H. Matsuda

Mon Aug 05, 2024 8:09 pm

[MATURE | Depictions of violence and blood detailed below.]

一 NAME
Hiram Matsuda |

二 ALIAS
H. Matsuda |

三 LINEAGE
You are a master vampire of the Matsuda lineage, with no sire. |

四 DATES
Born in Nagasaki, Japan to Asami Matsuda and Ha-Jun Kim [deceased] on December 27th, 1974. |
Immigrated to San Diego, California in the summer of 1980 with his mother. |
Registered in school officially as Hiram Matsuda in 1982. His mother adopted the name "Alice." |
Graduated from Paradise Hills High School in 1992, 74th in his class. |
Buried his mother, Asami "Alice" Matsuda, in Cypress View Memorial Gardens on April 11th, 1997. |
Met Roque Mendosa outside of LUXE Nightclub on June 10th, 2003. |
Moved to Ravenblack City on September 13th, 2012. |
Died at the hands of Aziza Laredo on March 11th, 2016. Within hours, he awoke vampire alongside Roque. |
Witnessed Roque turn Constance Saito on July 28th, 2016. |
Turned Carrot on September 9th, 2016, his first progeny. |
Married Roque on September 9th, 2016 at the Hall of Binding. |
Turned Arturo on October 9th, 2016, the same night Roque turned Daniela, Arturo's fiance. |
Invested assets into property and opened Club Ukiyo on January 14th, 2020. |
Turned Suspiria on May 9th, 2020. |
Blood bound to Arturo on November 20th, 2020. |

五 ETHNICITY
Japanese-Korean American |

六 SPECIES
Vampire |

一 HEIGHT
Five foot, ten inches. |

二 APPEARANCE
Clean, tidy attire; often business casual or formal depending on the social setting. |
Short, trimmed black hair; sometimes with stubble, a short goatee, or clean-shaven. |

三 VAMPIRE
Fangs extend voluntarily. |
Ultraviolet sensitive. |
Super strength, speed & healing. |
Sustains on blood to survive. |
Extensive harm will incapacitate or kill. |
Heightened senses. |
Violent temperament. |

四 OWNERSHIP
Club Ukiyo; located at Diamond & 13th near Ravenblack City's wharf and docks. |
est. January 14th, 2020. |

一 SKILLS
Competent: honed ability to complete most goals successfully and with efficiency. |
Opportunist: navigate situations to obtain power or advantage, especially over others and especially wherein business is concerned. |
Investor: financially mindful of plans and property, often with the expectation to profit. |
Negotiation: careful navigation of sensitive matters with the intent of peaceful resolution. |

二 STRENGTHS
Authentic: true to one's personality, values, and spirit; regardless of outside pressure to act otherwise. |
Adaptable: easily accommodating to new scenarios, even when unexpected or without preparation. |
Motivated: stimulated with interest in completing self-assigned goals; driven. |
Tender: unrestrained care and consideration for loved ones, with affection and fondness. |

三 WEAKNESSES
Jealous: hindered by imposing feelings of envy and possession, often for others have or may have; intimate and distant. |
Deceptive: able to dictate that others believe in a falsehood, or fail to believe in the truth. |
Obsessive: controlled by intense, overwhelming emotions of need and urgency. |
Exploitative: benefit from gained advantage over others, even if obtained unfairly. |

四 VIOLENCE
Accidental kills: four. |
Purposeful kills: beyond counting. |

Mon Aug 05, 2024 8:11 pm

Mon Aug 05, 2024 8:17 pm

"He is free who knows how to keep in his own hands the power to decide at each step, the course of his life, and who lives in a society which does not block the exercise of that power."

Salvador de Madariaga |

一 PROSPECTS
Hiram Matsuda existed in the space between for an indescribable amount of time. One moment, the buzz of static behind both of his ears deafened him to the point of madness. He fell, though his body already laid heavy against the floor. He fell within himself, disappearing inward until the muddy shadows of his soul consumed him. The next moment, Nothing.

Nothing was not, unbelievably, the absence of light. In truth, nothing was the void, and within the void was nothing. Nothing was everything. Light struck him in the face from nowhere, a light so red it blinded him. He saw it even when closing his eyes. It pulsed around him in time to a heartbeat, to the sound of Life itself. Weightless, he drifted through this space between. The void carried him to unseen places, like the silences between music notes.

Roque?!, he called out, but sawdust and fiberglass lined his throat. He gripped his chest, his fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt. Fuck, where are you?! Come on, I need you.

Finding each other became coded in them, as was finding others. It was what they did and it was how they spent their time. Ravenblack City was no more short of missing people than it was short of violence and bloodshed. With them came families desperate to find them. Their clients were often all the same: a crying mother, or a son vowing vengeance. All were reluctant to part with the most recent pictures of their loved ones. Hiram and Roque never discussed the most likely outcome--the families already knew. Usually, when the families reached out, the police already completed their investigations. By that point, it was a matter of procuring. If not the person, alive or as a body bag, then information on their current whereabouts. Still, there'd only ever been so much money to come in. Expenses for bribes and analytics always took it right back out.

Any money left went to a rundown two-bedroom rental. It sat dead on the southeast outskirts of the city limits, hardly the envy of others. What remained was enough for drinks at the bar to appease Roque's women. They liked to flock to him, all tiny hands wrapped around his arms and shrill laughter. Of course, Roque was handsome, with a deceptive babyface and an easy smile. But it was more than that. He was the kind of handsome that set off alarm bells. The kind of stare that betrayed the fact that he fucked like a predator pinning down his prey. The two-bedroom boasted little privacy, especially when Roque left the doors open.

Where he was--where they were--seemed very fucking far from home. Far from safety.

Roque, answer me, goddamnit.

Where was that gruff welcome Hiram was so used to? Where was that unhindered confidence he depended on? The confidence that they would pull themselves out of this drowning hell, like so many times.

I'm here, Hiram, he heard. The depth of Roque's voice rumbled within him--close, but not close enough.

I can't tell where your voice is coming from. Fuck, Roque... something's happened.

From within you, Roque answered. You hear me, but I'm not speaking. Don't ask me, I can't explain it. I just feel it. Don't you, Hiram? And oh, yes, he did. He felt it. We're one now, Roque echoed his thoughts. Come to me.

Without answering, Hiram did as told. He searched the blinding haze until he found the stiff shape of a leg on the cold floor. He pushed his hands along it, up over the knees and the denim that covered them. Roque, I found you, he emanated. The palms of his hands followed the man's thighs, the front of his hips, and the muscular shape of his sides.

Don't let them separate us. You have to make sure we're connected. Forever.

How?

Roque lay still under Hiram's touch, neither moving to touch Hiram in return or escape. They'd never been here before, with Hiram hovering over him. A touch had never lingered so long that it ignited his skin even through the layer of clothes between them. When Roque didn't protest, Hiram slid his hand up his chest.

By the blood, Roque rumbled below.

Somehow, he knew what those words meant--like some secret, hidden passphrase between them.

Hiram tugged at the shirt against Roque's shoulder and wrenched it to the side. He didn't hesitate, didn't let Roque tense in preparation. He sank his sore teeth into the man's shoulder and tugged. Little fountains of blood flooded over his tongue before the skin below healed back over. A tease of a taste. He bit again and again, each clamp of his jaw bringing him closer and closer. He flattened their bodies together until Hiram had to split his legs to allow Roque between them. With little movements, his body rocked against Roque's. A grunt echoed in his blooded throat, tense with every half swallow he could manage.

The blood he did get down satisfied only a tiny, aching part of him. It wasn't enough, he knew--not enough to keep them together. He buried his face against Roque's shoulder again, mouth open. Unseen hands seized his shoulders and, in a flash, upended him on the floor. His head smacked the concrete, causing him to cry out. The red haze danced into blurry faces. At least three or four figures came into view. He never even heard them there.

"This dumbass doesn't even know not to drink the blood of his own kind," a voice laughed--male, young. The words resounded off the hollow belly of the warehouse, taunting. They echoed within the cave of Hiram's mind as loud as a gunshot.

A slender figure stepped in front of him. Light rained down over him through the caving roof, suddenly blocked by her thighs. When she squatted down in front of him, it was her loose hair that shaded him. The severe set of her eyes seized him. "You could have killed him before he even wakes, motherfucker," she cursed.

Hiram looked away. He shifted on the floor and craned to look at Roque beyond, still on the floor. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be--not the way his thoughts became Hiram's thoughts only moments ago. And yet, being able to see him at last, he saw Roque's eyes open by thin, unseeing slits.

A new woman entered his line of sight, separating him from his view of Roque. Her attention never flicked to Hiram, unlike the others. Instead, she knelt on the concrete and cupped the side of Roque's face with a delicate hand. One gentle nudge of her hand was all it took. She willed away any chance of Roque seeing him. From seeing how desperate he was, how apologetic. Instead, she let her own face be all that Roque registered and coaxed him with a slow stroke of her thumb over his cheek.

In that moment, loneliness once again swallowed him whole. |

二 ACQUISITION
"Hiram," a voice called. It preluded the march of steps down the hallway. A slender woman appeared in the doorway of the guest bedroom he stood in. Saito stared at him, phone in one hand and the other on the frame she peered through. She kept her hair short these days, leaning into the androgyny of the lithe musculature of her build. It suited her. "Kiichi says they're nearly here."

He nudged the small vase a fraction to the left, its base settling back in its original place. He already watered the small peace lily. Already changed the lightbulb in the geometric lamp on the nightstand. Busy work for a very unbusy room. It lacked personality and any true character. Its only definition came from being neat and tidy. The few trinkets that decorated the limited surfaces served as a break from a room dominated by neutrals.

Saito stepped aside, allowing him unhindered access to the second floor. The heels of her dress shoes echoed while she followed behind. "Roque is on his way," she confirmed, anticipating. "He'll be here shortly after they arrive."

Hiram adjusted the fold in his button-up shirt sleeve that slipped down his forearm in his work. Their combined steps carried them downstairs to the first floor, busy with life. Carrot and Millie crowded in the main sitting room. Both blonde women looked up from their conversations with each other and met his glance. Millie's round face scrunched with worry, with questions begging to be asked, and yet there was no need. Their back and forth already took place the night before--and the night before that. No amount of assurance would set her at ease. Being Carrot's first-turned afforded her plenty of favor like Carrot was the first person Hiram ever turned. But Millie withheld any need to push the issue. Carrot's hand on her shoulder reminded her that all favors had a limit.

A car pulled up outside. Its tires crunched the gravel of the extended driveway to signal its arrival. Every person in the home seemed to hold their breath until the car's engine shut off. Saito was the first out the door, joining two other women on the grand entrance stairs. They stood side by side. Their stance was elegant and proud, threatening--Daniela and Emilia, of Roque's line. Emilia offered Hiram an acknowledging look. Daniela remained pointedly fixed on the tinted windows of the black sedan.

Both of the front doors opened and two men exited. The driver, Kiichi, stood tall. He swung the car keys around his index finger in one pass before stuffing them in his dress pants pockets. He joined his passenger, Jahleel, who smoothed his tattooed hands down the front of his blazer. Both men ensured their attire was immaculate, no matter the job. Together, they positioned themselves on either side of the back door and opened it as soon as Hiram approached.

The girl in the backseat couldn't have been older than seventeen years old. Sixteen at the most, but a child was a child to Hiram. He had no eye for the younger ages. She flattened her small body against the back of the seat to make herself smaller, unseen. Despite her efforts, she remained the focus of the three men outside the car. Hiram even ducked his head down to get a better look at her. Her hands sat folded in her lap, bound at the wrist by handcuffs. Her dress was stain-free, clean, and only a little stale to the smell.

"What's your name?" Hiram asked her.

Emboldened by not being immediately hauled out of the car, the girl scooched to the middle seat. "You kidnapping motherfuckers! Let me go! You don't know who you're messing with!"

"So tell me," he countered, a curious tilt to his head.

"Let me go!"

Evangelia Hope--a fake name, no doubt, to make travel safer. Yet, she neglected to check into her hotel under a different name. She could have used any other than the one she used with their point of contact: a man with too small of a brain to control the volume of his mouth. Especially where a pretty woman made herself involved. When Millie brought the news that a girl with a significant power came forward in town, Hiram set forth seeking. That which was sought could always be found.

The girl clambered to the far side of the backseat. Hiram stood to his full height and glanced at Kiichi beside him. "Take her upstairs to the guest bedroom. Saito has the key."

She dug her heels into the gravel but lost the fight against Kiichi's direction. She screamed her demands until those got her nowhere. Then she began to plead. "Please, don't do this. Please, just let me go. I know why you want me. We can work together! I'll do what you want, just let me go after. Please!"

Her voice faded up the stairs into the expansive home. Without a word, Daniela and Emilia followed the others in after her, leaving Hiram alone outside. He shut the door of the car and folded his arms hand over wrist. Behind him, another sedan approached. He glanced back to catch Roque emerge from the driver's seat. With the same excited yet curious energy, he watched the man's eyes scan their home.

"Do you think she can really do it?" Roque asked as he joined his partner.

Hiram lifted his eyes to the second-floor window in consideration. "We'll find out soon enough." He broke his pose to reach over and touch the middle of Roque's back. He felt both of their muscles begin to relax. He never imagined the tension they both held until then. Finally, the search was over. "And then we'll be in touch with the Takedas. How much would you pay for the power to bring people back from the dead?" he grinned. |

三 PROSPERITY
As soon as the midnight hour struck, Club Ukiyo thrummed with new, invigorated life. At the center of it all, Hiram drank it in. Years ago, the pulse of warmth in his skin would have set him on edge and ignited his nerves. Now? He reclined back in the ornate chair at the head of the table like the deity he was--perfectly at home in his domain.

Across from him, the swaying double chin of a businessman caught the glow of the muted, teal neon light. The light emanated a soft ambiance from the panels along the wall, contrasting with the warmth of the orange lights overhead. The club boasted no rival in the atmosphere. It suited to please the overindulging and the greedy--like Chief Financial Officer Hanson. He laughed, his voice boisterous and overpowering, at every joke Roque made.

In the private enclave of the meeting room, their elite guests could be as shameful as they wished to be. Within reason, of course. They could gloat over the expenses of their watches, drink in excess without judgment, and plot their inevitable trail to more money than most people would ever see in their lifetimes. No matter the man, the woman, or the need, Hiram Matsuda would cater.

"Gentlemen, I can't argue with the logic," Hanson laughed. His hand cupped the thin arm of the female dancer who leaned into him. She was a sweet little blonde who knew the way to laugh so her bare breasts bounced right along with her. She trailed her fingers along the buttons of his clean, pressed shirt. "But Richard is never going to go for it. He thinks it's too much of a risk to send that large of a shipment off. Off to Holy God knows where! Especially without a contingency to go with it."

"Not to where only God knows," Hiram remarked. His tone remained even and relaxed. When one of the servers approached to refill his wine glass with warmed blood, he lifted a hand to refuse. Their clients knew what they were--vampires. Anyone in the city with an internet connection knew what they were. Yet, Hiram wasn't one to indulge so openly. Unless, of course, that was the entire intrigue of their client in the first place. "To Kyoto. There are Christians in Japan, Mr. Hanson."

To this, Hanson let out another loud guffaw. All for a convenient reason to let his hand slide down the dancer's side. She let it settle there, even adjusting her position to push her chest closer to his. And that would, ultimately, be the extent of it. The richest men were always drawn to those they could never have. Her contract allowed no sex of any kind. Hiram never pushed upon that boundary or allowed others to, either.

"Do you know what there isn't as much of?" Hiram continued. Hanson looked at him, the amusement sinking out of his face. "Guns. Explosives. True firepower. The buyer can offer triple what each piece is worth here, on our own soil. Roque and I have called upon you and Mr. Pavlovsky because we know the quality you bring to this offer. Triple the price of a Kovachev piece is... substantial. But rest assured, the buyer would be remiss to consider other options for a much more favorable price."

The businessman huffed a laugh from his nose. His eyes crawled from Hiram to Roque, instead. Roque was always at Hiram's side, always validating the deal. Despite his slow nod of consideration, Hanson said nothing. Instead, a rapid three-knock came at the sliding door of the room. The server opened the partition. Rapid neon lights bounced off the walls outside of the room. The height of electronic music rose and rose, preparing for a sudden drop that the crowd cheered for.

"Excuse me," Carrot apologized. "You're both needed at this moment." And, like that, she was gone again.

Hiram only looked at Hanson when he stood from his chair to excuse himself. Roque stepped out of the meeting room without hesitation. "Consider the offer with Mr. Pavlovsky. In the meantime, enjoy yourself." He stepped out and moved to slide the door back in place. The dancer crawled across the tabletop and brought herself to stand before her patron.

The general flow of energy led him outside. Even after midnight, the line of people queuing at the door showed no sign of shortening. One of the two bouncers outside signaled around the building. On a typical night, the loading dock sat unoccupied unless it was a restocking day. Instead, a small crowd gathered in a semi-circle; almost all family from his lineage. At the center stood a man he'd never seen, towering at six foot three. The bulky muscles of his arm tightened around another man's neck--also a stranger. The man in front of him attempted to kick out of his grapple, his meager grunts echoing against the crook of the other's elbow.

"A hunter," Kiichi spit, his eyes fixed on the struggling man. "He tried to attack Teddy when he was alone."

Hiram shifted his attention to Teddy, wedged between Kiichi and Carrot like a pair of statues. He knew the boy to be no pacifist, yet the mild alarm in his eyes couldn't go unnoticed. Anyone would have been flighty, caught so off guard. An attack, in their club...

"Who the fuck is he, then?" Roque asked, eyeing the one behind the hunter--as everyone else did. The vein in his throat pulsed with his effort to maintain his grip on the hunter: both human.

"Just a--" the man started to answer.

Taking the opportunity, the hunter slammed his head back. The impact echoed through the brick walls. In one motion, he twisted out of his hold. No human would be quicker than Kiichi, who released the hiss pent up in his chest before he slung the hunter back to the ground.

Immediately, a loud pop rang out. The towering human kept the gun he pulled from Kiichi's holster in his meaty paw, waiting for the body of the hunter to so much as twitch. It didn't. A shallow pool of blood spread out from its unmoving head.

"No fucking guns," Hiram snapped. Already, the buzzing air around the front of the club began to saturate with uncertainty and panic.

Without prompting, the man handed the gun back to Kiichi, grip first. "Yeah, I don't like them either," he said, nonplussed.

"Your name. What is it? Now that you've left a dead body for us to clean up. On our property."

"Would have been your man's dead body instead," he snarked back. But, he lowered his eyes to the stained concrete below the body. The human wanted no challenge. "Driskoll. My name's Driskoll. I was hoping you could give me a job."

"You want us to give you a job?" Roque stared.

"I hoped so," Driskoll confirmed. "Do you hire felons?" |

Mon Aug 05, 2024 8:22 pm