#hope your home countries of origin shame you if you support the occupation

[gotta-bail-my-quails]

some of the zionist accounts on here are fucking sickening because somehow they are posting about queer struggles and being supportive of black history while actively advocating the murder of a whole fucking group of people.

my experiences as a minority made me empathetic to others--what the fuck did they do for you?

[horacelawson]

The 1.1 update even adds support for the Priority Inbox feature if you have it enabled.

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[socialconstructwww]

In our society, human beings are not all treated equally despite all being human. Our world has created a pyramid of those that are seen at the top, to those that are considered to be at the bottom, in perspective to our society. Stereotypes throughout humanity have been existent for ages and our society has unfortunately kept those stereotypes. Due to the fact that stereotypes exist, people are rated and judged based on superficial attributes instead of their true self. People are mistreated in a plethora of different aspects including race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender, and many more ways. Gender Inequality is a result of social construction that has been around for ages. Females are disadvantaged in society compared to men because society believes it and allows for it based on original beliefs. Women’s roles in society have become increasingly complex which affect their overall way of life. What I have learned throughout this course has been that females are not considered as equals and this disparaging outlook prevents women from receiving equal treatment in religious customs, educational opportunities, wages and political opportunities. 

Religion is a massive practice that humans have been performing since the beginning of time. Religion makes people feel comfortable, have faith, and feel a connection. However, these practices have been performed since the beginning of human time, and times have changed for certain people for the better. In regards to women, they have had such little say in comparison to men in many different religions and practices. For example, in the daily prayers that are chanted in an orthodox temple, women and men have to say different prayers at a point in the service. At the specific point in the service, women recite, “Praised are you Adonai our God, for having made me according to Your will.” On the other hand, men chant, “Praised are you Adonai our God, for not having made me a woman.” This is a clear indication that gender plays a huge part in religion. It is a shame that humans still practice these ideas even though we know that it is wrong and that we as a human race are one, regardless of gender. As a Jewish person, this is heartbreaking that my own religion sees women as less than and change needs to be made in my opinion. Lots of other religions have similar ideas as Orthodox Judaism and it is not just one group of people. What I have learned is that at the beginning of time, women were not given the respect that they deserved, thus leading to the creation of religion that disrespects women. So, those that are extremely religious may feel that they have to stay true to their religion and abide by the original faiths and ideas that were written. Meaning that religion has a direct correlation with women not receiving enough respect. I have learned that humans should have some flexibility when it comes to abiding by the original writing in the Bible, the Torah, etc. Humans should wake up and see that women should not be disrespected and they should be treated just as equally as men. Women have to hear these types of ideas from all different religions and these ideas are unfortunately embedded into lots of people’s brains which unfairly hurts women.

For a plethora of years, women have been given unfair treatment in regards to their occupation as a whole. Women have been given unequal pay, unequal opportunity, and unequal treatment in regards to the workplace in not only the United States, but the entire world. Humans should give women better environments to be successful due to the fact that if we as a human race give everyone the opportunity to be successful, we yield the best possible person for a specific job. Unfortunately, our world and society do not work that way and there are many different examples of that. One coming from the company Uber and their comparison from men to women Uber drivers. In an article titled What Can Uber Teach Us About the Gender Pay Gap by  Stephen J. Dubner, an American author, men make more than women even though the platform for earning money is equal. Women tend to make less due to the societal constraints placed on women. For example, women tend to be the caretakers of the family and therefore can not drive at peak earning potential hours. This fact is huge in the potential earnings for women in the Uber industry. The stigma of women having to be the caretakers has been around for way too long and it has trickled into our society nowadays. Due to that stereotype, women are often the ones staying at home while men are able to go out and earn money. This unfortunate stereotype not only affects women Uber drivers, it affects all women with whatever job they are doing as they have to make a decision whether to be the caretaker at home, or go out and live an independent life, just like men do. What I have learned throughout all of this is that women do not receive the opportunity in order to go out and make the most possible money. The stereotype that women have to stay home while men go out and work has affected women in their potential earnings. Another example occurs with women leaders, especially in politics. Women have been viewed as unfit to take on a massive leadership role within our society. It is no secret that this is getting better as Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris are forever changing the game. However, we still have seen forty six United States male presidents, and zero women presidents. Women have been viewed as unworthy for the position, which completely ruins their chances, no matter how good they are for the job. Once again reiterating that we as humans are only hurting ourselves by listening and keeping these stereotypes due to the fact that we are essentially cutting our potential candidates in half. The best person should always be put up for the job, regardless of gender and other social stereotypes. Women have been hindered with the potential to go out and provide for themselves due to societal stereotypes and social construct, which gives women an unfair disadvantage.

The last thing that I really learned throughout this course has been the gender pay gap within our world. I have been well aware of this, however I have not known the extent and I have not known why there is such a large pay gap. It is no secret that women have been fighting for rights, freedom, and respect for eternities. Another huge thing that they fight for is the right to get equal pay. Some women are not given the same amount of money for equal work, just due to the fact that they are a woman. Also women are, on average, given less money than men. In a post by Dr. Richard on Tumblr, it shows the gender pay gap across many countries in our world and the results are very telling. Not only does the gender pay gap exist in the United States, but it also exists in other areas of the world, most notably Estonia, Latvia, and Austria. Limiting our society by not allowing women to make the most amount of money that they can is simply cruel and disgusting. Humans need to come together and change this immediately. I know that I keep saying that there are a large amount of huge things that I have learned in this class, but one of the biggest has been the fact that our society is cruel, ruthless, and awful. Humans cannot keep treating each other like this. There are way too many wars within our species. We have wars against nations, wars against genders, and even wars against our own countries. Humans need to start working together to try and beat the real enemy which is time Time is the real enemy due to the fact that climate change is occurring and our Earth will eventually not be liveable. I bring this up to show that humans, regardless of gender, are fighting over something that is a much lesser threat. Women should just be given the rights, freedom, respect, and autonomy that they deserve, or else we will be fighting about the wrong situation when our world nears its death. Meaning that we will die out with it instead of humans just working together, regardless of gender, ethnicity, race, etc. Women deserve better pay due to their equal contribution to our world in comparison to men.

Women have been mistreated for way too long and throughout this course, I have learned how special women can be. What I mean by that is women have been motivational speakers, authors, and much more. Women clearly have the potential to be creative thinkers in our society. One of the biggest things that we have been doing in this course is looking at inspirational women. Women that have accomplished so much. I have never really focused solely on women in any course throughout my lifetime. Learning about the amazing accomplishments by women has really opened up my mind that people, including myself, should support women and their fight for rights. What I mean by that is donating to charities, going on the women’s walk, and just being an active member to help women instead of just agreeing with their fight, but not doing anything about it. I have learned that women need my active contribution because they are sick and tired of being unfairly mistreated. Standing up for something that I believe in is something that I truly take to heart, and now I need to move this to the top of my list and start contributing through social media and through donations. Social construct is only hurting humans as a whole and we need to start working together and respecting everyone. I have learned that this world is a cruel place and I will hope to live to the day that real change happens on our globe in regards to gender inequality.

[olaluwe]

File photo: Mr. Andy Acka and his invented mini jeep. 

It’s no gain say that Nigerians old or young are a never say die people, even though, it’s not without occasional fraudulent twists to it.

Over the years and against all odds, they have continued to break out in different directions and in different countries all in the attempt to successfully underline their acquired or natural ingenuity.

So much that as the day goes by the stories of their constructions, however crudely they are, won’t stop multiplying and gaining traction.

Sure, it’s been giving a lot more Nigerians the hope (I won’t call it false yet) that country is within the touching distance of technological Eldorado. 

Frankly speaking, I love the love being shown these categories of Nigerians.

But at the same time, I’ve my reservations about the overreaching nature of people’s optimism and even glamorization especially when extended towards some of them.

In this wise, there’s a near grand attempt to pass off many of their creations as something to be celebrated despite being simplistically repetitive, unmarketably crude and so grossly deficient in what one may call imaginative originality.

That’s to say; their efforts, genuine as they were, are yet incapable of fully demonstrating our capacity and readiness to urgently impact the fluid boundaries of human technological march.

Over time, I’ve had a series of interesting conversations with people from both sides of the divides around the subject of Nigeria technological development and the hurdles it must overcome to stand a fighting chance of standing out in the highly competitive global market place of technological inventions.

The latest happened very recently on the street of Abuja. It was during one of my regular but casual visits to my young friend who is a SIM registration agent of one of Nigeria’s Global System of Mobile Communication (GSM) service providers. He is a graduate of one of the polytechnics in Northern Nigeria.

As it so happened when I arrived there that day, I met a younger boy there who was planning to take the just concluded United Tertiary and Matriculation Examination (UTME). Interestingly, he is an art student. And I’m so convinced his choice was by no means be less shrewd because it must have been a function of years of systemic assessments.

Not trying to discourage the boy I’d suppose, at least not directly, but my agent friend nevertheless would go on say rather shockingly that the art as a discipline isn’t adding any value to the growth and development of Nigeria.

And as if the detraction isn’t enough, he equally added that the art is no longer in vogue, unlike science. And I perfectly understood where he was coming from which is that the modern pioneers are the scientists, engineers, and inventors. Of course, he has a scientific background and that might explain his biases.

But is that enough reason to say the art in the form of imaginative flights and the likes have and are not contributing anything to human technological advances so far?

Just you know; knowledge is no more important than imagination. Imagination takes you everywhere; even to places you’ve never been physically and may never be in your life. 

To compound the drift, my friend is of the opinion that the Nigeria government at some points in the past had mooted the idea of canceling the art subjects.

This is where I came in because those obviously are misinformation and flawed conclusions about the arts.

Government anywhere not to talk of Nigeria, I chipped-in, cannot cancel art subjects in schools simply for the art is still very much and will remain part and parcel of human existence and experience going forward.

I had asked him what his definition of art is. Obviously, from his answer, he thinks art is only an academic discipline. He naively glossed over the part that the art is also a profession. And that within its huge multi-billion dollar industry is music, dance, theater, painting, photography and sculpturing to name a few.

On the one hand, I tried to encourage a joint inquiry into the nature of art. But more importantly, on the other hand, I had to inform his ignorance that as of today, art and not science as both an academic discipline and profession has brought Nigeria true recognition in the international arena through none other than the literary legend, Prof. Wole Soyinka who won the Nobel Laureate in 1986 and other art practitioners like musicians and those in the theatrics.

The conversation became more re-focused on science and technology, and I took the driving seat thereof. But somewhere in the middle, he managed to loop in a somewhat indefensibly populist opinion that Nigerians have always been inventing stuff which I agreed with and that government has not been supportive enough. Otherwise, a lot would have been achieved down the year.

In this regards, he would go on to cite some examples both from his polytechnic days and from happenings in the wider Nigerian society.

\

Let me pick just two. The first concerns a final year student of Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, who for his project invented a drone.

Like many before it, the news was all over the internet and you’d think a Nobel Prize is in the offing for the young man. Whereas all he has done was replicating what we already know. Not a bad idea altogether after all that’s how many of the technological powerhouses started off. But there’s something extra yet to be discovered by many inventive Nigerians and the government alike.

The second has a slant of fraud to it. It was in connection to a fraudulent infiltration of a bank in Nigeria by a black hat hacker.

At this point, I could perceive a glint of delight in his voice which went a pitch higher than it was before. More so, his face brightens up like a kid who just had a gift he has long craved for.

From his excitable conclusions, the hacker is not only a great guy but one who deserves a national honor. To him, the fraudulent tech-whizkid is a titular scientist and inventor to have applied his internet skill even if in a negative way.

For the umpteenth time and no disrespect to all honest technologists in Nigeria, the average inventive Nigerians are at best most pedestrian in their occupation. With a few exceptions though, they are not daring, not innovative enough to deserve the sort of accolades they are currently getting.

This is because all they have preoccupied themselves with over the years is recycling the technological wastelands of the rivaling west and eastern worlds to primarily feather the nest of their daily bread. And that’s where it stops.

I can name a thousand and one products, no jokes, which have remained the same since they first hit the market place as an alternative to their foreign counterparts.  That sucks if you ask me!

Not surprising, they’re sooner than later pushed out of business by their more daringly creative and innovative rivals from abroad.

To buttress my point, I’ll cite a couple of examples. I know many Nigerians are familiar with the crude electrical lighting contraption called ‘Oju ti NEPA’. When translated, ‘Oju ti NEPA’ means NEPA is put to shame.

And for the benefits of those who are idealess about what NEPA is or means, it is an acronym for Nigeria’s former energy carrier before it was ‘fraudulently unbundled’ some have argued and means National Electric Power Authority.  

The device in question derives its name from the function it serves. It is used to temporarily lights up the homes and shops when there’s a public power outage. There were and are still plenty of such.

It is one of the several ridiculous products ever to be invented by our so lionized collective engineering intelligentsia.

The worrisome aspect is that it has remained the same in shape and function since it first came to light decades ago. Whereas within the same period, its foreign parallels have undergone several innovative improvements and upgrades.

Secondly, some years back, I met a technologist who has fallen on evil days because his once thriving business was now in the past. The consequence is that he could no longer care for his family.

To bring the much-needed relief to his unease, he confided in me his plans to put up his only house for sale. Temporarily and before such becomes a reality, he has already started to reconfigure the house preparatory to letting out portions of it. However, I left the community not long afterward and wasn’t privileged to know what later happens.

Before then like I was saying, he has been very active in the industry of providing a local alternative to imported welding machines. Everything was going on fine. There was serious patronage for their rough looking contraptions. Then suddenly, they began to face stiff competition from abroad. The usual suspect, as you might know, is China.

And the local industry experts like him simply had no answer to the low price, beautifully made and efficient alternative from China. Sales dropped and customers moved to the imported welding machines.

Contrary to what people like my new friend expect that government should provide money for old and startup technologists and inventors; it’s not the responsibility of government to provide funding for the private technological initiative because accountability has been poor over the years.

It’s, therefore, not up for arguments, that is a frontier for the private financial institutions and rich entrepreneurs looking for openings to invest their millions and billions if you like which underscore the importance of a SiliconValley and Nigeria don’t have any as we speak.

All Nigeria presently has to the best of my knowledge are underfunded technology incubation centers; and ineffective and inefficient research institutes whose outputs are gathering dust on their shelves.

Also from what I know of Nigeria and Nigerians, any money from the government is seen as either a windfall or crust from the national cake whose repayment should be given little or no attention.

That said; there’s another group of inventive Nigerians who don’t deserve love from anybody. These groups are ambitious and industrious but in the end, what do they do?

To drive sales knowing wealthy and no less the poor Nigerians have obsessive tastes for foreign goods, their products, and services are either attributed to China or any of the many European countries.

Finally, here are the cruxes of Nigeria’s scientific, technological and inventive matters.

The idea that Nigerian inventors wanting to fly first before they walk has for so long remain unacceptably counterproductive and will forever remain so.

The idea that Nigerian inventors believing rather in error that they can continue to produce just about anything and anyhow in the hope Nigerians and indeed anybody will buy because they’re cheap will not also fly.

Nobody buys a product or service because it’s cheap alone. In a similar vein, nobody also ignores a product or service just because it’s expensive.

There must be an added utility or value to it, first in the form of aesthetics and then efficient and dependable problem-solving features. And those are the catch!

Nigerian inventors must learn to combine the right pricing with the right design. Only then can their products and services begin to compete favorably well with similar stuff coming from China or anywhere else for that matter.

They must also, learn to be responsively innovative and not wait until the competition is at the door before they know it’s time to up their game.

Everything these days including technological products are to be optimized for the global market for that’s what it is. Or else they will gather dust on the shelves of marketers.

Nigerian technologists must be ready to go from the basic to intermediate and then to advance in their quest to be a reckoning force in the already glutted and expanding the global marketplace of arcane end of engineering products and services.  

The way it stands, it’s a false hope that Nigeria is anywhere within the threshold of a technological Eldorado. In my opinion, we have not even started. If anything, we’re only crashing in and at random on what’s the arcane gate of technological Eldorado. Whereas, what’s urgently needed by the technologists at both the academic and industrial levels is to be deliberate about it.

As for those who like my friend wish to be over the moon because inventive Nigerians are able to conjure scrappy papers, plastics, and metals into something all in the name of inventing, I say best of luck.

But for those who are already over the moon because some fellow Nigerians are able to couple mechanical and electrical elements which they didn’t even make originally and calling it invention and believing they’re close to technological new dawn; I think they are in a dreamland.

And like those who in their dream stumbled on a cache of money and are overjoyed; they better be hardworking because it’s an indirect sign of impending hunger.

Finally, I was and will always be over the moon for those inventive Nigerians who’re crazy enough to imagine things impossible in the estimation of unimaginative people; and are willing to connect, collaborate and innovate with others within the existing technological development frameworks towards bringing them to fruition.

[red-mafia-rpg-blog]

Gregor ValiguraVolkov || Brotherhood  || The Tempest

TAKEN | OPEN |

Face-claim: Jon Bernthal Age: 39 Occupation: N/A Nationality/Ethnicity: Russian

PERSONALITY

Enneagram: The Challenger Alignment: Neutral Evil MBTI: ENTP

+ Incorruptable, Principled, Venturesome

- Callous, Caustic, Pugnacious

From a young age, Gregor has always been somewhat of a rebellious, reckless child that enjoyed provoking fights and stirring up trouble. This behaviour reached its peak once he was taken in by the military and trained among his new comrades, topping in what others might call self-destructive tendencies. Along with that, he has always been carrying somewhat of a cynical and bitter attitude towards society and life in general, but paired with a sense of humour — possibly rather bizarre — it made for a person that acted much like a jerk but could be tolerated once you got to know him.His first actual love and later wife was the one to slow Gregor down for a while and heal him from what he has endured. Still, he would not let go of his reckless demeanour completely, but slowly turned into a considerate parent who cared about his wife and son more than his own life. The events of the war and of the aftermath, however, especially with the consequences of the Secret Police trying to recruit him, seemingly destroyed the glimpse of hope and happiness his wife had sown and cherished so carefully.Now, Gregor has turned into somewhat of an irascible person that only ever seems to come to life when in a fight with fists to his nose or stomach. He does not do emotions except for anger, wrath and rage, making his core identity. Underneath it all, however, he never quite let go of his parental instincts and is subconsciously always looking for a family he seeks to protect. Even though he refuses to acknowledge that to himself, this is mostly the reason why he ranked up so quickly in the Brotherhood and makes such a strong commander of support. He subconsciously sees all of his trainees, the people who belong to his syndicate in general, as family and whoever threatens to harm them… well, better think twice if it is worth the trouble.

BIOGRAPHY

Not even born yet, the mention of Gregor only brought up resentment. His father being no less a man than Pyotr Valigura, third Pakhan of the Valigura Bratva, an infamous, old and strong brotherhood, there wasn’t a place in the world for a mistake made by one of Moscow’s most powerful men: a bastard son; a problem originating in a random one-night-stand with a random barista after a random amount of alcohol. So a plan was counted up to clean Pyotr off his mistake before his fellow Valigura could find out. However, as his confidant arrived at the barista’s house to get the job done, nice and quickly, they found it abandoned, the expectant mother having disappeared off the face of the earth, or so it seemed. Her sister-in-law had taken her in while her husband was fighting at the front in the First World War, but knowing that she couldn’t hide from the brotherhood forever, she gave Gregor up for adoption.

The baby boy was taken in by the Volkovs, a family name well-known with his adoptive father a man close to Stalin. His parents never kept it a secret to Gregor that they’d adopted him — even though unaware of his true origins —, but this knowledge didn’t make a change about their family bonds. A few years into his childhood, he was promised to live a comfortable life, enjoying the family’s money and respect. These visions were rapidly shattered, however, when soldiers broke into their home one night, dragging their father away and sending them to Gulag, claiming he’s betrayed the Soviet Union. While Konstantin was eaten up by the shame and hatred for his father, Gregor distanced himself from the latest events.

He wasn’t my father anyway.

However, he couldn’t close his eyes from the truth that the family was left with no money or power, no future for the two boys. His mother, in her despair, sold herself to the men her husband had interacted with, only worsening the life they were forced to lead. Gregor and his younger brother were left to their own demise, somehow had to weave their way through life, until one day they saw the soldiers again.

This time, they were coming for the boys. With tensions rising in Europe and a new war seeming possible only few years after the massive failures in the Russian Empire’s participation in the First World War, the military hungered for new recruits. In memory of the family’s past, the Volkov brothers were to be moulded into perfect little soldiers, cleaning their name under the Soviet flag.

Konstantin had always been more of a reclusive boy who works hard a quiet and stayed out of the trouble for the better part. He had a mission, an aim to achieve: wash himself off of his father’s shame. Gregor, on the other hand, wasn’t driven by anything resembling that honourable motivation. In fact, he didn’t have a clue what to do with his life, was bored to death by everything, and just gasping for a little thrill. He ended up throwing himself head first into conflicts at every chance, more often than not needing his brother to bail him out of the fights again. Early into the training at the military, it was obvious that Gregor didn’t excel at hand-to-hand combat or short ranged weapons. But oh boy, when he first laid hand onto a sniper rifle. Sharpshooting quickly became his speciality. Finally, he was able to define himself over something, distance himself from the others, and so he’d spend hours and hours of practicing until there wasn’t a target he couldn’t hit, no matter the distance, his positioning, its movements or the wind. He also developed quite a fascination for explosives of all sorts — bombs, grenades, mines, missiles — but the rifle would always stay his weapon of choice.

Only two years before the outbreak of the Second World War, Gregor met the love of his life, Ana Matkin. A quick wit embedded into a stunning dark-haired and blue-eyed beauty, she completely threw his world upside-down, and in a head-over-heel decision somewhat mirroring his way of life, they got married and moved in together. By the time, Gregor almost broke contact with his brother. He was finally having it all: a loving wife, an adorable son, a life everyone was striving for. There simply wasn’t a place for Konstantin and the constant reminders of their past.

However, as war broke out, Gregor saw it coming and only waited for the day he and his brother were sent to the front. They fought side by side, had each other’s back, made sure to, one way or another, drag their sibling along and get them to safety. They made quite a team to be reckoned with. Until a mission in Germany went wrong, a trap, perhaps, Gregor doesn’t remember, but they got separated.

Gregor barely made it out alive and back to the camp where he was greeted with a simple “No” to his yet unspoken request. He tried to reason with the officer in charge, screamed at him, shouted, threatened him even, but all he was offered was a trip back to Moscow. Not just once, they told him that Konstantin as probably dead by now and if he wasn’t, God may have mercy on his soul. Gregor refused to let it end this way, and single-handedly slipped back behind enemy lines, only accompanied by a few comrades that couldn’t stand him so much but did it for his brother.

On a mission that should’ve meant certain death for each and every one of the soldiers, they infiltrated the Germans, found out where they were keeping Konstantin and delivered him from captivity. They never talked about what they did to him in those weeks, but he’s never been the same afterwards. Neither was Gregor, though, and when he finally returned to his wife and his son, eight years of age by then, he and Konstantin lost sight of each other and wouldn’t keep up any form on contact in a long while.

Processing the war, Gregor became quieter, calmer, but also more aggressive when provoked. Unable to talk about his emotions and claiming that no one could ever understand him anyway, he bottled up his anger, feeding that swelling hatred inside his stomach over the officer who had let down Konstantin just like that. After all that he’s done for his country. More and more frequently, Gregor would disappear down the basement for a couple hours, punching rough, solid stone walls until his knuckles broke and bled. Now that he’s witnessed it once, he couldn’t make the injustice unseen that loyal Russians like Konstantin and him, who had bled for their country, had to suffer.

Even though he desperately tried to ignore everything politics, the regular reports of how Stalin treated his people, the ones he should actually protect and care for, burnt a mark into Gregor’s heart. Ana was quick to realise the change of mind her husband was going through, trying to silence his rebellious, traitorous remarks about their government, but with no success.

Hardly a year back in Moscow, the secret police, hiding their true identity from him, of course, contacted him with an offer: either join them and go on mission for the Soviet Union in order to stabilise the country and preserve peace, or have them slaughter his wife and his son and all of his beloved ones. If only he knew who he was dealing with, maybe he would have decided differently. But then again, he’s always been somewhat of a bullethead, clinging onto his own principles way too strictly. And perhaps, too, he wanted to dare them to act on their thread.

Well, they did. A couple weeks later after he almost forgot about the strange encounter that had made him laugh for the first time in a long period, Gregor returned home from a run late in the evening and found the remains of his wife spread in their living room; crimson red had soaked into the furniture, covered all of the walls and read a barbaric note on the wall: Save your son.

He’s seen a lot while at the front; comrades carrying their own guts as they stumbled in shock, and others having their skin melting off their faces from the heat of an explosion. It was fair to say he had become inured to horrifying sights, but that scene that was presented to him in his very living room, made him double over and empty his stomach onto the carpeted floor. It was a moment of weakness, bare seconds, but a warrior doesn’t mourn the dead until the war is over. And so he pushed himself onto his feet, went for the sniper rifle he was carefully stowing beneath his bed, and climbed onto his home’s roof. They couldn’t be far, he hoped.

Yet he was surprised when he made out two silhouettes in the dark; a dark figure dressed all in black and his little Tad with his unmistakeable blonde locks being dragged to a car. Having a rough idea just which organisation he was dealing with, Gregor knew what awaited the boy; pain and torture and the fact that he was only nine years old wouldn’t make a difference to his capturers. So he raised the rifle, aimed and felt his finger sliding onto the trigger like it had countless times before. He wasn’t shaking, he wasn’t trembling, he was as calm as he’s trained to be. Gregor exhaled and a shot echoed from Moscow’s walls.

Completely numb, zoned out even, he watched as Tad went down, but much more interesting was the reaction of his capturer. He knelt down, almost as if in despair, hands clenched tightly onto the kid, holding him as he shook, fighting for his last breaths. The man raised his head, staring directly to Gregor’s spot on the roof. And even though he keeps telling himself that his mind must’ve fooled him, Gregor still believes to have seen all too familiar blue orbs reflecting his own pain.

After the events of the night, Gregor ended up where his story had started way back; joining the Bratva for good. He had grown numb to pain and emotions. Only hatred and wrath, bottled up deep inside, kept him going, made him get up the morning. He proved his loyalty and value to the brotherhood not only once or twice, but over and over again until he was promoted to rank 3, training officer. The trainees that had been assigned to work with him, utterly hated every second of it, but he taught them everything he learned from the military, war and his years in the tunnels. If they survived his training, they’d survive anything.

Only a few weeks back, their Pakhan found a special interest in Gregor and shortly after, he was promoted to the position of commander of support. Even though he told him it was the reward for his exemplary qualifications and achievements, Gregor can’t shake off the feeling that there’s more to it.

[houseofcrimerp-blog]

« THE PRODIGAL CHILD »                  ❝ DO WHAT THOU WILT ❞

LAST NAME, FIRST NAME: Constantin, Victor (Vic) AGE: Thirty-two. HOUSE OF CHOICE: House of War: level I. OCCUPATION: Tattoo artist and owner of The Armoury tattoo parlour. FACE CLAIM: Brian Fallon NATIONALITY: Raised in Romania but birthplace is unknown ETHNICITY: Caucasian, Unknown

CONNECTIONS:

Younger Brother: Nicolae is one of the many young boys who grew up alongside Victor in Mathilda Constantin’s Home for Orphaned Boys. Their lives in the orphanage were trying, at best and hellish, at worst. Victor protected Nicolae from Mathilda’s iron fist and Nicolae gave his older brother hope for a less violent future. When Victor disowned his family in hopes of pursuing a proper livelihood, the only person who kept in touch with him was Nicolae. Shortly before Victor was due to be wed, Nicolae sent a cryptic e-mail, expressing his fears about the growing animosity between the Constantin boys. Raul had become bloodthirsty and vengeful, even towards his own brothers. You were always the voice of reason, Nicolae wrote, we need you. As quickly as Victor read the words, he hopped on a bus back to Bucharest.

Ex-fianc��e : Shortly after Victor left his childhood home, he enrolled in the Bachelor’s of Philosophy program at the University of Craiova. It quickly became clear that Victor wasn’t cut out for higher education, but during the short two months that he was attending classes, he met a girl, Madeline. She was untouched by the crime syndicates that ruled the country: she was brilliant, beautiful and her ability to become lost in thought was unfounded. Victor was enthralled, and even after he failed out of university and began apprenticing at a local tattoo parlour, the two remained close. After years of the occasional tryst, they fell in love over black coffee and conversations about the inherent value of nihilism. They were arranged to be married only three weeks before Nicolae reached out to Victor and when he returned to the House of War, he did so in the night, not even leaving a note to his Madeline. He could not reason within himself why the purest woman should be introduced to this life of delinquency. Even now, he doesn’t know where his neglected lover is, or if she even remains in Romania.

Frankie Langton: Upon Victor’s return from Craiova, he attempted to avoid any leaders of the syndicate. Nicolae had warned that upon his return, he may be met with violence and resentment After all, he’d acted treacherously and violated a main tenet of War - members are family and family comes above all else. Victor remained unsure about wether affiliating himself with War again would have a positive outcome but when he encountered the 2nd In Command, he was surprised to be met with the sympathies of a seemingly genuine man. Frankie offered him a place as a level I member, with no constraints of an initiation and a short probationary period. While Frankie appeared to be sincere in their few interactions, Victor is still just as wary of the man as Frankie may be of him.

Natalia Dalca: Victor and Natalia met about two years ago, shortly after Natalia began piercing professionally. Victor was still mourning the loss of his tattoo parlour in Craiova and was determined to open a new one. When Natalia applied for the position of resident body piercer, The Armoury was located in the dirtiest corner of town, probably violating any and all existing health regulations. Victor needed a piercer in his shop and while he wasn’t a great judge of ability in this field, Natalia seemed to be passionate and somewhat skillful in pushing a needle through a person’s flesh. Victor is sometimes frustrated by Natalia’s flighty behaviour but also, sees that addressing his frustrations would be hypocritical given his history.

PERSONALITY: Quiet and attentive. One can learn a great deal from silent observation. Through his infrequent speech, Victor quickly picks on quirks that others may not notice within themselves. As well as that, keeping quiet also meant avoiding a beating in the Constantin household, so one could call his silent disposition a learned behaviour. Skilled and passionate. After walking into a tattoo parlour in Craiova over a decade ago, arms covered in chicken scratch and DIY prison-style tattoos, Victor has gained immeasurable skill in making art on the skin of interested denizens. His favourite brand of clientele are those who come in with no ideas or requirements, allowing his artistic desires to flow out on their flesh. He’s been told that the skin of his clients should be framed and hung in the Louvre, but perhaps that was meant facetiously. Loyal. Victor has been incensed with guilt over leaving behind an undeserving lover or betraying an innocent friend. Over the years, he’s given up bits and parts of his moral code for the syndicate - trading pacifism for systemic violence, giving people an outlet for their addiction, feeding the monsters under the bridge. Those actions, however, are necessary for his survival. He only stands firm on one thing - once Victor Constantin is on your good side, he always will be. Intelligent and well-read. Victor was turned away by post-secondary education. His mind has always moved too quickly for his own good, and for the long essay writing associated with higher learning. Victor loves a good political debate though and he’s always been heavily interested in philosophy, aligning himself with reluctant nihilism, Strauss, Foucault and the like. Safe to say, Victor had the capabilities for violence but he far preferred to battle with words.

THREE WEAKNESSES:

His brothers: given their shared experience of a troublesome and peculiar childhood, the boys of the Constantin house learned to depend on one another and lean on the shoulders of their brothers. There isn’t a single thing that Victor wouldn’t do for any one of his siblings-of-the-heart, even to his detriment.

His livelihood; though Victor abandoned his beloved first tattoo parlour in Craiova, he wouldn’t dare make that mistake again. He does struggle with the demands of his role in the syndicate and the responsibilities of owning a small business. Despite most of his money coming from illicit activities, the ability to sustain himself with a commoner’s job gives Victor a sense of relief and the notion that he isn’t a complete waste of flesh and bone. He wouldn’t give up The Armoury for the world.

A good debate: Victor considers himself an intelligent and self-educated man, one of the few positive traits he attributes to himself. With certainty, several bar fights have been quelled by a lively argument about the future of the Alliance of Liberals & Democrats.

BIOGRAPHY: 

TW: violence, death.

Victor Constantin isn’t in the history books. He isn’t in possession of the record of his birth, or of his creators. He doesn’t know of his origins, nor do any doctors, archivists or historians. He might have been born in Romania, or anywhere else in the world. Somehow, he ended up in a home for orphaned boys, owned by Mathilda Constantin, a tyrannical and cruel member of the House of War. She was a recruiter and her contribution was the young boys that she molded into violent warriors for the syndicate’s eventual use. Victor was no different, but his youngest pseudo-brother,  Nicolae, was. The youngest Constantin was meek and thoughtful; Victor couldn’t help but protect him from Mathilda’s wrath.

The first time Victor witnessed a murder, it changed something within him. Sure, he’d bloodied his knuckles and fractured his bones many times, but those were akin to youthful frolicking. The life draining from someone’s face, the colour turning pale, it changes even the most hardened young men. Mathilda pushed all of the boys to do her bidding, and the bidding of higher-ups in the syndicate. She inspired wars and battles, conjuring up the hormones that bustled within the growing Constantin boys. Again, Victor was no different.

At seventeen, most of the Constantin boys had committed a stabbing or similarly bloody offence. During the night, they huddled in a semicircle in their quarters, sharing stories of shame and guilt, and resentment and anger. Victor participated to a point, but he was simultaneously outcasted. At nearly eighteen, he had never committed a violent crime. Certainly, he had picked the pockets of distracted bystanders and sold amphetamines to tireless factory workers but Victor Constantin had never had the blood of a victim on his hands.

Victor watched as Nicolae was thrown into walls. The young boy was small, but he was filled with an untapped rage that transformed him into an unabashed killer. It was difficult to watch his closest confidant fall into the turning tide of irrational and shameless brutality. Similarly, Victor was under Mathilda’s watchful eye. Everyday she queried, why haven’t you sacrificed your pride for the syndicate? Nobody can keep the facade of a pacifist on forever. Victor truly longed to leave Mathilda’s house and the expectations she forced upon him behind, but where would he live? What would he eat? What supports would he have to lean on? Surely, his brothers would view him as a traitor and abandoned him alike.

Eventually, Victor was forced to fall in line. There were only so many nights that he could neglect his growling stomach or sleep on the cement floor. The first life he took was an that of an innocent soul, a pathetic elderly man of meagre funds. He owed a small amount of drug money to Raul, who fed the man’s addiction everyday and let him fall deeper into debt. They considered him useless. The whole ordeal was crushing - walking up to his victim, sat in a back alley, beside a dumpster. What was the purpose of ending a life over drug debt? Either way, it’ll never be paid. Striking, sinking into flesh, the quiver of the man and the blush draining from his cheeks. It was both eerie and visceral, but all the pressure had been relieved. Perhaps, he’d always been afraid that he’d enjoy it too much. Perhaps Victor was fully assimilated now, he could kill without conscious like Mathilda and the syndicate demanded. Physically, he could do it but logically, he didn’t want to.

There were few options for a nineteen-year-old kid with no proper work experience, assuming petty theft is discounted, no suitcase in which to carry two shirts and a pair of socks, no birth certificate, no idea where he would even depart to. Nicolae warned him that if he were to leave, many of his brothers many never speak to him again, he would be labelled a traitor by the house and Mathilda would be furious beyond words. Despite all this, Victor had already made up his mind - he had to go.

Victor accepted a grunt job in Craiova, a city three hours away from Bucharest, in a bakery where he made little more than 50€ a month. He mixed flour, rolled dough and let the elderly women who decorated the tort pinch his cheeks and send him home with leftover aspic. He was rail thin and slept among 8 other dirty labourers in a boarding house, where he could hardly afford monthly fees. He subsisted on leftover pastries from bakery storefront. Not much had changed but it was better than the daily demands for senseless violence at Mathilda’s home.

After attempting to take advantage of Romania’s free access to post-secondary schooling, which he failed miserably at, Victor walked into a tattoo shop called Tattoo Sfinx. It was nothing like he imagined, nothing like the dimly lit rooms he’d given himself countless do-it-yourself , prison style tattoos with the end of a safety pin and ink from a Bic ballpoint pen. “You look like shit,” the grey-haired owner sneered, “you probably can’t afford a tattoo here anyways.” He was probably right about that but Victor shrugged and said “I don’t want a tattoo here, I want to tattoo here.” And so he began practicing on his arms and legs and anyone who would let him touch them with a needle.

Along the way, Victor met Madeline, a beautiful girl who was more intelligent than himself. Together, they rented a quaint apartment and brought in a stray cat. His childhood seemed extremely distant at this point, just light years away. After four years of dating, Victor proposed marriage and Madeline said yes, and then graduated with a Doctoral degree in particle physics. Victor opened his own tattoo parlour. He felt like a separate man now and even considered changing his surname. He surely wasn’t born a Constantin any longer and since the death of his housemother, nothing tied him to those people. Nicolae had stopped writing regularly years ago, until that day. Three weeks until the two young lovers were due to wed, Nicolae’s name popped into Victor’s inbox.

Victor, I know it has been months since we spoke and I hope you are doing well. I am aware you are due to marry Madeleine very shortly, but I ask of you please to return to Bucharest. Since Mathilda’s death, our brother Raul has become violent towards many of us. He recently attempted to stab Samiel and I am not sure how to respond. I suppose he is wrought with grief, something I do not understand as she was an awful woman. Somebody needs to address this and only you will be successful. You were always the voice of reason; we need you. - Nicolae

The first place Victor visited upon his return to Bucharest was Mathilda’s old home. It was dilapidated and luckily, empty. There was no reason for any Constantin to remain there. Next, he checked Gara de Nord, the train station that he and Raul peddled opiates in when they were young. There he found two of his brothers, looking as wrecked as Mathilda’s house. They had taken up pickpocketing again as money wasn’t flowing very loosely. It didn’t take Victor long to fall back into his old world, either. He’d been accepted back into the syndicate by a commanding leader and while thoughts of Madeline still came to him in moments of desperation, they were few and far between. He’d assured himself that his priorities were realigned.

Seven years later and Victor regained his livelihood and his pride. He opened up a new tattoo parlour in Bucharest, with another member of War as the resident body piercer. He remained a level I, a testament to the pacifism that growing up with demands of violence instilled in him.  He is mostly ambivalent about the loss of the head of the syndicate, but would never show this judgement to anyone else. He’s committed horrific acts when necessary, but never more, and committed victimless crimes as he desired. More than ever, Victor has been treading water, unsure how long he can keep the act up for this time around.