I trust no one, not even myself.
For you it may be one
of the falling stars,
It may be that for you,
Away from all the tears,
From life above the land
Will take our kiss back home.
And may be on the blood
A home will rise,
Pure for the love...
It may be then
Our fallen souls will go untouched
By evil ever more.
I am never afraid
It will never happen again,
I am a wounded heart
On a soul torn apart.
Broken life -
A pointless plot.
I wish I could forget
My death in parandja.
Name: Nikolai Aleksandrevitch Ivanov
“I believe in one thing only, the power of human will.”
Likes:
Chocolate, nuclear physics, cats, rats, mucking about with engines, refining and improving upon his schematics, brightly lit places, alcohol, books, playing chess
Dislikes:
Most insects, especially bees, dogs, darkness, being alone outside at night, the ominous silence of the woods at night, forests, being lost, guns being pointed at his head, guns in general, most people
Personality:
Nikolai is generally a very subdued young man in public, slow to anger and even slower to speak, although the latter may simply be due to the fact that he feels that his grasp of English is not the best and is embarrassed. Which is, of course, a ridiculous notion, but he refuses to believe anyone who says as much.
In the privacy of his own home, or with those he considers close friends, he is much more animated, his speech accompanied by grand gestures, always swift to laugh or joke and generally play around.
He is slow to trust as well, ever suspicious and always careful around the new and unknown.
Snapshots of an old Life:
Lost
[x] He was six years old and caught up in the chase of a particularly large moth, completely forgetting his father's warning to stay within the boundaries of the camp. They were fishing; he, his father, uncle and grandfather, and they would be going home tomorrow. But for now the adults were lounging by the fire, talking as the boy ran around, still full of energy. Perhaps too full, for he ran past the edges of camp and into the trees, still reaching for the moth. He didn't even realize what he had done until the glow of camp had faded, plunging him into the grey haze of dusk. That was when panic set in, and he turned and began to run in what he thought was the direction of camp, but he had so turned himself around that he only got himself even more lost as the sun sank and plunged him into darkness.
Loss
[x] Her name was Anya, and she was beautiful; the features of a doll and skin like fine porcelain, her hair felt like silk beneath his fingertips and her eyes were the colour of obsidian. She was the first girl he ever kissed, she was the first girl to ever whisper that she loved him. Not fifteen minutes later he was pressed against the windowpane as his plane turned down the runway, imagining that he could still see her, staring back at him as they left the ground.
Confusion
[x] It was bigger than their home in Russia, and there was a yard in front with a small calico cat lazing in a patch of sunlight. He would tear his gaze away from the cat and stare silently at the house as his parents opened the door and his sisters practically ran inside to see their new rooms. Nikolai stayed by the car and stared into the distance, watching his new neighbors as they went about their days, listening to them talking. He barely even noticed the girl as she walked up the street and stopped next to him, startling him out of his thoughts as she blurted something at him, her words fast and cheerful, curious. His command of English was poor, even though his parents had tried to force him to study harder…he had never expected to need for fluency, so all he could do was stare at her blankly, gaping like a fish.
Fear
[x] He was sixteen, not six. But he had been plunged into the dark ten minutes ago, and he was curled up in the corner of his room, heart pounding in his chest and a roaring in his ears as he pulled his knees up to his chest and pressed his hands over his ears, trying to block out the sounds that he knew were imaginary. The baying of wolves in the distance and the crunch of twigs and snow. He was six, not sixteen, and he was afraid of what lurked out there. Afraid to leave his bed, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps, tingling running down his spine, hair on end. The rustling of his rats in their cage became the monster in the dark, waiting for him to try and escape his room, the glowing eyes of his cat became the eyes of the wolf ready to tear his throat out. The darkness of the blackout was crushing, oppressive, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.
Background:
For some reason, when his soul was flung screaming from his body, it found this empty shell and found it safe.
Nikolai died mere moments before waking in his new body, the victim of a massive explosion involving a faulty gas line that burned huge swaths through the suburb where he lived with his parents.
He was nineteen years old.
Skills:
Making things go boom, killing you with his brain, playing chess, getting completely drunk, drunken poetry readings in only his underwear (while using a megaphone), running from the police, running in general (fast little b*****d...), fixing cars, playing dumb
Seasonings:
Powdered sugar, a heap of orange flavoured meringue, a single cigarette and lighter fluid, a healthy swig of 90% proof Vodka, uranium, two silver dollars, a drop of mercury
Pets:
