#ilyana stoyanova

[infernoroleplay-blog]

                                        ILYANA STOYANOVA

THIRTY. RUSSIAN-POLISH LIAISON. NEUTRAL.

Life takes, takes and takes away from you until you have nothing left. Until there's only you, standing still like a wounded soldier, knowing no one's gonna come for you. No one's going to hold you or keep you close anymore -- there's only you left.

But life begins soft and silky first, in London, UK. 1989. Born to a loving, filthy rich family, Ilyana was spoiled rotten. Daughter to a famous diplomat and a darling Russian socialite, she had everything it took to succeed and follow her father's footsteps: his diligence, his calmness, his loving pair of brown eyes, his smooth disposition. She remembers dearly his Cheshire cat smile, his way of secretly slipping love letters into her mother's pillow, ever so carefully so she'd wake up to them in the morning. She remembers how he gave Ilyana her own ruby necklace, something which she cherishes until this day.

He was a busy man, though. She remembers the echoes of voices in the hallway, yelling at him in Italian, sometimes in Russian -- but she couldn't make much of it. Ilyana was seven years old, yet something about it still felt wrong, like her father was doing something awful but she couldn't pinpoint what it was precisely. Her suspicions would be confirmed later on, at the brink of ten years old, when her father was charged of corruption in an international money laundering scandal involving the English prime minister and Italian mobsters. The government did not take kindly to it, and the witch hunt began, prying from her grabby little hands the love of her father then, when he was eventually arrested and thrown into prison in a life sentence. She didn't get to say goodbye. All that she remembers is that her mother had connections all throughout the US, and her friend Dmitri would help them.  

Dmitri Nikolayev. It all traces back to him, doesn't it?

Life in LA wasn't good, but it wasn't bad, either. She simply adapted to it without a word. Surely, the kids were mean,  liked to pull on her hair sometimes and mock her London accent, but Ilyana still held onto her mother. Only eleven, she learned how to make the best out of most situations, hoping she'd have her father's skills someday. Little did she know her diplomatic gifts were more of a curse than a blessing.

Her mother was often absent, leaving her at the mercy of Dmitri's servants at the time. She remembers his big shiny guns, his wicked smile and the way his soldiers treated her. She was nothing but a pawn in their games. In her mother's game. In everyone else's. So when her mother took off to live with a French businessman, leaving nothing but a damned letter behind, Ilyana's world collapsed. She was fourteen -- only a child -- when she learned of her mother's connections to the mafia and how Dmitri was not her uncle but rather, one of her mother's infamous lovers, leaving Ilyana at his mercy at fourteen years old.

He did not discard her. She could be of use. Ilyana's involvement with the mafia started early on, when she would deliver letters and messages to Dmitri's enemies and allies alike, like a liaison, like another disposable piece n a game of chess. She was no longer made of heartfelt laughter, but of steel and iron, unwilling to become ruthless and coldhearted like those who had their involvement with Dmitri. Some saw her softness and diplomacy as weakness, as a mere façade to hide the broken girl... And in some ways they were right: she had been born for something better, something glimmery and gold. Yet, she had been handed the short end of the stick.

Life as a Russian-Polish messenger was not nearly as thrilling as some pegged it to be. It mostly consisted of making your voice heard in conversations and compromising when necessary. She did not disappoint -- she was her father's daughter after all, a good conversationalist, and an even better liaison. She knew how to keep secrets, even from herself, and when Dominik Pruszkowski settled into town -- she remembers Dmitri's association with the Polish mafia all too well -- she felt war raging from both sides.

Dmitri went as far as to give her two bodyguards, should anything happen to her. She was a witness to the destruction and the glimmery, shiny, polished world of Inferno.  Its web of lies, deceit and death tugging on her shoulders, at her every being. No matter how much Ilyana missed London, she had now given her life to the Russian-Polish cause... She could not afford to go back, nor could she afford to walk away. Her hands had been stained with blood just the same, and much like her father's, she was now tainted with the corruption of others. Just the thought of it was enough to make her ill, unable to stomach the fact she was deeply intertwined with the lives of killers and kings alike.

But it was the disappearance of Rebekah that would take its toll on Ilyana. One more to bury, one more pawn going down.  If a Pruszwkoski life was at stake, what did Ilyana's life mean to them? She could easily be taken down as well. The two had been friends every since Rebekah's brother, Dominik, had taken on the throne, and whilst Ilyana didn't have a particular feeling about him, now she does. He did not protect his family -- how could he protect anyone else? Ilyana never voiced her feelings or opinions intensely, for she knew it could get her killed... But Dominik... The thought of him brought an intense feeling of fear and dislike in her gut, like he was responsible for every wrongdoing. It always felt like the bigger evil was Nik himself, for not having saved Rebekah from his own greed and prejudice.

Now she carries the weight of all the losses she has witnessed. Her father. Her mother. Rebekah. Everyone she has known and cherished has left in some way or another, leaving her stranded. Leaving her alone, at last. Knowing of the Russians' likely betrayal does not make things easier either.. She has been treading on dangerous waters, holding back a secret or two from everyone she knows. These days she just keeps mostly to herself, knowing the wrong words could get you in a bad twist of fate. Killed or worse.. Missing.

                                             CONNECTIONS

DMITRI NIKOLAYEV: She knows of his killings. She knows he’s far from innocent, and still, she’s in debt with Dmitri. Knowing he did the right thing by taking her in is one thing, but having her become a Russian-Polish messenger and liaison is another... She still cannot make much of it. Her memory remembers everything almost too well, and Ilyana knows better than to hold a grudge against the man who had mercy upon her, but a part of her wishes she could have been another normal, ordinary girl.

REBEKAH PRUSZKOWSKA: Rebekah was a good person... And now she’s likely dead. That’s what the mob does to you: it twists and turns the knife into you if you’re good, if you’re uncorrupted. Ilyana wishes she could’ve done something to prevent Rebekah’s missing. But she knows she doesn’t hold much power -- despite her knowing secrets atop of secrets, she doesn’t have nearly as much influence as she wishes she did. She’s just a messenger, after all. Her opinions don’t matter.

DOMINIK PRUSZKOWSKI: He’s a dangerous man. He seems more reliable than Dmitri, but that’s all he does: plays the part of a sane man. When in fact, he’s more than ill, he’s more than wicked and doomed. He’s a sick one -- and she doesn’t trust one bit of his words. The fact that he’ll do whatever it takes to have what he wants and needs scares her, because a man this young and this powerful should not have been allowed to take the throne. But then again, they always do.

KATERINA GUERRERO: Ilyana hopes it’s not too late for Katerina to leave the Pruszkow mob. If she had a choice like Katerina, she’d flee the country, but the two are the different sides of the same coin: both tied to their loyalty to wicked men who have had the mercy and the cunning of taking them in. Perhaps it’s not so much about mercy after all, but about seeing the potential in these women and taking them as their soldiers, associates, messengers, and all of the like. She takes Katerina as a good companion, despite their differences.

FACECLAIM: BLAKE LIVELY (NEGOTIABLE)

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                                               ANAIS DELANNOY

THIRTY TWO. CON-ARTIST / SOCIALITE.

TRIGGER WARNING: THEMES OF DEATH AND MURDER.

Different names. Different countries. Different personalities. Anaïs Nin once said, "We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are," and the girl of the same name mirrors a thousand different people everyday, as she sees fit.

Anais Delannoy, originally Nadia Ivankova, was born to a Russian mobster in the raging 80's, in Siberia, in the heart of Novosibirsk. Though no one would dare such a thing as to call Nadia by her true name, she holds the girl she was dear to her heart. A girl tainted by the witnessing of her entire family's murder as she hid in the corner of a wooden wardrobe, with book in hand and pen on the other. Anais remembers the joys of writing whilst her father would polish his rifles and shotguns or sharpen his knives, she remembers the good typical food of Siberia and most importantly, the people who came after her siblings and parents on that evening, being the only survivor to an entire wiping out of her ancestry and her history.

She was eleven years old, a child, a heartbreak.

Bouncing from foster home to foster home, Anais learned to adapt and take on the different surnames that were given to her. The families that took her in were either in shock by her ability to read others or completely thrown off by her quick learning. Mostly, she would fit like a glove in any given place, any given minute, adhering to lies and deceit to adjust to her homes. Eventually though, the façade would slip and the mask would fall off her features, revealing a broken girl underneath. Nobody wanted the broken girl revealed, nobody wanted the façade. Parents expected perfection, and she found out her true calling manipulating people into believing she was, indeed, the girl they wanted her to be.

At least for a little while, it worked -- but it would always wear off, like ink, like melted plastic.

Anais got into small crimes as a teenager, pickpocketing being her favorite. It began small -- normally she would slip her grabby fingers into her adoptive mother's purse, or pry some money away from whoever she called father at that age. At sixteen, she got a little more daring -- or rather, a lot. She abandoned everything in Siberia, running to Moscow to start a new life without any adoptive parents or siblings tugging at her tail, at her every being. Then, she found out, she was free to be whoever she wanted: wild or conservative, young and at war, raging with a fire inside, Anais took on several different personalities, several different lovers, each for every day of the night, just so she wouldn't be as lonely.  It's not that she didn't like solitude -- but sometimes it became too much to bear, and the thoughts became dark and gritty, ricocheting mad in between nightmares and daydreams of her dead family.

She would work different jobs, more often than not she liked being a waitress at small diners in Moscow. She didn't hope for much (for it was a dangerous thing for a woman like her to have), but she took pleasure in fooling clients into giving her more money than necessary, and sometimes she pulled off different scams, either posing as a French socialite lost in the streets -- her favorite act -- or an English famous writer who had been robbed of everything. People bought it, after all, she was good at it: she had a good accent, she learnt English from the best of Dickens and Austen combined, and was a good conversationalist.

By then, she had forgotten Nadia almost entirely. She felt no longer broken, but full of potential, shimmery, polished like her father's guns: loaded and ready to aim. But being her father's daughter, she had a lingering feeling in her gut that Russia was not it -- she still had the whole world to conquer. However, she still needed to figure out whoever pulled the trigger on that cold Siberian night... And one name called out to her in particular: Dmitri Nikolayev.

Early 00's, LA, the shiny scene of celebrities, socialites and public figures all made of plastic and high couture... Anais fit in almost too perfectly amongst the tabloids and the scandals, making her way into the high society through her well-crafted lies and manipulation games. She became good at it, posing as Anais Delannoy: her newest, shiniest personality, it was alarming how inviting she was, fooling everyone she was charming and lying to herself she was meant for the Hollywood scene.

No one knew who she was and they loved it.

Yet the story of Nadia kept resurfacing from her core, no matter how hard she tried to bury it under, drown it out, play it down. The remembrance of a girl left in a wardrobe, watching the execution of her parents... The thought of it brought rage and tears and a personal vendetta against Dmitri Nikolayev himself, whose whereabouts she had heard of way back in Russia. She wasn't in LA just for the sake of it.

She was here for payback. For karma. Because if karma did not exist, she would become karma herself -- after all, she had taken on several different personalities, so just a little one wouldn't be difficult. She would play whatever role necessary, by all means necessary, put her red dress on and charm her way into Inferno, where she knew Dmitri would be.

Anais has been keeping her cover for years now, carefully crafting her vengeance plan. With the disappearance of Rebekah, however, things became more difficult, and everyone's got a target on their backs. For now she sleeps with a Russian soldier or two to gather as much information on him as possible, not revealing the façade of the broken bird Nadia, so that no one suspects it's the girl, the survivor, who's come from the ashes to claim what's always been rightfully hers: Dmitri's head delivered on a silver plate.

                                         CONNECTIONS

KARIM BASARA: He’s a good source of information, and a good drinker. She’s good at keeping up, but she cannot let her façade slip -- or else he’ll notice. Karim is a loyal Russian soldier, almost blinded by his loyalty to the Russians to the point of sheer naiveté. She truly feels bad for him, she does, for when it all falls down, he’ll have nothing to stand up for. They drink together, share secrets (of course, hers are nothing but fake), and she has managed to fool him so far... So far. 

AMBIKA PATEL: Ambika knows more than she should, and it shows. Anais is no fool, and she has befriended the woman with the sole purpose of getting something out of her.. You know how they say liquor tends to let secrets slip up, Ambika might be the person she needs as a solid alibi for Dmitri’s death -- once it happens, Ambika will be her personal witness and key to Anais’ pleaded innocence. 

ILYANA STOYANOVA: It shows that Nik and Dmitri don’t get along well... And if there’s someone precious making the connection between the Polish and Russian mobs, it’s Ilyana. She stands right in the middle of it: chaos, war, destruction. She’ll be proven useful if any information can be cracked out of her code. She can’t be bribed or bought for now, but if there’s something Anais knows, is that anyone can be bought. She just needs the right price.

VALERIE WHITTAKER: Valerie comes from a English high society type of background, or so it seems, but there’s something far too perfect about Valerie and it doesn’t smell good to Anais. She’s onto the woman’s tail, noticing she leaves no tracks behind her. If she’s another con artist, there might just be competition. For now she’s been biding her time, awaiting to see what Valerie’s deal is. 

FACECLAIM: EMILIA CLARKE (NEGOTIABLE)

[infernoroleplay-blog]

                                           ISABELLE CHAPMANN

THIRTY. SOCIAL COLUMN WRITER @ THE LA TIMES.

TRIGGER WARNING: THEMES OF DEATH AND MURDER.

On the other side of her merciless pen, lies a curious heart and an overactive mind, jumping from rumor to rumor, her imagination is filled with all the things she has yet to figure out like a puzzle piece, where everyone plays a part in her wicked games, every celebrity and public figure is a mystery yet to be solved.  Often called the Nancy Drew of Hollywood, Isabelle Chapmann is the most known name amongst gossip and social column writers. Unraveling scandals and mysteries alike, she is known for having exposed many celebrities and socialites in what she calls her 'very own people-watching column'.

Daughter to a ruthless businessman and a French socialite, the Chapmann name is to be feared. Known lawyers, businessmen and writers, Isabelle was a mini-Jane Austen in the making as a child, writing about the high society with such precise words and sharp views that it was hard, even for herself, not to analyze her own family. She often went off on her own rants about the Manhattan life, seeing the segregation between her kind and other people as nothing but ruthless. Isabelle wanted justice to be delivered on a silver plate, and so if she could do nothing about it, she could at the very least, write about it.

The pen is not always mightier than the sword, and sometimes, the sword -- or the gun -- wins. It was a hot summer night in July when Isabelle was only twelve and brilliant and young. Accompanied by her father, sitting by the window in their penthouse on the Upper East Side, they were reading and reciting one of her short poems when a bullet shot through his chest, straight through his heart. She witnessed everything: the blood, the horror, the screams. And she'd never write about it, she promised herself, not until she found out whoever had commanded her father's killing. Isabelle remembers running and running and running, until her mother's arms protected her and the police chimed in through the front door only to find the body of the most important pioneering petrol companies on the floor.

Isabelle knew the cruelty of words then.  The weight of the headlines on the newspapers, falling upon her shoulders, killing her straight from the inside out. "Chapmann businessman executed in cold blood," it said, and she read the words out loud. So she would remember to never let anyone kill her into silence. Into madness.

She pursued a degree in Journalism, graduating on top of her class, as a honor student. But no matter how high her achievements were or how high she aimed, it never seemed to be good enough. A taste of perfection was the same taste to that of emptiness, for her hollow ribcage had nothing but a pounding heart that demanded answers for her father's execution.  She hadn't dug deep into it, not until she moved to LA to pursue a career writing about the social scene of Hollywood, however, she came across several clues that indicated that her father had a link to the mobsters in California.

Isabelle found something much uglier, much grittier and dirtier and bloodier than just the petty people and their gossip from the Upper East Side. Whispers of the Polish-Russian mobsters were all over town, and although most were simply rumors, Isabelle couldn't help her curiosity: could they have anything to do with her father's murder? If so, her settling down in LA hadn't just been one big coincidence, but something much bigger awaited her ahead...

The world of LA was glimmering and plastic. Everything was made out of something breakable: people, objects, movie sets and most importantly, rumours. They were easy to break down, figure out, put together... She was a clever girl, and it didn't take Isabelle long to become equal to those she claimed to hate with such passion. Isabelle's thirst for vengeance came off as bitterness, as big articles revealing equally big scandals written in her column, on her blog... Everywhere. Suddenly everyone knew of the girl who had everything to say and nothing to lose -- she was taking over Hollywood by storm.

But her breakthrough came when she stepped into the world of Inferno. She was too witty to go to any other club whatsoever, and she had heard whispers of what went down underground... Between four walls. Of course, Isabelle didn't buy it that easily, she wasn't naive, or easily fooled by any means, but there was no denying the Pruszkowski siblings didn't smell as good as they looked. Except one of them caught Isabella's particular attention: Rebekah.

Rebekah was a charm. What's not to love? Still, all of her instincts were to run from the club, even though she couldn't help but be drawn towards it even more. Like a contradiction, Isabelle enjoyed Rebekah's humor, but didn't go as far as to trust her too much. Until they became close friends. This fact was as astonishing to the public as it was to her: Isabelle was not an easy company, nor was she easy to be friends with. She'd always much rather be alone than socialize with those whom she deemed unworthy of her company, but the Pruszkowski name she had sworn not to come across was now plastered all over her: Rebekah was her friend... and now that she's missing, a moral conflict rises: she can either make herself a good headline out of her merciless pen and equally merciless stories, or respect the family's wishes not to touch upon the subject, at least not so ruthlessly.

However, she's been searching.. And whoever searches is bound to find something, whether she likes it or not. Answers to her father's murder still remain unknown, and with her only friend missing, she's got death written all over her. A target's on her back, and the only weapon she has resides in her own hands: her angry, hollow, hungry penmanship skills. She doesn't trust the Pruszkowski brothers will find Rebekah anytime soon -- and she's afraid they don't really want to. Whoever had it out for her father, also had it out for Rebekah. The web of lies and deceit can only be unveiled by none other than Hollywood's very own Nancy Drew.

                                          CONNECTIONS

ALEKSANDER PRUSZKOWSKI: Rebekah spoke well of him -- almost too well -- but Isabelle always felt as if his cheshire cat smile and his secretive nature made him more of a weapon than a trusted ally. She has an article on him drafted, but she’s too afraid that publishing it will lead to a serious backlash in her career. After all, she has been careless for far too long... And maybe befriending Rebekah was a mistake. Aleksander seems to be the personification of that mistake. She doesn’t know what’s the Pruszkowski twins deal is, but she intends to find out at all costs, especially considering Rebekah was a friend. 

VALENTINA MACHADO: Valentina has been desperately trying to get under Hollywood’s good graces, but Isabelle sees through her ingenious temper and her fiery personality. She has stumbled upon the Brazilian pageant contest winner a couple times, and she might have one or two thoughts to jot down on her social column that may make or break Valentina’s career. Too bad Isabelle has found herself attracted to Valentina’s charm once or twice... 

ILYANA STOYANOVA: The socialite has been a quiet public figure ever since she came into the spotlight. She seems to handle it well -- the rumors, everything. Except there is something about her perfectionist persona that captures Isabelle’s attention. Like when you look too close and risk losing the bigger picture, Isabelle’s been looking out for the details that give away if Ilyana is or isn’t worthy of the attention. Little does Isabelle know Ilyana is acting as a liaison for the Polish-Russian mobsters that have commanded her father’s killing.

DAMIAN ISAIAH: The LA mayor fell under Isabelle’s good graces for being a trusted family friend, but not for long. She’s been keeping up with the news so far, and they don’t seem good. She foresees a major breakthrough coming up, and he’ll have to pick sides: it’s either being adored or being feared. It seems that he wants to choose both until now. Damian needs a little guiding hand, and the breaking gossip on her latest articles might just be the push he needs to choose the right thing.

FACECLAIM: LILY COLLINS (NEGOTIABLE)

[infernoroleplay-blog]

Which characters will be officially taken before the opening?

I’m not sure if you mean opening for applications or for IC interactions, but the ones that have been taken right off the bat are Anais Delannoy, Dominik Pruszkowski and Ilyana Stoyanova. The other characters are available for applications, although I will be announcing our opening for apps. I hope that made sense!

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                                       DOMINIK PRUSZKOWSKI

THIRTY SEVEN. OWNER OF INFERNO NIGHTCLUB.

Trapped in his suits and hirst for vengeance is Dominik Pruszkowski, older twin to Aleksander Pruszkowski by only a couple of seconds. In his mad world of business and hidden schemes lies a man with a fertile, dark imagination, and a character suited for the mafia: unpredictable, always outgrowing himself, always changing, adapting. If anyone were to guess his favorite animal, he'd say a lion -- for its ferocity, but in truth he's a snake. Wild, voracious, shedding its own skin, always alone.

One is not born mad, one is made mad.

He remembers life back in Warsaw, back in Poland. He was five when his father told him, very carefully, precisely with the same words: never love a thing. Never love a thing, Dominik. And so he didn't. He did his best not to love his mother, to outgrow her caressing, almost depressing love, and he did his best not to love his father, who had so respectfully given Dominik his own eagle as a prize for being the golden boy of the Pruszkowski house. Aleksander, too unbothered and introverted to live in anyone's shadow but Dominik's, wasn't fussed.  Dominik remembers loving one thing: his father's gift, the bird he had handpicked a name for.

And weeks later, after winter had come, it would be the only thing he talked about. It would be the only living thing he'd learn how to respect, to forgive. Because humans were inherently flawed, his papa would say, and humans were not to be trusted -- except for those of your own blood. So when Dominik walked in to a strange conversation between his mother and father about inheriting the family business, he just knew.

He was on the brink of nine years old when he was first introduced to the inner-workings of the Polish gang, when they moved to LA, to the US. Dominik had a broken English, but even through broken words it was no secret to him that his father hid the source of income from his family, as they would often receive strange but expensive gifts -- treasures Dominik holds onto like trophies. He kept every family photograph, every story, the ancient book of the Pruszkow where their history was mapped out.

But treasuring such memories had been a mistake, as he'd learn later on in that bittersweet ending.

Early nineties, LA... The sounds of birds chirping outside remind him of that morning -- he was eighteen. They had come for his papa -- he felt it before he even knew. The sounds of his mother's shaken footsteps and the gunshot sounds rushing his siblings into the basement, where they hid for hours. He was the one to come to his father's aid, a bullet wound to his stomach, the blood spewing from his mouth. His papa whispering madly, never love a thing, Dominik.

So he set his eagle free. Forever. With a harsh reminder that everything he held onto too tight would eventually break beneath his strong grip, as he always had a strong grip: controlling, almost toxic. No woman would ever love him. No man. No living being. No, Dominik wanted to be worshipped -- in blood, sweat and tears. It was the loss of his father and his prized eagle that taught him the very same lesson he had been born to learn: you don't love things that die. You don't love anything that can be taken away from you.

He bid goodbye to his father, took all of the -- large sum -- of the money and moved away from the outskirts of LA with a depressed mother, a twin who would follow him into the depths of hell and two younger sisters who cared for one another more than they cared for that of what was happening around them. He was the leader to a pack of hungry wolves, and he promised he'd find his way back into what was rightfully his: the throne of the Polish mob. Hell-bent on avenging the death of his father, he made new connections in all of that was Nevada and California combined.

As it turns out, his father had tied up all loose ends: should he die, Dominik would take over. That's what he had been born to do. Annd so his rise to power was all too simple. He had been born for power, as he'd learn later on that the allies and the servers of the Polish mob were well and alive. With Dominik's cunning and ruthless nature coming to the surface, he took over with the help of his siblings and the members of the Pruszkowski who had been living in LA, having established Pruszkow gang since the roaring twenties. Between them and the help of the Russians, more specifically, the Nikolayev mob Dominiks iron grip seaes to lighten, but instead tightened.

In his father's will, an unknown Portuguese word: Inferno. He didn't know it then, in the late 90's, but Inferno was the cover to many of the Russian-Polish mob businesses happening around in LA. He didn't do well in group settings, but he was a leader. And a leader was to be followed. So when he demanded they give him the club, they did. And when he took over, at the young age of twenty three, everyone called him a mad man, a sad poet repeating history.... But he was the rightful heir. He was the son of Erik Pruszkowski, and he had a right to everything he touched.

With an arrogance to that of the devil and a rage to that of a fallen angel, he was the leader of the Polish mob's operations at the age of twenty five, when he battled for power, taking it, prying it away from his uncle's hands as the rightful heir to the throne.  He has been ruling LA ever since. A spoiled, selfish, unpredictable man with a thirst for blood and an equal hunger for power. If there is such a thing, he'll steal, he'll kill, and he'll swear on the names of those who adore his every being that he's been born to rule. Born for greatness.

                                             CONNECTIONS

ANIKA PRUSZKOWSKI: Anika has earned her success in LA, he’ll give her that. He’ll give her that much credit. But so far, her choosing not to engage in the family business feels more of a betrayal than anything else. She should have chosen family. He knows she’s grieving the loss of Rebekah, whose disappearance has kept him on his toes, but the showbiz must go on, baby, and it’s time to accept that Rebekah was, indeed, murdered by those bastards of Russians -- it’s what he tells Anika, anyway.

ALEKSANDER PRUSZKOWSKI: Aleksander is his right hand, when things get tough, he knows his younger twin will follow him anywhere, anywhow. It’s how they operate: less words, more action. They don’t need to speak to each other to understand one another, and that is how it has always been... Aleksander has proven himself loyal. But should betrayal come from one of his most trusted men, the mad man won’t hesitate beheading him to make an example out of the ones who dare cross the line.

REBEKAH PRUSZKOWSKI: Rebekah was kind, and beautiful, and a philanthropist. She did keep the Pruszkowski name clean, but that’s as far as he’ll go to speak of her. They were strained, strangers to one another.. and when he drinks, it reminds him of all the bridges he’s burnt to ensure he stays on top. Perhaps Rebekah’s life was at stake not because she was a Pruszkowski -- but because she was his sibling. The thought of it alone is enough to keep him awake at night.

ILYANA STOYANOVA: The liaison between the Polish and Russian mobs couldn’t be more beautiful. Truth is, she is captivating, like a wild bird -- like his very own humanized version of an eagle. And he loves to ensnare those who capture him in his own web of lies and deceit. She may just fall for it. It’ll be fun to have something to toy with and distract in the meantime. He’d be lying if he said he cared, he simply enjoys the entertainment.

FACECLAIM: PAUL WESLEY (NONNEGOTIABLE)

[infernoroleplay-blog]

who will the admin be playing?

I’ll be playing Ilyana Stoyanova -- although her faceclaim is up for change, her character is set in stone and it’s the one I’ll be playing.