It is rumoured that his art has driven men insane with despair, rage, and grief over the years, though whether this is true is hard to tell.

Except for the pain and the driven need to translate that onto canvas. Where he works to the present day.

A curious individual who has long shed antiquated notions such as gender and dress with the acceptance of the modern age. He finds himself at the ear of many in the modern nights.

It is rumoured that they were once lovers, that tore themselves apart over Z, and in a fit of madness the malkavian diabolised their lover and with that mixed blood, sired Z.

Not much else is known about Z, and the kindred themselves struggles to remember that time. And much like his name was lost.

This is where he lost his right eye and came back mourning his brothers in arms lost during the war. Fuelled by the pain of that era, and being a survivor, he threw themselves at their art.

During that time, two kindred found themselves inspired by his work.

A malkavian and a toreador.

Z was born in the highlands of Scotland, during the WW1 to a well off family that managed to mostly ignore the problems caused in the war.

An aspiring artist during a time that needed soldiers, he found himself drafted in WW2.

Z suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) that tends to culminate in the number 5, odd numbers to a lesser extent and a constant need to count.

He also suffers from C-PTSD due to traumatic events that happened in his life (and unlife).

Ohhh.... ew.

Harder.

I'm just saying yer a whole ass buffet. And I'm starving.

Well either ye want someone yer size. Or ye wanna give off.

Either way, I'm going to stare at the old vampire with his tits out.

I've seen yer snoze sniffing around the mortal Gardens, so I before to differ.

Peel those spuds outta yer ears.

Get a buxom lass to fuck ye. That's what I'm trying to get at. I feel like it would improve yer disposition if ye got off once in yer misbegotten life.

I think you would improve if you just let someone buck ye like a wild horse.

Would.

//never done a call-out post, but :/ I'm deeply uncomfortable. And I feel like this is the sort of problematic shit people should know about.

This user's writer profile supports some clearly anti trans and bigoted opinions.

[Screenshots below]

𝐀 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐦,
𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦.
𝐀 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤,
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤.

𝘑𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘤𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯

Fashion Photographer with a secret.

♡ + ↻

#MVRP
#MarvelRP
#XMenRP

Auspex - 6
Obfuscate - 5
Dementation - 6
Celerity - 1
Presence - 1

𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝘩𝑜𝑚𝑒; 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒; 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠, 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑐𝘩𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑤𝘩𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠.''

Z's voice was disjointed and layered, echoing the many webs of the madness network, whispering on repetition.

regardless of their personal attachments to them).

''𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔; 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔; 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔; 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔; 𝐼 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑡 𝘩𝑜𝑚𝑒, +

Sharing but a drop of the bestial curse all around him, sparing no one. Calling forth the beast of Sebastian to lose control, (instinctively driven to a flight-or-fight mentality and forced to flee blindly from the source of fear while they remove any obstacle or person in their way,

+

The next words he spoke reverberated within the halls of the modest-sized gallery. Echoing the madness of Malkav. Warranting bedlam as the weakest of the humans fell first, fleeing like madmen from his words. From the Rötschreck or the Red Fear, he imbued in them.

+

The tapping of 5's into his fingers hasten.

''Ye did this to yersel, and i'd ask for the release of my assisstant, but we both know you only understand one thing.

Fear.

If it's fear ye want. It's fear ye'll get.''

There was a glint in Z's eyes as the kindred focused.

+

''Shame I can't be sayin the same for you. I quite like that.''

He retorts, whether joke or not, as he watched the hulking Hound withdrew the nasty looking blade. Not just Wilk, but the others too. Invading his space with their technology and their holier-than-thou stench.

+

──*ੈ⏱‧₊˚༺💮༻*ੈ⏱‧₊˚──
💮丂𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧 丂𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞💮
˗ˏˋ ꒰⏱꒱ ˎˊ˗
⏱𝔽𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫⏱
💮丂𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫 丂𝐮𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞💮
──*ੈ⏱‧₊˚༺💮༻*ੈ⏱‧₊˚──

♡ + ↻

For I cannae help on vague things like 'friends'.''

''I dinnae know what ye mean. 'Cause right now, yer marking one up like he's ripe for cattle.''

He replies smoothly, limbs jankily micro-twitching as if bestial urges to rip him limb from limb struggled against humanity and logic.

''Yer better stating yer full business sir. +