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Ivan Resnov

Dance with the devil.

0 · 798 views · located in Lupaix

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by NotAFlyingToy

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Description

Oh Mama, I'm in fear for my life
From the long arm of the law
Law man has put an end to my running
And I'm so far from my home


Name: Ivan James Resnov
Occupation: Bit-thief, hired muscle for the Bloodstone Pack


Details: Ivan is a werewolf of what could be considered a mild degree. Rather than fully shapeshifting at the full moon, or changing into a fully grown wolf/man combo for combat, Ivan's transformation triggers at will, mostly utilized during self defense, fight-or-flight situations where he or those he cares about are threatened. There are two stages to Ivan's transformation, though there are varying degrees between them.

  • "Hulk" Stage: In this stage, Ivan becomes a beast-man, standing around eight feet tall and weighing almost five hundred pounds. His teeth become more pronounced, his hands and feet grow claws, and his muscles bulge outwards. He still stands in a bipedal position, is able to think coherently, communicate, reason, and utilize all of his brain functions. His fur is a whitish gray, matching his hair and beard as a human. Returning back to his human form has no consequences save for a ravaging hunger.

  • "Wolf" Stage: In this stage, Ivan becomes a thirteen foot tall wolf (at the point of his shoulder), weighing five thousand pounds, and possessing inhuman strength even for a creature of his size. He carries himself on all fours. He loses the ability to communicate verbally, and much of a wolf's baser instincts - notably, those carried over from Ivan as a human (alliances, enemies, family etc) - guide his actions while in this form. Returning to human form straight from this form will leave Ivan weak and disoriented as the physical and mental toll is great. The recovery time is a little under two hours.

Alongside these specific transformations, Ivan has a very quick regenerative rate of tissue, fluid, and bone, and does not have an allergy or weakness to silver in any state.

Pictures are below.

Ivan in Hulk Stage
Image

Ivan in Wolf Stage
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So begins...

Ivan Resnov's Story

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A booted foot knocked wide the doors of the bar, sending them crashing against the walls with a crack of thunder. The brown shit kickers clomped on the wooden floors as the grey haired, youthful visage of Ivan Resnov sauntered into the doors, hands curled into fists and raised at his sides.

Turning back to his companion, he grinned. "I'm Ivan Resnov," he stated, "and this is my favourite spot on this planet!"

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"Indeed, brother. Indeed. Though, the back of a cockroach would've been larger than that shared cell!" He roared with laughter, as if he was recalling a fond memory. Never mind the dank prison where he was beaten daily.

With one of those aforementioned shitkickers, the large russian kicked an errant stool, sliding it along the floor until it collided with the bar counter, spinning idly with a gleaming waddle. Placing a foot atop it, he stretched down towards the bar, letting his height loom over the counter as he tapped at screens. "They sell no bottles of Vodka, Brother! This will not do! I shall order..."

There was a pause.

"FIFTY SIX SHOTS!"

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"Share!? Brother, you need to open those droopy eyes of yours. You still owe me the kegger of Vodka from the human freshman party! You must pay up before I share my vodka, brother."

When the tray of shots landed in front of him, Ivan went to work - double fisting them and downing them with each slurp. He was downing his sixth when the challenge was issued. Ivan set the shot glass down, turning towards Lily Talse. With a deep inhale, he nodded.

"I agree, brother. She smells... good." Suddenly, a pink tongue flipped over too-long canines, the jaw looking canine in appearance. He downed another shot off of the tray, shifted his jaw to the left, and let out a belch.

"I think she's insulting you, Brother."

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Immediately following his brother's hint, Ivan let out a howl at the ceiling, slamming the shot glass down five times in rapid succession. Snapping his head back forward, he grinned at Dremond.

"She smells of sewer rats and garbage."

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The man downed three more shots in rapid succession, before turning to look at Dremond, narrowing his eyes. "I have no idea? Lady, I'm the one who hasta sniff you." He tossed a fourth shot back and rolled his shoulders and neck, allowing his joints to loosen and flex with the movements.

He came here for a fight, if he were honest with himself. Kicking the stool back with a casual flick of his boot, he put his hands behind his head, closing his eyes as the alcohol - finally - started to affect him. A good old fashioned brawl. Thus far, he didn't see anyone who fit the bill.

Turning back to Dremond, he shrugged his shoulders. "What brings yer stinky ass to the bar, lady?"

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Ivan barked out a laugh. "Asshole? Oh, darlin'. If that's the best you can do, this is gonna be a short conversation." He downed another shot, raising both eyebrows towards her. "I predict ye'll be headed to the powder room soon, tryin' in vain ta fix yer makeup, sobbin' like a cow giving birth. Or am I wrong?"

He let out a happy yip. "You're boring. You're not even clever. And you stink like shit. Though, you're pretty. I'll give ya that. If ya didn't smell like what I do in back alleys without a toilet, you'd probably be a great catch."

Another shot. And another.

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Two more shots, and he turned to her, grinning stupidly. "Vodka? You're gettin' better and better lookin'. It's a damn shame that no matter how many asses that I sniff, you're still the worst-smelling thing I've encountered." He shook his head, sadly. "Naw, this ain't too fun, is it? Maybe we should start over."

He reached a hand out. "Yer very pretty."

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Ivan glanced at her, glanced down at his hand, and then glanced back up at her face. He shrugged a massive shoulder, reaching over to the tray of shots and popping another two into his mouth. With another shrug, he used the dismissed hand to rub it over his stubble, watching her closely.

"Dremond? The fuck kind of name is that?" The hand wandered to cup the back of his neck as he glanced over her form again, taking a deep breath through his nostrils once more. "I'm Ivan," he said, his words awkward and stinted. "M'brother's named Leo, but he's... well, I don't know where the fuck he is right now."

He reached for another shot. There were only 30 left.

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There was a pause.

"Well, that's attractive." He said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You look pretty fuckin' female to me. You saying that you're... uh, packing? Down under? Meat and two veg? Tackle and bait? Ammo in your gun? Salami in your pocket? Monkey to spank? Beef burrito?"

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Suddenly, the man's phone rang; two trill beeps just as he was about to respond to her. Frowning deeply, he pulled the phone from his cargo pants, checking the screen. Without really looking at her, he began walking towards the exit of the bar.

"Yeah... that's... I'll see ya."

And with that, he was out the door.

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Taylor's Bar

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The big, white-haired man that moved through the bar grinned at the patrons that passed him, brushing shoulders with the finest and brightest of Eden City. Of course, the brushing of the shoulders led to a simple snake of his hand into the back pockets of the aforementioned fine and bright. He rolled his shoulders, laughing with a mirth he knew not that he posessed.

With all these security personel, the thrill became all the more real.

He chuckled slightly as he pocketed another wallet, his mouth lifting once the harsh sound finished. That made twelve. He was making a killing off of these suckers, and embarrassing the staff.

All in a day's work.

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"Thirteen!" Ivan whispered softly, placing the bright and fuzzy pink wallet into his jacket pocket, a quick flash of sequins and flesh was all that he revealed. He was a master at his craft; quick and smart. He was loaded, now; most of the wallets filled with the hard-earned spendings, looking to be poured into the slots or the card tables. He figured they had come to the damn place to lose the fuckin' wads of green anyways, so why on earth would he feel remorse for lifting a little of their hard earned cash?

Humming a fancy tune to himself, Ivan tapped his fingers against the thin plastic, nearly undetectable rod that was hidden up his right sleeve. Sure, it wouldn't be much use in a fight, but this was all about proving the boasts wrong. This was all about showing the place that they were not unbeatable.

This was about deflating egos.

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Ivan leaned against a craps table, mentally reviewing his spoils. Based off of weight and size alone, he'd estimate that he had nearly twelve hundred dollars, not counting credit cards, in the various pockets of his suit and pant combo. He ran his fingers down the black tie, his lips twisting as he pictured the spoils. It'd been a long time - too long - since he had found himself doing good, old-fashioned pickpocketing. Hell, he'd been slamming into people in crowds and murmuring his apologies for quite some time, now, clearly rusty.

And yet... the ego was still being steadily deflated.

The place was too high-class; he was out of his element without his leather jacket and shitkickers. The suit itched, the tie choked him, but he had a fuckload of cash and was screwing the man at the same time.

He continued to case the joint, leaning so casually against the table, waiting to be noticed.

The setting changes from Taylor's Bar to Gambit's Bar

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Surprisingly, the war that waged under the grounds of Wing City wasn't all that private. Most everyone had an inkling - thanks to movies like Underworld and books like Twilight - that there existed such things as Vampires and Werewolves. Almost all of the same people knew that the two groups didn't exactly see eye to eye on most issues. Vampires were terribly distraught over werewolf table manners, for one thing. Another, werewolves often looked down on Necrophilia, a practice that vampires seemed to not exactly mind in the grand scheme of things.

But, digression. There was a war waging in Wing City, and Ivan was one of it's foot soldiers.

He stood at an intimidating 6'7", had a shock of dull, gunmetal grey hair, and it was obvious from his stature that he was physically blessed with muscle from a long tenured regime of murdering people who were already dead. It took him a single whiff to catch the faint scent of soil, something that vampires tended to not be able to mask or wash out from people who had freaking dog-blood in them.

Though he continued to whistle and saunter, he fingered the twin sawed-offs strapped across his back, buried beneath the leather jacket that he wore, his yellow-eyed gaze on Chiara, Alucard, and Felice.

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Ivan wasn't a dumb person.

He knew that three vampires in a room with a single werewolf were not good odds. Really, it seemed like it would go incredibly badly for one side. Though he was a little wary of how bloody and poorly the conflict would go, he knew that he wanted some Vampire blood, and despite the worse odds, he figured it wasn't really his fault.

They should've brought a few more vampires.

Flaring out his leather jacket, Ivan reached behind him and yanked both sawed-offs out of their holsters in a single clean motion, bringing them both to bear on the small grouping of vampires. Thumbing back both hammers on the older style weapons, Ivan grinned around the toothpick in his mouth, nearly shuddering with the thrill that the promise of violence gave him.

"'Lo, fangs," he said, his grin nearly macabre. "I'm a little bored."

With that, he ejected both barrels towards the group.

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Ivan rolled his eyes at the dramatics, tossing the guns in the air to re-cock them and gripping their handles again with a spin. Pointing both weapons at the clear threat, the grin turned more feral, the toothpick spinning in the air away from him as he spat it away.

"Alrigh'," he murmured, beginning to circle the vampire slowly, ignoring Cryoface for the time being. He had heard that that was probably a bad idea, but well, it was looking like a good time right now. He wasn't about to stop for some bar nanny.

"Let's play a game, leech," he began. "I see how fast you can heal, and you do the same for me. Real civilized-like. If you win, you can go back to flirting with corpses." He nodded towards Chiara.

"Luv, you're a real peach for a worm-infestation, but I reckon you'd give me much worse than the clap. So why don't you get your pretty little bloodsucking body out of here, before I'm forced to do something you'll regret."

The sound of humans storming the bar was lost on the werewolf as the tension built, making him inhale deeply and grin. God, he loved war.

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Ivan's eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm pretty sure that's what I just said, Doctor Van Hellsing," he said, confusedly. "And I don't think there are any good guys, here. I'm just going to go around hurting people."

He shrugged towards Cryoface. "An' sorry, luv. What you do and don't do ain't my problem. Mister gun-for-brains over there's my problem."

He turned back towards the vampire, narrowing eyes. "Me first?"

At the question, the guns unloaded, firing a barrage of pellets towards the vampire. A fraction of a second to reload, and a second barrage burped forth, the air filling with the smell of gunpowder, smoke, and lead.

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/me's body ripped and changed, jerking and twitching with each bullet that entered into his body. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as the pain exploded into his limbs, knocking him over and into the bar. He lay on the ground, a curled, holy mess.

Within a few moments, he stood to his feet, the holes in him gone, his jacket torn to shreds and blood drying on his skin.

"Okay, look," he shouted to Alucard, over the din of the gunfire, "Clearly this is pointless. Maybe we should just call it a day. Deal?"

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Ivan's body ripped and changed, jerking and twitching with each bullet that entered into his body. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as the pain exploded into his limbs, knocking him over and into the bar. He lay on the ground, a curled, holy mess.

Within a few moments, he stood to his feet, the holes in him gone, his jacket torn to shreds and blood drying on his skin.

"Okay, look," he shouted to Alucard, over the din of the gunfire, "Clearly this is pointless. Maybe we should just call it a day. Deal?"

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"Yeah, but well... That's just like, your opinion, man."

At that, he walked out of the bar.