ââââââââââââââ]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...
WITNESS(ES) SAY THEY REMIND THEM OF: sweet goth aesthetics. With a slight resemblance to LEE MINHO (LEE KNOW)Â of/the STRAY KIDS.
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FULL FILE:
Last Name, First Name: Bae, Minhwan ALIAS: Teller Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Earth, Seoul, Korean Age: 23 Gender: genderfluid Preferred Pronouns: he/they Species: mixed-blood (Healer / witch) Occupation: Howlers/ Salutary Sexual Orientation: pansexual Any Associated/Owned Businesses: Runs his own anonymous business casting spells, giving astrology readings, healing people for no questions asked, and reading palms.
VISUAL FILE:
Skin Color: warm ivory, translucent blue hue just under the skin Eye color: dark brown Scars: scar on the back of his left thigh Piercings: both ears Tattoos: howler tattoo on hip Hair color: purple Abnormalities: Transformed form: Minhwan looks mostly human except for the blue coursing beneath his skin, which is more prominent in the dark or when heâs healing others
PERSONAL FILE:
RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Â N/AÂ
SINS:  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  /  lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath
VIRTUES: chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility /  kindness /  patience /  justice / temperance
KNOWN LANGUAGES: Â Korean, basic Italian, basic French, some German, some English, a little bit of Latin.
SECRETS: Â Minhwan has a dark rage simmering inside of him that he only ever uses when he needs to, pretends to be innocent and captivating but can be extremely manipulative.
SAVVIES: Â astrology, cooking, wonderful with diagnostics due to his precognitive abilities, can read people like a book.
Powers & Abilities: Â Healing, potion creation, spell and charm casting only through science magic mixture, medical intuition, precognitive intuition, manifestation.
Traits: Â prideful, manipulative, forcefully kind, vaguely apathetic.
BACKGROUND CHECK:
Date of Birth: Â 10/25/1998
Date of Death:
Crime Record: Â Minhwanâs legal record is clean, since heâs never been CAUGHT, but heâs stolen, lied to officers, stolen money from one night stands and scammed aggressive clients. Hates cops but has a tendency to seduce officers so they feel uneasy bringing them in. .
Background/Biography:
CW: brief mentions of bullying and abuse
The first thing Minhwan was ever taught was never to be prideful. That hubris would be the downfall of man, one of the many sins of the soul, and that he would regret it if he ever was.
But it was the first sin he found and clutched to ever so dearly, and the wrath that came with it kept him warm on winter nights. Heâd been born to a beautiful witch and a openhearted healer that had shown him all the ways to love, that love was love, that love didnât always encounter phrases or need words, that sometimes it was just a look or a touch of the foreheads, that love was something that embodied your soul and kept you warm and safe, and that that was a beautiful thing. Minhwan knew that love was not big, grand gestures but a simple cup of tea kept warm on the table, or an extra spoonful of sugar. Love had been the basis of how heâd been raised and heâd wanted nothing more than to grow up one day and find someone to love him, too.
But he realized growing up that no one would, or could, ever love him the same way his parents did, and so that it was just a fleeting thing he had chased. The worst thing about his parents dying wasnât that they had died in an accident, it was that heâd always had that uneasy anxiety when separating from them for the day. He clinged a little tighter than the other kids at school, he said I love you a little more, watched them go a little longer. He never wanted to admit that he was right, growing up. That no matter what he did or said, if he thought about it too hard, feared it, gave it that power, that it would happen eventually, until he realized that he didnât make things come true: he could just feel them before it happened. And what was worse in the world than the feeling of knowing something and being unable to stop it? To try and stop the universe was disrespectful in itself but he never stopped trying.
His parents had taught him that healing was a gift, it was a blessing bestowed upon him, and that he should do anything in his power to help others and be kind to them, so he did. Even if he didnât like it. Even if he hated the people he was trying to help, even if they hurt him. He had to make his parents proud, didnât he? To carry on that gift they bore him with? Even if it felt horrible and shameful and unfair? He had to smile at his bullies and let people walk all over him because to fight back with his gifts would be unfair, unruly, wicked even.
Shortly after his parents death, heâd been adopted by a richer couple that had sent him to fancy european private schools, where heâd found love hiding in little pockets of sweaters, notes folded up on his desk in class, in brave confessions in little poems, and yet he didnât feel loved. Heâd only felt seen, powerful, and it fed into an ego that roamed beneath the layer of his skin that flexed when famished. He knew he was beautiful, he knew he was smart, and he knew that anyone would be lucky to have him around, but none of it made him feel any better. Flowers on Valentineâs didnât feed the monster brewing inside the way that beating up a classmate for dumping milk on his head for rejecting him did. Nothing felt as good as delivering justice or watching it play out, until he realized that justice was not karma and karma was something not to be messed with.
Heâd messed with karma a few times and never came out on the winning side.
After graduating and cutting ties with the man who barely called himself a father, heâd stumbled around different countries trying to find his way in life. Heâd become a little happier, a little brighter, and learned more about his past and his history, feeling better and better the more alone he became. But still, he watched others pass him by, reading them like books, the good and the bad. Heâd dated, gotten hurt, left, came back and left again. Smothered within him was the flame of courage and compassion, and after coming out alive, heâd realized that it was not humility being demanded or kindness being curated in his life. Minhwan was hurt and frightened and no amount of giving back to his community could heal the wounds in his heart. Sometimes, he had nightmares and shaky hands and teary eyes and forgiving people who hurt him wouldnât get him anywhere. Why should anyone be forgiven for hurting others?
So, Minhwan had done the one thing heâd been taught not to do, and decided to play karma herself, and watched as the manâs life fell to shambles around him and Minhwan basked in the glory of the fall. It felt good to see him cry too, to see him fall apart, to see him hurt. Even if it was evil, what was wrong with that? It hurt to realize that being hurt had not left him strong and powerful but partially evil and a little dry, somewhat manipulative.
Minhwan had left Europe after, heading for his birthplace, living around the city and doing odd jobs for others. Healing, spells, charmsâeven the bad ones, because he could withstand it, because he could also redirect it. It was just something that came with the fine script and so many people didnât often care about the difference between spells and charms, didnât care about the backlashes of curses and hexes, paid him so much to heal those hurting. His gift could be used for currency and that was something in of itself: why should he let it be free?
On the night of his 21st birthday, Minhwan realized that he was a dark, manipulative witch and a morally grey healer, and those were probably not a good combination of things. Heâd gone out and gotten drunk, stumbling miles back to the home of his adopted father who accepted him back with no words and very little questions, and just one phrase. âYou canât be all bad, there must be some good, too.â The man had never been warm to him, never sent him a birthday gift but always paid his tuition, never had the strength to leave his office and guide him in life, but it was something that made sense in Minhwanâs head. He didnât have to see himself as all bad. He could help people, he could resent people, and that darkness that settled in the core of his chest didnât necessarily mean he was bad. If the wrath inside of him kept him warm, then who was he to cast it out to the cold?
So, he moved to the one place his adopted father had warned him about, hearing about the gang that seemed to welcome people like him, without an up to grade sterling moral code, a palace where his business could thrive, and a place where he felt safe because he knew heâd never let anyone hurt him ever again.
INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): âJust run us through what happened that nightâ. - Officer
âJust run us through what happened that night.âMinhwan knows exactly what happened that night.
He knows, and heâs pissed about it, because it means that heâs being shimmied out of his cozy hiding place, a place where heâs set up his business, his safe space and, well, his home. He knows that the moment theyâd come to take him in for questioning heâd been compromised and nothing is more infuriating than having to sit here in his kuromi print sweatpants while being questioned by two officers, one of which heâs seen around before. They hadnât given him time to change, or time to even prepare for this, so itâs on the spot, and nothing is better and more authentic than on the spot reactions from him.
But he knows that heâd healed the man who killed another, and he knew about it, and shrugged it off to settle down for a night of lounging around in sweatpants and minding his business. Most people didnât get to see his full face but they all knew his name, and the cops had been quick to follow that lead. But they didnât look at him as the suspect of a murder or someone who would do harm, just with the intent to drag out something he mustâve been hiding.
âI-I donât know, I already told you,â he murmurs, looking between the two of them. Heâs been in the room long enough to have a feel for who they are, how the one on the left he barely knows feels restrained and frustrated and impatient and how the one on the right is trying his best to be empathetic, but he just isnât. Minhwan doesnât know which one is worse. The ticking time bomb or the one pretending he isnât a time bomb at all.
âI have a lot of clients, I wouldnât rememberâŚâ Minhwan speaks slowly, voice low in his throat and he looks up at them with wide eyes, pleasing eyes, as he starts to map out his exact revenge. This could be tricky. Heâd healed someone only for them to go and kill someone else. Not his business and he didnât care, but now he was being questioned because they had a suspect in mind, sure. And was he tied to them? Or were they trying to make that connection? Better cut it off while heâs ahead. He canât help it though, money is money, and he likes being affiliated with this new gang heâs discovered. Itâs not his problem if the people who come to see him end up killing others without thought of consequence. He does what heâs asked usually and heals when heâs paid to, always.
âDo you remember him?â Itâs a baited question, coming from Officer on the left, Ticking Time Bomb. Minhwan perks up as they slide over a picture of the manâs corpse, and he jumps in his seat, releasing a sudden, ear piercing shriek, loud enough that he can feel the blood vessels behind his eyes threatening to burst. The two officers are startled into backing up from the table just a bit, out of arm's length, and Minhwan laughs internally, watching the conflict etch across their faces. What a couple of losers.
âWhy would you show me that?!â Minhwan screams, and the fake tears burst forth nearly straight away. Heâs always been good at getting tears to come as theyâre called but tonight is exceptional. Maybe itâs the anger coursing through his veins that helps but within a matter of mere seconds, heâs having to run at his cheeks with the sleeve of his oversized cardigan. âI told you I didnât know him, I just gave him a reading!â
The fake empathetic cop nudges the ticking time bomb of a man as if to say way to go, grabbing a few tissues to hand to Minhwan, who takes them shakily, hiccuping slightly as he speaks. He breathes in the energy of the room around him, soaking up the pity this man feels for him, choking on the disgust of responsibility as he can feel it shrouding over the man in bursts of dark shadows.
In all reality, it was a bit gross. What kind of shock factor were they expecting? For him to suddenly confess that he knew the killer, that he would cooperate, to break down and give a little sob story? No, Minhwan knew that over the top, out of control theatrics were his key. He couldnât pretend to be sad but he could pretend to sob in shock from the horror of seeing a dead man. But heâs seen plenty of dead people and they know nothing of it.
âI think thatâs enough for today.â
Minhwan can nearly taste the sign of this man because the energy he gives is that of someone who feels they have to cater to their humanity without actually wanting to. Interesting. A bit like him, only Minhwan knew that he did it and he didnât drive himself up the wall by pretending. Minhwan knows heâs pretty when he cries and he stares up at the men, each struggling with their own demons.
âI want to go home, just let me go home.â He whines in a sad pathetic little voice.
They turn to each other, each with a clear difference of opinion. He can tell by the tense, stiffening of their upper bodies, the feet pointed away from one another. Good, theyâll start to turn on one another and heâll be the last of their problems. And once they agree to take him home, itâll all have been worth ruining his $40 concealer and a perfectly good night in.
