AGE | 27
GENDER | Male
SEXUALITY | Pansexual
ETHNICITY | Russian-Chinese
D.O.B. | 04 / 23
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INFORMATION.
A cynical freelancer who knows better than to stick his nose where it doesn't belong. Having escaped the vicious circle of poverty through sheer willpower and a painful right hook, he now treads the fine line between being swept along by the current and sinking blissfully into its murky depths.
HEIGHT: 190cm | 6'3"⠀⠀WEIGHT: 87kg | 192lbs ⠀PHYSIQUE: Mesomorph⠀⠀HAIR: Black⠀⠀EYES: Grey
It is the silken black hair that falls in rich, velvety waves over his shoulders that tempts people and awakens hushed desires. To either grasp and pull the thin strands like a viscous animal, or to carefully bundle them in a gentle movement. Their sheen is subtle even in direct sunlight, like an oil slick, devouring light and animals alike. Though a simple touch may seem trivial at first, his glare in response to any attempt will quickly reveal his attitude towards it. His fierce ashen eyes burn like a dying ember and, combined with his fit physique, are an effective tool of intimidation. His face contains nothing but sharp edges. A pointed chin, a sleek jawline, straight eyebrows and a smooth nose. Only his lips bear a hint of softness, their pale pink colour contrasting slightly with his fair skin. Several moles adorn his body, the most prominent on his face just below his mouth and lower eyelashes. They are not the only feature jutting out from his skin. Two larger ink tattoos paint his body. One across his right flank and the other running around his shoulder and part of his neck; both depicting feathered friends. Far more striking, however, are his scars, which come in a variety of shapes and cover him from head to toe, appearing like cracks on an otherwise flawless porcelain teapot. Kieran's arms are by far the worst. Traces of past stitches and faded wounds leave no blank spot on them, and his knuckles are almost always guaranteed to be bruised and bloodied. Any questions about their origins are firmly shut down, and judging by the sound of his annoyed voice, it's a wonder he hasn't covered them up yet to stop the maddening questions.
Then again, clothes seem to be the least of his worries. Kieran makes no bones about the fact that most of the items in his wardrobe have been thrifted or acquired in other ways that didn't necessarily involve emptying his wallet. Brand clothes are another rarity in his life, and to be honest, he wouldn't recognise most of them anyway. Loose shirts and baggy trousers are his go-to for all casual outings, while his one and only suit remains for more formal occasions. With trends and colour theory flying over his head, Kieran prefers to keep his outfits in simple tones. Black and white can never go wrong, with the occasional beige or deep maroon to spice things up. On the other hand, accessories seem to be his real passion. His love of rings and necklaces is evident and it helps that they add a certain flair to his punches.
Kieran's natural scent is harsh yet warm. Smoke clings to his frame like a deadly web and his aftershave smells of fresh pine needles on a summer's night. He rarely covers himself with perfume, as his nose is sensitive to most pungent smells and tends to itch badly.
Confidence oozes from every step he takes and the constant glint in his eyes promises retribution if poked. Kieran has the air of a wildcat, and he will prove it to anyone who doubts it.
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PERSONALITY.
⠀TAURUS⠀ ⠀ATTENTIVE. CONFIDENT. RESOURCEFUL. ⠀STUBBORN. SERIOUS. BLUNT. ⠀APATHETIC. AGGRESSIVE. SELFISH.
Kieran's mood is that of a brewing thunderstorm about to strike, volatile and always ready to lash out. Brashness and bluntness clothe his speech in thorny armour, daring anyone to complain. Honesty is a virtue, but not when it's turned up to twelve. His words crack like whips and many, fooled or enchanted by his appearance, quickly turn their noses up once they are exposed to them. Kieran knows how to restrain himself, how to use deceptive allure to turn his presence into the finest linen pillow, but he often sees no need to. Humans are annoying — he came to that conclusion far too early in life, so Kieran treats them like the pests they really are rather than letting them enjoy false camaraderie. He has little patience for strangers, and even less tolerance for bullshit. Work is one of the few exceptions that makes him shut his mouth and narrow his eyes in disgust, but he prefers not to dwell on that constraint.
Unsurprisingly, his behaviour does not win him many friends, but anyone foolish enough to take him on will soon learn that his scars are not mere decoration. Pain may not be pleasant, but it will be the last thing to stop him. Talk to him for any length of time and it will quickly become clear that Kieran doesn't care about anyone but himself. Or at least he tries not to. Guilt suffocates him when he witnesses senseless suffering that he could stop, but cynicism always turns him away. Kieran is neither a saviour nor a hero, and he has had to face the hard way that selflessness won't get him very far. It took time, but he eventually learned to grow apathetic and cautious, to double-check everything, because trust is a fickle thing.
Tuning down his aggression a notch, Kieran carries an incredible amount of confidence and the necessary skills to back it up. Something that he's clearly aware of. Although he doesn't exhibit the habit of showing off, he takes great pride in his abilities. This makes him rather assertive, stubborn at times and outright possessive if the stars align. He does not think highly about sharing and will showcase that accordingly. Be it through words or actions. Furthermore, Kieran is resourceful, has an eye for details and a fast memory. He is a great listener and an excellent support in dire situations. It's a pity that most won't ever encounter this side of him.
Then, beneath all of his anger is a man deeply scared of the world and what it has done to him. That took his trust and tore it apart like paper. Somehow a piece of him is still stuck in the fighting ring many years ago, unable to surface and escape its chained fences.
SOCIAL
OBSERVANT
LOGICAL
ASSERTIVE | ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━●━━
━━●━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━●━━━━━━━━━
━━━●━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ | SOLITARY
DENSE
EMOTIONAL
TURBULENT |
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BIOGRAPHY.
For all that matters, the only parental figure that is of importance to Kieran is his mother. A meek figure whose mistake was to believe that her chances in a foreign land were better than being married off by her own blood. Times were not easy — they never were when one had to turn to the less savoury work of the streets, especially for a woman — so it came as a surprise to those close to Ms Mikhailov when she decided to go through with the unexpected and unwanted pregnancy caused by a purely transactional deal. She had neither the name of the father nor the means to support another life, but somehow the selfish desire to become a parent overcame any concern for the consequences. In these circumstances, with a leaking roof and an empty fridge, Kieran was born. His mother's whispers of his name and gentle caresses would be the only warmth he'd receive for a long time.
As he grew up, education and playtime quickly slipped from his grasp. His childhood memories are filled with memories of dusty shoes and the noise of rusty machines that threatened to crush his little fingers as he tried to manoeuvre between their cogs. The factory paid poor, meagre wages and inhumane conditions. They knew they could get away with it. Anyone who took the job at such a young age had no other choice, and of course that ended in exploitation. So, Kieran had to find additional ways. Fortunately, the slums offered more than enough opportunities. Thieving got him far, even if it meant taking a beating or two each time he was caught. But when he returned home, clutching his latest haul and seeing his mother's proud smile, the bruises and cuts almost always faded from his mind as nothing more than inconsequential worries.
•• ━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━ ••
Over the years, friendship had been a loose concept for Kieran. There was a clear distinction between those who were tolerable and those who were better avoided, but none of them were people he'd really like to hang out with. Only one managed to get under his skin, to make an exception to the rule. When they first met, he introduced himself as Quentin, a self-proclaimed master mechanic on the road to riches. Kieran found him delusional, but strangely endearing. As entertaining as angry kittens.
It was the start of something that began as a simple business transaction and slowly evolved into spontaneous visits, small favours and teasing laughter. For a while, Kieran was happy. There were still bills to pay and two stomachs to fill, but for the first time he felt true joy. Obviously, it didn't last long. Just the first and unplanned sleepover at Quentin's caused by a sudden spell of drowsiness and Kieran woke up with no idea where he was. Windowless walls trapped him, a locked door the only way out, an old bed wedged in the corner. It did not take a genius to work out what must have happened. There was only one other person with him. Bitterly, Kieran wondered if this was as far as their friendship could go.
Time passed and soon someone came in to introduce him to his new routine for the coming future. He was shown to a construct; to call the monstrosity a fighting ring was an insult to any real one, but it bore a strong resemblance to one. A fenced area, surrounded by stands for visitors who howled at the sight of blood. Clearly they were not there to see proper and fair fights, for them the real pleasure came with the fear and the screams. Bets were placed and money given to bribe the referee. Most of the fighters were volunteers, some — the scapegoats — were forced. The winners received a share of the betting pool, while the losers were left to hope for their lives. Kieran could see in his guide's eyes that she had placed him in the latter category. Pity and apathy filled her voice and, looking around, Kieran knew she wasn't the only one. Petty spite gnawed at his bones and clouded his vision. He would prove them wrong. He had to. Dying here could not be his end.
•• ━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━ ••
Ultimately, it took him three years to work his way out of the place, a sixth of his life and right at the start of his adulthood. His story was the very cliché of the underdog clawing his way to the top. He may not have gone undefeated, but it was a far cry from what everyone expected of a scrawny kid fighting the inevitable. Halfway through, Kieran found a sponsor who fuelled his ambition and increased his chances of freedom. Someone who promised him a future if he managed to see the light at the end of the tunnel, as long as he didn't kick the bucket on the way there. The man held up his end of the bargain.
Kieran never looked back once he emerged from the dingy underground, knowing that he would never have the desire to return to that place. His early yearning to return to his mother's side was thwarted when he arrived at a familiar but empty house. The furniture was stripped bare and there was no sign that anyone had lived there for a long time. Quentin's shop was also, unsurprisingly, closed. Part of him was frustrated, another part glad. Kieran didn't know what he would have done if he had met him again.
In the end, there was nothing left to tie him to the place of his birth, so Kieran left, following in his sponsor's footsteps. He had no idea what his new goals would be, but Kieran knew he wouldn't find them in the slums. With poison and rubbish filling the ground, no buds could ever grow here.
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MISCELLANEOUS.
- Although Kieran resembles a cat, he's more fond of dogs. Dalmatians are his favourite breed, although he doubts he will ever be able to own one. At least he gets to see them at the dog cafe he frequents.
- Learning to cook and bake started out as a necessity for Kieran and quickly became a hobby he genuinely enjoyed and a way to relieve stress. Now he'd call himself an experienced chef with some interesting experimental recipes.
- Kieran dislikes wasting anything, and not just food. He finds it physically painful to see materials such as paper and old clothes simply thrown away without a thought for how they might be reused. It also makes him a bit of a hoarder, and although he won't admit it, he has a whole shelf full of trinkets, scraps and old newspapers. Secretly, Kieran knows he'll never use them, but he's in deep denial.
- Speaks Chinese and English.
- Was taught to read and write after he turned 19. It's not perfect, but it gets the job done.
ALIGNMENT: Neutral Evil
MBTI TYPE: ISTJ-A
SIN: Pride | ⠀⠀ | ENNEAGRAM: 8w9
DOM. HAND: Right
VIRTUE: Diligence |
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Fight Fire With Gasoline - Self Deception
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IN QUEUE:
⠀Welcome to the Circus - skittish
⠀Blood // Water - grandson
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