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the full cessation of electrical activity in the heart.

the "flat-line" is an indicator of imminent death.

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content warning !!! this character will deal with themes of drugs, witchcraft, blasphemy/sacrilege, murder, body horror/gore, and references to the devil. continue and engaged at your own risk.

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abnormal, slow beating of the heart; decreased heart rate.

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Built from the scavenged ruins of traditional Korean palaces, Nathair's memories of once grand gothic Scottish castles and cathedrals, and inspired further by the only just budding Parisian art deco of the 1910s and 20s ─ before the vampires took over ─ the Rib Cage is an amalgamation of different eras of luxury tied into a neat little bow, behind iron gates, underneath fresh and dying greenery, and lofted on high for even the heavens to envy.

Upon first look, you may mistake it as a church, or the entrance to one of Eden's many gardens, or maybe even a historical site, preserving the culture of the land the Tower of Babel was built on, but those who live in Eden are privy to what lies inside. Nathair's establishment is home to booze laced with precise amounts of his blood to leave you fiending for more without getting ill, or exhausting him. Blood drugs and hard drugs alike. Pretty girls and handsome boys that wait on you, dance for you, bleed you dry of your riches or the pennies you've saved to be able to afford a single night at his establishment, all while you're under the belief that you're doing this of your own accord and not in a snake pit.

Under the current of booze and blood flowing and pumping, the faint sounds of sin from Nathair's office (if he is not enjoying the night in the open with his patrons), and the music, gossip slithers its way through the club's floor in whispers, and no matter how quiet you are, it all makes its way back to the owner one way or another.

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✞ monologue one

── ° ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ° ──

ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ꜱɪxᴛʜ, ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴇᴇɴ ɴɪɴᴇᴛʏ-ᴏɴᴇ

─

(writing . . .)

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• jung wooyoung + nathair mae

• judanian

• 26 -> 260

• host (was already thinking maybe an owner of some type of club space in eden? and maybe calling it “the garden”? cuz yknow… the garden of eden… giving into temptation… yk… maybe his blood is used in the drinks… smth like that if you’ll allow. but definitely a host regardless)

•

judanians - large dual fangs and crimson eyes. their power lies in scheming, seduction, manipulation, and addiction. their blood is like a drug to humans, but overindulgence has consequences. they turn through mutual feeding. they are the weakest to sunlight. there are moderates and radicals. they compete with cainanites, and view lilithians as “too soft.”

cainanites - large fangs and green eyes, serve as the iron fist of babel. they can meld with the shadows, but extensive use has severe side effects. they cannot harm others of their species without repercussion. sunlight disables their shadow powers. they turn via violent feeding deaths. they divide into pragmatists and expansionists. the two infight. conflict with judanians, and lilithians.

lilithians - dark purple/violet eyes and smaller double fangs. highly sought after by all, they are the only one that “favor” humans. their abilities can only occur through closeness, and comes at the cost of fatigue. they cannot bring back the dead. they can withstand sunlight the longest, but it renders them comatose. blood pacts turn humans slowly, rendering their blood poison. there are sympathizers and neutralists. they clash with judanians and cainanites. sympathizers sometimes secretly assist rebellions.

humans - the beating heart of babel, who have adapted to protect their achilles heel of mortality. with no remarkable abilities, a few do possess resistance to addictive blood. they are required to donate blood weekly. there are those who are compliant and those who are resistant

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name

nathair mae-neachneohain

(nah-hir mae nook-knee-anne)

dob

november twenty-sixth, 1765 (appears 26)

faction

judanian (radical)

occupation

club owner & host of "the rib cage," a nightclub for the elite

address

eden, babel

nationality

south korean • babelonian.

ethnicity

scottish-korean

sex

male

sexual orientation

bisexual. polyamorous. and usually face down

marital status

single, and happily so

languages

korean, scottish gaelic, english, french, japanese, mandarin

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hair :

dark black. medium-short to medium-long in length. middle-parted.

eye color :

deep crimson eyes that look like they have flecks of greenish-black glitter in the right lighting.

looks like he's wearing eyeliner, or maybe has dark circles. he won't tell either way, but it doesn’t matter when you’re caught staring either way, does it?

fangs :

large, top and bottom. top are a bit bigger than the bottom, and the bottom are thinner than the top.

tattoos :

- a black, thorny rose on his right arm.

- "i'm never alone and i will never be" on his nape.

- "sin prosa sin pausa" on his left rib.

- "amicus ad aras" on his right knee.

facial markings/other details :

- lip mole

- eye mole

- two distinct eyelid shapes

- due to his intolerance of the sun, he avoids it altogether. his skin is fair enough you can see his veins.

scars :

- thin lines on the palms, the bare wrist. these are self-inflicted to open the floodgates for countless beggars and regulars alike. all after payment of course.

- thicker, deeper, more jagged scratches on the neck and the chest, one particularly awful one from a knife to the rib, beneath the tattoo. given by others. prior customers who had gone a little too long without their fix for various — namely financial — reasons. nobodies who felt entitled to his blood just because they had regularly partaken in communion… those sinners are no longer with us…

attire :

usually dressed up, but casually so, or subtle and sleek. dark, with accents of light. older, not gaudy, and it comes off in a way where it seems like a modern person wearing vintage clothing. he does have a separate modern alt wardrobe, though.

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the normal rhythm of a beating heart.

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abnormal, rapid beating of the heart; increased heart rate.

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"my beloved animal" | "my pet"

here. . .

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aleksander dragomir-han | mo chaomhnóir | ia/referenced

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"my protector"

everything is transactional. nothing is free, especially in their lines of work.

aleksander, a man on an endless hunt, and nathair, purveyor of blood, gossip, and occasionally useful information, struck a deal five years ago. in exchange for protection from the rest of the police, nathair provided aleks a fix of judanian blood along with perfectly plucked information on possible whereabouts of aleks' illusive ex-wife from his vast web of connections.

except, it was never agreed upon that it had to be useful information, or even true, nor was it taken into account that the heart of the rib cage may know more than his sources...

but even the most rigid of things change.

over time, with every night that turned to week, to month, to year... hunger grew, and grew, and grew until feeding an addiction and fueling an obsession turned into its own separate beast.

sometimes, nathair thought the request for information, or his offering of supposed new leads, has just become a false pretense to feed this beast that their arrangement has become. even if so, he doesn't care, he's gotten exactly what he wants.

it changed when sex was added to the table, and it became more complex when feeding and fucking happened at the same time, until that became the norm. until who was addicted to what, or to who, blended into something vague, something mutual, something only understood in the silence of skin to skin contact, the silence of the rhythmic thunk of doors and desks, the silence of the squeak of sweaty, bloodied skin on glass, the silence of panting and gasping, and in between the lines, only between the two of them. something hard to quit if either ever wanted to.

but why would they, when sin tastes so sweet and fucks so good?

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octavia yeong | mo chompanach | ia/referenced

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"my accomplice" | "my partner"

just shy of a decade and a half ago, their business contract was signed, sealed, and delivered by blood, six feet under.

and a full decade and a half ago, their partnership began. nathair was well-established in babel, while vi's business was freshly started. they struck a deal: he would circulate her perfume as the signature scent of his club (which he still does to this day). more steady business for him, more growth of the business for her.

a year into their partnership, and her business, an accident happened. one that nathair was all too familiar with, and one that her business would not recover from if word got 'round. overindulgence at his club was normal, and was welcomed, and usually was fixable, but paired with her perfume, a certain j. doe was unable to handle it, and was not discovered in time to be fixed, but was discovered by the right person: nathair, who could do damage control.

their partnership became a criminal one, strained by guilt and forced to continue by equal amounts pride and greed.

it is a crime they both loft over each other when necessary, and nathair lets her believe that it holds as much weight over him as it does her.

as if he isn't sleeping with part of the police, the man hunting her down, the man he's been feeding half-truths to: her ex-husband, aleksander.

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"my heart"

♡ since

♡ status

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───────── genetic predispositions { i. }

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───────── genetic predispositions { i. }

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the vampiric mae lineage always held its ties in the background, in the laps of the influential, the strong, and the wealthy. those of which history no longer remembers.

they have slithered through the shadows with ease, using their eternal beauty to toy with the strongest of leaders like puppets, tempt even the richest of moguls, just to squish all of them under their thumbs like insects and to bleed them like cattle of their money, of their influence and power... and their actual blood... until the only name that remained un-debated historical fact was that of the mae bloodline.

their riches bled down into cisterns beneath the earth, pooling for about a millennium. they and their descendants would want for nothing more, and would never go hungry.

yet the maes still craved more.

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99line.

gmt-4/5.

she/her, but any pronouns are fine too.

you can call me luc (or any variation of my username), or my alt's name/fc name.

i work 4 10s, so i am not super active during the day or the week. you're more likely to catch me on weekends.

rping in rooms or gpms. pm or ooc room to plot/connect. nothing on walls.

3rd pov, para to novella. but i will more often mirror you.

i have no real triggers to be mindful of. other than gore specifically to the eyes.

that being said, pretty much all plots are okay with me. i will write gory shit, sinful shit, stuff that you would probably need to repent for; it's all good with me.

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──────── genetic predispositions { ii. }

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──────── genetic predispositions { ii. }

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the insatiable lust for power and wealth led the previous generation of the maes — nathair’s mother and two sisters who left his father behind — throughout the world, landing in the scottish lothians around the time of the first instances of the black death in the fourteenth century, and they stayed for a few more centuries, his mother returning every now and again to report back to the mae head. they avoided the plague like, well, the plague, and in their time there, they eventually found exactly what they were looking for.

witchcraft, and the gift of black magic, the very kind zealots feared and hunted but never truly found.

the myths of the witch (or queen of winter, or queen of the elphame, depending on who you ask) Nicneven (neechk-nevin)led his mother and sisters to a coven of witches that followed under her guidance as their mother witch rather than winter's queen, all taking her name as their last. the daughters of the divine. nathair's mother and sisters were welcomed in and followed suit, adopting the name Neachneohain as a secondary one to their vampiric name.

soon after joining, under their guidance, the three sisters enchanted their blood ─ and the blood of nathair, still in his mother's belly ─ from thenceforth. under mother witch's and winter faerie's hand, an icy cold, salaciously sweet aphrodisiac it became to some, to others it was like a warm, syrupy opioid. any other drug under the sun, moon, and stars they could want, it could be. it all depended on their deepest desires, the itches they couldn't scratch without a little help.

and nathair was the first male in their bloodline to inherit it.

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I believe in the Holy Spirit,
the holy catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and life everlasting.

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───────── genetic predispositions { iii. }

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───────── genetic predispositions { iii. }

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a little over a hundred years ago, the vampires were in the process of taking over, and nathair found his way back to south korea at the insistence of his mother to check on his father and the status of their estate.

what happened is but a mystery to everyone other than nathair, and those events he will carry with him to his grave, when all who care are long gone.

his father passed by his hands, and the mae estate and clan-head title became his, just as seoul fell with the rest of the world. as for the state of his scottish sisters, he cares not now that he is settled at the apex of the seoul tower, in the lap of luxury and sin, part of a faction he seems to have been perfectly crafted for.

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amen