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Ivan Resnov

Dance with the devil.

0 · 493 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
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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 gambits-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 taylors-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.

The setting changes from gambits-bar to Main Street 1

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Character Portrait: Ivan Resnov Character Portrait: Sky Evans

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#, as written by Script
The door of the run-down shack of a house swung open, and Sky stepped out onto the street with a tentative glance behind him. As his slight form cleared the door, a much larger figure followed. A tall, bearded man in a thick leather jacket ducked through the small door after him, a look of disdainful boredom on his face. The man's hair was grey, but despite that he was relatively youthful, somewhere in his thirties. The creases of the frown on his face added another ten years.

"S... so, how're we gonna do this?" Sky stammered, feeling even smaller than usual next to the tall and broad-shouldered man.

Ivan gave the half-angel a dryly irritated glance. "That's not my job, little boy. You call the shots, yeah? Since you clearly know what you are doing." He brushed calloused fingers against the metal collar around his neck with a dismissive snort, "Just like the old man to send his little bitch boy for this."

Sky stared at Ivan for several long moments, scowling, "I'm not his-" he started, but he was interrupted by a roar of laughter from the older man. Ivan laid a hand firmly on Sky's shoulder and met his gaze with hard eyes.

"Do not lie to me, Princess. His chains are as obvious on you as this collar on my neck. You're one of his. Don't kid yourself thinking you can fool me, kid." He removed his hand, much to Sky's relief, and stepped away with a roll of his eyes.

Biting his lip to suppress a protest, Sky glanced at the scrawled note in his hand with an address on it. "Whatever... right... uhm... I guess, follow me?"

Ivan folded his arms with a wryly raised eyebrow. "You're not very good at this, Princess. We'll stay here, I reckon. Makes no difference to me whether you get the old man's dirty work done or not."

Frustrated, Sky flailed a hand at the older man, "Seriously? Come on, I don't imagine it'll be nice for you either if you come back having not done it!"

Snorting, Ivan shook his head, "I don't give a shit. There's not much else the old man can do to me. Y' can go fuck yourself, kid. Or fuck whoever he tells you to, like I bet you already do." With a derisive smirk, Ivan sat down and leaned back on the wall.

"Don't make me use this collar!" Sky exclaimed angrily, stinging at the jab about fucking people. He hadn't sunk that low, god damn it. "Come on! If you don't care, why can't you just give me a break! I don't want do be doing this any more than you do, but I have to!"

"Should've thought of that before you got hooked onto whatever shit he's workin' you for, Princess." Ivan retorted with a yawn.

Sky sighed with exasperation. "I... I'll use the collar!" he stammered.

That earned him a baleful glare. "Fuck you." Ivan stated.

The half-angel ran a hand through his hair, scowling and stepping away to rest his forehead on a street light. He didn't want to hit the switch, but god damn it, this guy was infuriating. He'd been ready to deal with some sort of vicious animal, but not ... this guy. Because he knew that he wasn't doing anybody any favours apart from himself.

Well, and Casper. Because that's where this money would be going at first. He could stall the Irish for now, they hadn't broken his leg like the Triad had Casper's. He needed to get the money. Setting his face determinedly, Sky rounded on Ivan with a deep breath. He brandished the control for the shock collar. "I will use this if you don't get up off your ass and follow me." he said, suppressing the slight tremble to his voice. "I need this money, I need you to help me, so fuck, if I have to make you ... I will. I'm not fucking proud of that fact, I know I'm a fucking degenerate, but for fuck's sake... I have to do this."

Ivan met Sky's hazel eyes with his own, narrowing them. There was a long silence between them, during which Sky almost turned away, but he forced himself to stare down the larger man. Eventually, Ivan grimaced. "Fine," he stated, "Just so long as we're clear. You are a fucking degenerate. You're pathetic. And I don't give a fuck about you. Don't think that remote would stop me from tearing your head off if I wanted to. The only reason you're still breathing is because the old man gets pissed when I break his playthings. That wrinkled bag of shit is the only thing keeping you alive, 'cause I don't play nice with scum."

Sky quivered under Ivan's venomous rebuttal, eyes dropping to the ground. He didn't speak again, just started walking. Ivan sat in place for a few moments before sighing and rising to his feet to follow after the slight boy.

The setting changes from main-street-1 to Eastern Wing City

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Character Portrait: Ivan Resnov Character Portrait: Sky Evans

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The apartment block that the note brought Sky to was an old brick building with a narrow stairwell that led up and around a long drop all the way from the top floor to the ground below, only a single iron railing between those climbing and the bottom. Suspicious stains on the stone of the floor at ground level suggested that more than one person drunkenly stumbling home had fallen afoul of the perilous heights.

The half-angel climbed the stairs without such fears, of course, thanks to his wings. He was far more conscious of the burly man following behind him than he was of any potential fall. "We're ... we're almost there." he said quietly back over his shoulder, "Are you... ready?"

Ivan rolled his eyes at Sky's nervous manner. This kid really was hopeless. "So the old man wants me to ... what, rough him up, tear his throat out, smash his teapot..? Who is he?"

"Jason Dawson. Dealer," Sky replied meekly, "Hawley said he ... went rogue on him, took some stuff and abandoned ship."

A snort. "Idiot." Ivan remarked derisively, "Should've at least skipped town. You didn't answer my other question."

"He wants you to kill him." Sky grimaced at the thought. Hawley had reassured him that the guy deserved it, but then, Hawley said a lot of things.

Ivan growled. "No honour in killing people like this. Lowlifes without a warrior bone in their body. And you're really willing to set me to kill some poor bastard, just for some cash?"

Sky stared at the ground voicelessly.

"No, c'mon, Princess. Let's hear your excuses. I wanna know what sort of shithead I'm working with, other than 'useless', which is what I've got so far." Ivan prompted, halting on the steps and waiting for the half-angel to reply.

"I..." Sky choked on his words, "I ... I figure that he'd end up dead anyway. Hawley would set someone else after him whether or not I helped."

Ivan let out a humourless chuckle. "You would really put it past him to just have you tell me to kill people for shits and giggles? That's how the old man works, kid. He gets in your head, puts you up to shit like this. If you can't see that, you're a bigger idiot than I thought."

Sky shook his head. He couldn't believe that, not if he was going to reconcile with himself what he was about to do. "This guy is a bastard anyway..." he muttered, "Kills people."

"That what the old man said too, huh? Wonder how much of it is true." Ivan shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

Without another word, Sky turned and pressed on again. Ivan snorted as he followed, shaking his head at the half-angel's spinelessness.

It didn't take them long before they were standing outside of the door to the man's apartment. The sounds of a woman crying out accompanied by carnal grunts from a man were filtering through the wall. Sky went slightly red. "Ah ... maybe we should ... wait ..." he stammered.

Ivan gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me, Princess? You're here to get me to kill him, but you want to let him finish fucking first? You make no fucking sense."

"Fine!" Sky groaned, "Let's just do it. Get it over with..."

The older man eyed Sky for a few moments. "That's the order, then, huh?" he asked.

Sky nodded mutely, guiltily. Ivan shrugged, and barged his shoulder into the door.

It broke inwards with a crack under his strength, and the woman inside shrieked. In a tangle of naked limbs she fell from the couch on which she and Jason had been screwing, and screamed at the sight of the large man making his way inside.

Jason scrambled to his feet, pulling his trousers up to cover himself in equal amounts of disarray, but a little less confusion. He knew Ivan. He'd been working for Hawley, after all. "Oh god, no, wait, I can explain!" the dark-haired man stuttered, "I never meant to ditch him! I was just... branching out! The profits were all gonna go to him, I swear!"

Ivan didn't say anything, but he did tug Sky by the arm into the apartment. Jason fixed the half-angel with a confused stare as the half-naked woman saw her chance and sprinted past them out into the main building, clutching her skirt in one hand. Still blushing from the scene they had walked in on, Sky stared back at Jason. Eventually, Ivan kicked him in the side of the leg. "You're the one doing the talking, Princess." he stated with a roll of his eyes.

Sky grimaced, trying to find words. Jason was backing away towards the far end of the room. "I... I'm sorry, but ... but..." the half-angel stumbled over his words. Ivan muttered a profanity under his breath before interrupting.

"Fuck it, useless little shit. Sorry, Jack. Jace. Whatever the fuck your name is. Old man wants you dead. Old man gets what he wants."

"No!" Jason protested, reaching towards a shelf nearby. Ivan swore again, recognising the threat, and a gun was in his hand in a blink. It sounded with a loud bang, and Jason fell backwards in a heap, the gun in his own hand falling to the floor with a clatter. Red began to soak the carpet.

Sky stared, horrified at the scene that had unfolded, as Ivan calmly tucked away his pistol. He gave Sky a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow at how shocked he was. "What the fuck did you expect, kid? He sent you here to make people die. People are going to fucking die. Pull yourself together and get your ass in gear before the cops show up."

The older man shoved past Sky and stepped over the fallen door out into the hallway. After a moment more of staring, Sky followed. The two left the building together and fled several blocks away before slowing their pace.

"That all for today, Princess?" Ivan asked, clicking his fingers in front of Sky's face to snap him out of his thoughts. He'd been silent since the gunshot, since the death.

"Y... yeah." He managed to reply shakily. "That's it. Gotta come back tomorrow..." he mumbled.

Ivan sighed, fixing Sky with a hard stare. "The fuck are you doing, kid? You're cut out for this shit like a jellyfish is cut out for the sahara. You're going to end up dead. There are enough people in this city who'd get a kick out of wiping a spineless plaything of the old man's off the face of the world just to piss him off. You freeze up when you see a guy shot. You know how many days a week I see a guy get shot?"

Sky was silent.

"Every day. That's the sort of shit you're in, and you're not cut out for it. Whatever the old man has on you, get fucking off of it before you die. I'm not gonna save your ass when you're glued to the spot and some psycho the old man's sent us after is going apeshit with an AK." Ivan scowled.

Of course, Sky knew that Ivan was right. He was surprised to be hearing it from him, not that it was particularly kind, but it was less hateful than he had been when they'd started the day out. He'd probably figured out how little Sky had any idea what he was doing. "... once I've ... once I've got enough money." he said finally, looking away.

"Princess, you're not gonna live that long." Ivan stated flatly, "I tell you now. Keep this up, you won't last a week. Find another way to get your cash or I'll be scraping you off the fucking walls to present to the old man before we're done."

Sky didn't reply, or turn to look back at Ivan. The older man sighed, giving up, and started to walk again. They made the trip back to the shack in silence, Sky collected his money, and went on his way.

The image of Jason slumped against the wall of his apartment haunted him all the way.

The setting changes from eastern-wing-city to The Phantom Quarter

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Character Portrait: Baron Character Portrait: Ivan Resnov

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#, as written by Tiko
It hadn't taken them long to reach the Phantom Quarter once they picked up Jesse out by Cornell's, and Baron's car bounced roughly along the decrepit streets and potholes of the Phantom Quarter.

It had rained again last night and the putrid stench of the Quarter was thick in the air.

"There," Jesse said as he pointed over Baron's shoulder at somewhere up ahead. "Pull over there."

Baron edged the car up to the side of the road and put it in park as he removed his seat belt and got out.

Jesse let himself out of the back seat and headed over to rusted out dumpster where he had left his clothes the night before. Crouching down he all but gagged. They smelled like a latrine, and were thoroughly saturated from the rains which had served to absorbed the rancid odors of the Phantom Quarter.

Worse yet, they had been disturbed from where he had left them behind the dumpster and a quick search of the pockets turned up that both his cellphone and his wallet where gone.

"Well, this is revving up to be a great day..." Jesse muttered as he stood up. "Alright, it's down this way," he added as he pointed them off in the direction he had first heard the woman's scream.

Ivan kept his hands at his belt, watching the two men for a moment. He wasn’t here to observe, or make pithy comments, so he kept his gaze straight ahead, ran his thumbs across leather, and refrained from asking why the hell Jesse’s clothes were out here.

Once they reached the site of the attack Jesse pointed out the refuse heap where he had found the woman.

“This is where she was attacked. I caught sight of it briefly, over that way. It was only a glimpse though, I couldn’t make much out. I probably should have gone after it, but the woman was in bad shape,” he explained. “The way she described the attack… we might be looking at sadist. It was almost like he was drawing it out to torture her more. And he could have killed her had he wanted to. Even if he heard or smelled me coming and took off, it wouldn’t have taken more than a second to finish the job.” He shook his head. “It looks deliberate, and like he wanted her to live.”

Baron crouched down where Jesse had indicated the woman had been attacked. Unfortunately the rain had washed the blood away, and he couldn’t get a scent over the rancid stench of the Quarter. Everything smelled of decay, and it overwhelmed any minute odors that might still remain.

Ivan took his time, glancing around them, looking for potential threats. When he didn’t see anything, he glanced towards where the attack took place, frowned down at it.

Crouched down near the pavement, put a finger to a crack. The paved stone was still fresh, still recently broken, far away from being worn down and smoothed out by weather and sun and heat.

“Hit her with force,” he grunted, rising and pointing at the crack with the toe of his shitkicker, “means it’s big or strong. It drew the attack out how?”

Wasn’t his place to ask, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“She said it held her down, and taunted her. Said it was laughing. There were a lot of superficial wounds on her arms before it bit her,” Jesse explained. “She was pretty shaken up but she seemed to remember it pretty clearly.”

Baron frowned and stood.

“I can’t smell a thing through this shit,” he muttered. While he mulled the matter over he pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his coat to light one up. Smoking wasn’t exactly helpful with the olfactory senses either, but he wasn’t going to be able to pick up a scent here anyways.

“What kind of… who hits someone this hard,” Ivan said, pointing to the crack again, “and takes the time to laugh or whatever? Looks more like a hit and run than torture to me.”

"This is the third one in four months that we know about..." Baron growled out. "I'm starting to think we're dealing with a rogue mongrel. It's too controlled for lunentia," he remarked with a frown. "If we have a rogue wolf loose intentionally inflicting people at the doorstep of our territory, it's going to have the police crawling all over Lupaix," he said. "Ivan, I want you to head a search of the Quarter. If there's any wolves out here, I want to know about them."

It was a peculiar move on Baron's part to request Ivan take point on this, as he normally would have given his brother, Ragenard, the job.

Ivan rose to his feet, brows lifting, the scar separating the white of his eyebrows shining in the light.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Baron answered.

Ivan gave Baron a pointed look. “You’ve got lieutenants who’re bound to be experienced.”

"Ragenard's gone, Elliot's dead, Jac's in the hospital," Baron answered. "Unless you think Bastien's the one for the job," he added pointedly. Ivan knew full well how accommodating Bastien could be to non-pack. "Or Julienne perhaps?" he added with an arch of his brow as he took a drag of his cigarette. The woman had a temper well renowned among the pack. "You're new, you know what it's like out there alone. You'll show restraint where they won't. Come on, let’s get out of here, we’re not going to find anything of use here." He discarded his cigarette into a puddle as he turned to head back towards the car.

Ivan watched as Baron left, then turned to look at Jesse, raising his eyebrows.

“Didn’t get a good look at it?”

“Nothing but a glimpse of shadow,” Jesse answered with a grimace before watching Baron make his way back to the car. “Did he say Ragenard’s gone?”

Apparently it was news to Jesse too.

Ivan didn’t respond, just watched Baron go. After a moment, he glanced towards the crack in the pavement, scuffed at it lightly with his boot.

“Let’s go,” Ivan said, following in Baron’s footsteps.

A few minutes later the car pulled away to head back towards Lupaix.

The setting changes from the-phantom-quarter to The Den

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ivan Resnov

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The way Ivan saw it, there were two real ways of taking a bad situation.

Option A was to flee from it. There wasn't really any shame in running, at the end of the day - if a fight was going south, and if you weren't in it to win it, why would you stick around? Pride wasn't really something worth protecting - couldn't eat it, couldn't spend it - and there wasn't a lot where he came from, anyway.

Option B was to profit from it. Most situations, good or bad, had some clause or asterisk or general notation in small print that meant you could turn it around. Talk to the right girl, schmooze the right bar owner, lift the right wallet, and your strife could morph before your very eyes into your net gain. Oftentimes it wasn't easy, but it was always viable.

Then, there was the dark side to the situation. The side that Ivan, as a rule, never really followed. If he couldn't profit from a situation, he ran from it. If he couldn't run, he profited. Rarely did he dig his heels in, square his shoulders, and take a punch.

Maybe it was the air in Lutetia. Maybe he'd just hit a particularly humiliating streak of bad luck. Either way, he wound up sticking around. Either way, he wound up fighting.

And, as he stepped through the bar doors to the Den, his face a mask of cautious approach and narrow-eyed observation, he was glad he had.

Baron's pack wasn't always an easy place to be in socially, and it wasn't always welcoming, but it was kin, now. Not even the vicious little shit and his pack of runts dared step on his toes now. The number of wolves that accepted him into their ranks far outnumbered those who turned their backs.

Though there were far, far more who were utterly indifferent to the whole affair.

In the here and now, Ivan took a seat at the nearest barstool, the wood creaking and groaning as he lowered his six feet, seven inches, and three hundred pounds of solid rock onto it. Scratching irritably at a wound that had scabbed over - obtained mere hours ago, from a disagreement with a human who objected to having his pouch snatched - Ivan scanned the bar and noted its patrons.

Searched for a friendly face.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Baron Character Portrait: Ivan Resnov

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#, as written by Tiko
Baron was in his usual seat by the dingy window talking on his cellphone when Ivan arrived. He gave him a brief 'come here' nod, a subtle signal that he wanted to speak to the man in just a moment.

"Are you hurt?" he asked into the phone.

He paused as he listened to a voice on the other end.

"And the woman?"

He listened a time more before nodding subconsciously, even though whoever was on the other line couldn't see it.

"Alright, I'll be over in about fifteen minutes. I want you to show me where it went down."

He hung the phone up and dropped it in his pocket before stubbing out a half-finished cigarette into a tray on the table.

"Hey, Ivan. You busy?" he asked.