Age 28
Height 5 10
Weight 170
Eyes light brown
Hair light brown
Build athletic

Always has a grin or twinkle in eyes. Just having fun.

Mikhail grew up in Zamoskvoreche district, amid the squalor and crime and violence.

Mikhail's father was just muscle, a grunt for the Solntsevskaya Bratva, the largest crime family in Russia. The family had amassed powerful ties to the government (all the way to the top) and to the new crop of billionaire oligarchs that sprung up after the fall of the Soviet Union.

What goes up, though, must go down. When Nikolai Brandon began his ascent, knocking out rivals, making new connections, providing influence and largess to those who chafed under the current holders of power, many of those politicians, plutocrats and their families lost their place. And the criminal organization that had provided so much in the way of greased palms, enforcement, laundering, assistance of takeovers (hostile and otherwise), workers, etc, the Solntsevskaya Bratva also lost.

New families, the Kolomovs, the Mordvinovs, the Stoyas, the Perov's and others grew in power and wealth, influence and respect, reducing Solntsevskaya Bratva to a shell of what it once was. Old hatreds, resentments and vendettas decimated their ranks. Those who survived moved away or gradually found their place into the other families, trading information, contacts, muscle and money for influence and survival.

Mikhail’s father was too far down the totem pole to have any real enemies. Well none who were as good as he was, anyway. So he survived, albeit now amidst the squalor of a Moscow that had once been his. He told his son the old stories, recounted his glory days, and constantly complained about how everything had changed. “There's no loyalty. We had been great once. One day we'll get our chance.”

But Mikhail totally got a different message. For him, the ending of all the stories his pops told had one thing missing. The most important thing of all. The fucking punchline! The realization that all of it was one big joke. Pride in the family? Hah! In your position? Yeah right. What you had?. Nothing was really yours anyway. Loyalty? Loyal-what?

In fact, as far as he is concerned, everything is part of the joke. The funniest (or saddest, depending on his mood) part of it all is that most don't even realize it. They take everything so fucking seriously. He doesn't. So he has his fun. He gets his things and likes them. But he’s not attached to anything. He's not surprised when it leaves.

So yeah, Mikhail liked his dad ok. He loved his mom more. When he visited after moving out, she’d always made sure to cook his favorites. But, life happens, you know? They died. Nothing spectacular. No massive illnesses or major violence or anything. Just got old, he guessed. First dad and his heart attack. Then mom and her stroke a year later. He was 16.

He didn’t laugh about it. He wasn’t heartless. He missed them. But that was life. Just life... Can’t complain when life acts like life, right?

Still, woulda been cool if they coulda seen him channel. That had happened all at once. He’d been doing work for someone- not good to name names, you know. Can’t be spreading information and all that. Had to travel to find a guy who was hiding and not doing his duty for the community (or at least paying for it). Anyway, some dickhole Gopniks jumped him. He hated those fuckers and their stupid Addidas shoes and jackets and shit, all crouched around watching people, passing the bottle. Pack of mutts like what roamed his neighborhood. Bout as civilized, too.

Anyway, they jumped him as he was lighting up a cigarette and then a bottle flashed and he was on the ground or something- hard to remember, what with all the boots in his face and balls- and something snapped and suddenly the air smelled of burning whatever-the-hell they make Addidas out of and then they were running and despite the pain in his head and balls he laughed and laughed.

Stumbled up and made it to his one bedroom apartment and collapsed on the bed where he shivered the best part of 3 days. So, that was fun, you know? Sheets all soaked and he had missed his date with Nadya. Her pissy message on his wallet made him laugh though. Ah well, he’d make it up to her. All part of the system anyway.

Bottom line, though, was that there were times he could sense a light in the distance. Course he had to be holding that lighter, so, there was that. He supposed he coulda been holding something else when it happened, though. That would have made things funny. Haha, universe. Another joke, right? Almost- seriously, no joke- almost he wished it had happened that way just to see the looks on people’s faces when he channeled. "What the hell is that guy doing with that?"That woulda been even better. Hilarious

Oh yeah, forgot to mention. He loved showing off what he could do. Not like ‘Derrr, hey guys, check out what I can do.’ He just liked channeling in public. People didn’t have to know it was him. It was just funny to watch their expressions as they jumped or something fell over or a car exploded.

He found that fire called to him, just like it had when he was a kid. And he was the receptive kinda guy who picked up that call.

So that’s Mikhail. Just out to see what new joke the universe has in store. Play some of his own. Get his, while he can. Leave ‘em wanting more.


Edited by Mikhail, Jan 26 2018, 10:50 PM.

The safe house was quiet, after all, Ichiro was the only one here. At times like this, he preferred solitude. Losing comrades was always bad. Ichiro had done his mourning, however, and was looking to go elsewhere. He would stay at the safe house for the night.

The whetstone made a gliding sound as Ichiro finished sharpening his blade. Sharpening was always done in a methodical fashion and he placed the blade back in it's scabbard.

He breathed deeply, imagining a light that increased in intensity as he inhaled and decreased as he exhaled draining his emotion into it. He was calm now. Opening a bottle of water, he took a drink and rested. The next day he would check on Cross.

The wolf pack leader - which was a female (something that confused Enrique) - decided to allow some pups to come into the city to allow for Marta's training. A young male pup name Splashing Fish was assigned to Marta. With a name like that, Enrique thought investing in some extra towels would be a good idea.

Marta spoke to the mother wolf, thanking her, and telling her that she would watch over Splash like her brother. Enrique doubted the wolves would like being pets, and Marta seemed to instinctively understand that. It was something that Enrique was grateful for.

Before they went to bed that night, Enrique spoke to the two women. "i have a house in town. Not a bad place - the basement in finished, and your are more than welcome to stay there if you wish. No charge."
The offer was genuine. They were helping Marta and that was payment enough. He assumed they'd want to stick together. It appeared as if the two were a couple. "If not, Marta's schooling is online - so we can work around whatever schedules you have. We'll leave early tomorrow morning so that the wolves don't become too restless with me around."


Enrique gave them his address and contact information so they could get a hold of him when they were ready. The next morning they would get up early and prepare to leave. Enrique made sure to let Marta know that she had to check with Chases Butterflies before they left. He wasn't about to take a pup before its mother was ready to let it go.

The night was chilly and the street quiet. It had rained earlier and the air smelled of wet asphalt and garbage. Other smells too, but he wasn't exactly in a categorizing mood. The heavy sounds of bass music up the street competed with the shhh of traffic on the road. The Little Kitty was not the classiest place, that was for sure.

Anyway, where was he? Oh yeah. Last two days had been.....crazy. Looked like while he and Alex were hooking up, Nox had gone off and gotten himself in some real trouble. A city block torn up, chunks of rock and concrete and building material and whatever the hell else there was- was that lead spikes?- covered the place. Looked like a fucking war zone.

And Nox had been arrested, along with some pretty boy soldier (the way a couple of the guys had joked) or something. And then both of them just disappeared.

He wasn't sure about the soldier, but he had an idea about Nox. Well, more a suspicion. Not that he was a genius or anything. But it seemed familiar. He remembered a certain padded cell, the prodding of needles, tests. Course he'd also been suffering from the sickness, so for him the memory wasn't all that bad. It had saved him. And the Ascendancy had come to him, taught him to control himself, and put him back out on the streets with something in his record that gave him some sort of pull. Enough that the Cap had pulled him onto Domovoi.

No, not a bad memory for him. But he wasn't Nox. Nox could be a dick. More than one, really. Like a whole bag of dicks. But he was honest. Despite what he'd said to Alex- hey, his head was full of tequila and she was hot and he just wanted to kiss her, what did she expect?- he really did believe the guy's story. He doubted Nox wanted a job in the CCD, or would follow orders or whatever they wanted him to do.

And, of course, nobody told him anything. Pissed him off.

Top it all off, he got a call from Uncle Pol. He'd not seen him in years. To be honest, he didn't know why he was being called. He'd known Pol his whole life- his daughter Olena was Ivan's first kiss, first love, really- but it wasn't like they had any heart to hearts. He was pop's friend.

So why the hell was he calling Ivan and asking him to meet him at 2 in the morning down the street from a seedy strip club? Not like Ivan hadn't been tired or anything.

Bah, he was just being a pissy little bitch. Pol had gone down hard after Olena had been shot, bleeding out in his arms. That was a punch to the gut. They all took it hard. But Pol never climbed back out of the bottle.

He owed him. For pops. For Olena's sake.

Hello!

I told Ascendancy that it's totally okay to use Torri n the Facility whenever you need her around. I probably won't do much more with this character than be a presence as-needed.

So what do you want to accomplish down there? That'll give me some ideas of how to proceed.

Emily dropped off Natalie and Natalie gave her contact information in case she needed it for cleaning. It wasn't really an issue, but Emily accepted her number with gladness and gave Natalie her own in case she needed anything.

Jared was quiet on the way back, and Emily didn't press him much. He was clearly exhausted from whatever ordeal he had gone through. She did, however, give him an encouraging smile as they left Natalie's, and Jared returned it.

"Want me to take you to base, or to my place?"
She asked.

"I'm still on leave for awhile and don't want to go back yet. I'd rather not be alone either."


Emily could hear the exhaustion in his voice as he spoke. She drove back to her house, and they entered together.

It was the first time Jared had seen the inside of the house, and his eyes widened. "So this is how the other side lives."


Emily smiled and took Jared's hand, leading him to the living room. "Can I get you anything?"


"This might sound weird, but I could really use a shower, and then more coffee."


Emily smiled and led him to the shower, so he could clean up. While he was away, she put on a fresh pot of coffee. She could have asked Matt to do it, but she was content to do so herself.

Armande awoke in peace, something that was alien to him. In truth, it had been almost two decades since he'd awakened this way. He often had to meditate in the evenings just to quiet his mind enough to sleep. His only respite from the never ending onslought came from days where his physical activities sapped him of all his strength, from a hunt or from training.

And every morning his eyes would open and so would the floodgates, inundating him.

Today, though....today was different. The warm softness of Valeriya's bare skin against his, the silky smoothness, the firm roundnesses, the smell of her hair against his neck, the perfect fit of their bodies together. It had been an elixer to make any man fall asleep in tranquility.

His mind had gently ascended from the depths of his unconsciousness, a deep and soothing ocean of lapping waves, rose until it imperceptibly crested the surface, one moment asleep, the next awake.

He sighed contentedly, the feel of humanity restored to him. Gradually he became aware of sensations on his back, slight pain, and he smiled to himself. Valeriya and her nails. She had been an animal. It had been raw and consuming, a fire, an inferno that had engulfed them.

And he was content. It had begun.

Awake, however, he wasn't one to lie abed lazily. While the temptation to wake her in a manner that they might continue their play was certainly there-
as was his readiness- there was too much to do. For the Khlysty. For the Atharim. For Valeriya herself.

He found himself looking forward to being out and about again. He rolled on his side to peer at her, her mass of dark hair laying about the pillow and on her face in disarray. Her eyelids were closed, hiding those green eyes that captivated him so. Her mouth was relaxed and slightly open, showing a hint of her front teeth, no smile or frown to alter its shape. He just watched her, wondered at what images and visions played in her mind.

More than that, though, he tried to imagine her reaction to the surface, what she called the Above, when they left the safehouse today. Part of him was content to let her sleep peacefully. To stay in this cocoon as long as possible. But the other part knew that was impossible. And he did want to show her everything. That surprised him. He laughed to himself at how foolish he was, behaving as some schoolboy might. There was a war on. Still, he did watch her slumber for a minute more.

Gently he shook her bare shoulder. Softly, "Valeriya, wake. It is time. We go outside today." He couldn't help adding that last part.

There was more to tell her, more to plan. And he did mean to keep his promise to her, to include her in those plans. That was his intention anyway, though he knew that habits were hard to overcome. Sharing had not been his nature for a very long time.

But she needed to wake first.


Edited by Regus, Jan 22 2018, 06:50 PM.

[[Continued from Under Guard]]

The last time she had set foot in Tar Valon, it had ended with her heart shattered to pieces and a disgraced escort to Yelendrian’s office. The memories curled about her thoughts like mist; how eagerly she had descended the ivory steps from the Tower, cheeks flushed with anticipation. Ignorant. Stupid. There was no such keenness today, only business-like resolution. The sooner this was over with the better. The organisation alone had taken far more time than she would have liked, especially balanced against her new duties as an aspirant. And it annoyed her, the repressive obligation she felt to offer protection to the family she had rejected – moreso when that protection was so limited in its scope. As if an ill-conceived confession could have such repercussions. Would Jai be pleased to know how his actions had avalanched the collapse of five years of silence? Probably not, if he had any clue what a grim cast it lay on her thoughts.

Such a pity these things had to be authorised in the flesh, or the light knew she would not have come at all. The appointment had been made ahead of time, and Nythadri had ensured she would be the last to arrive. It would solve the matter of an awkward family reunion; not that she expected a scene, but the fewer opportunities for awkward small talk the better. She would help her family, but it did not mean she relished interacting with them. And it was certainly not to be misconstrued as invitation to build bridges burned long ago.

Only when she entered the bank’s immaculate foyer and was led to the door of the appropriate office, Mishael waited outside. Her stride did not falter its rhythmic click against the floor tiles, though her expression tightened with displeasure. His own did not flicker; but then, he was already frowning. Nythadri had inherited her looks from her father, that unsettling mix of pale and dark. He was more gaunt than he had been five years ago, and lines that did not stem from easy laughter creased his eyes. More silver lined his temple, and shot through his neatly trimmed beard. For a man who had brought his House to near ruin, he had the bearing of steel. Perhaps another thing she had inherited. She went to move past him. His hand beat hers to the door handle, and locked it in place. “Are you involved in this, Nythadri?”


Her hand retracted before their skin met, jaw tight. The pendant. He had never mentioned it in any of their recent correspondence, and it occurred to her that he had been waiting to confront her in person. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. She could read the uncertainty in his expression; pain coiled like a wire round his heart. Did he ever blame me? For what happened? Or perhaps he resented how the mud of their pasts again clouded what had been calm waters, and once more his wayward daughter appeared to be at the heart of it. “If this was down to me, we would not be here. I would have had all the money safely secured in my own name in the first place, until the scandal died down. And I wouldn’t have waited so long to settle the score. Father.”


Five years, and no sentimentality on either side. She remembered how she had left things the day Karina Sedai had removed her from Caemlyn; remembered every jagged edge to their relationship. How easy it was to slip into old, abrasive roles. Only what purpose did it serve now? A sigh inflated her lungs, but she refrained from releasing it to sound like insolence. “I do not know for certain where the coin came from. I can only guess it once belonged to Winther. Even if it didn’t – and I can’t see an alternative – it hardly looks good with your names as the payees. If he, or anyone else, were to dig and find an account against my name, they will also find the White Tower. It’s the best protection I can offer. You can say no.”
Her words were low; Mishael would never notice the glow of saidar that lit her from the inside out, or the ward against eavesdropping that cast a protective net about them.

Either way he did not answer, only twisted the handle and held the door open for her.

Within the richly decorated office, already seated at the long table, were her sisters. For a moment Em looked as though she might rush to hug Nythadri; she half rose from her seat, face alight with the biggest of smiles, but Oshara stilled the movement with a hand on her wrist and she sank back down, a blush warming her round cheeks. They had been children the last time Nythadri had seen them; eleven and fourteen respectively. Emria retained a soft youthfulness to her features, and gentleness reminiscent of their mother. Not so different. Oshara was now a woman grown, though. And she wouldn’t meet Nythadri’s eyes.

At the head of the table, flanked by neat stacks of paperwork, the notary lifted his head. “Shall we proceed?”


Relieved at the brusque, no nonsense manner, Nythadri took her seat. Opposite her sisters. Opposite her father. An ornately wrought jug of water marked the half-way distance between them, but no-one had touched it nor the glasses clustered around its base. So they're all as uncomfortable as each other. It might have been kinder to defrost the tension; act the sister she had always been and poke gentle fun at the situation. They saw an Accepted. She could show them a person still existed beneath all that white. But she wouldn't. What would be the point? She finally caught Shara's gaze; but eyes of deepest blue froze over on contact. The animosity was startling; though, unperturbed by the challenge, it wasn't Nythadri who looked away first. Oshara's fists had curled in frustration; she removed them from the table, and pointed her gaze resolutely at the waiting paperwork instead.

Nythadri gestured her father to make the affirmative. She had meant what she said: this was his choice.
*
Afterwards, once the final signatures had been inked, Mishael was the first to stand. The pierce of his eyes caught her own, like he tried to unravel her from her Accepted shackles; to find some hint of the familiar beneath the porcelain cast of her empty expression. Nythadri’s white-sleeved arms were folded tidily on the table. The serpent ring glittered prominently on her finger; like she really were nothing more than an extension of the Tower, providing an impartial service to people in need. But she needn’t have feared. There were no saccharine goodbyes.

Mishael helped his two daughters into their cloaks, as the notary packed his things away. Nythadri watched. She felt so removed. “I’ll keep my ear to the currents in Caemlyn.”
Though it would take time to start a network from scratch. Light, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Too late to back away anyway, now that things had been set in motion. "I'll be in touch. You don't need to contact me."
And in the meantime think about how you’re going to explain all that money once things have blown over.

She was glad when they had gone. A sigh left her lungs like fallen armour, and if she had been alone she might have succumbed to the urge to bury her head in her arms to seek a moment’s respite. How long since her last restful night? Now she either dreamed of Winther’s smug face or faces bloodied beyond recognition. Guilt that had buried deep and dormant for years flourished fresh like flowers after winter. The need to make loose ends neat. She hated the mess, like inkblots spilled on crisp paper. Still, she had become good at convincing herself to feel nothing.

As it what she merely stood, nodded a formal thanks to the notary, and left. Outside, she caught Em’s face in the window of the carriage as it slid past, a sad smile tilting the edges of her lips and her fingers fluttering a goodbye. Nythadri did not smile back.
*
Less than an hour later she sat in another office in another building, with more paperwork and another bank clerk. The tension from earlier had knotted in her back. Her neck throbbed dully. A headache built behind her eyes. She’d worked through worse though; she’d endured worse. I’m doing all I can do. So why didn’t it feel like enough? Beyond the narrow path to the goal she had set herself lay a dark rush of confused and unanalysed thought. Purposefully unanalysed. Why worry about the things she could not control? Could not change? That was good judgement, but accepting impotency did not seem to help. Which was probably why, of all the banks in Tar Valon, she had chosen the Kojimas.

Upon completion of the paperwork, the clerk told her that the account would need managerial approval - owing to the sheer quantity of coin to be deposited. Obviously, was her only, scathing answer, accompanied by a dismissive wave that the man should hurry along with whatever procedure was necessary.

[[Continued from Through the Storm]]

She woke several times that night, panicked in the dark, echoes of its's me, it's me in her ears. Her heart beat erratic until the feeling washed out with consciousness. It wasn't a restful night. By the time fingers of pale light pressed a tentative entry through her windows she unfurled from her blankets and padded into the kitchen on stinging feet to gulp down a glass of water. Sweat slicked the back of her neck, and she still had that headache. Her mood this morning was still. Like a wound still healing, she didn't delve too deep, just coasted around it. Washed. Dressed. Still didn't unpack.

Two days ago she hadn't thought this far ahead, focused solely on answering her father's message and untangling all that festering conflict. Her promises beyond that had been peripheral, the simplest way to secure her flight to Moscow unchallenged. She'd yet to truly consider what registering meant for her future. Not that she could have stopped her family from submitting the paperwork. The secret was already out there; she might as well make use of it.

She took a car into the heart of the city, watching expressionlessly out the window as city-life blurred by. The traffic slowed the closer they crawled to Moscow's heart; Natalie lifted the sleeve of her blouse to check the time, but didn't seem in any hurry to see the bars of the cage snap shut. Perhaps she was being pessimistic. But she could have done this a thousand times in a thousand lives, each time with cold acceptance and little passion. In the distance the Kremlin's red towers thrust from its protective wall like spears, still across the dazzling river. The building itself was brilliant white, and for some reason that settled in her chest like it meant something she couldn't quite grasp.

By the time she was able to get out of the car, her body remembered all last night's aches. She forced herself to walk without a limp, though caught at a wrong angle the pain was enough to force a grimace. So her pace was careful, and the purposeful measure of it did not push her to rush. The driver had directed her where to go when he opened the door for her exit, and for the briefest moment she had the urge to explore beyond the confines of the path before her. She pressed her hand against the ancient stone, but after a moment's stillness denied herself the temptation. It was only delaying the inevitable.

She'd grown up with wealth, but this outweighed anything they'd ever had at home. Government officials hastened to their business, inured to the grandness, but Natalie did pause to draw in her surroundings before giving her name. No fanfare. No escort. Though she was careful to remember that here she was a Northbrook; there was no space for Grey, and it would not do to remind anyone of her father.

After various security measures, she was shown into a room to wait.