Post by ivan on Mar 20, 2011 19:02:07 GMT -4
*IVAN ALEXEI DIYATEV,
“it sounds so absurd so I waited for my own eyes
to put a face on the person that built these lies”
“it sounds so absurd so I waited for my own eyes
to put a face on the person that built these lies”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -
[/color][/center]*step into the spotlight,
» FULL NAME: Ivan Alexei Diyatev. Ivan is pronounced ee-vahn as opposed to eye-vahn.
» NICKNAMES: Vanya, Russian pet-name form of “Ivan”. His family calls him this.
» AGE/BIRTHDAY: Twenty-three/October thirtieth
» GENDER: Male
» ORIENTATION: Pansexual
» CANON OR ORIGINAL: Original
» GROUP/GRADE: Tourist
*let them see who you are,
» HAIR: He has dark brown hair that is usually properly combed; either that, or notoriously tousled.
» EYES: Ivan has sparkling, icy blue eyes that are either hard and unemotional, or expressive, depending on his mood.
» HEIGHT/WEIGHT: He is a tall man, standing at six feet two inches, and weighing one hundred and fifty-five pounds.
» DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: ---
» STYLE: Ivan likes to wear crisp, clean clothes; trendy but reserved and formal.
» OVERALL: Ivan is a rather handsome man, something that he is dimly aware of but never really pays attention to. The fact that he’s generally well-groomed is more due to his sense of hygiene than his need to “look good”, if that makes sense. His hair is usually carefully combed with nary a strand out of place, although there are days that he will forgo brushing. His face, usually clean-shaven, will occasionally have stubble or the scant beginnings of a moustache on his upper lip if he has the privilege of being lazy. The build of his face – cheekbones and set of his eyes and all – is somehow distinctly European; the product of a Russian family. His skin is pale, typically Caucasian as well, and he is a rather large man. Not fat – in fact he is rather slim for a man, he is simply big-boned – but more in the sense of vertical size; he is tall, standing at over six feet. His eyes are a typical sparkling blue, one of the bluest you might find, and tend to be either cold and hard, or expressive and emotional depending on how he feels and whether he wants others to know it.
*shine through the darkness,
» LIKES:
» DISLIKES:
» STRENGTHS:
» WEAKNESSES:
» SECRETS:
» GOALS:
» OVERALL PERSONALITY: In order to begin to understand Ivan Alexei Diyatev, one must know that there are not many things that he truly, truly hates. Everything that he does hate stems from immorality and lies. He hates lying – will never lie himself, because lying breeds dislike, which breeds hate and general unpleasantness. Even if he would lie, he would probably be horrible at it, lacking the imagination to actually come up with a plausible fib. Ivan’s brain is more logical and analytical than dreamy and inventive, and while he admires the qualities in others he is far from possessing them himself.
He is a fairly reserved man, although that is not to say that his company is unpleasant; he prefers Russia, tolerates America, and is polite and dignified most of the time. This is mostly, though, because he feels “above” Americans who cannot even begin to imagine the extravagance of Russia; in this way, he is slightly arrogant. While he can speak fluent English, he has a slight accent as he rolls his r’s and fervently pronounces double-consonants. Oftentimes he will use the Russian word “da” as opposed to “yes” to reply to questions or simply in general. He never swears in English and, when irritated, often switches to his mother tongue. His accent also becomes thicker when he is angered.
In direct relation to this, as he is a sensitive man (which he attempts to hide) he can be hurt rather easily. Combined with his tendency to “like” and “dislike” others easily, this can lead to chaos, whether externally or internally. He has a penchant for detecting insult and injury in actions and words even if none is actually intended, and as such is easily insulted and comes to conclusions violently and easily. When angered, he either plasters a fake smile on his face or silently radiates anger. He rarely yells, and if he does it's a sign that something has truly and deeply bothered him.
While he dislikes America, preferring Russia, he will admit that he likes the warmer weather, having always liked warmth when he was a young child. An interesting thing to note is that Ivan is an atheist; he does not believe in God or religion, or that any type of deity exists, but he is open-minded to others' beliefs.
*dive into your past,
» PARENTS: Mother is Polina Radinka Kayatova-Diyatev, father is Dmitrii Diyatev.
» SIBLINGS: Anja Inna Diyatev, thirteen years old, sister. Anja is pronounced “anya”.
» PETS: ---
» SIGNIFICANT OTHER: ---
» OTHER IMPORTANT PEOPLE: ---
» HISTORY: On October thirtieth of 1988, Ivan Alexei Diyatev was born to Polina Radinka Kayatova-Diyatev and Dmitrii Diyatev, in Moscow, Russia. The Diyatevs were one of the many rich families living in Moscow, and one of the more well-known ones at that. Polina was a science-fiction/fantasy writer – the reason she hyphened her last name – and Dmitrii seemed to have money growing in the pants of his pockets. He was never short on money, which was precisely why the Diyatevs were so rich; with so much money, they barely had to work. In fact, Dmitrii had retired soon after marrying Polina at the ripe age of twenty-three. Being the heir to a marvellous fortune helped, of course. Polina’s royalties were also an immense help.
As Ivan was their first child, and a son, neither Polina nor Dmitrii failed to spoil him. He was given nearly everything he wanted, when he wanted it; in addition to this, they also taught him at home. When it was time for him to “officially” go to school at the age of five, his mother was so distraught that Dmitrii applied to have him homeschooled. His mother took the responsibility of teaching him; he was quick to learn and, while she had at first been a tad apprehensive at the prospect of teaching her child, she had no difficulties. This homeschooling continued well into high school, up until when Ivan graduated.
When Ivan was nine, another member was added to the family of three: Anja Inna Diyatev, Ivan’s younger sister. Born in April, she was, even as a child, a very hyperactive girl. As she grew older, she barely hesitated to talk to “anyone anywhere anytime”; talking to strangers didn’t bother her in the least, a trait that Ivan lacked. Anja was also homeschooled, and for a while Polina would try teaching the two children at the same time; when Ivan was finishing middle school, however, he began to learn by himself as Polina dedicated her time to getting knowledge into Anja’s thick skull.
From an early age – since Anja was born – Ivan’s father would consistently tell him that he was to be a lawyer “when he grew up”. He was to go to law school, get good grades, and “help people”. The thought of “helping people” interested Ivan, and while he took the order to become a lawyer as a requirement, a duty, something that his father had told him to do – he did not take it as a punishment. In fact, he almost welcomed it. At the age of nine he had no idea what sort of profession he was to have, while he read that other children had extravagant dreams of becoming astronauts or models or scientists; and someone telling him what he should be was oddly comforting for him.
When he graduated high school at the age of nineteen, he took several years “off” of studying; spent it reading Russian literature and the occasional law book. His father was not particularly pleased with him, but Polina told him that it was fine, since he had spent nineteen years of his life learning, and what harm was it to spend a few slacking off? In truth, Ivan had been putting the thought of going to law school off – had been procrastinating and postponing it, and his father, since he was not a stupid man, soon saw through this. Behind his back, he enrolled him into a law school in Manhattan, booked him a flight and sent him off to the United States of America, where tuition would apparently be cheaper than in Russia. Thus, a disgruntled twenty-three year old Ivan Alexei Diyatev was shipped off to the USA, where he found himself an apartment in downtown Manhattan and proceeded to brood in silence.
He went to law school, of course, from the very first day it started. That didn’t mean that he had to enjoy it. No, he enjoyed law school. He just didn’t enjoy America. It was so oddly unrefined and so ugly and different to Russia and Moscow that he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just go back to Russia. It wasn’t as if he was about to practice law in the Americas; he was Russian, he lived in Russia, damn it all, and as soon as he graduated he was going straight back to Russia. Since this was what he “wanted”, right? To be a successful lawyer, just like his father wanted him to be.
*behind the scenes,
» NAME/ALIAS: Air
» AGE: Sixteen
» ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE: I honestly don’t remember. :/
» HOW YOU FOUND US: Proboards Support, if I remember correctly.
» CODE PHRASE: admin edit.
» RP SAMPLE:Deciding to leave the rabbit leg as it was for now, until it cooled off a bit at least, the scraping noise of a kunai in the ground caught her attention next; blinking, she looked at the ovals that Eso had scraped with mild interest, until the man wrote his own name within one of them. The interest then turned to amusement; so this was why he had asked? Leaning forward slightly, she carefully took the kunai from him, gripping it tightly as she gazed into the empty oval, apparently meant for her. The feeling of someone watching her – a prickly sensation at the back of her neck – made her hesitate. Takeo was not used to so much attention placed on her person all at once; usually, it was just Kenji, and if ever they actually ventured into the village, it was only for a few minutes, to sell rabbits and deer or herbs or whatever else either Kenji or she had killed or gathered. And even then people didn’t tend to look at them – tended not to look at the scruffy, red-haired child.
Sighing mutely, she pressed the tip of the kunai to the earth, before moving it haphazardly in the scrawl that would soon become her name. Pleased with the outcome, she flipped the kunai, holding it out for the man to take back – she wasn’t about to share any more information, since he hadn’t asked for it, and she wasn’t about to steal someone’s possessions, either. If this was about to become a writing conversation, then she had her own kunai too, a fact which she indicated by gesturing to the kunai at her side with her free hand. With said free hand, she briefly touched the rabbit again, forcing back a wince at the sudden heat transfer. Still too hot. Or maybe she was just more sensitive to heat. Once, Kenji had made some tea; boiled water, sprinkled some herbs in a cup and then poured the water in. After about fifteen minutes, he had drank it, and then told Takeo to try it, too; had she been able to speak, she would have likely yelled at him crossly for purposely (she was sure) burning her tongue. Kenji had retaliated, saying that it wasn’t hot at all and he had no idea what she was talking about. And then proceeded to take a big gulp of steaming tea.
It hadn’t been bad. But it had been hot. At least to her. Either it was just because Kenji was older, or simply because she had a different perception of what was hot and what was…not. Or maybe it wasn’t any of those things, and had something to do with gender. In any case, from that point on, she had always been wary of what Kenji considered “warm”, because in nine cases out of ten, it was piping hot. She was certain that if the man were here at that moment, he would be telling her that the rabbit leg was just fine to eat, not hot at all, and that she should just pick it up and start eating. Lip quirking upwards slightly at the memory, her attention once more drifted to the bard, watching his hand streak across the book paper. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine anything good coming out of the fast movements – they were too hurried, seemed oddly imprecise, and, no matter how she looked at it, she just couldn’t visualize a nice image coming out of the lines that Sebastion drew. Wasn’t drawing supposed to be intricate, slow, careful?
The image of the woman skinning the rabbit, so quick and purposeful and admirably fast, flashed through the girl’s eye, and she inclined her head slightly in curiosity. Perhaps it was that most things became “easier” and “faster” once one got used to them. In fact – couldn’t she relate? Tracking animals; looking for tracks in the undergrowth; deciding which plant was poisonous and which was edible, no matter how much they looked alike; it had all become easier with time, as Kenji had taught her, and the decisions had come quicker, her conviction had grown stronger until not a doubt was left in her mind. It was – more than likely, then, that drawing, “art”, was the same. Just like skinning. She was certain that the movements of the woman’s wrist, the precise, expert actions would not leave her mind’s eye until she could copy them exactly. This was not a lesson that she would put to waste.
After a few moments, she noticed the bard looking up at her a few times; something that might have caught her off guard had she not known he was drawing her. She raised an eyebrow at his words; she didn’t think that she was “lovely” or needed immortalizing very much. Sighing noiselessly, she obliged the artist with keeping still for the moment, gaze occasionally flickering from him to the blaze of the fire to him; or, more accurately, the book in his hands, wondering what sort of image he was transcribing to the pages. To her surprise and mild amusement, she was granted with a visual; Sebastion flipped the book around, showing her the sketch that he had made of her. Amber eyes blinked slowly, and she leaned forward, more out of fascination than anything else. She didn’t think that was her. It didn’t look like her, anyways; did artists tend to exaggerate? I like to think of my skills as quite good. They were. She just – after a few moments, she shook her head slightly, more to herself than to him, before nodding, the action holding some amount of certainty behind it.
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