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About Casimir Volodin

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  1. Can't keep going when the steam has run out. No problem Nina - see you in the other games.
  2. Name: Nul Legal Name: Casimir Volodin Sex: Male Age: 21 Height: 5'10" Weight: 170lbs Concept: Ambitious Criminal Known Appearance: Tall, dark and handsome, Volodin should be a lady-killer, yet there is no warmth in the deep darkness of his eyes. Usually impeccably turned out in dark suits, he carries himself with a gravitas that should belong to a much older man and the assurance of a shark swimming amongst fish. Known Powers: A living incarnation of the cold, Volodin possesses the ability to quite simply kill the dance of electrons. In purely physical terms he is able to emit deadly levels of cold, freeze the molecular bonds in objects thus rendering them brittle, and produce and shape ice to his desires. History: Casimir Volodin never knew his parents, his first memories being of the Ukrainian orphanage where he had been raised from infancy. A gradual slide into crime was almost a foregone conclusion for the boy, who saw the power and influence even the smallest of Bratva street soldiers had as a massive step up from being poor and powerless. He went from running minor errands to confidential messages and then to driver for a local Vor, the organisation’s trust in him growing apace. When the police arrested him under suspicion of handling stolen goods, trying to use the threat of jail to make him testify against the Bratva, Casimir’s loyalty to his adopted family became clear as he kept silent and endured 12 months of Ukrainian prison. When he got out, it was widely accepted that he himself would join the ranks of the Vory before long. Unfortunately the acclaim of his criminal peers went to Casimir’s head, causing him to swagger more than was warranted... or wise. In his pride, convinced he was untouchable, the young gangster offended the wrong man – Boris Kirylenko, a made man notorious amongst the Bratva as a torturer with a terrible temper. Kirylenko’s career in the mob had peaked – he was considered too unstable to rise any higher than Vor and he knew it, making him resentful of Casimir’s rising star. A cautious man would have endured Kirylenko’s belittling comments and bullying, biding their time until they were beyond his influence. Casimir, young and full of himself, was not cautious. So it was the young mobster found himself laying in a snowbank in the woods, in the middle of winter, beaten half to death with 3 bullets in his chest to finish the job. But the job wasn’t finished - yet...
  3. He sat up, one hand checking his chest before he glanced down, noting the three pink puckered scars where before had been bullet wounds. A quick inventory of his aches and pains revealed... nothing. His kneecaps were whole and un-drilled, his feet and hands were as new as though a hammer had not been taken to them, and his face... He got out of the bed, heedless of his undress as he crossed to a full-length mirror and peered in. His face was whole, unburned... handsome as ever. No, not as ever - he seemed different now. He peered closer, trying to see what exactly differed, but could not place his finger on any one thing. His hair seemed more lustrous, his skin flawless, his dark eyes gleamed with inner mystery. It was as though he had been perfected somehow, becoming the ideal of his own previous vanity. Aware of the woman watching him, the cardboard box still in her hands, he turned and stepped back over to the bed, wrapping a sheet around his lower half for her sake before sitting. "Apologies, good mother." he murmured in Russian, studying her anew. "I am starving, of course. Can I ask where I am?"
  4. ...And that is how they started shipping us in the fanfics.
  5. Heya Nina. I'm still interested in my cold-blooded criminal as a character, and you did mention having some ideas for him. I completely understand if you don't want to start new stories, but if you are taking requests then I'd be happy to write as Casimir. Alternatively I can shelve him for use later on.
  6. Almost got William ready, Mala. Sorry this is taking so long: real life is being a bear. And maybe a lion and a tiger, too.
  7. Is Adam a Brit or American? We can work things out either way, but the story might differ
  8. Hah! It is. Derp, I missed that. ,, Wanna be twins seperated at birth then?
  9. Eerie. Adam does sound similar to William. I'll hash out what I've got here so we can collaborate and not step on each other's toes, Dave. ,, Well, William's ex-military, as I discussed with Mala. Joined the Royal Marine Commandos as a teen out of London's East End two steps ahead of the Old Bill, then some time in the Special Boat Service before demobbing and drifting into shady dealing. Before his military service, he used to flog stolen watches and car stereos on street corners. Now he travels around arranging the sale of illegal munitions and weapons for rich and powerful people, occasionally hiring himself out as a 'consultant' (read: mercenary cadre). He's doing that less these days - he'd rather not spend any more time getting paid to get shot at over causes he doesn't give a toss about. He got enough of that in the service. ,, Skills wise, he's an ex-commando. He knows guns, hand-to-hand, small unit tactics and basic demolitions, along with survival and evasion, SCUBA, parachuting, and small boat skills. He's in his mid-to-late thirties, but still in good shape and keeps current. He's streetwise, disarmingly charming, and plays down his military background if anyone calls him on it. He's smart, which is why the SBS took him: they don't take dumbasses. He's not exactly a MacGuyver type, but he knows his way around hotwiring a car or spoofing an alarm, for instance.
  10. William Baker, a travelling businessman with a charming hint of Cockney to his accent. Was in K.C just waiting for a connecting flight when the weirdness started.
  11. "Lure and spring." Martin said calmly as he regarded the maps, the featureless glow of his eyes narrowing as he considered. "It's a predator, with senses better than human. Sneaking up on it isn't likely, and as it's a zombie catching it asleep isn't a factor either. As soon as it scents us, it'll come straight for us anyway, so why bother trying to play stalking games?" He looked up at the others, hands gesturing as he explained. "This thing doesn't care about numbers - it just goes after the meat. So I'll be meat. I'll find a good spot upwind and cut my arm - the blood should focus it's attention. You'll set up for an ambush and hit it with everything you have. I'll do my best to give it indigestion." He looked around at them all. "That's the basic plan. Suggestions and refinements?"
  12. "And she might have tricked me." Martin returned levelly. "Every one of us, every one, has suffered at the hands of the Olympians, and suffered badly. Our trusting you was no easier than you trusting us." He gestured at the six men and Sylvan, then at his own band. "Look at us, compared to you. We're men, women and children, sick and traumatised and injured." He kept his expression calm, but there was some force in his voice. "Do we look like a warband, or a capture party? You want to talk to anyone here, get the story, cross examine us? It's simple - we were toys for arrogant gods and they treated us like toys. Or worse than toys. We escaped, stole their weapons," he pointed at Grasscutter and the silver bow laying on the table, " and used those weapons to kill some of them. Artemis is dead, so is Bast, and some black-skinned creature that attacked us on the road. Want to see our driver's injuries? You can." He gestured again, taking in the whole room. "These people have put everything on the line for a chance to live free or die trying. They deserve your trust, if you're enemies of the Olympians." Nods from the Tartarans accompanied Phobos's words. "If you have some test in mind, name it. If you want a show of good faith, tell me what it is. My own mother is with us - I'd walk through hell to get her to safety, and all the rest of them too. But don't ask questions like 'how do I know I can trust you?'. You can't. We can't. Trust is earned and built, not given wholesale. We, both sides, are showing plenty of trust just being here, meeting face to face."
  13. "As long as we can be, too." Martin replied with a shrug and a smile. "It'll give everyone a reason to be polite." "It will." The two teens laughed quietly, then fell silent for a comfortable moment before Sylvan nodded towards the door. "So..." "Oh. Yeah." Martin made for the door, ducking out and looking around and up, scanning the sky on reflex. He waited until Sylvan - Chloe... Pretty name he thought absently - had closed up her hidey-hole behind him and then the two of them headed back to the hotel. Martin kept his mind on the upcoming meeting, trying not to think about the possibility that Sylvan was an Olympian spy... and darkly amused that she might think the same of him. He cast a glance her way as they moved through the alleys only to find her green eyes watching him, a fact that caused both of them to smile and look in different directions. In a short time they were back at the hotel. Ali was up and in the kitchen, eating, and the other refugees were clustered in the dining area adjoining, some looking through the service hatch, others just milling about expectantly. "Ali. Good to see you're up." Martin told the older man as he came into the kitchen, Sylvan in tow. He looked at all the faces and raised his voice a fraction, though it was scarcely needed. As soon as he began to speak, the Tartarus escapees fell silent. "We're about to have visitors. They'll be armed, and so will we, but this is a peaceful meeting. We'll set it up in the dining area." He pointed. "One of them is like Ali, Sylvan and me, and they are not Olympians to the best of my knowledge. They have similar doubts about us, which is fair and reasonable." He looked around, meeting people's eyes. "I'm inclined to trust them, just as Sylvan is inclined to trust us. So we're going to sit down and pow-wow this out. If it works we'll be going somewhere safe, with others who want to keep the Olympians away. Any questions?" There were none. "Great." Phobos stated with a smile. "Let's get ready to receive our guests. Ali?" he caught the doctor's attention as the meeting broke up, people hustling to make ready. "How're you feeling?"
  14. "Sure." Martin said, even as his hindbrain gibbered in glee and nervousness. He approached, trying to figure out the least overtone-laden place to, well, grab hold. So to speak. The leathers weren't skin tight, but were close-fitting enough that Sylvan was far from shapeless in them. "Calvin sounds cool." he said, trying to distract himself. "We just got our second empowered person, so... Oh, yeah. You know that." Sylvan was smiling up at him and Martin quit babbling, linking his hands together and crouching slightly so as to give her a boost. She didn't weigh much... though he'd gotten stronger too, so maybe that was it. Regardless, the petite girl rose up easily, her foot cradled in his hands as she fished in the rafters for her bow. He heard the scrape of wood and resisted the urge to look up, aware of her hip's nearness to his face. "Got it!" she said cheerily, and Martin bent to set her down gently, feeling her her hand grasping his shoulder to steady herself as she stepped down onto the floor. On reflex as she stepped down, he grabbed her waist to prevent any stumbling on either of their part, and as he straightened up he was looking at sparkling green eyes. Whoa! He froze for a moment, but she didn't seem to mind, staring back at him as he felt his face grow hot once more. He remembered himself after a couple of seconds and let his hands drop. "Sorry." he mumbled. "Didn't want you to stumble." It felt like a lame excuse, even though he knew it was true... well, the bit about his intent was anyway. He wasn't sorry... as long as she wasn't offended.
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