brutuskorov

[brutuskorov]

au. modern hollywood setting. 0742. april 2nd. hotel emilia poolside. ft. @gertrudezhang

Boris doesn’t go to the gym very often -- he’s not a star who requires specific training to attain certain appearances, but he does like the physical activity. He’s not sure exactly why he chose to deviate from routine on this particular day, but as more familiar faces crowded the streets, he found himself preferring the relative quiet of the Hotel Emilia rooftop pool. Besides, 7 AM was too early for most celebrities and so he had the roof to himself when he arrived. 

It was a bit chilly in the morning, but slow laps had warmed him up plenty. The sun had risen nearly an hour before, and though he’d put on sunscreen, Boris knew that his dark skin had likely tanned further, lines only evident when he toyed with the waistband of his swim trunks. He’s just pulling himself out of the pool, rivulets of water following the cut of his torso down, when he notices a familiar face approaching. 

Standing and reaching for his pool towel, he slings it around his neck, casually drying his neatly bound hair. The grin on his face is more predatory than friendly but that has always been the case around the gorgeous Genevieve Zhang. With cheekbones sharp enough to cut a man and hair that was somehow prettier than his, he always found himself trying to measure up around her. “Morning,” he says when she’s close enough to hear. “Are you here for the hot tub?” Fingers deftly pull at his hair tie, unwinding the thick braid. “If you’d like company, I’m happy to join you.” 

#diveronastarter #[ ch. gertrude ] #[ au. modern hollywood ]

[brutuskorov]

c.

「 @brutuskorov 」

        Odessa’s voice has yet to leave her head, despite her hardest efforts to knock it out. All her coy talk about finding someone else’s hotel to spend the evening in and living vicariously through her and not walking straight. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. This week wasn’t about play or about pleasure, it was about work. And there was more than her fair share of it to do. She knows the mere thought, if voiced aloud, would be met with a swift eye roll from her starlet of a best friend, who scolds her more than often about her lack of work-life balance. But if Calina was honest, she didn’t want to hear it. Some people didn’t have familial legacies and powerful names to wave like a gilded key card, granting them access wherever they chose – so she made herself irreplaceable, made sure everyone knew that they wouldn’t find anyone that knew public relations the way she did. 

The pre-gala party ( one of many that night alone, mind you ) was well underway, Calina had ticked off her list of potential clients to cozy herself up to as well as being sure to have a few photo moments with some of her current clients and team, decorating them with geo-tags for her story. It was important that everyone knew the Montagues were present and accounted for no matter the venue. 

She’s three vodka martinis in when she hears Odessa’s voice. She hears it again when she slides her phone from her clutch and one last time when she hits send, teeth worrying her bottom lip. Let me live vicariously through you.

        [ to BORIS K: what are you up to tonight?? ] 

It’s shameless the way she drops the pin of the party’s location. But he’d come – of that much, she is certain.

[ to CS: visiting you apparently ] [ to CS: gala week getting to you? ]

The last text is sent with something akin to sympathy but where Boris does not care for the socializing, Calina has likely been working far too hard. He’d been like that when he first started working under the Montagues but time has tempered his dedication into something more conniving. In any case, her text is as good an excuse as any to dip out from his own pre-gala party (attendance mandatory courtesy of a rather insistent email from PR as it happened). He’s not very far from her, but he does call for his car to pick them up from Cal’s party.

 It’s not hard to spot her in the crowd, or maybe they’ve become familiar enough that it gets easier and easier to find her. She’s stunning, of course, and Boris thinks he can be forgiven for believing she was a model the first time they met. It was her eyes that caught him first, cat-like and wide, expertly lined in black. There was a puzzle in them he wanted to solve. Her lengthy legs and the dip of her clavicles had also helped reel him in, with a horrific line about producing music. 

There’s a fondness in his gaze as he draws closer; he’s a few inches taller than her when she doesn’t wear heels, and the lines of his blue suit seem to emphasize how broad his shoulders are. “Calina,” Boris greets. His voice is low, husky, as he places one wide palm on the small of her back. “Beautiful, as always.” Dark eyes rake her up and down shamelessly, lips pulling into an amused smirk. “Are we staying here much longer?” He leans in close, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume. His voice is a whisper against her hear. “I have the car ready whenever you’d like to leave.”

#[ ch. cleopatra ] #[ au. modern hollywood ]

[brutuskorov]

h.

who: @brutuskorov what: modern hollywood when: march 29, 2019. 12:00 pm. where: phoenix and the turtle cafe

one would thnk, now that the scripts were out and filming was beginning, that hector’s job would get a little easier. but on the contrary, it had only just begun. henry often let him make revisions to his script after rehearsals and going into filming, and this was the last time he would get to edit before everything was more or less set in stone. it made him anxious, still, how many people relied on him, and while normally he would go to henry with these thoughts, he knew he was just as busy as he was. and so, he called on his friend. leaving henry to worry about things other than him, while he made sure that his part of the movie was handled just right. 

he sat opposite of boris, furrow of his brow creasing the gentle skin between his eyebrows, jaw clenched as he read the same page for the tenth time. no matter how much he analyzed it, he couldn’t seem to figure out just what was wrong with it. it didn’t click, and he didn’t care that other people said it did. he threw the script down on the table in front of them, then stretched his back out over the back of the chair, looking at his friend with a tired and overwhelmed expression. “what do you do? when nothing connects in your head?”

Sometimes, Boris rues working for Italians -- he doesn’t care for Verona, much preferring the stupidly bright L.A. sunshine. Life felt more saturated and vivid there; Verona felt the opposite. The city was dreamlike, slower paced, and pretty. It was well suited for vacations, but Boris never did learn what to do with his idle time. At least his morning runs were more picturesque since he flew in on the 28th (a hair earlier than everyone else, but it did mean he had better pick of hotel rooms). As his colleagues trickled in, he extended an invitation to Hector. The scriptwriter had a way with words and never seemed to mind when absent thoughts of his showed up in Boris’ songs.

what do you do? when nothing connects in your head?

Even those words bring forth to his mind a low croon, something the new boy, Bellamy, might have been able to pull off. He was certainly pretty enough to get away with the kind of lost boy drivel Boris so frequently had to produce. He doesn’t respond to Hector, simply making a note on a new page in his notebook, ink pen scratching the paper in neat letters. He couldn’t stand margin notes -- Boris liked the empty space of his pages. Slowly, he places his pen down and leans back in his seat, stretching his arms out above him. Fame appealed to him, but he couldn’t deny that being a writer allowed him far more privacy. Dark eyes focusing on his companion, he offers a wry grin.

“I usually take you out for lunch when that happens.” A beat passes. “Inspiration can come from many places, even yourself. Editing best comes from others.”

#[ ch. horatio ] #[ au. modern hollywood ]

[brutuskorov]

🕊️ | 03.31.19 | b + t

@bkorov: morning run thoughts -- it's trite to throw shade on insta.

#diveronastarter #[ au. modern hollywood ] #[ ch. tiberius ] #// let the subtweets begin

[brutuskorov]

OVERVIEW

Boris was born in Russia though he remembers very little. His father passed when he was young (alcohol overdose), so his mother took him & his older sister Talia back to Alaska to be with family.

The cold emptiness of his hometown makes his skin itch and the only way he knows how to deal with it is to run. He runs in the morning, in the evening when he returns from school, at night before bed. He runs so much he ends up with an athletic scholarship to the University of Southern California.

He studies English & Literature and visits home with less and less frequency as the years go on. He doesn’t tell them when he drops out one semester before graduation. 

The heat of California makes his blood sing. He works as a bartender to cover his bills, but all his spare time goes to writing music. He sings at open mic nights, voice low & husky and pursues agents with a doggedness that is reminiscent of his father.

He pursues Montague Media and they accept his words but not his voice. At first, this is enough. At first, he is content. But as others gain fame for his words it begins to chafe.

If they can take his words and shine, why can’t he do the same to someone else?

CONNECTIONS

THE COLLEAGUE (Hector Zhang) – They get coffee together fairly frequently, and if some of Hector’s ideas wind up in Boris’ songs...well they’re under the same management so does it really matter?

THE FRIEND (open) – You aren’t upset about the rumors around Boris, just disappointed. You likely knew him early on and know he’s better than this. Still, the two of you enjoy spending time together and are very judgy of everyone else

THE FEUD (Tiberius Capulet) – In Boris’ defense, Tiberius started it. And really, if he didn’t want Boris to “take inspiration,” then he shouldn’t have been sharing his in progress work on Instagram Live so easily.

THE EVOCATIVE (Hugo Kim) – Documentaries are boring, this is a fact. Then how come Boris finds himself watching Hugo’s films at 3 am and donating money to causes he doesn’t care about? 

THE PARTY (open) – Boris Korov doesn’t attend parties if he can help it, only showing up when his presence is absolutely mandatory. You like to drag him out to clubs and parties anyway, because drunk Boris is hilarious.

THE BOOTY CALL (Calina Sokolova) – They meet at an event she’s put on. He assumes she’s a model. They drink, they dance, they flirt (but they don’t hook up until months later) -- it’s not until she’s pushing an assistant towards him with instructions to make him social media accounts that he even realizes they work together.

#[ about ] #[ au. modern hollywood ]

[brutuskorov]

g.

Genevieve finds his amusement to be contagious, something subtle in the manner that it bypasses the defences of her stoic expression, unaware of just how much until the corner of her mouth twists upward in response. “Imagine that, you and I having something in common.” The surprise underpinning her tone is artificial - knowing that both were far from kindred spirits, the only red string that connected them being that which bore the Montague name - born from his reluctant acknowledgement of a potential connection between them.

Memory is more often a curse than a blessing, and while Boris had embraced his past - wearing it upon his sleeve, for jackdaws to peck at - she could not utter the same for herself. Genevieve was one of the few who had found a way to cast off the shackles of her old life, having abandoned any remnants of the woman she had been in order to allow herself to become who she was now - after all, a phoenix must die before it can be reborn from the ashes.

“Bored,” the repetition highlights how foreign the feeling is to her, something that she had not experienced for a long time, and her attempt to understand it. “I thought it would take more to bore a man like you.” One brow arches, a deep breath chases her admittance like the underlying meaning to her words chases the slight hint of disappointment, as her gaze settles on his once more. “We haven’t started yet,” she tells him, her own way of highlighting the fact that although they may be ‘running errands’ that they hadn’t started yet. 

“Would you accept their offer to supply to us?” Delicate fingers reach outward, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of his jacket, imbuing her exterior appearance with a casual air unbefitting of the words that tumbled from her lips, allowing hushed tones to be heard. Neither of them had heard Sofia speak just yet, though she preferred to preempt a conclusion for the sake of being efficient. It was perhaps as direct as she had been with him to date (never mind that evening) and, although her gesture of goodwill might not extend beyond the four walls of the small pub, for now, she trusts his judgement.

Boris doesn’t smile back at the Zhang woman -- it’s starting to click for him, that studying her isn’t a one-way mirror. He can’t tell if she’s laying a trap for him intentionally. Or even maliciously. But there is a dangerous comfort to her smile, a sweet honey bait that he knows men could easily fall for. His father would have taken her words as invitation to find more things they had in common, to flirt another smile out of her just to feel that warm contentment of making someone so beautiful happy. But Boris is not his father, and just as sudden his amusement arrived, it passed, features etching themselves into something flat.

“Assumptions, assumptions.” His voice is too matter-of-fact for his words to seem playful. “Having something in common is entirely different from knowing someone.” Boris speaks in postulates, never explaining further because such things don’t need to be proved. They are inherently true -- having something in common with Gertrude has given him an in, but the hunt had only just begun. As Genevieve had said herself, We haven’t started yet. And though, he falls back into silence as is his habit, there’s an electricity in the air, a spark that seems to carry a temptation he hopes she will indulge. We don’t know each other...yet. Shall we? 

She moves closer, and he stops breathing -- he hadn’t anticipated this so soon, and yet it makes complete sense. Genevieve is a self-possessed woman. She moves with the ease and elegance of a queen, the kind that was loved rather than feared. Though Brutus suspects that only fools did not fear the Montague underboss. He mulls over her question, eyes planted on the spot where her fingers brushed his shoulder before the dusts off the imaginary lint himself. “Yes.” Boris doesn’t elaborate further, simply tilting his chin up to face her.  He manages to sound respectful and polite. His voice is even and his eyes... they were already the bitter black of coffee. 

 “But we both know it’s not my decision to make, capodecina.”

#[ ch. gertrude ] #[ sc. la purga pt. ii ] #// little short sorry!!!

[brutuskorov]

m.

The missions had begun to blur some time ago. If there had been a moment their stomach churned at the thought of what was to be done during them it had long since passed. In fact, despite the negative impact it had on the mob’s connections, Marcelo much preferred what had to be done today in comparison to suffering through the drawl of explanation had the dealer not been skimming. There was a certain satisfaction in ridding the world of such dangerous dishonesty. Marcelo’s loyalty overwhelmed them at times, more so in the face of those that had little, and today had been no exception. 

Having already scrubbed clean the remnants of that loyalty, they resided now at the bar top, fingers tapping idly as they waited on their drinks. Brutus had proven far easier to work with than some they had been pained to team up with in the past. The mission had been relatively painless with no frustrating complications in the midst of what had turned out to be a fairly quick disposal of the Montagues’ problem. They sense Brutus behind them before his voice announces his arrival, the question eliciting little more than a hum and a nod in response as they watch the bartender pull bottles from the shelf. 

A long moment passes before their drinks are placed on the counter and Marcelo reaches for theirs without hesitation. With their lips pressed to the rim of the glass their eyes flicker toward Brutus at the sudden compliment, lowering their drink in preparation to respond before the slap of his second comment strikes the words from their mouth. When you’re not high off your fucking mind. With an affronted scowl Marcelo turns in their seat, glass connecting with the bar top loudly as their brows pinch in confusion at his accusation, “what the fuck are you talking about?” Their mind whirrs, flipping through missions and meetings, all of which they had been entirely sober for. Though it wasn’t always generally the case, Marcelo would never be so foolish as to complete their duties under any influence. It would be a suicide mission to navigate what they were expected to with sluggish fingers and a foggy mind. “I’m never high off my fucking mind,” they snap, lowering the volume of their words despite the urge to raise it.  

There’s a sense of fanaticism that surrounds Mercutio’s work -- such unbridled loyalty reminds Boris very much of his father...and to a lesser degree these days, himself. It’s a testament to how much time has passed since Vadim Korov’s death that his jaw doesn’t automatically set, frowning at nothing. There’s nothing but an even blankness to his expression as he observes his colleague. Vadim Korov’s loyalty had killed him. Boris’ loyalty had destroyed him. Brutus suspected that Marcelo’s loyalty would do something similar. 

At the very least, it’d be interesting to see when it would lead them into his cross hairs.

He takes a long pull from his drink, not bothering to respond to Marcelo just yet -- that was how he operated, after all. He spoke slowly not because he was dull, but simply because he liked to think through what he wanted to say and how much he should actually say aloud. The night in question is somewhat murky for him, details blurring together like a clumsily smudged pastel painting. What’s stark in his memory, however, is the image of Mercutio attacking Cosimo’s darling daughter. 

In retrospect, it wouldn’t have hurt to leave the girl to the drugged soldier...but nor would it have gained him anything. Cosimo would have made bigger moves perhaps, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing Damiano wouldn’t have been able to prepare for. No, Brutus wants to savor every morsel he tears from the Montague carcass -- an all out war would have deprived him the pleasure of beating Damiano at his own game. As he sets his bottle back down on the counter, he fixes Marcelo with a stony stare. “That’s objectively false. You were high off your fucking mind.” Boris flashes his teeth then, something that resembled a grin. “But now that you mention it, it might not have been intentional that night.”

#[ ch. mercutio ] #[ sc. la purga pt. ii ]

[brutuskorov]

g.

Capo Bastone, though a seeming simple title, had come with a host of new responsibilities that were keen to settle upon her shoulders, allowing her to bear their weight with neither hesitance or regret. The intricacies of the Montague operation had been known to her before her promotion, though not to this extent, being involved in these kind of meetings were not foreign waters - as CFO she had chaired her fair share of them - but merely uncharted territory for an experienced captain. Genevieve could admire women who attempted to climb the corporate ladder, after all she had started with nothing too, though the type of meeting which could have easily been an email had never been something she could find much importance in.

Brutus accompanied her, under Damiano’s request, and although their interaction until now was limited, she was confident in her conclusion that he was competent - it was sufficient for now. You look uncomfortable. He draws her attention from the young Sofia Weber, coaxing her focus to him as she listens. “Do I?” The woman retaliates, usually the player in the game of chess - anticipating three moves ahead, he had pulled her into the point of view of a pawn. She isn’t, she would just rather get on with it than exchange pleasantries, though can’t help but wonder what would cause him to think such. I’m sure you’re used to better. Raven curtain falls over one shoulder as she cants her head, brows arching upward a prelude to the gentle curvature of her mouth once they fall. “I’ve had worse actually,” she admits, a subtle insight into her past - so subtle in fact, that peeling the layers back far enough would be almost impossible, an eternity to figure out.

Fingers clasp together in front of her, elbows resting against the wooden curvatures of the arm rests, leaning backward in her chair. “Are you?” She asks, “Uncomfortable,” before elaborating. Are you projecting? whispered the slight narrowing of the corners of her gaze. “I’m sure we won’t be here too long.” It is more for her own benefit than his, favouring efficiency over pleasantries, smiling in gratitude as water was placed before her by a waiter, places such as this often endeavouring to look after their back-room clients.

Her hair is a waterfall, and he thinks if he reaches through he’ll find the cavern that is her mind, hiding away thoughts and opinions like small treasures. He wonders if her deceased husband found her difficult to love, whether it was in her nature to open up to her loved ones. Genevieve was no rose reaching for sunlight, he suspected. She was a moonflower, only unfurling her petals in the dark. And so it only makes sense that in the dim backroom, she graced him with one little detail about her life.

I’ve had worse.

Wasn’t that interesting? He can’t help the sudden keenness in his eyes, that tell-tale gleam of intrigue. Brutus only fit into the sort of high class crowds the Montague business kept forcing upon him through his stoic silence; an expression of boredom that was easy to read as self-superiority. But the Zhang woman thrived in those settings. “Worse than this?” he echoes, before huffing an amused snort. “Perhaps we have something in common.” He wears his past openly as armor -- it was no secret that his father died in service to Damiano, that he’d left in anger and returned angrier. 

It’s difficult to call him traitor when his only response was a brusque, And?

He leans back in his seat, stretching his arms out before resting them in his lap. “Not uncomfortable,” he answers. This is true -- it’s the fancy parties and galas that make his skin itch. As the waiter enters, his gaze travels about the room in that familiar old habit of strategic assessment. Not for the first time since he’d entered the space, Brutus noted exits and windows and potential improvised weapons and the thickness of the wooden table (enough to serve as shield against bullets). “More...bored.” Dark eyes flick back to hers in sharp. whip-like motion. There they remain as he takes a sip from his water. “I don’t enjoy running errands.” And really, wasn’t that what they were doing?

#[ ch. gertrude ] #[ sc. la purga pt. ii ]

[brutuskorov]

betrayal never comes from the enemy...

(a character analysis)

basic information

FULL NAME: boris korov PRONUNCIATION: BO-ris KO-rov MEANING: boris - fight, fighter. REASONING: his father named him long before he was born. boris, fighter, if he was a boy. sezia, protector, if he’d been born a girl. for his father, his child (regardless of gender) was to be his legacy -- he meant for the name ‘korov’ to mean something. boris is not as ambitious as his father; he’s more of a follower than a leader, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t follow his father’s words. (it is lesser known that is mother called him borya, little snatches of affection he holds close to his chest.)  NICKNAME(S): brutus, borya PREFERRED NAME(S): brutus BIRTH DATE: december 23rd AGE: 33 ZODIAC: capricorn GENDER: male PRONOUNS: he/him/his ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual (while boris has experienced attraction towards multiple genders, he only ever acts on it with women) NATIONALITY: russian ETHNICITY: alaskan native; kuyokan-athabascan CURRENT LOCATION: verona, italy LIVING CONDITIONS: simple & stark, though he has the means for a more luxurious life. TITLE(S): emissary

background

BIRTH PLACE: yekatrinburg, russia HOMETOWN: verona, italy (since he was a teen) SOCIAL CLASS: boris was born poor. his father earned well enough through his criminal dealings, but spent it just as quickly -- he was a man who enjoyed life and didn’t believe in the notion of saving. boris himself made his way up  EDUCATION LEVEL: boris’ education is haphazard and all over the place due to the instability of his father’s career. he completed his 12th year in italy, but went back to russia to spend some time in the conscripted army. boris didn’t return to school for a while, focusing more on mafia activities. he did return to school and started a degree in strategic management when he left verona, but dropped the program when he returned to the Montagues. FATHER: vadim korov MOTHER: juniper korov née locklear SIBLING(S): talia korov (deceased before boris’ birth) BIRTH ORDER: i. talia -- ii. boris CHILDREN: n/a PET(S): a moroccoan uromastyx named ‘lizard’ OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: cousin -- ava locklear (located in america); niece -- sonya locklear (located in america) PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: n/a ARRESTS?: a couple times for teenage stupidity, but his connections to the mafia meant he always got off PRISON TIME?: n/a

occupation & income

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: private military contractor through almaz-antey SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: montague emissary TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: n/a APPROXIMATE AMOUNT PER YEAR: appx.  € 180,000 / year CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: boris knows he didn’t earn his job -- he was placed there with the intention of smoothing the way for montague goals. he’s specifically assigned to various pharmaceutical and drug companies where he intentionally suggests security plans that leave room for the montagues to take their share. it also allows him to play the part of a bodyguard when necessary. the job satisfies the hum under his skin that demands action but it isn’t exactly his passion.   PAST JOB(S): montague soldier SPENDING HABITS: he doesn’t really spend money beyond essentials. of course, at this point, essentials includes paying off contracted killers, bribing government officials, etc. picking apart a mafia empire isn’t cheap, but he doesn’t really spend money on himself. he’s not thrifty but his income to expenditure ratio means he ends up having plenty in his bank account. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: tucked in a cabinet by his flat’s front door is a getaway bag -- it contains burner phones, travel documents, everything he could need to run again.

skills & abilities

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: 8/10 OFFENSE: 7/10 DEFENSE: 7/10 SPEED: 7/10 INTELLIGENCE: 8/10 ACCURACY: 9/10 AGILITY: 6/10 STAMINA: 9/10 TEAMWORK: 5/10 TALENTS: tactics & strategy, far-sighted, detailed SHORTCOMINGS: disloyal, selfish, detached LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: russian (fluent), italian (fluent, but accented), english (passable) DRIVE?: yes JUMP-STAR A CAR?: yes CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: yes RIDE A BICYCLE?: yes SWIM?: no PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: no PLAY CHESS?: yes BRAID HAIR?: yes TIE A TIE?: no PICK A LOCK?: yes

physical appearance & characteristics

FACE CLAIM: martin sensmeier EYE COLOR: dark brown HAIR COLOR: black HAIR TYPE/STYLE: usually short -- he wore it in a buzzcut during his brief stint in military GLASSES/CONTACTS?: n/a DOMINANT HAND: right HEIGHT: 6′1″ WEIGHT: 75 kg BUILD: tall, solid -- not buff, but not lean either EXERCISE HABITS: he’s very regimented in his exercise -- runs early every morning, weight trains every other day, practices hand to hand fairly frequently. he likes moving in any form. SKIN TONE: dark brown with warm, coppery undertones  TATTOOS: though he’s often contemplated getting one, he hasn’t found a design he’d like to commit to PEIRCINGS: none MARKS/SCARS: a scar on his leg from jumping a barbed wire fence, a bullet scar on his shoulder, a couple others here and there he doesn’t even remember getting -- he fought too often to remember every scar NOTABLE FEATURES: high cheek bones and full lips; his gaze is very flat USUAL EXPRESSION: stoic, veering towards a scowl  CLOTHING STYLE: he gets cold easily, so he wears jackets well into summer. he prefers neutral tones. dark jeans, beige turtleneck and an army jacket is a very typical basic outfit that he’ll wear anywhere. JEWELRY: n/a. ALLERGIES: peanuts BODY TEMPERATURE: normal DIET: his diet is unhealthy in that he very rarely cooks for himself, but he does eat a variety of food and prefers high protein diets. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: n/a

psychology

JUNG TYPE: ISTJ JUNG SUBTYPE: Type A ENNEAGRAM TYPE: type 8 – the challenger MORAL ALIGNMENT: true neutral TEMPERAMENT: choleric ELEMENT: earth PRIMARY INTELLIGENCE TYPE: kinesthetic/spatial APPROXIMATE IQ: 110 MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: n/a SOCIABILITY: introvert EMOTIONAL STABILITY: stable, his mood does not shift easily OBSESSION(S): damiano montague COMPULSION(S): he’s very particular about the state of things in his home. he likes it clean and neat. PHOBIA(S): n/a ADDICTION(S): he knows his father had a problem with gambling so he avoids it DRUG USE: he prefers alcohol to drugs ALCOHOL USE: he drinks to unwind, sticking to beers mostly. at parties he’ll go for dark liquors but he doesn’t particularly care for booze. PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: ha. yes. but he’s tempered his instincts well.

mannerisms

SPEECH STYLE: when he speaks, it is short and concise, never more than necessary. he will answer questions at face value and doesn’t elaborate unless asked. He takes lots of pauses and is slow to reveal his thoughts. ACCENT: his russian is flawless, his italian less so -- the words tend to come out a bit harsher. his english is passable with a strong russian accent. QUIRKS: if boris can walk somewhere instead of taking a vehicle, he will. he hates public transportation however, and prefers motorcycles to every other vehicle. HOBBIES: running, walking, listen to music HABITS: he runs every morning, immediately after waking up. he drinks his coffee black (he doesn’t like espresso). he wakes up at 5:45 am every morning, no matter what time he went to bed. boris is inherently a man of habit, he likes routines. NERVOUS TICKS: fist clenching and setting his jaw DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: revenge, justice, respect, family FEARS: failure POSITIVE TRAITS: driven, reliable, dedicated, detailed NEGATIVE TRAITS: selfishness, fails to see bigger picture, disloyal SENSE OF HUMOR: sarcasm, understatements, subtle humor DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: to emphasize a point. CATCHPHRASE(S): n/a

favorites

ACTIVITY: running ANIMAL: gazelle BEVERAGE: water BOOK: he doesn’t really read. CELEBRITY: natalie dormer COLOR:  navy blue DESIGNER: he doesn’t know designers.  FOOD: pierogies FLOWER: red poppies (his mother’s favorite) GEM: diamonds HOLIDAY: winter holidays in general MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: walking MOVIE: the good, the bad, the ugly MUSICAL ARTIST: jidenna QUOTE/SAYING: “no legacy is so rich as honesty.” SCENERY: wide open lakes that are frozen over SCENT: pine SPORT: boxing SPORTS TEAM: italian football TELEVISION SHOW: 24 WEATHER: cold & brisk VACATION DESTINATION: mountains

attitudes

GREATEST DREAM: destroying the montagues GREATEST FEAR: failing his father’s legacy MOST AT EASE WHEN: running LEAST AT EASE WHEN: attending fancy parties WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: getting caught in his schemes before he’s ready BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: returning to the montagues despite his betrayal BIGGEST REGRET: leaving in the first place -- he has to re-prove himself MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: when he was young, he once cried after falling. his father laughed so hard, he never cried over little things again. BIGGEST SECRET: he betrayed the montagues to a russian mob TOP PRIORITIES: slowly dismantling the montague empire

#[ about ]

[brutuskorov]

act i. scene vi. THE PURGE PT. II setting. 2317. november 24th. a dive bar in Montague territory. ft. @ofrosso

Damiano Montague could be a patient man when he wanted to be. He was mercurial like that -- there were days when Brutus could have described him as generous, merciful even. Like he was a man playing at being great, though his feet were sunk too deep in the bog of Verona to be anything but a criminal businessman. Damiano was skilled and tactical minded but there was a certain emptiness in him that kept him from offices of greater power. And as Boris knew more intimately, he would throw people away in a heartbeat. It was surprising to him then, that the Montague boss still managed to inspire such loyalty.

He clicked his tongue to himself, scrubbing his hands harder in the bar bathroom. He and Mercutio had been assigned on a reconnaissance mission -- Damiano had suspected one of their local dealers to be skimming product and in a surprising display of restraint, decided to have his Emissary and Captain verify the information first. After Marcelo’s startling show of violence some time earlier, Brutus had not been keen to work with them. But to keep his show at loyalty undiminished he went along with the plans without complaint.

The rumors had been true.

There was little left of the man once Mercutio and Brutus were through with him and the Emissary was washing his hands of the last little bits of dried blood now. Satisfied that they were clean, he gave himself one final glance in the mirror. A quick assessment that he looked neat, and he returned to the bar counter where his comrade was waiting. “Did you already order?” Brutus slid into the seat and shrugged off his utility jacket. He waited in silence for a while, speaking only once the bartender placed a chilled Nastro Azzuro before him. “You know,” he began slowly, voice husky with disuse. “You’re not bad to work with.” Another pause. “When you’re not high off your fucking mind.”

#[ ch. mercutio ] #[ sc. la purga pt. ii ] #diveronastarter

[brutuskorov]

act i. scene vi. THE PURGE PT. II setting. 1928. november 14th. the backrooms of badfish, a german styled pub. ft. @gertrudezhang

Brutus wants Gertrude dead.

This is a simple truth -- it does not mean he doesn't like Genevieve. In fact, prior to her promotion, he found her to be a worthy colleague. (The fact that she was stunning certainly helped). Unfortunately, one wrong move on Damiano's part had put her in his crosshairs, his keen observation especially focused on her these days. He needed to understand how she worked, what her life was like, what places she frequented and the opposite too. And once he'd compiled every possible detail on her, he'd find the lynchpin, the single loose thread she thought hidden amongst her fine blouses and tailored pants and pull until it all unraveled.

But until then, they were companions, comrades in arms though he hadn't noticed a gun on her when they were searched before their meeting. Sofia Weber, small time dealer not so long ago, who'd crawled and dragged her way to the top of her little drug supply ring was interested in supplying the Montagues. Brutus could respect anyone who took their earned place when systems prevented otherwise. The restaurant they'd decided to use for the meeting was a pathetic little pub with a convenient backroom for deals of all sorts. As they waited for their meeting, Brutus found his eyes upon Genevieve again.

She had a strange alluring sort of quality, dark eyes like squid ink -- she concealed her thoughts and opinions and worries as easily as she breathed. The corner of his mouth pulled up in a helplessly amused smirk. He really wished she weren't in his way.

"You look uncomfortable," he ventures, glancing askance at her heels. They were both seated but she seemed like she'd rather stand. "The chair isn't that dirty. I'm sure you're used to better."

#diveronastarter #[ ch. gertrude ] #// still figuring out tags l m a o #[ sc. la purga pt. ii ]

[brutuskorov]

Martin Sensmeier for Men’s Fashion Post

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