forum vita post mortem | sci-fi vampire rp

Started October 15, 2022 by @knightinadream group

tune

Name: Averill Hadley Penn
Role: Forensic Inspector turned in 1924
Age: 182
Year Turned: 1924
Gender/Pronouns: Cis man, he/him
Sexuality: Bi

Appearance: Averill, who often goes by Av with his friends (precious few of them), was turned at 24, having been born in 1900. He stands at 5'11", with a slim, rectangular form. He isn't bulky, but is still pretty strong (you have to be, to move bodies). He also has a pretty fast metabolism (or well, used to), which contributed to not having to work out too much to keep in shape. He is white, with pale skin that only got paler when he was turned. The freckles he had prior to being turned are long gone, leaving only pale white skin in their wake. He has a sharp jawline and cheekbones, with slightly hooded green eyes that have darkened faintly as he has aged, ringed by thick dark lashes. His lips are slightly downturned, though not too much. He has a button nose, and dark eyebrows that tend to be drawn together in a near permanent look of contemplation, as if he is always studying everyone and everything around him. His hair is a warm brown tone, with faint waves in it. His parting naturally sits to the left, and he often keeps it combed, though there isn't much he can do about the waviness. His bite scar is on the bottom of his throat, near his shoulder, just low enough that he can usually cover it with his shirt collars, so long as he wears button-ups. It is still rather dark, when visible. He often wears white button-ups and dark slacks, and almost always looks rather formal. There are various old scars on his body, especially his torso and forearms.
Personality: Av has a tendency to be thoughtful and precise, but still quick when necessary. He likes to study things and get all the details before rushing to conclusions about what has happened or what someone is like, which leads to him generally being a rather nonjudgemental person. He's seen almost everything, at this point (or so he believes), and there isn't much out there that can phase him. Living through and fighting in both world wars has also jaded him, to the point that he can be slightly pessimistic sometimes, especially about human nature. He doesn't consciously choose to believe the worst of people, but often the worst is what he will assume about someone (if that makes sense). So while yes, he likes to have all the details before rushing to conclusions, he also isn't inclined to believe the best of someone. He doesn't smile often, as while he is not nearly as old as Narciso, he has seen a lot of horrors in his life.
Background: (this is so much longer than I meant it to be lmao I'm so sorry) Av was the second oldest of six children, in England. Until 1914, his childhood was perfectly normal for the time period. He attended school and helped in his father's shop, and occasionally watched over his younger siblings. When World War 1 started in 1914, his older brother, Emmett, was called off to war. Emmett was killed only a few months later, and the family received his dog tags rather than a body. He did his best to help his parents (his father was not eligible for service, due to a bum leg) and his siblings, while dreading his own drafting, which happened as soon as he turned 16, in 1916. He was shipped off overseas, and somehow managed to survive through the last two years of the war. When he returned home, he had shell shock (what we now diagnose as PTSD), and was only 18 years old. He moved to London, and signed up with the police, where he was trained as a forensic inspector. During the war, he had assisted with similar things, so they used that experience. Soon, he was one of the better inspectors in the force, following each lead with a quiet, methodical determination. While he had once been a happy, smiling child, after the war he was now a young man that rarely cracked a laugh or a smile. He had seen too many other young men and boys die on a muddy battlefield, and now his job was seeing even more bodies. During this time period between the age of 19 and 23, however, he had a romance with one of the other young men on the force. It ended only a few months before he was bitten.
He was bitten at 24 by a body that, it turned out, was not really a body, but instead a vampire that had thought it could escape notice by pretending to be one. When Av got too close and began to touch it and shift it in order to investigate what he thought was a murder scene, it struck, biting him in the throat before quickly making their escape. Av vanished for a few years after that, lost and afraid as he tried to navigate being a vampire and everything that that entailed. He went across the channel, to France and around Europe, trying to learn more about what he was and what had happened. Once he had learned more, he came back to England and reapplied at the force. They grilled him about his absence, which he managed to explain away as a family emergency that turned into an extended trip. They accepted him back on the force, and his new vampire-ish abilities were very helpful, in his line of work. However, he soon realized that the fact that he was not aging was going to be a problem, as the other men around his age began to gain weight and wrinkles. It was subtle, at first, their differences. Subtle enough that he was the first to notice that while everyone else, approaching thirty, was beginning to show the signs of the approach of age, he was not. He still looked young and fresh and always would. So he moved to a new precinct, a new city in England, where no one would know him. His parents had died while he was in Europe, and his siblings only had infrequent contact, so it became easy to move on every few years, jumping from precinct to precinct. They never caught on, as they didn't have great interconnection between precincts at the time.
When World War 2 came around, he joined up, silently furious that the world powers had allowed this to happen a second time. He still bore shrapnel scars from the first war, but he signed up for the second anyway, in the hopes that he could spare some family the pain of losing a son, as his parents had. The official paperwork was the first problem, as according to the government, he was 39 nearing 40, but physically, he was still 24. Somehow he was able ot dodge that, and went overseas to France to fight. He fought for most of the war, bitter and jaded and cynical beyond his years, talking more with the "old timers" of the first war than with the "other young men". All he saw when he looked at them was himself and Emmett, thrown headfirst into a dangerous, dangerous war that they were hopelessly in over their heads in. So he often took more risks than he should have, trying to shield those young men from dying. He did not see it as a loss if he died. He was a vampire. He was already dead, was he not? For his bravery, he was awarded Victoria's cross, twice, and essentially forced to retire a year before the war ended. They didn't want him dying, not now that he had become a national hero.
Of course, no good thing ever lasts, and the limelight soon began to show his more unnatural abilities. Namely, his inability to age. At first, it seemed "fitting", that the handsome young man should stay handsome. Then, it became less and less "good aging" and more and more "unnatural". Soon, he was more reviled than admired, with old ladies clutching their purses and murmuring that he was a spawn of Satan, that he was the antichrist, that he had hoodwinked the queen and the nation. So he disappeared from the limelight, fleeing to Northern Ireland to a small little town in need of an inspector. He lived there for a few years, before his lack of aging forced him to move again. For quite a few years, he bounced from town to town, never anywhere larger, until his story had faded enough that he could go to larger precincts again. It was at some point in the 80's or 90's that his secret leaked out. This happened when the precincts began to sync old information, and his description and photograph began to pop up in impossibly old photos. Some smart detectives rubbed their heads together and, with the knowledge of vampires now something more known, they knew. They confronted him, and he admitted to it. What else could he do? He fully expected to be kicked off the force, perhaps even exiled. But instead, he was kept on the force, and referred to as the "senior inspector". It is a position that he quite enjoyed. New York had a rather large and problematic case, back in the 2010's, that completely stumped them. They reached out to Scotland Yard and requested "the vampire inspector", as Av had become rather well known in criminal inspection circles. Scotland Yard said Av could go if he wanted. As he had never been to America, in his 110 years of living, he accepted, and when New York offered a permanent position, he accepted, and has been there ever since. He has not, however, lost his English accent.
Other: Wears his brother's dog tags, along with his own, underneath his clothing

(alzgzfxakal sorry for the wait)

Everything is different when you are in your afterlife. Almost everything. For Narciso, prison is still terrible. He wondered if being stuck in a somewhat spacious, yet bright, cell is better than a tiny, bleak, and dim one with rats. If the VHIPA gave him the choice, he'd pick the rats.

The one he is in now wasn't even enough for him to walk on the walls. There's nothing exciting about it and they wouldn't even let him have his picture. Bastards. They have a better chance of seeing it in person, and he's the one who has to face time in prison for some reason.

Sitting in the corner, he had his chin resting on his left knee. A beep came from the other side of the cell then a guard walked in. Narciso didn't bother looking or saying anything, but the one picked up his left wrist then put some sort of tracking bracelet on him. It looked like a normal black bracelet, yet somehow made him cringe.

Narciso was pulled up then escorted somewhere. As they walked, he kept turning his head left and right, trying to take in the pathway. By the time he was able to register, they had stopped to the entrance of an interrogation room.

They let go of him, watching as he took a few steps inside. He assumed that the two guards were waiting for him to walk further in and sit down. Standing still, he let his eyes not blink. There isn't any use for him to do so. Besides, Narciso could tell that they were younger vamps to begin with. But before he could gain any satisfaction of creeping them out (or even the chance to escape), one of them closed the door.

The chair on the far end of the table wasn't his planned destination. After practically laying around in every possible way in such a small space, why not take advantage of standing? He could not believe how much he has taken something so simple for granted.

As he strolled around the empty room, his eyes glimpsed around from floor to ceiling. They looked at the tinted window for just a second then everything came to a halt. Staring at his reflection for a little, he hummed to himself then decided to sit down.

The narrow room feels heavy. Well, actually, it's generous to even call the glorified hallway a room. It's four times as long as it is wide, the white lights overhead refuse to even flicker. There's a one-way mirror taking up a majority of the long wall, peering into an interrogation room.

Lucy struggles to breathe. Her superior stands to her right with a heavy clipboard in hand. He absently clicks the pen and taps the body against his clipped papers. NARCISO AMANTEA it reads in typewriter font across the tops of every file. Lucy's only heard of him occasionally through the grapevine, only when the older VHIPA Agents stuck in the so-called glory days felt like reminiscing. Never in her now-immortal life did she ever expect to be coming face-to-face with him.

Well, not exactly face-to-face. Lucy's only there for observation. Her superior firmly instructed that she's there as an over-hyped intern. Take notes, pay attention, try not to fall asleep.

The door within the interrogation room chugs open, two guards entering with Narciso Amantea himself. The man, Lucy has to admit, is fairly attractive–but she's well aware that he's over five centuries old and probably at least twenty-five times her own age. She clicks her gum–blood infused.

"Damn," Her superior grumbles. Lucy barely glances his way. His nose is deep in some communication device. "The interrogator won't be comin'." His husky voice seems to curl around the words like a wolf. "The higher-ups are sendin' some forensic guy, but he's gonna need another person." The superior's words trail off to a mumble. He murmurs through another few sentences, and Lucy catches absolutely none of it.

"I'm sorry, what?" Lucy turns to him. "I think you have an issue articulating your words… Sir."

The superior sighs and turns to the girl. He has dark, dark eyes and Lucy forgets exactly how long this guy has been turned. "The bosses want another person in the room talkin' to Amantea." Lucy furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head, still not clear at what the guy's getting at– "I want you in there with the forensics guy."

(alksdjf)
(lucy: no absolutley not i am not doing this you cannot pay me to do-)
(av: [Dad Glare tm])
(lucy, internally: holy shit what)
(lucy: alright.)

(Lucy: being a Horrible Brat)
(Av: raises one singular eyebrow and gives her a Dad Look)
(Lucy: … ok)

Av always preferred to have another person in the room with him. This was for multiple reasons. Firstly, the only reason he had been bit in the first place was because he had been alone. Now, to be quite fair, he had thought that the body in the room was, well, dead. Not undead. He had, clearly, been wrong. Secondly, when speaking with people involved in a case, it was good to have someone else in the room. Someone for whoever he was talking to to play off of, creating more opportunities for him to watch their behavior and actions. Thirdly…well, there wasn't really one.

He had reviewed all the relevant files, read everything he could. To tell the truth, he was…slightly a fish out of water here. He was a forensic investigator. He worked off of bodies, off of murder scenes. There were no bodies here. Just abductions, and abductions were a lot harder to investigate, purely from a forensic standpoint. In abductions there often was no blood, no bodies…nothing for him to work off of save a knowledge of the victim's behavior and whereabouts. This, of course, made this all the more strange. He straightened the sleeves of his white button-up, tugged lightly at the grey vest he wore over top, and then stepped into the narrow room where Lucy and the supervisor waited. His green eyes moved around the room, taking it in at a glance, and he approached them. "Averill Penn." he introduced himself to Lucy, keeping his voice quiet. He wasn't sure how much sound carried through the one-way glass, or how much Narciso could hear, but the less the older vampire knew, the better. It would make his reactions more genuine.

Av had only interrogated vampires older than himself twice; once vampires began to reach the age he had, the harsher truths of what they were began to set in. The lack of aging, something considered so innately human, often did them in. If they kept their head on their shoulders, they often melted into society and either became heads in the criminal underworld, or would unobtrusive, regular citizens. In either case, he usually never was able to interview them, as they were not brought in for questioning. He shuffled the files in his hands, fingers flicking lightly over each one as his gaze moved to watch Narciso through the mirror, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

The older vampire clearly wanted to intimidate or put them off-balance. The refusal to sit was common in the nervous, especially those who were guilty, but Av was relatively sure that that was not what was at play here. Narciso likely did not know the reason behind this yet, so therefore would have no reason to act guilty. This, then, was not nerves. A vampire as old as the one in the interrogation room would not be standing from nerves. So why? His fingers tapped thoughtfully on the edges of the files, and his eyes moved back to Lucy. "Ready to head in there? And, do let me handle most of the talking." his voice was crisp, his accent sharp. He could tell she was a younger vampire, and likely a bit overwhelmed by all of this.

(yeah i was gonna say a set order. sorry in advance for the slow responses. school's crazy)

This is quite awfully boring. What's the point of sitting in silence when you are the only one? Unless this is some sort of dream he is going through. Wait, he hasn't had any sort of dream since he had a heartbeat. God, that was such a long time ago too.

Speaking of a long time ago, it feels like he has been stuck in this room for ages. Not like it makes any difference to him. Narciso slouched down in the seat, groaning a little. It's not like these VHIPA people know anything about time. Of course a lot of them are significantly younger than him; he wondered if there were any that are as old as him.

Is it likely? Sitting up, he moved his chin in the direction of the tinted window. At first, Narciso was staring for the sake of pondering. The more he stared, the more he got distracted by observing his own reflection. Of course, he cannot see anything else, but how can he help it?

Might as well do one of things he's good at: killing something. In this case, time. If only those guards had given Narciso his watch. His time is valuable after all.

(swag! good to know)

Lucy eyes the man–the forensics specialist as he enters before returning her attention back to the window. Amantea paces the room as if he owned it. Lucy cracks her gum with her budding, sharpening fangs. They ache. At least the blood-infused chew keeps the growing pains subdued. (She vaguely remembers waking up in the middle of the day, cradling her jaw and sobbing into a pillow. An empty ibuprofen bottle lay next to her, the painkillers failing to do their singular job.)

At first Lucy ignores the forensics specialist, not really caring all too much of what he had to offer. She catches the tail end of his words. British accent. Bleugh. It's only when her superior grumbles and nudges her with a clipboard does the reality of the situation set in. Shit. Going in there, the place with the convicted criminal that's five-hundred years old with a man she's never met to do a job she was never trained to do. This is fine. It's all just fantastically, perfectly, absolutely fine.

"Let you do all the talking," She mocks quietly as she pushes past the forensics specialist, taking her superior's clipboard with her. The man doesn't fight her, hell, he practically lets her steal it. "Fine," She groans, inputting a brief pin into the door handle before pushing it open.

The interrogation room instantly makes Lucy feel like a cornered animal, even though she's the one in the predator's position. She can control the situation, she's asking the questions here, she can leave this criminal stuck in here at any time. The door shuts loudly behind the forensics specialist. Lucy stares at one of the interrogator chairs but remains standing. If she sits, the criminal could pounce and that's one less chance of escaping. "Narsico Amantea…" She mumbles, mainly to herself as she looks over his file for the first time.

Av had done his best to shut the door quietly, but it was a great, thick, heavy metal thing, that refused to be shut quietly. He didn't react to the loud clang, though, taking his time coming in and setting his files on the table, carefully settling them into a neat, organized stack. Only then did he look up and over to Narciso, taking in the older vampire with a clinical, careful gaze and doing his best to remember as much as possible about this man.

"Would you take a seat?" he asked, gesturing to the seat across the table. He did not sit down himself, though he reached out to pull a chair out for Lucy. It was an instinctual thing, born of a century and a half of doing that same motion for any woman he was sitting near. It was not a sexist thing, merely a manners thing. He did it for men too sometimes. It did not matter. He remaiend standing, despite gesturing for the other two vampires to sit. He preferred to stand, as it gave him a better perspective to watch people's responses, watch their body language. Of course, with vampires, there was no heart rate to monitor, but that was fine. There were other tells he could watch for.

His main worry was that, with Narciso's age, the other vampire would have learned to mask those tells already, would have learned how to hide reactions, even the micro ones that most people never gained control of. If Narciso had indeed learned to mask reactions, it would make this all the more difficult. Without some sort of even tiny reaction, it was harder to guide the conversation.

Never before had he felt a little happy to hear a door open. The first thing he thought was, "It is about time," once he heard the little click of the door handle. Jokingly, he hoped that a century hasn't passed, although he is not sure how long the Protection Agency will keep him here anyways. Is this just another interview?

Narciso stared at the two younger vampires in front of him. His eyes respectively observed one and then the other. All was stagnant in his face aside from the curious look in his eyes. If his eyes are serving him right, the taller man is older compared to the young lady. What else he can guess is beyond him.

The fact that he is the older one, and possibly one of the oldest overall, is one that has not hit him yet. If anything, what had changed much more is the world. He still feels and acts the same he had done so long ago. With eternal beauty, Narciso's true age has not really seemed to be a matter on his mind.

Hearing the young lady mumble his name, his brows perked up. Silence soon fell after. Is that it for introduction? How horribly bland this whole thing is already. Narciso scoffed. "Oh Madone," He tolled his eyes, "If I am to be sitting here in silence with you two, I would rather be back in that wretched cell you've put me in. It's more bearable than this."

Lucy already hates both of the men. Every second for the entirety of the two minutes she's known them has done nothing but get on her nerves. She can smell the pretentiousness pulsing from Narsico; she can hear the pity and patronization from the forensics investigator. Part of her wishes this is some promotion prank, but the idea of wasting her time on something useless only frustrates her further.

"Shut the hell up," She sneers at the criminal, kicking the chair to turn it around before taking a seat backwards. She rests her chin on the cold metal, her legs straddling the back. Her bronzed bracelets and rings clink against the metal. "I'd rather be at home doing something at least valuable with my time, but I'm stuck here with your stupid ass." Lucy's lip curls. She could've tried a little better on the insult. She can't bring herself to really bother finding a worthy one. "Don't make this hard for all of us."

The files flap as Lucy slaps them down on the table, not necessarily because she's trying to be intimidating and more because she's fully aware of how underprepared and blind she's going into this entire interrogation. The investigator wanted to do all the talking. Blugh. Like she's going to actually subject herself to listening to that obnoxious accent for god knows how long.

Av inhaled slowly as soon as Lucy began to talk, his gaze turning to her with a withering, almost parental look in his eyes. It was very much a disappointed sort of look. After a moment, he turned back to Narciso, already adjusting his approach. "My name is Averill Penn. This is…" he trailed off, thinking for a moment. "Lucille Huang." she was not his associate, nor his coworker, nor his partner. She meant nothing to him, in the grand scheme of things. "We're here to talk to you about a recent series of disappearances." start simple. Start easy. Build rapport, if possible. He suspected that building rapport with Narciso would be difficult, if not impossible, so he stuck to professional. Calm. Easy.

He just hoped that Lucy did not make this too difficult. If she continued with this attitude, it would be very hard to get Narciso to talk to them about…well, anything. If the older vampire was offended, or angry, and stopped talking, then they wouldn't be able to get any information or ideas out of him.

Av's hair was neatly combed, save for a single hair that had fallen across his forehead, which he carefully smoothed back before opening some of the files, setting photographs onto the table. "Do you recognize any of these people?" some of them were vanished people. Others were vamps, old suspects in these cases that had mostly gone cold. Others were random people, completely unconnected to the case or, as far as Averill knew, to Narciso.