that make their way to Amsterdam Zuidoost, they're pretty much a hands-off mentor, they're more inclined to go to their coterie mates than they are to Jip because Jip just seems slightly more intimidating. To most kindred in the city centre, though? They are best off not perceived. With their embrace being unsanctioned, any opportunistic vampire in the Camarilla's good graces who needs anything from them could just give their location up. Don't worry too much about it. Jip avoids the area when they can, for good measure. They're not trying to get sussed out.

What is the most painful thing they’ve experienced? Physical, or emotional. Everyone has wounds.

Addison Fletcher | Vampire: The Requiem 2e | Clan Nosferatu | NYC Neonate, former blood doll to a Daeva, and a Broadway rising star until a Nosferatu embraced her and stole her voice. Current reeve to Sunset Park with her coterie. She's trying to do the right thing, it's not always going great. She's bad at talking, very very gay, passively suicidal and in all a joy to be around. obviously. <3 #temp addison tag

Eva Schulte | Vampire: The Masquerade 5e | Duskborn | Amersfoort Embraced by her high school sweetheart in a vain attempt to save her life as she was dying of stage 4 leukemia. Thinborn, with baby teeth, lifelike and a vitae dependency. If she goes without vitae for too long, she will get closer and closer to dying. It's not ideal. They're trying to figure it out. #eva-ngelical

Jip Prins | Vampire: The Masquerade 5e | Clan Malkavian | Amsterdam Adopted from South Korea, raised in Amsterdam in the 70's and 80's. They're an artist, specialize in restoring Dutch Golden Age paintings and were a blood doll by choice. The world melts around them when their bane hits. They don't know who embraced them and have been adopted by the Anarch movement shortly after their embrace. #jippie!!