Dmitri Matryoshka

[dmitri]

dmitri vasilyevich matryoshka !



SHE SAYS I'VE GOT THE BEST
beating heart in the world

HEY THERE, MY NAME IS LEECH
AND I'VE BEEN AROUND THIS PLANET SIXTEEN YEARS
TIMES, BUT I'VE BEEN ROLE-PLAYING FOR SEVEN YEARS.
THE OTHER CHARACTERS I PLAY HERE ARE ---
AND OH, WAIT, ONE LAST THING. THAT PHRASE IN THE RULES IS /cheat and die;;!

IT MAKES HER WANT TO TWIRL AROUND
until she hit’s the ground

[/b] Dmitri Vasilyevich Matryoshka
NICKNAMES: He doesn’t have any common recurring nicknames – “Dmitri” is short and easy enough to remember – but he welcomes and embraces whatever diminutives people construct for him.
AGE: Seventeen
GENDER: Male
RACE: Rag Doll
CLASS: D
PLAY BY: Rokudo Mukuro from Reborn![/size][/ul]

I SWEAR TOGETHER WE'VE BEEN
here before but we never looked away

[/b] Dmitri’s eyes are deliberately mismatched: the left eye is a dark blue while the right is a vivid red-orange.
HAIR: Matching his more naturally-colored eye is hair the same dark cerulean shade, long enough to reach his chin.
SKIN: Because of his species, the exact tone of his skin varies from piece to piece. Despite this variability, it’s safe to call him Caucasian and fair-skinned.
BODY: Though it of course varies, generally speaking Dmitri is of average height but wiry, with a runner’s graceful build.
UNUSUAL: As a rag doll, Dmitri’s hodgepodge of a body is held together by black thread. Because he’s well-sewn, the seams are usually barely visible unless the “joint” is being moved or strained. Each of his current ears has a small gauge, and the left has three small stud piercings ascending up the cartilage.
OTHER FORM: Dmitri has no alternative form.
APPEARANCE: The very nature of “rag dolls” – constructs patched together from pieces of corpses – is macabre at the very least and is often seen as distasteful and repulsive. As a doll, Dmitri fails to see the “disgusting” side of his existence and instead see the mixing-and-matching process as an opportunity to perfect himself. If one overlooks the stitching and the varying skin tones, he could be seen as almost handsome. He has a sharp, angular face framed well by his chin-length hair. He has a long nose, but his face is clean-shaven and he has straight, whitened teeth. Standing at roughly five-eleven, he’s broad-shouldered but not bulkily built, long-limbed but still graceful. He has delicate hands, a woman’s hands, but the fingers are crooked and long, well-suited for the instruments he plays. If he’s just given a passive glance, he’s of average looks, if mundane compared to the more exotic students of the Academy.

Looking more closely, however, reveals hints of his inhumanity. His head is sewn to his torso with inky-black thread in a smooth, curving seam, and his mismatched arms are joined to his shoulders in the same fashion. His wrists are joined to his arms by stitches as well, as is his right elbow. His pianist’s hands are likely the palest part of his entire body. His knees are also complex webs of thread allowing natural movement. On his chest is a large fish-hook “scar” of thread, not unlike an autopsy scar, that marks where is black heart was planted. If he’s in a state of agitation, the cordlike thread here may visibly twitch and curl like a sack full of snakes.
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TWO SEATS INSIDE AN EMPTY ROOM
with one more night what’s left to lose

[/b]

• classical music
  
• watching the sun rise
  
• cleanliness and organization
  
• prairies
  
• sewing
  
• kites
  
• salty foods
  
• folk art
  
• autumn
  
• dry weather
  
• hedgehogs
  
• classy clothes
  
• cities with histories

DISLIKES:

• chess
  
• bugs
  
• dogs and carrion-eaters
  
• rain
  
• untidiness and filth
  
• humidity
  
• city smog
  
• smoke
  
• spicy foods
  
• cinnamon
  
• porcelain dolls
  
• caste systems
  
• people who steal the spotlight away
  
• public transportation

STRENGTHS:

• MUSIC – Dmitri has played both piano and cello since he was very young, and thus as an excellent grasp on music theory and everything that it entails.
  
• PAIN TOLERANCE – since his entire existence relies on his ability to sew himself up when the situation calls for it, he has a very high pain threshold. That hardly means that he doesn’t feel pain or doesn’t hate it as any other sentient being, but he can handle pain very well.
  
• MIMICRY – occasionally he needs to replace his vocal chords, but he has a general idea of how his voice should sound. Because of this, Dmitri has learned to manipulate his voice very effectively.
  
• DECEPTION – he’s an expert liar and uses this unscrupulous skill whenever necessary or whenever it pleases him.
  

WEAKNESSES:

• VULNERABILITY – he is technically a bunch of dead pieces sewn together and thus tends to lose parts of himself pretty easily if his “seams” are damaged.
  
• HEALING – it takes his body much longer to repair damage than a human’s does, if the damage is repaired at all. More often than not severe damage necessitates a replacement.
  
• FIRE – it’s not that Dmitri’s more flammable than a human, but his body seems to be unable to heal burns unless they’re exceptionally minor. As a result, he’s very wary of fire and scalding surfaces in general.
  
• WATER – when it comes to water, he’s a bit like a cat – not only is he unable to swim, he absolutely loathes unnecessary contact with the stuff. He claims that it makes him “soggy and waterlogged” and makes him decay more quickly; whether or not this claim is true is debatable, but he avoids testing it whenever possible.

SECRETS: He keeps his brother Mikhail’s existence a secret. Until he was ten years old, he often had to do with “hand-me-down pieces” from his sisters. Despite his cavalier treatment of the topic of intimacy and his constant insinuations otherwise, he’s a virgin.
OVERALL:

It’s very difficult for a shy person to stay quiet and at the edge of things when Dmitri is on the scene. Friendly almost to a fault, he never finds himself uncomfortable in a conversation and unconsciously strives to put others at ease as well. His amicable temperament verges on exuberance when he’s in a pleasant mood, and when relaxed he’s constantly searching for entertainment. (This search often leads him into mischief if he thinks he can get away with it.) When in the mood he can be quite theatrical, embellishing his speech with elaborate gestures and tones.

In almost every situation his pride is evident: he’s proud of his heritage, his family, his accomplishments and achievements. Dmitri is also protective of his kin and those he considers his friends; the doll isn’t as self-serving as he seems half the time.

He was introduced to the piano at the age of four and the cello at seven, and this early indoctrination left an indelible mark on his outlook. He’s quite creative, very attuned to music and other such pursuits, and he can be innovative when the situation calls for it. When it comes to music he’s incredibly dedicated to bettering himself, much more disciplined than his buoyant personality would imply. Dmitri is also very patient in regards to practicing, rarely losing patience with himself and his limitations. Though the adolescent is proud and almost arrogant about every other aspect of himself, he’s quite humble about his musical abilities, treating his work as a musician as a separate entity.

Though he can be quite pleasant to be around, Dmitri has his share of shortcomings. He’s a habitual liar, constantly twisting the words of others to mislead his fellows or even himself – sometimes it’s a reflex behavior – and it’s much easier to a get a dozen pretty lies out of him than it is an ugly, hard truth. He holds grudges at the drop of a hat and, even if he eventually forgives, he never forgets. Dmitri is volatile at times, shifting through periods of jubilance to bitter brooding, especially when the schedules he obsessively constructs are disrupted by an external force. He’s mercilessly critical of both himself and others, and if he doesn’t censor himself, he can come off as acerbic and bullying. Dmitri’s as stubborn as a mountain – once his mind has been made up, it’ll take a miracle to shift it. Though his appearance and mannerisms suggest that he’s a “pretty boy,” he doesn’t hesitate to dirty his hands and delve into a brawl if he feels that he’s being slighted; he’s not built for violence and usually comes off worse for the wear, but that fact doesn’t curb his aggression once it’s roused.

[/size][/ul]

WE LAY WITH NOT A WORD TO SAY
alone we’ll wait ‘til something’s wrong

[/b] Innya Ivanovna Matryoshka [one hundred and fifty-seven]
FATHER: Vasily Kirillovich Matryoshka [two hundred and thirty-three]
SIBLINGS: Mikhail [brother, deceased], Yuri [brother, thirty-eight], Nadeen [sister,twenty-seven], Akiliana [sister, twenty], Halina [sister, eight]
OTHER PEOPLE: “Uncle” Richmond, Samantha Lewis [deceased]
HISTORY: When Dmitri was born in the small provincial town of Chadan in Russia, the Matryoshka family was already numerous: his father, Vasily, was a well-respected tailor in the mining town, and his mother was a creative seamstress whose dresses and quilts were sought after by the marginally-wealthy women. His brother Yuri, twenty-three at the tiem, was studying medicine at a Moscow university, and his eldest sister, Nadeen, was a brooding young girl who would spend hours staring out into the haunting beauty of the steppes. Akiliana was still very young, but not too young to collect scraps of fabric and ribbon discarded by their mother and play pretend or dote upon baby brother Dmitri. They were the only ‘supernatural’ family in the settlement, but they mimicked humans well. They were content.

And then there was Mikhail.

The eldest son of Innya and Vasily, Mikhail wore the skin of a twenty-eight-year-old and had chosen to take up his father’s craft. He was handsome, but vain’ clever with a needle and with words, but unstable and volatile; without ambition, but imperious and bored with quiet provincial life, and prone to drinking and acting out violently. Vasily was aware of his eldest son’s erratic behavior, but he chose to ignore it and pretend that their life was as idyllic as it sometimes seemed.

This was a recipe for tragedy. When Dmitri was two years old, Mikhail became enamored with the face of a farmer’s son. He coveted it as his own, envy molting into a lethal obsession. One night he murdered the boy and stole his face, thus revealing the family’s inhuman nature. The townspeople reacted with horror and fury, moving, burning down the Matryoshka home and business, driving the family away. Mikhail was hunted down and his body was burned. A few nights later, when the family was still stranded and shivering on the lonely steppes, his father stole back into the town and found Mikhail’s still-beating black heart mired in his ruined body. Now it was impossible to ignore his eldest son’s instability, but instead of leaving Mikhail to the unfortunate fate he’d earned, Vasily took the heart and put it in an infant’s form. He hoped that he could raise his son again, weed out the violent traits that he’d developed, or at least keep him in a state where he couldn’t harm anyone, including himself.

Vasily and his wife had travelled through Europe extensively in their long lifetimes, and they had no interest in integrating into the supernatural communities that studded the continent. Instead they transplanted the family into the United States; they remembered hearing that the country was a land of opportunity, and they hoped that any supernatural communities there would not be as rigidly established and stratified as their European counterparts.

They entered San Francisco with nearly nothing to their name and quickly moved north into a rural Oregon town. It fit their checklist: it was small, there would be a market for their craft, the humans weren’t too nosy. There were a few inhuman creatures in the surrounding wilderness – fairies and pixies, mostly, though there was a smattering of elves and nymphs – but they kept to themselves. Occasionally their children acted as playmates for coquettish, clever Akiliana Innyovna and her impish little brother; though the pair occasionally interacted with human children, but children were much more perceptive in recognizing rag dolls as unnatural than adults were and thus these interactions were limited.

When Yuri finished his studies in Moscow, he moved to Portland, following his family but keeping a distance unless he was needed. Nadeen developed into a somber, introverted young woman who spoke little, instead expressing herself through photography. Mikhail was the frightening baby-doll that Innya doted upon and who watched matters with venomous black eyes. Innya deeply valued music, and one of her most treasured possessions was a battered piano bought shortly after they’d moved into their abode; all of her children learned at least the basics of the instrument, but instead of merely tolerating it Dmitri embraced it.

The only inhuman creature cohabiting the town with the family was barely a step away from mortal – he was an elderly man, one-fourth vampire, who had moved to the town following his wife’s death ten years prior. His named was Richmond, and he was both a scholar and a cellist. He endeared himself to the Matryoshka family and their children, acting a substitute uncle for the children and rounding out their scant homeschooled education. He was lonely. The doll children’s liveliness warmed his old bones.

Dmitri tolerated dull lessons on astronomy and long division and the Ancient Greeks alongside Akiliana, but he was much more interested in listening to the man play his cello. When Richmond suggested that the boy learn how to play it himself, Dmitri leapt at the chancel he wasn’t as naturally adept at the cello as he was the piano, but what he lacked in inborn talent he made up for with rigid determination that far outweighed his meager years.

Once, during one of Yuri’s irregular visits, the nightmare-doll Mikhail died quite suddenly. Innya wept terribly, but the rest of the household was quietly, guiltily pleased by his passing. It was as if a malignant stain had finally been rubbed away. Only a month later, Halina was born. At first, Dmitri was irked by her presence, annoyed that the attention and the cherished title of ‘youngest’ had been stolen away from him, but she soon won him over. He became as protective and as loving an older sibling as Akiliana was to him.

His ability as a pianist continued to develop, and eventually, after years of pestering his mother, she allowed him to enter local competitions. He performed very well, receiving invitations to larger state competitions, and eventually he met a girl about his age named Samantha Lewis. They became ‘friendly rivals:’ they were civil enough with each other outside of competitions, but in the halls they strove to outperform each other. Her technical skill was greater than Dmitri’s, but he made up for it with fervor. After two years of this friendly competition, Yuri sent word that, after driving with inebriated friends, Samantha had died in a car crash. Her parents had chosen to donate her body. Her hands were utterly unharmed.

Meanwhile, Uncle Richmond had been suggesting that Dmitri round out his spotty education with a few years at an actual school. A human school was out of the question, as now more than ever the stitches lacing his body were very apparent, but there was a school in Colorado that had been founded for the benefit of yajuu children. Richmond’s granddaughter, a half-nymph, had attended the school. It would be a ‘promising opportunity’ for him. Dmitri, who had been growing bored and anxious that his boredom, vanity, and arrogance suggested he would turn out like Mikhail, leapt at the opportunity.

… if only he could actually spell the name of the Academy he was to attend.
[/size][/ul]

WITH FACES PRESSED AGAINST THE
wall lets show the world what we are about

[/b] ---
RP SAMPLE:

The sun shone brightly overhead despite the chill in the air, making the already-scant clouds look like nothing more than thinly spread mist. The Sea of Flowers lived up to its name: the tall grass speckled with buds and blooms grew as high as his waist, if not higher, and every time a wind brushed against the seemingly endless field the grass rippled as if a verdant wave was breaking. Anthony directed his gaze from the endless sky overhead back to the sea of greenery surrounding him, and then with a yawn looked lazily to the left. The Starmie a yard away from him bobbed idly in the crisp breeze as if she was drifting in a current instead of in midair, and though a flicker of acknowledgement ran through her consciousness when he glanced over, her attention was primarily on the Buneary scurrying alongside her. The second star fixed to her back rotated slowly as chime-like notes emanated from her core; a few seconds after the notes reverberated into silence the Buneary stopped abruptly in his tracks, bringing their aimless progression to a halt yet again, and squeakily imitated the larger pokemon. The sound waves of the Round distorted the air as they passed through it, but with no opponent to knock back, they dissipated quickly, causing the grass to wave as if disturbed by a breath of wind. The coffee-colored pokemon stared blankly at his star-shaped mentor before, with a dismissive nose-twitch, he scrambled deeper into the meadow.

The wayward course that the young Buneary was set on following would have irritated Anthony had they been at home – if you were going to delve into the streets and canals of Virenya, you had best have a destination in mind – but the pastoral scenery surrounding them kept him at ease. Virenya City was an antiquated utopia edged by an ocean that seemed as endless as the plains they now wandered through, but it was still a city and thus barreled into the future at a pace both breakneck and exhausting. A brief retreat to the rural countryside was pleasant, and even he had difficulty finding fault in the flowers and flora that abounded here.
A laugh, soft and vaguely feminine, sounded in the back of his brain, and Anthony glanced over to his soulmate; the gem at her center faced him, and though her appearance made her mood impossible to guess, he could sense her amusement. {You would be bored out of your mind if you lived in a place like this,} Enyo observed, secondary star still for a moment.
“You’re right,” he responded after a moment, lips twitching into a reluctant smile, “but there’s nothing wrong with enjoying it while we’re here, is there?”
{Of course not.} There was a pause, and then, {I doubt that you’ll be enjoying it tomorrow when you have to start the long walk home and your feet are aching.}
Anthony grimaced at that but didn’t respond, instead scanning the meadow to locate the recently-acquired Buneary. The young creature’s random maundering had given way to lazy hops and toddling steps in a constant direction, and judging by the way the rabbit-like creature would occasionally stop to rub its nubby nose against stalks of grass, it was following some sort of scent-trail – hopefully not the trail of something larger and fiercer than the Buneary himself was. The coordinator swallowed a yawn and tucked his hands into his pockets, looking from the lapine to its apparent destination: ahead was a river cutting a wide and shallow swathe across the fields, barely visible through the tall foliage. “That’ll be the Silver River,” he murmured to Enyo, recalling the map that he’d studied the night prior. “It empties into the ocean… we could Surf to the coast and then follow it to Virenya.”
{We could,} the Starmie agreed, {but you’ll be uncomfortable after a few hours, and everything we brought with us will be soaked. If we can’t make it back to the city before it gets late, you’ll have to spend the night with wet supplies. It would be best to try to borrow the Ponyta again tomorrow for the trip home.}
He didn’t reply for a moment, only frowning slightly as he watched the newest addition to their team: Marzipan had increased his pace and was now bounding through the flourishing meadow, apparently set on reaching a target he couldn’t even see over the tall grass. Anthony, on the other hand, could make out the human figure walking alongside the shallow river; while the figure was too far away to discern many details, he could tell by their build that they were female and likely young. What would a young woman be doing in the middle of a Sea of Flowers…?
{I could ask the same for us,} Enyo interjected, exasperated. {She’s probably a trainer on her way to or from Anor. You shouldn’t let Marzipan wander so far from you; she might mistake him for a feral --}
{-- and he’d deserve any thrashing her pokemon gave him.} he retorted mentally as he, at a markedly slow pace, began to follow the path that the Buneary had taken. {Maybe that would teach him not to wander off.}

The normal-type pokemon in question had no notion of the conversation transpiring between his coordinator and the man’s soulmate, and even if he had known it would have mattered very little; he was too busy following the intriguing scent of human and fowl through the impossibly tall grass to possibly care about the opinions of the man who had caught him. Marzipan’s ears rolled up tightly in excitement as the grass ahead of him thinned out and the soil beneath his woolly paws gave way to smooth, viscous mud. He tumbled onto the bank of the river, and for a second his quarry was forgotten as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the clear water. When his own wavering reflection ceased to entertain, he glanced up again and caught sight of a girl and a duckling pokemon a few meters away. A shrill squeal of excitement escaped the Buneary as he gamboled closer, dark eyes wide in fascination. The Ducklett was a few inches taller than himself, but with its fluffy chest and lemon-yellow beak, it hardly looked intimidating. Marzipan opened his mouth, but instead of a delighted squeak the same strange notes that he’d uttered before escaped. He cocked his head to the side in confusion, and then, inquisitive about the effects the dissonant song would have on this strange blue bird, uttered a playful cry and released a Round again. [/size]

[/ul]

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[KATSUMIKI]

approved! - !

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