Post by SPARROW on Aug 20, 2015 0:21:21 GMT
INNOKENTIY ANIVITEUS
"Okay, seriously, who the fuck is Dr Dolittle?"
| manipulator | zoolinguist | twenty-NINE |
| male | straight |
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I USED TO TRUST THE MEDIA TO TELL ME THE TRUTH
PERSONALITY Ah, Innokentiy. His name was just as unusual as he; a notion you had uncovered through your estranged interview days prior that, needless to say, you never got published - in fact, you'd only wanted to talk to him after your incessant curiosity played up. On the outside, he very much appeared like just another obnoxious, indelicate, vulgar asshole... Well, in fact, perhaps that was true to an extent. On multiple occasions during the interview he'd proven himself to be a coarse, blunt instrument of a man, of whom had next to no manners and was brutally cynical, hardening to every sob story you could offer him under the sun. It didn't appear his callous, asocial nature was intention, though it certainly became apparent; he was inconsiderate, hostile, displayed insensitive disregard for others, even being slightly sanctimonious, making a show of being morally superior to most others. Disputatious, iconoclastic, and bearing no shame when it came to shunning religion or politics alike, he'd shown an incredibly hidebound and arbitrary demeanour, unwilling to change in the slightest based on tradition, convention. His irascible self, easily angered, put forth unpredictability, inconsistency. He wasn't... Exactly a people's person. He constantly seemed to have this... Painted veneer constructed in order to cloak the weaker, more delicate parts of his mind, of his memory. Spots that triggered when touched, flaring up at the slightest of disturbances. Tended to treat people more like dirt than anything. He also seemed to bear an odd affinity with animals - why you couldn't exactly decipher, nor how, though you were fascinated by his talk of body language, how animals often sought out the lead from the front or not at all idea; how he'd learned to adapt, so used to putting on an act, changing himself. Physically or mentally, it didn't matter. Pushing down his true emotions and placing on a mask; his mask was part of his control. He needed it to maintain order. That was before he seemed to trust you. It took a while for him to warm to you, certainly, though once he did, it opened a new perspective. No longer was he the mere brute you expected; the man bore multiple levels to his personality, many-sided. It was extremely clear by this point that he was a nonauthoritarian - there was no way in hell that he'd play by someone elses rules, and almost abused his freedom of speech in that unceremonious, succinct, blunt, outspoken manner of his. Opinionated? Certainly. He was... Moralistic, perhaps over fond of making moral judgements about others' behaviour. Overconfident and self-assured, his demeanour tended to focus more around being conciliatory, laid-back, relaxed. He was rather open, given the chance; genuine, spontaneous, and fairly honest when it came to your questions. Healthy doses of humour were also sometimes interjected into your conversation, maybe even playful looking back on it. Despite that aspect, he was oddly acute, intuitive and perceptive when it came to your reactions, barely needing you to question him to answer, seeming as if could read your body language like the back of his hand. Independent and dutiful, the faintly charismatic personality brought flair to the interview, though it would never make the print. Well... To be honest, you did briefly think that he was slightly charming-... In some obliviously odd, obnoxious kind of way. Like a handsome school kid, a boyish charm that he didn't even seem to realize he had. But then he insulted your heels. After that, you went back to assuming he was an asshole. | LIKES - eyes - storms - whisky - science - ethology - his motorcycle - various music - animals (obviously) DISLIKES - people (yes, i mean it) - dr dolittle - sophistication - distraction - hypocrisy - crowds - road trips - media induced hysteria - his own name (it's ridiculous and needlessly long, even he knows that) | APPEARANCE "Remind me why the hell I agreed to this?" The disinterested tone of the masculine vocals prompted you to roll your eyes, having grown accustomed to the semi-sarcastic, rhetorical grumble by now; he'd already attempted to shove countless obnoxious comments down your throat during the five minute journey here. But, you'd dealt with assholes before, and thus easily kept your composure. "Because, Mr-... Apologies, what was your name again?" The relatively brawny man slumped down in the singular chair within the room, carelessly announcing "Innokentiy," failing to give a last name and even neglecting to offer the seat to you - I mean, you were a woman; didn't this guy have any manners? Whatever. "Innokentiy," it doesn't exactly feel exotic on your tongue, more unusual, and you can't decide whether that's a good thing or not at the time, "you agreed to do this because you were seen publicly arguing with a pigeon, and-" His expression suddenly develops into one of defiance, "Not my fault he was a fucking asshole-" A pause; he seems to acknowledge the intrigue glimmering within your eyes, immediately mellowing, slouching back in his seat, as if he expected to be able to brush it off easily. "But, hey, you win some, you lose some." You decided to delve a little deeper; you'd already begun to encounter oddities within the city, and were immediately fascinated. "You say a mere avian was a-... A fucking asshole." You ignore the scoff from him, presumably at the formality laced within such a distastefully vulgar term. "How can that be? It's not as if it was insulting you. That's impossible." You keep an eye on his reaction; the sudden focus within his eyes, the faint twitch of a smile at the corner of his lip. He looks for a second like he's loosening up, relaxing slightly, trusting you a little more. Opening up. "I'd say otherwise." You tilt your head, studying his expression for all of a few seconds, before uncontrollably bursting into a fit of giggling upon realizing he was completely serious; after all, the notion was utterly ridiculous. He deadpanned throughout, merely observing you with a sudden disinterest, looking utterly bored with the situation at hand. "I-... I'm sorry, It's just..." You steadily grasp your composure once more, with a final, hushed chuckle. "It's somewhat ridiculous." Still, he gives no response, regarding you with a cold frown, light orbs having suddenly taking on a glacial nature that chills you to the bone. And he looks tense as ever, yet again. Apparently he was completely serious. Ah... Awkward. You clear your throat, as if that could somehow relieve the tension he seemingly conjured, shuffling the papers in your hands. "I'm not crazy." You blink up at him in surprise, his sudden interjection catching you off-guard. You stumble over your words and they gather behind your lower lip, and for a second you're unable to get them out, simply staring in shocked silence. It seemed to strike a nerve, for again, his voice grew slightly more intense, but oddly, it didn't raise, spoken through gritted teeth. "I know that look. I know I'm not a fucking saint, nobody in this damn town is. But every single fucking time, I get that patronizing look. Every. Time." His eyes glare into your own. He's off the chair now, tension visibly coiling within muscles hidden by his simple attire. "I'm not crazy, lady." You are left blinking in confusion, having not intended to provoke such a kind of reaction, though your job has left you with a horrible habit of pressing people. "What, so you expect me to believe you're some kind of bullshit Dr Dolittle relapse?" You expect another frustrated response, but his expression merely drops into confusion, head tilting "Why does everybody say that?" A pause to consider. "Who the fuck even is Dr Dolittle?" You resist the urge to faceplant. Who hasn't heard of Dr Dolittle? Did this guy ever watch movies? Jesus. You sit there, considering a way to completely dismiss the topic. "So-... I-... Let's just... Move on with the... Uhm... Interview, shall we?" You quickly continue, regardless of his reaction, deciding not back to delve into the same topic. "Just... Give us a physical description of some form." "What? Huh, must be blind." He looks at you with faint bemusement, before beginning to twist his muscular body around before you, as if trying to get a good look at himself - it's obviously to mock your request, but you can't help but giggle at it. By some miracle he doesn't trip himself, slumping back into the provided chair with that same, half-twitch of a smile that you long to see more often, long to see fuller. "You've got gorgeous eyes, angel - it's a shame you don't seem to use 'em." You can't tell whether or not that was a complement, but it didn't seem as if he even noticed he'd said it. It wasn't like when the guys at work tried to pick up co-workers with that god awful cocky smirk. It intrigued you. "Hang on, did you just call me angel?" You couldn't help but ask. "If I did?" Just as casual as ever, it seemed. "I don't like it." You grin, challenging him, seeing just how he'd react. But all you got was a shrug. "Then it stays, angel." Your eyes roll, but, hell, you don't really mind what he calls you. "Anyway, use those eyes of yours." You do as he says, given how stubborn you know men can be, beginning to silently study the man with a keen eye. Unfortunately for him he looked more like an innocent man on America's terror watch-list rather than a gallant viking possessing all the benefits of modernity. More akin to a villain in a western fairy tale with his seemingly intentional, semi-unruly hairstyle and faint scruff of hair that wasn't quite short enough to be stubble and not nearly long enough to be considered a beard - you could barely even decipher it's colour between copper and sand. You squint to the side towards him for a second and he catches your gaze almost immediately; his lightly toned irises were comfortable enough to hold your stare indefinitely, the tone of feminist preferred oceanic turquoise, which for them was akin to a physical demarcation of emotional sensitivity. They certainly bore that captivating shade, and they were somewhat soulful; they seemed to say things that he'd likely never say out loud. His expression grew into one of confusion, and you quickly realized you'd been staring into those eyes for a little too long, dropping them away from his gaze to assess his other features. His casual attire seems nothing special; the dark brown leather of his vest partially cloaks the simple blue shirt beneath - there isn't enough distinctive detail for you to guess exactly what make it was. Typical brown pants, nothing special. The boots, however, bore enough detail that you decide they appear something similar to timberland earthkeeper boots. Something within you told the body beneath was drool worthy... That wasn't exactly an unpleasant thing to think about. But, wanting to retain your expected formal demeanour, and not exactly willing to put your job on the line just for some... Pleasantly looking guy, you choose to continue with the interview instead. |
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BUT NOW I'VE SEEN THE PAY-OFFS EVERYWHERE I LOOK
HISTORY
"What about your past life?" His humorous nature abruptly plummets upon the sudden question, his lightly coloured eyes piercing through your own gaze yet again - it never fails to send a tremor down your spine. Yet, with his former statement on the meaning behind the iris in mind, you study their depths in silence for the second or two he's staring at you - you see reluctance, you see uncertainty... You see fear. It's certainly there, that fright, hidden beneath the layers of glacial beryl constructing those sharp orbs. He's clearly guarded about the whole thing. "Uh... Listen just-... Just sit down. Um... Okay. I'll tell you about it - my life, and the strange things I've seen, but you gotta understand that my actions, in the end, absolutely had their reasons, alright?" You subconsciously try to avoid showing any signs of the faint trepidation rising within you, the result of his sudden change of demeanour, nodding in acceptance of his terms. "Uh, okay... I was born to a single mother, who had the gift too - she, uh... Was only sixteen around the time I was born-... You... Can tell by the age she wasn't exactly ready to be a mom." He glances up at you, as if inquiring whether or not to continue. He looks oddly vulnerable, which contrasts sharply with the previous man you were interviewing. "Apparently my dad, a shifter of some sort according to my mom, was even less ready, because his parents ended up sending him to a boarding school, so uh... He wouldn't end up being responsible for me, or my mom. We were mostly supported by her parents, but, otherwise we were completely alone, sorta cut adrift from the world. I happened to start discovering my little... Gift... When I was about five years old. See, my grandmother had recently died, and I hadn't seen her very often, so it didn't hit me all that hard-... But you must understand how confused I was when I walked into the viewing room of the funeral parlour and saw her two cats sitting on a chair next to her casket. Sounds stupid saying it out loud, I know, but they were just... Sitting there. At that point I'd already grasped the idea that animals were supposed to have languages of their own - but, approaching them, it seemed different. I went up to my mother and asked her about the roses in Italy as the two felines had instructed, apparently sourced from my Grandmother herself. To this day I still don't know what that meant-... But... It was something important enough to make my mother fall to her knees. She held me and... That was the only time that I... Truly felt like she loved me-..."
He shuffles uncomfortably, clearing his throat, the memory evidently a sensitive one. Acting instinctively, you reach out towards his shoulder blade, though somehow it doesn't surprise you that he shifts just out of reach, staring at you with a furrowed brow, confusion evident. A awkward moment or two passed before he shook his head and proceeded. "Uh... Sorry um... Okay. As I grew, my gift became a little more apparent - I'd hear voices and such that I wasn't supposed to hear in every day situations and scenes. Sometimes different creatures would even notice me and try to follow me home, seemingly aware of the ability. I never really minded... They never really imposed, or... Or tried to harm me. They just... Wanted company until they figured out where to go next, or they found someone more interesting to follow around. I'd talk about it as if it were normal and my mother never really put herself forward to stop me doing that, but... She still kinda acted embarrassed when I did it around other people, especially her friends. Nobody... Ever really took it seriously. Not like mom did. Honestly, I think she feared me for a while." He paused with a huff; you detected faint frustration within it, watching him roll his shoulder blades in a shrug.
"When I was about eight, things... Changed. And it was all due to mom meeting a man named Mike. He was lanky, talked too loud, quite frankly smelt like shit, some sort of shifter I think, but he had a more stable job than mom did so... She fell right into his lap. He wasn't horrible at first, just kinda greedy. My mom told him about my gift and... He came up with this master plan to use me as a pay pig, post my name up in the phone book as the world's youngest psychic. God knows where he got that from - talking to animals and talking to ghosts aren't exactly the same thing, are they?" You got a glimpse of that incredibly brief, subtle smile again. It seemed to be rare in any situation at this point, let alone one so dire. Regardless, you allowed one to tug at your own lips, sensing him acknowledge it with a sideways glance, before continuing. "So, that's how I learned to scam people when I was just beginning to learn multiplication. The fake little art was fun at first, when it wasn't the same old 'tell my mom I love her' bullshit. Any time during the day unoccupied by the odd job the man had given me was spent discovering the true lengths of my own gift, rather than the hoax he'd designed. It went far beyond the neighbourhood cats - even some from the zoo chose to listen to me, to talk to me."
"I-... I uh... I'm gonna get a little personal here, um... I... I think I started resenting my... My mom when I was sixteen. I'd... Gotten tired of that little fake job her boyfriend had invented for me. The kids at school would call me a freak - whether that was behind the hoax of ghost chitchat or... Of my real debates to the occasional bird or squirrel that would wander onto school ground, I don't know. Maybe a mixture of both, whatever. By this point... Mike had started to drink away all the money that people had paid me to tell them their grandmother loved them or... Their child was in a better place. He became violent. Angry. He... He hit my mom, and she just... Took it, for a while. Then she started to blame me. She-... She even said this, okay... 'If you would've never started talking to fucking Casper, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation,' and completely ignoring the fact that he, her boyfriend, was the reason that whole thing was invented, not me." For the first time in the interview, he evidently raises his voice; it's intimidating by all accounts, punctuated by a low growl in the back of his throat, and a faint scowl plastered upon his lips. "Not long after that he stopped hitting her... And started hitting me. Then-... Then she did too..." His vocals trembled briefly, though whether that was from anger or fear, you couldn't tell. A sigh rattled from his chest. "Only-... Only months later, I, uh... I started seeing Hunters roaming around..." He seemed to immediately notice your confusion regarding the term. "They're... Twisted people," was all the explanation he gave. "Whenever my parents were around, they-... Anyway, I-... I didn't say anything about it, though, just allowing them to score me to jobs, or whatever the hell they wanted me to do. At first, the Hunters would stay far away. I'd see 'em outside the window, across the street, whatever... They-... They crept closer as time went on, though. Slowly... Very, very slowly. The whole... Fear aspect was kinda being outweighed by the curiosity, though. I became a little more startled when the Hunters stood at the windows when my parents were out - I didn't hide from them, but they were always watching. Just standing there. I knew they could see me but... They disregarded me - I doubt they knew about my little... Gift. I mean, I-... I'd stopped publicly using it, since it... It just wasn't normal. I said nothing the day I watched a Hunter weave his way in through the back door and venture upstairs into my parent's room. I thought about telling them. Calling up the police or something to assist in getting rid of the Hunters that were readying an assault on my sad excuse for a family, y'know, just get 'em all away from 'em..." That last line sounds a little more light-hearted than it should have been, which you find somewhat disturbing, but continue to watch him with wide eyes.
"But... Then I thought about finally being... Alone. Never having to do jobs that they told me to do. Never being subjected to a drunken lecture about my responsibility to support my family. Never explaining my bruises to the teachers-..." He trailed abruptly into silence, pain radiated through the final few words, and for a second you're sure you see wetness glittering within his eyes, accenting those light irises. His throat looks tight, the way he's constantly swallowing, as if trying to dispel a lump within it. Plucking up the faintest ounce of courage, you raise your hand again; this time he allows your fingertips to brush over his shoulder blade, and even there you're sure you can feel the faint lifted skin of his scourge marks. Given a moment or two, he jerks fully away from you, and up onto his feet, moving swiftly towards the door. "Wait-!" You cry quickly, instinctively, the man having intrigued you to a tantalizing point of no return. He pauses in the open doorway, though not glancing back."Please... What happened to them after that?" He turns, now, the amused expression he bears mocks your curiosity, though within his eyes lies a touchy despondency, "I didn't tell 'em." This time, it wasn't merely a subtle, half, fraction of a smile - the type he usually gave - no, this time, there was a full, sadistic smirk on his face. You'd have liked to believe that it was his instinct to mask his feelings kicking in again, the behaviour he'd often developed for the sake of his animals, but there was something far too... Genuine about his expression. Like he savoured it. "I just sat back... And enjoyed the show." A long moment of silence passed between the two of you. "Oh, and by the way, those heels are fucking ridiculous."
Asshole.
extra info
Inno currently owns two pets;
- Laikin, a six year old common genet male. reference.
- Sevn, a one month old pine marten male. reference.
He's also been accused of ripping off Dr Dolittle so many times that he's learned to resent the guy, despite not knowing who or what he is. Seriously, don't call him Dr Dolittle. I mean it.
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WHO DO YOU TRUST WHEN EVERYONE'S A CROOK?
played by sparrow previous character: @naujiccakavexis link to purchasing account: SPARROW |
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chris pratt as innokentiy aniviteus
deltra of gangnam style
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