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Dimitri Watson-Chugoku


0 · 400 views · located in C.L.O.U.D. Base

a character in “TH1RT3EN: C.L.O.U.D.”, as played by Cypher


Age: 38

-Gender: Male

-Loyalty: CLOUD - No. 10, "The Ranger" (Bow), Commitment: Unshakable

  • The Wolf:
  • The Stallion: "Too emotional. It will be her downfall eventually."
  • The Tiger:
  • The Silent One:
  • The Samurai: "Idiot. He'll die first."
  • The Twins: "One is dead. The other is on my side."
  • The Gunman: "Clean. Competent. Quiet. He had his potential before he threw his lot in with the other one. Shame it will be gone."
  • The Jackyl: "Talks too much. Too much spare energy. A wonder she's still alive."
  • The Giant:
  • The Hunter:
  • The Reaper: "Unpredictable. Not terribly so."
  • The Black Mamba: "Untrustworthy. The moment she swaps sides she will die."

-Description: What you see is what you get with Dimitri. While most would picture an impeccably dressed man with slicked-back hair, a clear face and an air of confidence about him, Dimitri gives off none of these things. Dim is unkempt and disheveled, his white hair growing out in long, uneven shocks and shading his haggard, lean face. Were one to pull the bangs away, they would find deep purple bags beneath sunken, possibly jaundiced eyes. His sallow skin is almost thin as parchment, and someone observing from a distance would nearly believe him to be a frail old man, which is the exact look Dimitri is attempting to cultivate. Beneath that corpse-like skin and sunken, dead eyes are muscles of whipcord strength and speed and the cold, efficient mind of a practiced criminal mastermind. His thin frame belies an athlete's careful conditioning and training, and his every stance and movement is carefully positioned and calculated to take advantage of whatever situation he finds himself in.

-Height: 6'2"

-Weight: 141 lbs.

-Hair Color: Naturally brownish-black. Currently dyed white, although this can change drastically in a matter of minutes depending on the situation.

-Eye Color: Yellowish-brown naturally, although he has an array of contact lenses he can use.

-Personality: Someone looking at Dimitri, staring him right in the eyes without faltering or backing down - a trait that few humans can brag of possessing - would say that they weren't looking into a person, but a black hole in the shape of a man. Over time, Dimitri has slowly lost all of the qualities held by normal human beings, such as the ability to interact decently with others in a social setting without attempting to murder 90% of the warm bodies in the vicinity. Although he is a good actor (he spent several years as a stage actor and played some minor film roles) and can fake like a functional member of society, even a cursory glance will reveal something lurking and moving just below the surface, like a caged beast waiting for an opportunity to slip out of his cage and claw someone.

He is nearly incapable of forming and sustaining stable human relationships, and as such tends to openly despise people, if not through words. He is a near-mute in some respects, exchanging few words with his superiors and teammates and preferring to let his body language do the speaking for him. When he is forced to speak, he can be anywhere from curt and seemingly annoyed to downright rude, standoffish and hostile. Ever the man of few words, he prefers to speak only to get his point across and possibly shock the others out of any further discussion.

He has taken a fondness to the drink; and when given the opportunity will imbibe heavily of every available earthly pleasure, be it prostitution, designer drugs, heavy alcoholic beverages or any combination of the three. Although this has left him physically ravaged, he doesn't seem to care at all. However, instead of the opulent manors and such one with the income he garners would be expected to live in, Dimitri has taken up residence in a tiny studio apartment

-Quirks: He has a tendency to leave a print of this image at the site of his murders. Other than that, he designs and machines his own arrows and tends to be more than obsessive-compulsive when working on them, and absolutely refuses to allow anyone else to use them.

- He doesn't really have any. If he had to pick, booze, cocaine, hookers and death.

- Everything.

-Other: I've read everything.

-Sample Post: Dimitri twanged the bowstring softly against his cheek from quarter draw. The caress of the breeze against his cheek, generated by the string's passing, brought a chill to the tall man's face, raising the light, almost translucent whiskers there in a scattering of goosebumps. The string carried no load, and the target was as such undisturbed at the moment. Dimitri preferred to savor this time before a kill, watching his victim's last moments. Here, the target - never the man, that implies a connection - was mixing itself a drink; a sprig of mint over ice, then whisky. Even from this distance, he could make out the purple velvet slip that held a bottle of Crown Royal. Were he a man prone to fantasizing; Dimitri would have put himself in the man's shoes, thinking about whatever he had done that day, coming home from the office building after another soul-crushing day of fucking his secretary in the private bathroom, or snorting lines of angel dust in his office, or generally enjoying the luxuries that a high-paying job such as this man's could get him.

Twang. The bowstring brought Dimitri back from the edge of a dangerous connection with his target. In retaliation, Dimitri pulled a hand-tooled arrow from the pouch on his back and nocked it, carefully. The long carbon shaft and goose-feather flights came to rest against his cheek, his aiming only slightly obscured by the conical carbide tip of the arrow. His target did not know this, but Dimitri had hand-assembled these arrows for this job, a job which would normally be handled by a team of snipers on a rooftop several blocks away but was instead being handled by one assassin with a compound bow and nearly two decades of killer instinct under his belt. This arrow was tipped with a saboted nitroglycerine point and assisted by gyrojets that were capable of delivering the arrow at 1500 feet per second over an effective range of 12,000 feet, basically a guaranteed lethal blow from this range. The target would, quite literally, not know what hit it. By the time the arrow struck, it would be too late - the explosive would detonate in mere miliseconds and by then, Dimitri would be long gone. It was a simple and elegant thing, really, and Dimitri wished he could stay to watch this target's intestines turn the apartment a glistening shade of crimson, but such were the sacrifices he made.


So begins...

Dimitri Watson-Chugoku's Story