OOC Contact (Screened) | Bio

BASICS

Full Name Not available. Why so secretive? He's not sharing that either. Lives under a set of false identities he's created and cultivated over the years.
Nickname V
Codename The Nameless, Oudeis.
Age 36
Height 6'4"
Build Athletic, but in the way of the former fighter that he is. Most of it's functional rather than for show like a bodybuilder.
Hair Brown-black.
Eyes Blue
Tattoos A lot. Full sleeves joining together with his neck tattoos, knuckles reading STAY DOWN, a few others here and there.
Scars A lot. If you're up close to him, you'll notice a lot of small cut scars from getting split open in bouts and stitched together afterward. The skin of his face has thickened in places from getting hit repeatedly, making his features more coarse than they once were. There are several scars on the left side of his neck under the tattoos; his left thumb is almost immobilized by heavy scars circling it, perhaps from some accident he doesn't talk about; the crook of his left elbow has a large amount of scars marring the tattoos there from a bad staph infection picked up in a dirty ring.

Date of Birth November 5, 1982
Residence
Occupation

PERSONALITY
To say he holds onto his secrets tightly is a big understatement. He doesn't consider himself a good person, but he has a big time weakness for underdogs and innocent people who are in trouble or being harassed. He had to harden up early in life, and doesn't wish it on anyone else-- he tries to be the kind of person that he needed around as a kid.

If you're a genuinely shitty person, though? Oh fuck, watch out. Not just from raining fists, oh no-- the public verbal callout that'll happen long before that will not be quiet or kind.

He jokes, but he has a weird trollish sense of humor and it's not unusual for it not to go over well.

TALENTS
* Anti-Talent-- might be the worst cook in the world. Like, it's ridiculous. Never let him touch a stove or oven. Halfway okay with a microwave. He at least knows not to put metal things in those.

* Gives surprisingly good advice. He's hell-chewed, inside and out; even after a couple of years, he's still coming to terms with the absence of that old life, a rough and wild-as-hell existence. The bright side to it all was it's given him a lot of life experience and a unique perspective on some things.

* Doesn't mind staring down and scaring off motherfuckers that are pestering or threatening good people. God help you if those good people are also people he knows and cares about. If said motherfuckers aren't backing down, then good god he's not afraid of an actual fistfight about it-- actually, it might as well be a reward to him.

* Most wouldn't guess from his exterior, but he's pretty good with computers. He originally started learning admittedly shady things while removing the last things bearing the name he doesn't recognize, but continued to learn out of curiosity. Was involved a few Anonymous ops-- #ProjectChanology (against Scientology) and #OpPedoTakedown, offhand, but doesn't affiliate with them anymore. If he couldn't train people to fight anymore, computer repair might be a fallback job.

HISTORY

Let me back it up to the start of the climb
Faced with an army of vipers and lions
I had to keep on reaching up 'cause it was my time
To tear down the kingdom and call out the liars

He was born to a teenage hooker in SoHo, NYC back when that was still not a great neighborhood. She'd intended to put him up for adoption, but relented and kept him at the last minute, only to abandon him in a whorehouse a month later.

He was expected to become self-reliant as quickly as possible. By junior high, he'd started stealing clothes to keep up with his own growth spurts. It lead him into his own criminal pursuits of a more theft-related category. A few friends were made, this story isn't all low points. Mostly, though. One of those more-than-friends got murdered, not that the NYPD cared much at that point in time. For him, it lit a fire in his guts. That fire grew large enough to eat through the expectations and judgments of others, eat through happy and faith, eat through hope and ambitions and dreams. It would've taken all of him, if he hadn't found ways to vent it. Among those ways, there were basement-borrowing fighting rings, with bets and pots to win.

Got a jail on my heart from the pessimists
Got those nails in my mouth for impressionists
Spent too much money on a therapist
Couldn't fix me, I accepted it

He wasn't very good at it, not at all. Less a pitbull, more of a bait dog. But as long as it kept him alive, he had all the time in the world to devote to learning how to do something he wasn't very good at. He started, slowly, to gather a flicker of potential at it, even.

It was about this time that another kind of fairy godmother stepped into V's life. In a back alley of his life, to be more literal-- one right outside one of those basement fights, which she'd witnessed. A deal was presented, one that'd open up unfathomable opportunity in his life to succeed at this, as a career. The last career that he'd have wished for as a child, but he was right in the midst of it now and odds were, nothing else this big was coming his way for the rest of his life.

Have you ever read the original fairy tales? Disney did a mindmelting amount of prettying up Hans Christian Anderson's version of those tales. Anderson did at least as much prettying up of the original word-of-mouth versions he'd heard. Fairies aren't... nice. They're not good creatures. They're locked to fulfill their vowed words, and that is as far as you can imagine trusting them, and even then... they've got centuries worth of learning how to phrase things as tactically as possible. This fairy of his, wrapped up in a red dress and swearing her resources to him over reeking dumpsters for only the price of control... owned his ass for years. He may have broken free in an act of unfathomable will, but... this creature that those modern-superstitious types would call a devil would never stop hounding his footsteps.

Gladiator, gladiator, gladiator
Picked a fight with the gods, I'm the giant slayer
Boneshaker, dominator
Freight train, wrecking ball, I'm the gladiator

Not that it stopped him. He went pro. Then he went champion. The whole ride of strange MMA fame traced from 1999 all the way to July 15th, 2016. That was the day he fought the last match that felt like it had anything new to offer him, and stepped out of the spotlight and into the shadows that were always more comfortable anyhow. He bought a gym in Los Angeles and set himself up to train the next generation more as something to do than anything.

And then one day, in a pub he stopped by for a late lunch and drinks, he met a woman named Sin. Things just clicked immediately. Eventually words led to more. When Sin's brother Dom, who she lived with, needed to move to Savannah for work purposes, she dug in her heels and said she wouldn't go without V. And surprisingly? He was down to move cross-country and into her home all in one swoop.

He bought a building to convert into a gym, started the work... but apathy started to gnaw at him, along with old opiate addictions. For months he's been a bit of a shut-in, but he's venturing back out now.

LINES
Cohabitating lovers with sdraven
Roommates with Dom Draven
marilenecote is his dealer

OOC
Name: Corey
Discord: mendingwall#6370
GDocs: nivisionproductions@gmail.com