Name: Petrokov, Ivan
Nickname: Black Blood
Age: 19
Event Name:Blackbird
Classification: Deadman
Personality:Ivan is a man of odd tastes, and has been known to talk with a Russian accent even though he has a perfect grasp of the language. He likes to joke around a lot and is only serious when he is in a battle. Most of the time he is rather friendly, and will try to help out the other inmates. However when it comes to fights he goes all out, and disregards his previous attitude. He is more of a cat person, and although open minded he will defend his believes until they are proven wrong. Sometimes he is ridiculous and demands outrageous things to be done by the guards, who of course ignore him for the most part. Ivan is a bit of an introvert and prefers to be by himself in his free time rather than spend it with the other inmates. As such he spends a lot of time in his room, diddling away the hours trying to keep himself entertained. He is capable of shutting out distractions in order to take a practical, logical approach to their endeavors, and are able to make the tough decisions that other types avoid. Realistic and responsible, Ivan is often seen as a worker bee striving steadily toward his goals. He can take special joy in maintaining institutions and are often highly religious. Despite his dependability and good intentions, however, Ivan can experience difficulty in understanding and responding to the emotional needs of others. Although he often focus on his internal world, Ivan prefers dealing with the present and the factual. He is detail-oriented and weigh various options when making decisions, although they generally stick to the conventional. Ivan is well-prepared for eventualities and have a good understanding of most situations. They believe in practical objectives, and they value traditions and loyalty. Ivan learns best and apply himself to subjects that he deems practical and useful. He brings painstaking attention to detail in their work and will not rest until a concept is fully learned or a job is well completed. As a learner, he tends to need materials, directions, and teachers to be precise and accurate if they are to trust the information that is presented. They prefer concrete and useful applications and will tolerate theory only if it leads to these ends.He likes learning activities that allows him time to reflect and think. Material that seems too easy or too enjoyable leads Ivan to be skeptical of its merit. Because of his practical outlook, Ivan clearly delineate between work and play. Therefore, his ideal learning environment is task-oriented, has a clear schedule, and has a clear and precise assignment.
Ivan respect facts. He hold a tremendous store of data within himself, gathered through his Sensing function. They may have difficulty valuing a theory or idea that differs from his own perspective. However, if he is shown the importance or relevance of the idea by someone whom he respects or cares about, the idea becomes a fact that Ivan will internalize and vigorously support. Ivan often works for long periods, devoting his energy to tasks that they see as important to fulfilling a goal. However, they resist putting energy into things that don't make sense to them, or for which they can't see a practical application. They prefer to work alone but can work well in teams when the situation demands it. He likes to be accountable for their actions, and they enjoy positions of responsibility. He has little use for theory or abstract thinking, unless the practical application is clear. In general, Ivan is capable, logical, reasonable, and effective individuals with a deeply driven desire to promote security and peaceful living. He can be highly effective at achieving his goals—whatever those may be.
Likes/Dislikes:
Likes* Fighting
* Fresh Air
* Music
Dislikes* Snails
* Jails
* Whales
Quirks: Besides his odd eyes, he likes to talk to himself and refer to himself in third person from time to time.
Appearance: Ivan has ruffled medium length jet black hair it covers his ears, and almost hangs over his eyes. His eyes are red, and often rimmed by a lack of sleep as Ivan dislikes to sleep, and often cannot for long periods of time. He has thin eyebrows, and a thin nose. The bottom half of his face is often covered by a mask, which he replaces daily with a different design each time. Ivan is kind of slight of build, and prefers to wear casual dress clothing along with ties. While not limited to that type of dress he clearly prefers it above other kinds of clothing. Ivan's boots are primarily black except for the under grip which is now a muddied, orange menagerie of filth. They are steel toed boots with rubber soles and add two inches to his height. Ivan will often roll his eyes, or move them independently of each other for little or no reason at all, expect perhaps boredom. Ivan has pale skin which is found a lot in his heritage and people in the northern climite who stay inside and out of the cold snow. Ivan's eyes are red like rubies, or blood not his blood of course. His eyes are also always dilated no matter what lightning the room is in or time of day when he was outside. Petrokov chalks it up to another odd thing about his eyes. Ivan has a five inch tall tattoo of a black cross on his back, it is done in a celtic style even with the celtic borders, yet it is all black. What it signifies he will never tell anyone, not that many have asked. Although he appears boney most of his mass is muscle, followed by bone, and then far behind by fat. Ivan has a build more like a jungle cat than anything else.
Height: 5'11''
Weight: 165lbs
Special Characteristics: Red eyes, and a black cross on his left shoulder blade.
Abilities/Skills: Blackened WingsThe ability to create black blood wires that are sharp enough to slice someone in half. The wire's dimensions can be modified by the user as they see fit. The user can also control the movement of the wires.
Unconscious Reflexes - With this the user can react much faster to attacks that they see, they do not think about dodging the attack they simply do it as easy as someone would breathe air. Of course the attack must be seen for this to work.
Thinking outside the box - Due to his personality, Ivan can have his brain sometimes leave conventional wisdom and make decisions without him, such as ridding a merry go round at three am. However this also makes him unpredictable, any predictions or readings will end up wrong and mind reading will come back as blank.
Blood Type: B negative
Ambitions/Dreams:
Quote: 'That's a bingo'
History: Growing up Ivan did things, things that involved stuff. He was an excellent student and led a rather normal 'outsider' life in tokyo. All that changed however, when the fire nation attacked. It flipped his life upside down faster than a trip to Bel Air.
After the disaster, Ivans powers began to manifest and he started to use them to help other people out and defend those who could not defend themselves. Sometimes he would get too carried away in his bloodlust and killed when the situation did not call for it. Due to this he attempted to seclude himself from society. In his seclusion he took up reading, novels, biographies, poems, whatever he could get his hands on. Ivan loved Edgar Allen Poe, and one poem in particular was his favorite.
The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
''Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more.'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you'- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 'Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 'Lenore!'-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more.'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, 'art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as 'Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, 'Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
'Doubtless,' said I, 'what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'.'
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
'Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,' I shrieked,
upstarting-
'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!'
Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
The seclusion did not stop him from catching the watchful eye of Deadman Wonderland however, and soon he was locked up in the prison. It has been a year since he has been outside and he sometimes forgets what fresh air tastes like.
Theme Song: Loco
RP Sample: The ballad of Royce Ko Five Nine is long and arduous, and the perfectionist himself would love for me to detail ever little part of his life but I will not. Instead I will be detailing parts of his life that are eventful. Nah just kidding heres a tale of the time he went onto an island in search of the special fruit.
Selling off children, and raping villagers is such a piratey thing but not something Royce could ever get the hang of in his travels. For no matter how long the man had voyaged these things just didn't appeal to him, instead he was one who fought for justice. Stealing from thieves, torturing murderers and the like. However that is enough about Royce's character for now we must focus on what he did on this day on an island of the coast of Kirigakure.
It was known to most as Karate island a place with many masters of the said art, and a place were Royce would begin his earthy dig. The sun shone brightly as the greyblue hull of his ship rose above the waves. The seas parted from the rounded top of the hull falling off it like a rainy downpour in some long lost jungle. Seagulls quacked their protest as the ship rose above from the azure depths and disturbed their flying patterns. It wasn't a large ship but neither was it small, and soon scurrying could be heard from below and the faux-boat on top would shutter with a creaking from the door that rested on the bottom of the planks. The door was a bright cherry red and was a sharp contrast with the rest of the ship but fit in well with the rest of the faux-boat that was the crow's nest. The inside of the boat was the same cherry red and hid the door quite well, the outside of the faux-boat or the hull was just a simple woody-brown.
Speaking of Royce, he emerged from the door and shook his medium length wgute hair out of his eye. He was dressed in just black suit pants and had a shovel hung over his left shoulder. Inside his mouth was a cigarette that had just recently been lit giving off its putrid smell, and the cherry matching the color of the door as the ash flew in the wind. The flaky particles would flutter past and move towards his destination a sandy beach filled with white-gold sand that reminded him of his homeland.
Not expecting violence the man hadn't brought his giant cleaver along with him, perhaps that had been a mistake, perhaps not. Only time would tell Royce told himself as he flexed his back and cracked his neck to relieve the tension built up there by his muscles from awkward sleep. With a yawn he dropped the shovel into a sword position on his left hip and sprung upwards into the air. With a slight twist he landed bare footed in the sand where it was wet from the waves. It seemed like a short leap but the sub was moored more than hundreds of feet off the coast, and the one fisherman who saw him do this stared shocked at Royce who gave him a little wave.
"Hello sir, would you happen to know the laws about digging on this island here?" Royce asked his voice with a thick accent of the desert upon it. The voice was like a hot desert wind and sounded slightly raspy yet as smooth as honey.
"Digging? Whatever for?" croaked the man, he was old and his voice revealed that more than his appearance. The fisherman was balding with a long flowing mane of white hair that dropped over his back and fell onto the dock he sat upon like a coiled snake. The dock he sat upon looked as ancient as the man himself and the water lapped up against it making soft noises which played as background music for the rest of their conversation. The pole the man held in his right hand was made of bamboo, yet Royce guessed the man had caught some big game before. The twinkly in his eyes betrayed his calmer, old man demeanor. The old man was dressed in hip waders and flannel, but beneath the spindly looking arms Royce sensed power. However again, only time would tell, perhaps he had some interesting stories Royce thought to himself as he figured around for his reply.
"A certain fruit" replied Royce after a brief moment, it was said slowly as the man had paused only to inhale his cigarette or that would be how it seemed to the other contestant in the conversation. He had to be careful with his words from here on as suddenly Royce got the feeling they were not alone. Perhaps leaving the cleaver was an awful idea.
"Well we have to test those who wish to taste the horrid fruit, you understand don't you?" the old man said his voice turning sharp half way through as he quickly stood up his hair still being coiled on the deck due to its enormous length. As he said this four others seemingly materialized out of nowhere to surround Royce who now grasped the shovel in both hands and spit out his cigarette.
"Come at me then, if you dare" Royce hissed as he spread his feet and slightly hunched his back, the cigarette had been spit towards the second man who was now jumping out of it's way. Which was exactly what the man wanted, and he moved quicker than a bullet shot from a gun swinging the shovel from a lower left position up towards the right in a move that would have clove the man in half from mid thigh to upper ribs had he carried his weapon. As it was now he simply sent the man leftwards towards the other two who were rushing towards him. Stealing a quick glance, Royce noticed the old man still stood in the same spot, eyes closed as if he were preparing something. That was bad, but for now Royce knew with a backwards jump that he needed to focus on these three for he doubted the one he hit was out of this battle yet.
Ducking his head Royce dodged the first quick jab and he brought his skull upwards while the man's arm was still extended with a powerful jump from his legs connecting his skull to the man's elbow in a move that gave off a sickening snap that could be heard across the beach. He hadn't meant to hurt the man that bad and Royce recoiled in horror before the third man punched him square in the chest sending him flying into the ocean and skipping across the waves like a rock. These guys may have been slower than him but their strength was definitely on his level. With a growl at himself for daring to even let his guard down for once second the man quickly maneuvered around the waves in the shallow part. Luckily he hadn't been thrown too far and his pride hurt more than the strike. Now however he was without his shovel, but all remorse was gone as the sand pirate known as Royce passed judgement on the "fisherman". They were all guilty in his mind and now he could fight without worry, and he did so now as he sent the shovel flying towards the man he had first hit who was just getting up. It truly was just a distraction to the third man, the one who had hit him. The second was still standing although his arm slumped and it was bleeding through the sleeve. One more hit to the arm and that man wouldn't dare fight again.
The shovel clanged off the man's forehead with a dull thud and he slumped into the sands. Luckily he had been hit with the handle and not the spade, the third followed the shovel's movements and shouted a late wording and Royce used this distraction to pay the man back with the same attack he had given to the earlier distracted pirate. Royce's punch however sent the man even farther and may have broken his sternum.
"Stop this now, you're no match for me and you're only hurting yourselves" Royce said his voice smooth and without any labored breathing. He said this to the still standing men, the one with the broken arm and the one he had talked to earlier. Now all he had to do was wait for a reply.
"Grab your blade, I will not stop this fight before I get my chance" the man roared as suddenly the man he injured before handed a sheathed blade to Royce. The man looked at him in shock before taking the weapon and unsheathing it. Just in time it would seem as he brought it up to block the old man's downward chop. Royce looked up with shock as he felt his knees grind against each other. The man was wielding an axe thrice his size. How that was possible Royce didn't know but he suddenly gave way and rolled off to the left with a quick slash that drew first blood along the old man's left side of his torso. It was merely a flesh wound and something Royce doubted would stop or even slow down the man at all in fact if he had to guess he would guess the man wouldn't even feel the blood that trickled down his flank spilling it's dark crimson color from a pore just below his armpit.
The scent of iron was thick in the air not only from the blood and weapons but something else Royce gathered. It was so thick the desert pirate could taste it upon his lips and tongue it permeated his senses and irked him to no end. Not because of the mystery but because it distracted him as his opponent unloaded with slashes quicker than should have been impossible they came from awkward angles that no man holding that long a weapon could have done. Quickly blocking them and giving up land, Royce soon once again felt the water wash away the sand that had grown along his feet. The water washed along his feet and cooled down the blood that had become heated during this battle. But that wasn't what Royce noticed, he noticed that the weapon wasn't truly as large as it seemed it wasn't an axe either. Nay the whole thing was naught but an illusion designed for some reason that Royce was yet to discern. What he could tell from the attacks however was that it was an odd pole armed that was bladed. Only the lower one eight of the weapon was wooden and non-bladed thus only allowing a hand hold there. Which was why the elder man hadnt slid his hands up to gain more of an advantage when the blades clashed. Someone else may not have noticed this but for Royce who prided himself with attention to detail it was obvious as a sore thumb or a red flag waving in purgatory the red blossoming from the white nothingness. This was how out of place the style was and as such this gave Royce a slight advantage for he could play a trick on the man, once perhaps just once but knowing the desert rogue it would be enough.
Now the only decision left for Royce was to kill the man or not, surely he deserved it for attacking Royce for this pathetic reason, yet Royce was sure he killed one if not two of his companions for surely that explained the blood red sand near the man who lay perfectly still away from the battle, shovel still covering him like some make shift gravestone. The man whom he punched was still missing and judging by the time he would have had stumbled back by now but Royce always assumed people endured like himself. This was rarely if ever the case, however Royce was only focused on the battle as the waves crashed around them the sound of metal clanging on metal had long since blured into one continuous hum as their blades moved faster than most could watch. Quite frankly Royce was extremely surprised that he hadn't broke the cheap katana loaned to him by the broken armed man. It would happen soon if Royce would guess right and as such he needed his opening. Knowing that blades moved slower in water as was true with most surface things Royce had lured the fisherman deeper into the water and they were at about hip level when he struck under cover of the water. His right foot moved forward then backward in the blink of an eye and tore the water apart exposing the sand beneath for a moment which was when the old man looked down. Using this opportunity Royce stepped right into where the axe blade would have been and brought the pommel of the bent and battered sword upward in a violent strike that hit the man under the chin and knocked him upward violently into the air as if he were a duck taking flight off a pond. The blow was so powerful in fact that it hit the man back into the shallows, barely any water was there to break his fall.
"Are we done now? Are we finally done?" Royce yelled at the top of his lungs, through it all that was the most energy he had expelled this whole time. He huffed afterwards and climbed out of the sea, his cigarettes were ruined and that realization just reached him. Much like a fuse running up to a bomb, he no longer cared about these men and their fighting. He should not have been attacked in the first place, it was not his fault for his actions now he told himself. His eyes burst like a solar flare their color switched over from blue to a black with crimson flecks. They widened from their usual lazy half slitted appearance to a now wide eyed look. It was crazy along with the full teethed smile that now shown on his face. Letting loose a maniacal laugh he quickly rushed forward with his blade pointed downward before flicking it upward and throwing part of the sea towards the man who was now holding his elbow and trying to brace it. It was like a lion eyeing up his prey who was this time a mouse. There was nowhere for this mouse to run however no holes for it to crawl in and the lion knew exactly where it was, it would crush it now and here. Royce's patience had run dry and the pirate had snapped his mental state was now something else, it was not his and the eyes like some bloody sky seemed to devour everything they saw. Like a lion with two snakes for eyes in fact would be a better analogy for this demon who now used the man's body. The wave crashed into the man and hurled him over his companion's body. With a flash that body was now a corpse as Royce did a downward stab severing the man's spine in a crimson flush springing from the earthy body below. There was no cry of pain for the man had already been killed as obvious from the dent in his forehead where the skull caved in from the earlier attack. Royce would have pitied this but the demon which held his body cared not, as he brought the blade up and flung the corpse at the man who had been flung by the wave. They both went flying until they hit a tree with a snap. Turning with the speed of a bolt of lighting arcing across the sky Royce gave a laugh as the old man with the long pole arm struggled to get up. Before he could however in one slash the pirate buried his blade in both legs of the man. Mid thigh down into the bones and with a hard wrench he tore the handle loose from the blade which stuck in the legs and forced the man to flip over himself many times before landing back with a dull thud. The once pristine beach was now filled with the dark red blood from the men who had tested the pirate's strength. Whether or not they intended to kill him was irrelevant, and the demon waited a while before leaving the body of Royce as he waded back out in the water to get more smokes from his ship.
This was done as Suna was destroyed by an earthquake, leaving the jounin without a home. As the submarine delivered him to the barrens that he once called his home, the man would drop his head band in the rubble and begin his life as a wanderer.
Wed Dec 19, 2012 2:32 pm by 
Subject: Blackbird (Ivan Petrokov) 
