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Ivan Kirov vs. Genocide; Dark Match
Topic Started: Feb 4 2013, 02:16 PM (84 Views)
Kassie Khane
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DARK MATCH
Ivan Kirov vs. Genocide

2 RP Limit for singles; 2 per team for tag
Deadline: Noon EST Friday, February 8, 2013

~~Good Luck Everyone!~~
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The Voice
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OOC: Dark match, just getting started. didnt really want to give too much away so here's a starter. Good luck Geno













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Alright guys: Here’s some ground rules regarding this.

1. Rules are freaking dumb when READING FICTION!


From this point on, here are some guidelines instead!

2. This character/its concept/whatever is my last attempt at going balls to the wall in SCW. I mean actually taking it as a serious competition. I am not going to go half ass. I am going to go as hard as I can for as long as I am able. Then that will be it. So that said, if you start getting pissy about how/where/when/etc I post/rp, hit the bricks and bitch elsewhere cause I don’t give a shit.
3. I don’t care if you use anything I say or do in my roleplay. I really don’t give a crap. Your character can use whatever they want if you think it will help your promo. Just don’t blame me if it ends up blowing up in your face. As I always say to everyone I face, bring me your best. Believe me, after all the years here, I can take it.
4. This is written in the universal language of English. Though most of what happens takes place in Russia, I wasn’t going to be an ass and write in Russian. Don’t make me regret it! LOL!
5. Lastly, don’t ask me to put a limit on how much I write or the number of rps I post for a match. If I wanna max out, I am going to max out. I am not writing to be fair.



I am writing to win.



You don’t like… then stay the fuck out of my way.



Posted Image


Legacy Account: Entry 001
Upcoming Match: Versus Genocide on Breakdown February 9, 2013

***

The Russian Sentinel
Editorial Article: Published: Week of February 5, 2013
Once More The Streets Run Red

Stop us if this sounds familiar to you. A rich, wealthy, generous husband and wife gunned down in the street in the dead of night. Reason unknown, and seemingly random act of violence. The police have no leads and the investigation is ongoing.

Yeah, I bet it does sound familiar, because this is a headline we have seen time and time again in the last few years since Petersburg’s most notorious mafia kingpin, Vladmir Tolstoyivych, was released from prison and given a clean slate. It sounds like something out of some cheap mobster movie, but readers, we are living it. This is our reality. We are in a controlled oligarchy where the Mafioso are the kings and we, the lowly servants, ready to be snuffed out at any time. And what does our current governor, Georgy Poltavchenko, have to say about this?

Absolutely nothing.

The murder of the Petrovik couple marks the 3rd high profile family to be murdered in almost six months. And what does our governor have to say about such things?

‘These random acts of violence are tragic, but they are just that. Random. Unfortunately, are police force are not capable of seeing into the future. We are in desperate times where desperate measures are often deemed the only solution by some. We must continue to do all we can to better our nation’s economic crisis so that such measures need not be taken.’

Or perhaps we could just need to remove the means so that such measures CANNOT be taken.

Our country is one with a darker past than many. - -



-------------------------------- -------------------------

He crumbled the newspaper and its depressing story, and threw the trash ball away. As it landed, it was quickly welcomed by the wet embrace of a shallow puddle. Soon, the ball was saturated and the ink smeared.

The rain was coming down hard. Harder than it had in some time. The worst part about it was that rain was a criminals best friend. As surfers pray for the warm clear sun, someone who did… this sort of business couldn’t have asked for a better day for their chosen vocation.

The water, you see; it washed the crime scenes clean. Evidence like tracks, prints, and many things that could have been that essential clue… washed away by the whim of a god or whatever else. And in a land that is almost constantly covered in snow and rain…

But of course, Dimitri Czar didn’t care about that. He wasn’t a cop. He just ran in similar circles as the police. He had no choice…

Such was the life of a bounty hunter.

He stood in the rain, the cold water barely phasing him. Russia may have changed a great deal over the last 150 years, but its weather was still like a woman on the rag. About as bi polar as one get!

From where he stood, Dimitri could see his target. The two bodies that laid in the center of everyone’s attention with about a dozen or so policemen, cops, and detectives huddled around them. He took a hit from his cigarette. He still had time. There was no rush. He wouldn’t be able to get what he needed yet.

I don’t even need to be here.

But he had wanted to see the scene. A lot of people had. The story had been rushed into the papers, but most already knew what was going on. The murder was still fresh, and so in the paper’s rush, they had handed it off to Nicolas Vitchky, one of the most overrated blowhards they had on their staff. He wrote an editorial every week, usually bitching about something, not the least of which being the government.

Didn’t seem to have that issue when Communism reigned.

There were a lot of people around him, each whispering to each other. Czar didn’t need to listen in. He knew everyone was throwing conjectures all over the place. This had all the makings of a mob hit. Someone must have pissed off Tolstoyivych.

But what else is new? Tolstoyivych is always mad about something.

He resolved to get out of the rain. He had seen enough. As he headed down the street, the wind started to pick up so fiercely that he almost did not hear the sound of his cell phone going off. He fumbled with it for a second as he pulled it out.

‘Hello?’

‘I’m at your office.’

‘Got it. Be there in a while. I have to check on something.’

He hung up after that. There was no need for anything other than being straight and to the point. As he got into his car, he mapped out a route in his head to his next destination.

The nearby cemetery.

***

This place always seemed foreboding to Czar. He hated coming to this place. Hated it with a passion. He would never come here if he could help it.

But a promise was a promise.

The few who gathered around the one headstone did not turn to acknowledge him, although Czar was sure they were aware of his presence. If nothing else, the crinkling of the leaves underneath his were a dead giveaway.

Alexandra: Thanks for coming.
Dimitri: You knew I would.
Alexandra: I know this isn’t one of your favorite places.
Dimitri: No… it isn’t.

His sister turned to him, stepping forward to hug him. Between the three, Dimitri, Alexandra, and Pytor, the sister and the youngest child were the closest. Pytor had branched himself away from the family much in the same way Dimitri had. Except he had decided to invest in his career working for someone whom his father had known. I guess you could say he went into the family business.

Serving Tolstoyivych.

Dimitri: Did you see the papers?

He said that over Alexandra’s shoulder to his brother, 5 years his senior, as he started down at the headstone.

Pytor: Yeah, I saw it.
Dimitri: Another family blown away for pissing off your boss.
Alex: Dimitri, please…
Dimitri: Just saying.
Pytor: You’re always just saying. As if you would have any idea.
Dimitri: Yeah, I guess. But I also guess if you were to sit down that little boy who just lost his parents and explain to him why your boss blew mommy and daddy away, he would be right as rain.
Pytor: As opposed to be a professional street rat?
Dimitri: Right, because that’s my job.
Pytor: You take from other people for a price. Dead or alive, you don’t give a shit.
Dimitri: Least the police respect what I do.
Pytor: Who gives a fuck?
Dimitri: Apparently you don’t, and when the cops come knocking and ask me to testify to what I know about you, you think I won’t tell them?
Alex: Guys, we aren’t here to fight.
Pytor: Bad things happen, Dimitri. We were orphaned too, remember?
Dimitri: Yeah… except our father was the one holding the gun, ‘remember’?

There was silence between them. The kind where the tension could be cut with a knife, or something literary like that. Either way, no one muttered a word for some time. In that silence, Dimitri stole a glance down to the writing on the headstones.

Pytor and Alexandra Czar
1956-2006 1969-2006


Dimitri remembered it. Remembered it all very well. He took out another cigarette, lighting it and hitting a few drags.

Alexandra: Still smoking?

He didn’t answer her. As the years had gone by, however, she had begun to resemble her namesake more and more. Pytor, on the other hand, looked nothing like his, but the wrong kind of mixture between two beautiful creatures. As if all imperfections from both sides had manifested themselves in his appearance. Whereas Alexandra looked as if she had been carved from marble, Pytor looked as if he had been cut from sandpaper.

Alexandra: You know those things will kill you.
Dimitri: So will a bullet.
Pytor: We all have to die eventually. You know that better than any of us.

Again silence ensued. The wind was the only music maker. Up until Dimitri’s cell rang. He picked it up and stepped away from the others.

‘Everything alright?’
‘Yeah. Everything’s fine. I’m almost done here.’
‘Good. You have to get going soon.’
‘I know.’

He hung up, only Alexandra acknowledging his return.

Alex: Everything ok?
Dimitri: Yeah. Everything is fine. I should go.
Alex: Do you think we can sit and catch up soon?
Dimitri: Yeah… will have to be next week. I… am going to have to do some travelling over the next little while.
Alex: Travelling? Where to?
Dimitri: America.
Alex: America?!

Pytor must have overheard this, for he stepped away from the graves to stand by his sister.

Pytor: Why are you going there?
Dimitri: Work.
Pytor: What sort of work?
Dimitri: That’s none of your concern.
Pytor: Well if you’re in the area…
Dimitri: No. Better yet… Fuck no. Not in this lifetime.
Pytor: But listen if - -
Dimitri: You deaf AND stupid, Pytor?! I said no! I’m not getting involved in your crap! I actually have a life where I don’t need to look over my shoulder every two seconds. Where I don’t worry every time I hear a strange noise or a knock at my door.
Pytor: Fuck you, Dimitri. You’re a scavenger.
Dimitri: Maybe, but I’m an honest scavenger.
Alexandra: Just go, Dimitri. You said you had to get going.

The brothers stared at one another before Dimitri broke away to respond.

Dimitri: Yeah… fine. See you later.

He headed back to the car, not looking back.

That fucking asshole! Who does he think he is? He’s not getting me to do his dirty work so he can move up the ring in that cesspool! Can’t wait until he’s in jail getting rammed by some neo nazi ball buster! Maybe then, he will learn something.

He kicked the car into high gear, leaving his family, both dead and alive, in his rear view mirror.

***

The ride back was nice. The streets were quiet and the music was enjoyable. To describe Dimitri’s choice in music would be difficult, but with tastes varying from all over the spectrum, eclectic would be the best word. But the boy loved his music. In fact, he was listening to the final chords of Swan Lake’s most well known theme when he realized that his office door was unlocked. Far from being worried, he swung it open with a smile.

Dimitri: Still here?
‘Yes’.
Dimitri: I see.
‘You shouldn’t be surprised.’
Dimitri: I’m not. Just stating a fact.
‘Your plane leaves in less than 2 hours.’
Dimitri: Which means I have time.
‘Hardly.’
Dimitri: Heh, maybe where you come from, it takes years to get from point A to point B, but up here, things are a little more efficient if you have your papers.

Dimitri turned as he heard the papers hit his desk.

‘There they are.’

He glanced over them as his visitor watched on.

Dimitri: Everything here?
‘Yes.’

The guest sat back in Dimitri’s chair. The young Russian did not mind much.

‘So what demanded your attention?’
Dimitri: Personal.
‘You do realize that once you get to SCW that there is going to be no room for that.’
Dimitri: Yeah I know.
‘You can come back here once or twice a month if you need to. They probably won’t follow you here, but you’ll have to do exactly as I instructed.’
Dimitri: Yeah I get it.
‘I mean it, Dimitri. I’m paying you well for this. You’re lucky I am not insisting on you staying in America until the job is done.’
Dimitri: And why aren’t you?
‘Because… I understand the importance of having some sort of escape.’
Dimitri: What sort of warzone are you sending me to?
‘It won’t seem like one right away. You are going to think there is nothing to it.’
Dimitri: Why’s that?

The guest did not answer right away.

Dimitri: Either way, it doesn’t matter. I am sure you will be there to keep me on track.
‘No.’
Dimitri: No?
‘No. You won’t see me that often. If anyone saw me with you, the game would be up and you wouldn’t be able to get what I need.’
Dimitri: I see…

Czar reached into his pocket, pulling out a photograph that he had gotten the first time he and his client had talked.

Dimitri: I usually do not tend to pry. But all this cloak and dagger… for this?
‘I have my reasons’.
Dimitri: Fair enough… I’ve been asked to liberate less.
‘But you can’t just steal it! It means nothing if you steal it!’
Dimitri: Alright alright! I got that already. No stealing.
‘For what you are getting paid… I want this done a certain way.’
Dimitri: I get it, comrade. This isn’t my first time, you know.
‘I know. Your name came up more times than anyone else when I was searching.’
Dimitri: So everything else is prepared then?
‘Yes. Once you are in the air, you know what to do.’
Dimitri: Yeah.

He ran a hand through his hair.

Dimitri: That shit is temporary right?
‘Yeah. Should fade in a week. You’re in first class. No one is going to bother you.’
Dimitri: Good.
‘Here… Passport, License, ID… everything you need to leave Dimitri Czar behind in Russia.’

He leafed through the passports. The pictures and ids looked like him, but with darker hair. His was blonde. This fellow’s hair was dark brown almost black. His eyes were green and he did not were glasses. Czar’s were blue and he did.

Dimitri: Amazing how a change of hair and eye color can make someone look so different.
‘Tell me about it’.

The name was different too, as was the statistics, but Czar had been expecting that. This fellow had been born in Kirov and raised in St. Petersburgh, whereas Czar had been born and raised in Minsk and lived on the outskirts outside St. Petersburgh. The fellow’s name was one he and his client had agreed upon. Of course, the place where Dimitri was being sent was more of his client’s territory… so when he insisted on a separate identity, Czar had agreed. Apparently, discretion was the name of the game.

The name?

Ivan Kirov.

********


Broadcasting on Channel 97.2 UFM – Old Soviet Channel

Greetings SCW… Allow me first to introduce myself. It seems somewhat unfair that I know you, but you do not know me. As you can tell by my accent I am not American. And I know for some of you, the urge to chant ‘USA! USA! USA!’ at me is probably almost overwhelming.

And if you feel the need to do so, by all means. It means little to me. You only add to your own embarrassment. I am Russian, NOT Anti American. The cold war has been over for twenty years, and the fact that some of you harbor onto that same resentment shows me that you are not accepting of change… and if that is the case… then we are not going to get along.

For I am the embodiment of such change, creatures of the night.

I am Ivan Kirov… the Voice of the Vox Populi, broadcasting live to you to give you something that has been sorely lacking in SCW as of late. Gone are the days where men met in the ring to settle things with honor. Far from it. We have people running each other over in cars or kidnapping and ransoming loved ones to gain a distinct advantage. We have a place where the ring of the bell doesn’t mean a fight has started. It only means that a fight is recognized to have begun. We no longer have a sports competition, my creatures.

We have a warzone.

We have a battlefield where it’s kill or be killed.

And I have been waiting for years for it to come to this.

You see, the last of your old guard has fallen. The old ways are gone, and now men of merciless immorality like Shilo Valiant, Thirteen, and Syr… excuse me… PEOPLE like Shilo, Thirteen, and Syren now lead not with strength but with brutality of mind. To fight them is not to fight with brawn but like animals in a cage.

There are no rules. There are no laws.

Just… blood.

Only now, is SCW ready for me.

Before, if I had emerged with my ways, I would have been instantly thrown out for my violent ways. What you call ‘Underground’ is merely a league with toys and trinkets thrown in. Where I come from, matches are not over until one competitor… well… Russian Rules are different than yours.

But now your champions are of a different cloth than the days of old. Matches like the Thunderdome, War Games, Backlot Brawls… These are a few of my favorite things.

And now… Now SCW is ready for me.

At first, when I heard I was to face Genocide, I thought it was some joke like your American concept of ‘The War on Terrorism’ or some feel good promotion like the ‘War on Drugs’. I could never in my life actually believe that there was a man who actually CALLED himself Genocide.

Tell me, sir, what does a man from Texass know about Genocide? Hmm? When was the last time there was a massacre of buckaroos? I ask you, when has your sheriff decided out of the blue to kill over 50 000 people?

I have more, but I think I made my point. And that point is to ask a simple question.

What is YOUR point, Genocide?

Do you wish to slaughter your fellow men? Is that it? Do you wish to destroy everyone in the right, hence your fellow man? But they are like you. They wish to fight you as well. They are not innocent like my people were when REAL genocide happened.

Do you celebrate genocide, sir? Is that it? Do you read horror stories from the first half of the previous century and laugh? Does it make you feel happy to hear about the death of millions? Is that it? Or do you get some sort of sexual thrill from it? Perhaps that is it.

You see, I am sure you want people to hear your name and fear you. But as for me, I am not afraid. Not in the slightest. You are not the champions I saw fighting at Body Heart and Soul. In fact, I highly doubt you were even there. You are not who I am seeking. You do not understand the need for the ultraviolence I have been waiting SCW, as pinnacle of the wrestling world, to reach! You’re not terrifying.

You’re confusing. Quite confusing.

But come Breakdown… It is not going to matter what your name means to you.

It will only matter what your name means to me.

And after the bell, it is going to mean absolutely nothing.
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