Post by Ivan Silvashko on May 9, 2010 3:36:09 GMT
IVAN KRISTOV SILVASHKO
"i saw you, you sat, book in your hand
didn't ask for attention, earned it instead
there was something so peaceful, gentle and firm
something you offered I had to return.
we may not be forever, or even for long
but whatever we are we can both be it strong."
"i saw you, you sat, book in your hand
didn't ask for attention, earned it instead
there was something so peaceful, gentle and firm
something you offered I had to return.
we may not be forever, or even for long
but whatever we are we can both be it strong."
FULL NAME Ivan Kristov Silvashko
ALIAS Often addressed (mistakenly) as "Jovan"
AGE Sixteen
NATIONALITY Russian
OCCUPATION Servant
PERSONALITY Servants born and bred into the profession are trained to be obedient, respectful, and obliging. Ivan fits this quota well. He is quiet, soft in speech and manner, and well used to keeping his thoughts to himself while outwardly agreeing and supporting the beliefs of the nearest or most powerful superior. Although not small or particularly plain in stature, Ivan easily blends into the background and can make himself completely forgettable. He is good at being useful but not necessary, skillful but not important, and profitable but not valuable. He does his job not for his own gratification, or a sense of self-satisfaction, but to benefit his employers, and thereby he has a hand in the smooth administration of his country. This is all the incentive he needs in life (and all the incentive he has been trained to seek out).
But simply because he is good at his job does not mean Ivan has no sense of individuality. Major character traits include a natural inclination to believe the best of everyone; a sort of naiveté that makes him a huge target for the wicked, a source of scorn for the haughty, and a delight to the kind-hearted and empathetic. Ivan cannot bear to stand by while a person down-plays themself, and while he has enough restraint to keep from arguing directly with the person (if they are higher rank; if not, he will freely interrupt and correct), he will fidget to the point of it being impossible to ignore. This gets him reprimanded frequently. Ivan always paints people in the very best light, whether they deserve it or not. He refuses to accept that someone is simply "a bad person," and will often spend idle moments of the day fabricating hypothetical situations that may clear the subject of negative attentions' name.
Those who think lowly of servants are quick to call Ivan cowardly, insinuating that he will do anything to keep his job, and would quickly shirk moral duties to please overseers. Those who think highly of Ivan deem him loyal, saying that he will stand by the men and women he serves in times of peace and strife alike. Neither of these groups know anything of where Ivan's feelings really lie. In truth, Ivan feels few moral obligations, and his been taught even fewer, and therefore rarely has qualms based on having to sacrifice his own honour, and at the same time feels bound to those he serves only through collective duty to the glory of Russia, and would never sacrifice the nation's well-being for anything or anyone.
While Ivan quickly places others on the silver pedestal, he himself is incredibly humble, and when it comes to casual conversation often shy of sharing his own opinions. He nearly always hesitates to approach others, and finds comfort in solitude, a reprieve from reaching others' standards and attending to the needs of everyone else. Not to say that he ever, ever feels rebellious - no, Ivan is too reserved and docile (possibly even meek) to ever even consider rising up. He is comfortable and content with his position. Imagining any other kind of life is an emotionally painful situation. Perhaps its against his conditioning.
SEXUALITY Undecided
APPEARENCE Broad-shouldered, muscular, tall, Ivan would cut a formidable figure if he did not emit waves of self-deprecating unimportance - which have nothing to do with personal esteem and everything to do with his status.
Ivan gained strength and good health from a childhood raised on sneaked table scraps in the kitchen and the rest of his life outside ninety percent of the time. Spending the winter chopping wood for fires and the summer ploughing, raking, planting, lugging soil and vegetation from place to place and repairing fences and walls built up muscles in his arms and strength in his upper body. Riding afield to supervise herding expeditions, chasing down loose animals, climbing palace walls to get at messes in hard-to-reach places in the summer, and ploughing through inordinate amounts of snow in the winter have built up leg muscle, and generally Ivan has no trouble with heavy lifting or physical exertion.
While the Silvashkos are large and sturdy, the Tchekovs, Ivan's mother's family, are built quite differently. This is where Ivan got his blue eyes, while Silvashkos tend to have dark brown irises, and several other features. For example, his father's hands are broad and rough with short fingers, the tips wide and the skin durable. Ivan's hands are broad, yes, but the fingers stretch out into delicate tapers, the skin soft, although calloused, and much more delicate-looking than is traditional for Silvashkos. He also has his mother's graceful neck, much slimmer (and less hairy) than his father's. Perhaps, if his father was still his father, he would be ashamed of his son's select feminine features. Perhaps they would cause him pain, reminding him of the wife he lost.
His short brown hair is just the right length to avoid getting in his eyes and to be easily swept back to avoid it sticking to his head with sweat. He has blue eyes that are not altogether remarkable, and while his features are not unpleasant they are certainly nothing that would draw gazes from across the room - particularly when he dresses as he does, in servant's garb. He favours loose tunics whose sleeves he can pull back as soon as he is out from under the gaze of critical superiors, and leggings that do not hinder flexibility or movement range in any way, while being durable enough to take snags without tearing. When the temperature drops, Ivan dons a shaggy jacket of unassuming grey.
Ivan has a complexion prone to browning in the sun, and as he spends profuse amounts of time outside, his skin is generally a warm bronze colour (which brings out his eyes, but certainly nobody notices details like that in a servant). In the winter he pales, understandably, and his hair slowly lose natural lighter highlights that the sun will have brought out.
PLAY BY Chris Evans
MOTHER Katarina Tchekov
FATHER Jovan Silvashko IV
SIBLINGS Jovan V, deceased at age three.
PETS Do the fish he tends to on the grounds count?
HISTORY It's no secret that servants are looked upon with little more (and sometimes no more) regard than the nobilities' dogs. The Silvashko family has been in service to the Romanov family for generations. Ivan's father Jovan, and his grandfather Jovan, and his great-grandfather Jovan, and so on and so forth, have been keepers of the grounds (and proud of it) for more years than anyone can remember. The name Jovan Silvashko is so ingrained in the Tsars' minds that at any moment a servant is required, it will be the initial call signaling some form of minor domestic catastrophe (regardless of whether the groundskeeper is actually required or not; apparently it is the only servant name familiar to the kings' tongues).
When Jovan Silvashko V died of fever at only three years old, the palace was suddenly without a successor to the head groundskeeper. Yes, he had another child aged sixteen months, but how could an "Ivan" Silvashko possibly take the honoured place as steward of the royal gardens, forest, and fields? Not to mention the orchards, the courtyards, the fountains, and overseeing the lower maintenance crew. He was completely unqualified, this so-called "Ivan."
Katarina Silvashko, already suffering from what we would now call post-partum depression, completely untreated, after the birth of her second son, simply could no longer stand her youngest offspring. She became distant from her husband as well, and then to everyone around her, and then was dismissed from service as she no longer completed her tasks. Jovan pleaded for days to let Katarina to continue living on the grounds, but upon threat of he himself being fired for pestering the royalty and stepping out of his ranks, he had to let his wife of six years go. She was set to the outskirts of Moscow to live with her mother, and Jovan never heard from her. He devoted his life to his work, all that he had left.
Except there was Ivan, learning to walk and talk and left on his own. He was taken in by the kitchen staff at large, given a bed in a cupboard atop a pile of sacs when his father would not allow him in the family's allotted quarters, and cared for and fed and doted on by servant men and women alike. He was a quiet child who spoke softly, curiously, always politely and made a habit of giving people the benefit of the doubt. When he spoke, he put people in the best light, saw the side of the story that gave them the most credit, and was thusly loved by all.
When he reached the proper age, Ivan was relieved of his duties scrubbing pots and drafted into the outdoor workforce. Where Silvashkos belonged, they said. The work suited Ivan well; not only was he of a sturdy build, but he also had a compulsion to have everything clean and correct, and an eye for the arrangement of foliage and flowers. Under the guidance of his quiet suggestions the garden flourished and reached a state that drew compliments out of the most severe critics. Word spread from servant to servant that Ivan Silvashko was truly the rightful heir to the head groundskeeper position, which sounded much more dramatic than it really was, to the delight of all board castle staff.
Now Jovan Silvashko IV remains alive, healthy, and in charge of maintaining the entire palace campus. But popular opinion says Ivan, the son he has not spoken to in fifteen years, will inherit his rule.
NAME Call me Ivan c:
AGE Sixteen
GENDER Gurllll
TIMEZONE EDT, apparently.
ROLEPLAYING EXPERIENCE A very long time. Six years, maybe?
OTHER CHARACTERS N/A
PASSWORD ---admin edit---
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
She wished the buildings would cast shadows, the way they used to. Then she could figure out what time of day it was. She wished she could feel the hot or the cold, or that the sky would change, or that snow would fall, so she could tell what season it was. She wished the wind would blow. She wished another person would come by and talk to her... But she wasn't a person anymore, technically. She was a jackal. And wishing for things wouldn't make them happen. So she just kept walking. Just kept walking. Always following the sidewalk. The road was empty; no cars, no people, not even a pigeon. The silence weighed heavily upon her like a thick blanket, smothering her just enough that she was uncomfortable, heavy enough that she couldn't lift it, not enough to suffocate her, and there was no way she could make it kill her. That was the direction her thoughts had been going through lately; suicide. It didn't seem like it would be possible here though.
She had always looked forward to death... She had always thought of it as something relieving, like going to bed after a long day. Even when she had considered reincarnation, she had thought that at least she wouldn't remember any of it. And hell? Because she obviously wasn't going to heaven... At least she would recognize it right? And even though it would have been eternal torture or something like that, at least she would have something to do other than think and walk. And she'd be forced to everything; she wouldn't have to choose anymore. She was always know what she was gonna get in the end: more pain. Here, it was always a surprise. Around every twist and turn there was a new surprise. It was a maze. Never had she been fond of mazes, not even as a child. She always somehow managed to get herself separated from whoever she was supposed to be with, leaving her scared, lost and confused. She could remember once, a long, long time ago, when she was very young... Well, it was a short memory, just a glimpse of a picture and feeling... The picture? Looking up at a huge hedge that kept her from her family and the rest of the world. The feeling? Well, there were a lot of them. Mostly fear though, and sadness... Vulnerability, confusion... Too many.
Jackal shook her head. No, she had enough to worry about in this life. Well, not really life. This... place. Whatever it was. She needed to be cautious, not just for demons, although it was very important that she avoided those, but also in case she came across another traveler. She felt as normal as she had the first time she had come to the maze, when she had been completely human still, but she knew as soon as she saw someone the demon would wake up again. In fact, just thinking about people was causing it to stir. Another thing she should avoid thinking about. So what should she occupy herself with? How about some noise? The silence was so thick, it felt as though she'd gone deaf. Not even her rough, padded paws shuffling across the hard pavement managed to come close to penetrating it. She hummed experimentally, and was surprised to find that her voice sounded the same, even though she wasn't the same person. And the long, slippery canine tongue did not impair her. It intrigued her, and brightened her up a bit. She when from humming a single note to a few, and soon she was trying to remember a song. Well, to start off an easy one would be best... Mary Had A Little Lamb. The noise seemed to fill the whole street. At first she thought it sounded a bit melancholy, but then she decided to sing. Eventually she was singing at the top of her lungs, skipping merrily, a completely different person.
And then she remembered who she was. She jerked suddenly to a completely stop, eyes wide as though she was afraid of what she had done. There was a good reason for fear, too. Now anyone could know where she was. She just had to hope anyone who did find her didn't want to hurt her or was smart enough not to get hurt by her. The restlessness inside her grew strong enough for her to remember that she had to keep moving, and that combined with her fear of other people in the maze made her yell in frustration. Well, this time the jackal body came in to play. The yell came out as a howl, which once ended continued to echo all around her. The silence had turned into a multitude of eery, nightmarish cries that made her fur stand straight up. She ran from it, trying to get away from the horrible sound she had created.
Even after the sound had faded behind her, it kept playing in her head, repeating over and over. Oh god, she thought to herself. I'm gonna go crazy... Or have I already? She was content to ponder that for a few moments as her feet moved steadily onward mechanically. Her thoughts eventually branched away from that, to dwell upon the fact that she seemed to have been in the city for hours... She just kept going deeper and deeper in... Would it ever thin out? She began to worry about coming to a dead end or a lake. Maybe she should start heading back the way she had come... She wished she could sit down and think about it for a while. But instead she just kept going forward. It was what she always seemed to do. Just keep going, no matter what her mind or her heart told her to do. It was easier than thinking, easier than going back, easier to just keep walking. One foot in front of the other, not even thinking about it anymore. Her legs never tired, her eyes never drooped. No night, no sleep. No need to worry about a safe place to spend the night. Just keep walking, just keep walking.
