Just as a heads up, Nikolai is getting moved over here to my new multimuse. I’m also changing to the other, more recent localization of his name (Nicholai Ginovaef) because the inconsistency was bugging me.
Pri. sel. multimuse featuring characters from Resident Evil, with more fandoms to come.
Written by Ray. [ info ]
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survivur:
there’s a certain adrenaline rush that comes with premieres, and every time jordan feels her energy coming down for the evening, something else happens to resurge it. case in point: a crowd gathered outside the village theatre, camera lights flashing and voices screaming whenever someone who could be somebody sets foot outside. as much as she’s looking forward to kicking off her impossibly steep six-inch heels and trading in a custom couture gown for her old, almost ratty rothfield alumni t-shirt and sweats, nothing can replace the interactions she gets to have with fans face-to-face, even if it’s as simple as signing a poster or taking a photo with them.
she’s mid-conversation with a young fan who’s gushing about how much he enjoyed the first chokehold movie and how excited he is to see the sequel in a few days’ time, when killjoy numero uno intervenes to effectively kill the moment with a death stare, a death grip and a few choice words that could easily spell out L-A-W-S-U-I-T.
❛ nikolai! ❜ she doesn’t take the split-second in which she reacts to consider that she has at least a dozen cameras on her, potentially more — jaw is clenched tightly as the three syllables leave her, gaze glaring at him. it’s all drowned out by the crowd anyway and she recovers fast, shooting the fan in question and the rest around him an apologetic look and saying a few quick thank-yous as she’s being ushered toward the open car door.
composure begins to melt away as she settles into the backseat and they drive off moments later, that post-premiere adrenaline rush ebbing as quickly as it came. ❛ I realize you’re just doing your job, ❜ and that’s the truth; patience is fleeting at best but she tries to cling to the pieces of it that remain. for her sake or his? maybe the driver’s. who’s to say? ❛ but do you think that maybe — just maybe, one time, as a fun little experiment — you could do it without traumatizing someone? ❜ fingers are plucking at the pins in her hair as she speaks, eager to bring her scalp some relief now that the night is over and she’s not planning to hit the after-party given the early morning flight to new york. ❛ I mean, I have a reputation to maintain here, and you’re doing an incredible job at making that more difficult than it needs to be. ❜
He can see it coming a mile away, the moment he separates her from her adoring fan. That expression of shock says it all—he’s crossed a line, and she’s going to give him hell for it. (She clearly hasn’t figured out how little regard he has for lines that aren’t meant to be crossed.) She’s roiling as they climb into the back of the car, but her wrath doesn’t concern him. He’s accustomed to working for the sort of people who, in the face of failure, can make sure he never works again. Hell, who would put a bullet in his back for bad performance. By comparison, an uptight little actress is of no particular concern.
Stretching out in his seat, his long legs take up a surprising amount of floor space. He rolls his shoulders—cracks his neck—then slouches a bit, visibly relieved to be out from under the scrutiny of the crowd. She’s talking, but he doesn’t really care—her words practically roll off of him. Only when she pauses, waiting for an answer, does he even bother to look at her.
“Do you want a good reputation, or do you want to be safe?” He gestures at her. “Simple question. It is your choice.”
He looks out the window, letting a wry smile tug at his lips as he recalls the shocked expression of the teenager. There’s no way the teenager was really a danger—Nikolai got between them because he was irritable and felt like being an ass. She knows that, and he knows she knows that. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to give up the façade. He never backs down from his own decisions—even bad ones. And pressing the point will annoy her, which is fast becoming one of his new favorite past times.
“He might have been a threat. Perhaps you’re thinking—a boy so young, how could he possibly be dangerous? But I was not much older than that when I first killed a man. It’s more common than you think.”
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hey @priceonlife i can’t pay you in money but if you take care of my MENACE of a roommate i’ll make you meals for a month
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“Lycans and gentlemen! We thank you for waiting. And now, let the games begin!”
MACABREMACHINATIONS : a new ind. blog for Karl Heisenberg of Resident Evil Village. Written by Ray. [ info ]
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Hey I need to read ur emails spencer told me so 👀
Some of them may be somewhat incomplete.
My hand slipped, what can I say?
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"One day you’re gonna have to teach me that trick where people think you’re nice."
A low, throaty laugh. "It's true, you know? I ask you—where would the UBCS be without my winning personality?”
Screams ring out through the monitor, a grainy image showing bodies torn asunder by the horde of zombies that shouldn’t have been able to gain access to the UBCS encampment. That wouldn’t have, were a certain door not left open.
Fabron knows what’s really going on here. It’s all just valuable data for the company.
“Ah.” Nikolai tips his knife in the direction of the monitor. “I think perhaps we have our answer.”
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@survivur
It’s been a long night.
Nikolai Zinoviev has twice the stamina of a man half his age. He’s hiked the Carpathians, survived enemy assault for days on end with no sleep, endured torture. He wrestles bears for fun.
All of that he would gladly take over one day playing bodyguard to a major Hollywood actress.
But—it turns out Hollywood money is almost as good as morally ambiguous megacorporation money. And at the moment, few others have need of his talents. So here he is, facing down a horde of paparazzi and adoring fans, looming like the specter of death over the shoulder of the beloved Jordan Riley.
It would be easy to lose focus in the glare of the lights and the scream of the crowds. But his is a practiced mind, parsing the onslaught of sensory information in the blink of an eye. Like the young man eagerly chatting with Miss Riley as she autographs a photo, making it difficult for her to pull away. Nikolai counts the seconds. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...
Too long. So what if he couldn’t be more than fifteen years old? He’s a plausible threat, and Nikolai is feeling particularly irritable.
He stalks forward, grabs the boy’s wrist in a grip that will leave bruises. “That’s it, time is up, dawdle longer and I will break your hand.” He pushes the boy away without a second thought, his attention already on Jordan.
“It is time to go. Your car is here.” He gestures toward the curb, holding out a hand to shepherd her in the direction of escape.
His ears are ringing from the sound of screaming fans. He’s killed people who were only marginally as enthusiastic in their final throes of life—why do these ones scream as if their life depends on it?
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leave no trace, pt. 1.
dialogue prompts from leave no trace: a novel by mindy mejia.
i can take care of myself.
strangers who smile at me always want something.
i’m fluent in desperate, hopeless, and crazy.
damn you for always being right.
i don’t think you need anyone to protect you.
is there anything you’d like to ask me?
tell me about your home.
everyone assumed you were dead.
no one can help us.
one day you’re gonna have to teach me that trick where people think you’re nice.
you’re my sky. you’re everything.
’cost’ means more than money.
nothing in this world is free: you just haven’t found out what it’s going to cost yet.
everyone here has a story.
i don’t know what to believe. it could be a trap.
you tend to attack people. haven’t you noticed?
buildings smother people.
i loved the woods best in summer.
i don’t remember a lot of what happened.
have you ever just known something about your parents? like, the knowledge is in your blood?
jesus, don’t you sleep at all?
just ignore everyone, like you always do.
i’m sorry if i caused anyone any trouble.
what are __-year-olds supposed to act like?
don’t try to sell bullshit to me, even if you’ve made it smell like roses.
do you even know what you’re worth?
you weren’t answering my calls.
people don’t abandon you just once: they abandon you every time you remember them.
i tell you everything, and you tell me nothing.
something happens to you after you’ve killed a person.
i’ve never told anyone that before, outside of therapy.
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quit looking at me like that
"Am I making you uncomfortable, Miss Valentine?"
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Have you ever seen anything so incredible? The data on this would be worth millions! But, you know how it is—city’s about to explode... and you can’t put a price on life. Good luck!
Ind. RP for Nikolai Zinoviev of Resident Evil 3 (2020). Written by Ray. [ info ]
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please stick your fingers through the bars of my enclosure. i am entirely nonthreatening.
Oh, yes, of course.
My years of collecting data has taught me that bioweapons are docile, nonaggressive, and completely trustworthy.
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// hi yes HELLO is this thing on
just a couple points of business:
I’m coming from Ye Olde Era of blog links for rules and about pages. Those are up for Nikolai, but I’ll work on translating them to a Carrd in the next few days when I get some time to poke at it.
I’m simultaneously setting up a Heisenberg over at @macabremachinations . Go follow trash uncle? His blog is p much in working order but I’ll share a proper promo when he’s got a Carrd and a pinned post up.
Icons for both are coming soon also.
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how much money for you to walk out of my life and never come back
Some things are beyond price.
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nikolai? more like nikoBYE haha gottem
yes hello I heard there's a cash reward for jill valentine's blood ?
I would like to sign up please and thank you
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INCORRECT QUOTES,featuring jill valentine and nikolai zinoviev [ @priceonlife]. personals dni.
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lastescaped:
the weeks that had followed the eradication of raccoon city were the most bleak she had endured in her memory, filled with shady motel after shady motel, front desk clerks not pressing about the various bruises and lacerations on her skin but clearly making up pieces of the story in their mind. it was both enraging and kind of funny, the fact that no one in their right mind would ever believe the truth if she told them — though if the situation were reversed, she knows she wouldn’t believe it, either.
recovery had been a rollercoaster in its own right, with jill having to admit to herself that field first aid practices that were practical in war zones weren’t sensible when she had access to emergency room medical care, devoid of any undead like spencer memorial had provided in spades. truly, making the venture to get a proper examination, diagnosis, and recovery plan had been full of jill looking over her shoulder and feeding a falsified narrative of an abusive boyfriend she was leaving to the nurse practitioner. the truth was too much of a risk, she knew it, but it still frustrated her to no end.
would she ever be able to talk about it? would anyone believe her? would umbrella finally end up paying for all the destruction they caused?
the questions plagued her for months and now, five months after the fact, she’s finally able to actually start making some proper headway into the investigation. the facilities umbrella had constructed in raccoon city were long gone and with it, the evidence that the t-virus outbreak had occurred there, but it wasn’t the end of it all. not even close. key information she had obtained in NEST 2 pointed her to europe, and further intel from an anonymous source that ended up being credible pointed her to the swiss alps. and what better way to kick off her twenty-fifth year than some good, old-fashioned breaking and entering?
getting inside had been as easy as promised; notebook containing the security codes she’d need are tucked inside her jacket, near the secondary pistol she had on hand in case something happened with her sidearm. somehow, being in one of umbrella’s facilities that wasn’t overrun by undead and bioweapons alike ( as far as her intel went ) didn’t provide much comfort. at the end of the day, the scientists and researchers were the worse threat.
case in point: she takes care to check around the corner as she makes her way deeper into the facility, heading for the chief researcher’s office, only to stop short when a chillingly familiar voice cuts through the eerie stillness.
no way it’s him. no fucking way can it be him. the last time she had seen nikolai zinoviev was through the window of the helicopter she and carlos had commandeered to escape the city before the missile got there — wounded, bleeding, laughing. at what? she hadn’t thought to ask, hadn’t really cared, either. he’d be eradicated with the rest of the city, another traitor to forget as time wore on.
clearly, that’s not how the story ended.
❛ nikolai. ❜ her hand is close to her pistol strapped to her hip, but her draw isn’t quite what it used to be, and she can only see so much out of her peripheral as her head turns — she has to assume he’s already got a weapon trained on a critical point and ready to fire. anything less may as well be suicide; imagine her surprise, if only brief, as she turns slowly to find his hands empty. it does little ( practically nothing ) to put her off being on guard. expression is carefully composed to be neutral, subtle hints of her abject distaste slipping through in narrowed gaze, careful not to let her surprise slip through. ❛ this shouldn’t be surprising. cockroaches are known to survive nuclear blasts all the time. ❜
He laughs—thick and rough and anything but friendly. He hadn’t counted Jill as an enemy after Racoon City—a failed assignment, perhaps, and one that could have earned him a good deal of money. But he certainly never expected to see her again. For all her talk of investigation—lofty ambitions of unveiling Umbrella’s secrets—he thought she was smarter than to try dismantling a global superpower of pharmaceutical and technological development.
Then again, noble intention has always been the most pervasive form of delusion.
“And when the mouse flees the fire, it is not usually stupid enough to go back.” He folds his arms across his chest and fixes her with an unyielding stare—that same stare which his comrades find so unsettling.
He knows it won’t intimidate her, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to try.
“You—” he jabs a stern finger in her direction— “Should not be here.” He tuts, the finger wagging twice before folding back against his chest. “You have put me in a very awkward position, Miss Valentine. Your head is worth a great deal of money. I like money. But, I have no buyers. You should have told me that you were coming! Now, if I kill you, you’ll go to a terrible waste. We should reconvene in two weeks, eh?”
A slow smile infects every corner of his grim face, the expression cruel and teasing. There’s a grain of truth to his words—he’d hate to kill her when she has the potential to make him so much money.
But at this point, he’s just fucking with her.
( And they both know it. )
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