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Vladimir Dmitriev

The typical barfly and loner. Unless you got a job, leave him be.

0 · 339 views · located in Taylor's Bar

a character in “The Multiverse”, originally authored by SkullJester, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Name: Vladimir Dmitriev
Age: 31
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 208 lbs

Hair: Long, jet black hair, ending at just below his shoulder blades. His hair has an almost greasy appearance, which bugs him because he takes extremely good care to keep it clean. He usually either has it braided into a single strand or in a double-knotted ponytail.

Eyes: Dark green with a slightly gray tint. He wears tinted, heavily tinted glasses, as his eyes are overly sensitive to incredibly bright lights.

Physical build and details: With incredibly stocky shoulders and a rather long stride, it is evident that Vlad has a heavily Russian influenced heritage. With a mostly square head and chin, with a sharp distinction on the nose, this bear of a man carries himself with pride and emits an air of self-confidence. With long legs, his stride easily outpaces others at a walk, and it is obvious he has taken better care of himself in the past then at the present. While still a prime, physical specimen, he has let himself go a little more then he would like around the waist and stomach, but it would be a stretch to call him even slightly chubby. Even though he shaves, his cheeks and chin are adorned with a heavy amount of stubble. Sometimes, he lets this grow out into a short beard, though this is rare. While not outright handsome, his sheer size, the way he carries himself, and the look in his eyes tends to get him a decent amount of female attention.

Attire: A family ring, gold and amethyst, adorns his right hand at all times. Almost always dressed formally, or casual formal, you are most likely to see him in a black blazer with a white tie, and matching black dress pants, with a single white line down the outside seem of the legs. If he is feeling a chill, he usually adorns his black leather duster trench coat. If it is warm, he takes off the blazer top and tie, usually having a black or red short sleeved, non-descript shirt underneath.

Equipment

Military Grade Equipment, as he works both as personal security (bodyguard) and part time security personal:

-Beretta 9000S Handgun (Two 10 rounds .40SW clips)

-Tokarev TT pistol (Three 8 round clips)

-GSh-18 pistol (One 18 round, 9mm clip)

-Desert Eagle Mark XIX handgun (Two .50cal, 7 round clips)

-Colt 'Python Elite' with 6in barrel revolver (Four Loader Rings, 6 rounds, .357cal)

He also carries a Black Tomahawk WWI Trench Knife

So begins...

Vladimir Dmitriev's Story

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The VIP area. He hated it here. Honestly, that was an understatement. Perhaps it was just his overall disdain for the upper crust, or perhaps just his general dislike of people as a whole. Either way, he was only here because he had been ordered to stay, and watch. His normal job. He made a mental checklist of all his gear. Beretta in right side of pants, under jacket. TT on the left side. GSh interior of coat, right side. Desert Eagle, left side of coat. Colt strapped to his back.

Vladimir sipped his vodka and cranberry juice slowly. He forgot the name of the drink, but it did him well. It was funny, the scene going on between the others around him. Made the man chuckle. Deep and resonating. "Calm down you folk. You are...unsettling me."

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"Children is right, Andrea. If it wasn't for the pay, and for...a debt, I would gladly leave. But at least the bar is well stocked, and there are some tolerable people to help me through the numbing days of boredom." Cape Cod. That was the name of his drink. He ordered another, as soon as his was empty.

"So, old man, how have your days been recently. It has been awhile since we have actually conversed, uninterrupted. And I would love to maybe play chess or checkers with you again. If you think you can beat me this time, that is." A smile, short and diminutive. Vlad was not one for fully expressing his thoughts or feelings.

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"I do not cheat. I was raised to never cheat, Andrea. Just because you didn't know how to play, properly, doesn't mean I cheat." He took the cigar and stuffed it in his coat pocket, for later. "As for shooting, the day you beat me, is the day I sell my guns, old man." He simply ignored the comments about 'love' and caring. While, only slightly true, in the end, he cared very little what others thought. So what if he cared for them more then he wanted to admit? It didn't matter, really.

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"...Slightly. Then again, it could very well just be the atmosphere after the fight...But I doubt that is it. I almost never feel this off from a simple little fight." His trench knife was strapped to the inside of his thigh. He almost thought he had forgotten it in his room. Another sip of his drink before he slid it away, his eyes now more observant. Watching. Waiting. "Be careful, old man..."

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Vladimir gave Andrea another look before he stood up from his stool, one hand placed inside the interior of his blazer coat. With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair, braided now as he couldn't find any of his hair ties this morning. "Do not wander far, old man. I will be watching, just from a slightly...higher...viewpoint. Not too far, so no need for worry."

He crosses to the other side of the VIP section, up a small flight of stairs and towards a sectioned off balcony over looking the bar. Nothing looked...off. No more then usual. All the same, he thumbed the safety off of his GSh-18, hand at the ready...

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A crash. He ignored it at first. The music was throwing his concentration off. It was...disconcerting. Despite Gabriel and Benito's best efforts to provide a 'party' palace to the upper crust, one would think that a bit more security would in place. However, as always, things seemed so lax. People avoided him, probably due to his reputation to always shoot. Movement? High up...Was it Titania again...

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As soon as the shots had been fired, Vlad had his GSh trained on the source. In the darkness of the rafters, a muzzle explosion was very, very easy to spot. He fired off a series of rounds from his 18 magazine clip. One shot, two shot, three shot, all of them trailing the darting figure. His deep voice resonating outwards. "Lights! Get lights on him, now!" He then saw Jon...and sighed. "Good man."

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Vlad did as Jon asked, despite his personal feelings about the man having 'powers'. There was a reason that Vlad barely ever ventured into Wing City anymore. He holstered his GSh and drew his Colt Python, keeping it level on Leon the entire time he made his way onto the rafters. He was tempted to use his D. Eagle, but Gabriel got mad sometimes, for that. It was rather loud, and made a... particularly hard to clean mess. "Move, and I shoot your between your forth and fifth lumbar. Good luck walking every again, if that happens."

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Vlad was silent. Very, very silent. He only looked at Andrea's body for a moment before looking back at Leon. There was a coldness to his gaze that hadn't been there before, or at least not to this magnitude. "You are...lucky...I am not allowed to kill you, assassin. However, it is against my nature to not make sure you feel a little pain..." He drew his trench knife and slid it up against Leon's throat, keeping the edge skin tight against his neck. "Move. If you wish...Either way, you will suffer..." He fired of Colt, which he had pressed against the man's foot...

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"My people are used to insults, little boy. But we have a saying..."Bread for bread. Blood for blood. Even if not directly, which I doubt, you still lent a hand in my comrade dying. I care not for what you feel, pain, agony, all of this means little to me." He moved the gun away to wipe the spittle away.

"You have upset me. And you have robbed another man of someone he thought to be a father. I will not kill you, roach, as I stated." He suddenly dug his knife into the wound he had created on the man's foot, a small smile on his face.

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Vlad stood, dragging the man off of the rafters and towards the bar. His gun was still in his hand in case Leon decided to be incredibly stupid or brave. Vlad secretly hoped for it. Practically tossing the man down onto a table, from the lowest point he could, he then climbed down himself. "Mr. Taylor. This man took a few shots at the bar, but he says he didn't shoot Andrea. I will leave that up for you to decide, but in my opinion, I don't think an M40 could do...that." He holstered his weapon under the back of his coat and proceeded to take a seat in the corner of the bar...after retrieving his unfinished drink...

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"Crazy. Yes. Not the word I would choose to describe it. Crazy implies that it was chaotic, and ill conceived. What happened here was...far more thought out then I would care to admit. I know Andrea had enemies, but I didn't expect them to strike at his home." He pulled the cigar the old man had given him out from his coat and lit it with a match, sipping his still cold Cape Cod. Less then 20 minutes since he had been talking with the old guy...Time, a terrible, vile woman, truly.

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"Get used to it. And you are right. It is...revolting to attack a man in his own home. Only the weak and the cowardly do that. And the stupid. But I doubt that they care, really. The assassin got his mark. He did his job, and he probably died thinking he was going to get paid." A deep drag from his cigar. It was finer quality then Vlad was used to, or expected. "No more checkers for me, it seems..."

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Vlad was...surprised. He had sat in silence his entire career. Never talked to anyone, not really. Idle chats with Andrea. Maybe a word or two with guest or clients. Orders when things weren't going right. Nothing has ever made him stand out. Ever. He did his job and avoided the world.

He had never cared about wealth. Or ownership. Anything. He lived a very spartan life style. Cloths. Bed. Food. Water. Alcohol. A set of weights. His guns. That was it. Military training had taught him he didn't need anything else, not even a woman. And now...he practically owned Taylor's...With a sigh, he stood from his own table and made his way towards his room...