Name:
Alexei Anosov
Age:
47
Occupation:
As head of the Mafia in New Realna, Alexei has little time for a legal job- So as far as the city is concerned, Alexie Anosov is, quite simply, a very, very wealthy man who makes a lot of donations to local museums and galleries. In reality, he heads the Russian Mafia... To great effect.
Appearance:
Standing at an imposing six feet four inches, and built like a brick shit house even in his middle aged years, Alexei certainly looks the part as far as intimidating mob bosses go. He tends to dress well- Particularly for a Russian fond of vodka and crime. But this is not out of any sense of style. Merely a... Mark of station. His eyes are a dark, dark blue in color- Almost black, depending on the light. His hair, once a deep black, now takes on more grey, salt and pepper at best... With a lot more salt than pepper. Under the suits, he looks like any other crime-based Russian. Built with thick, rock-hard muscle, easily comparable to a tree stump in build, and covered in various tattoos. Words in Russian, various images- Plenty of things. His knuckles, arms, and chest are all riddled with scars of varying size.
Personality:
In public, Alexei takes on the poised, polite air of any other rich man who makes a lot of charitable donations to seem good in the public eye. His press persona is next to flawless! But, leading the Mafia away from cameras, he is a genuinely terrifying man. Not because he blusters and shouts- No, he rarely raises his voice beyond an easy, conversational volume. But because he never fails to follow through on threats made. Should you make a mistake, and fail to give him understandable reason why, you can be certain that -he- will beat you within an inch of life. Not his lackies. Not his body guards. Alexei himself. This is not to say that he is an unfair man. If you were told to kill somebody and failed, and the reasoning makes sense- For instance, because the other guy had ten body guards with shotguns and you like your limbs in tact- then he will not beat you. After all- One person can't beat ten people with shotguns! Not unless they're some kind of ninja, anyway. Instead, he'll send you back.
With ten guys with -bigger- shotguns.
History:
As far as histories go, Alexei's is actually fairly cliche'd. He started at the very bottom- And I mean lower than the shit one scrapes from their boots. Homeless, hungry, regularly beaten upon by those crueler inhabitants of Moscow whom saw him as naught but scum in the gutter. Needless to say, all of that left him harboring savage feelings towards those people who thought themselves so high and might. He would show them. He would be bigger than them one day, and show all of them!
At least, that's what he liked to tell himself. For the longest time, he thought it was just a pipe dream, impossible to achieve. But, into his teenage years, he found that he was on the receiving end of those beatings less and less- For even without food, living in the cold, Alexei was a big young man. Harsh living made him tough- Made him strong.
And that was how he first became a criminal. He decided to use that realization to his advantage, to try and make a little money- Maybe get off the street, if only for a night. So he attended an underground fight. No rules, no holds barred- And he won. He won a lot. No matter how many strikes he took, the boy never went down- And when he himself landed a hit, it was like thunder. Devastating. Breaking ribs and knocking out teeth with every wild swing. He began to earn money for each fight- Enough to live in a shitty apartment and feed himself, even! Slowly, he got better at it. He got hit less, and hit the other guy more. It was nearly a year into his career as an underground fighter that local crime organizations took notice. Young as he was, he was given no important work. But he became regularly hired muscle- And as he grew into adulthood, he took on more and more work- Until finally he wound up as a guard in the Russian Mafia itself. Slowly- Ever so slowly- he clawed his way up. Muscle. Leader of small groups of muscle. Guard to somebody moderately important- Then somebody more important.
Until finally, he became important himself. He was nearly thirty by the time it happened. He received an offer he couldn't refuse... Even if he wanted to. It was made under veiled threat.
To lead the Mafia branch in New Realna, a city ripe with crime that the Russians had recently moved into. For eighteen years now, he has led that branch, bringing in profit year after year for the Mafia as a whole from the cesspool of a city, bringing in the best around to work under him, turning the place into his personal playground... So long as he kept lining the profits of those back home in Russia, anyway.
Skills:
Alexei is a treestump of a man. During is brief time as an underground fighter, and again during his time as muscle for various criminal groups, he was called "The Wall", and with good reason. He'd been hit by people, stabbed, shot, hit by -trucks-, fallen off of two, even three story buildings... And still gotten back up and kept on swinging. (Admittedly after moderately extended hospital visits in the events of his falls.) Nothing seemed capable of bringing him down for long... And of course, he hit like a train. Originally, there was no real skill behind his fighting. Merely a will to stay on his feet, and a few lucky swings. But over time, he learned, and was taught. Krav Maga, Sambo, Systema, Kickboxing- A little Judo, even, though mostly as an extend of Krav Maga. He learned to shoot guns large and small, became a machine of walking war. Even now, leading from up high, he doesn't let his personal skills grow dull. A true leader, he says, fights in the mud with his men when it is required.
He also has quite the head for business, picked up over time with the Mafia before he became important himself. Well... Illegal business, anyway.
Gear:
In the case that he must get dirty, Alexei keeps himself well armed.
A -pair- of black-metal Desert Eagles. That right. Two fifty cal. handguns on him at any time. All the firepower.
A rather large, and exceedingly sharp, military grade combat knife. He is very fond of it.
His fists. Those count.
A cell phone. With the numbers of every dangerous person in the Russian Mafia on speed dial. Thou shalt use those men available to you.
Other:
Alexei can't drive. It's not that he's not licensed. He literally just never learned to.
Despite having all the power he could possibly dream of now, he's completely forgotten his vows of vengeance against those who beat him in Moscow. He has more important things to think of now... Like how to keep his city running properly to keep his profits up.
New Realna and his Mafia branch mean -everything- to Alexei. -His- city. -His- men. Anybody who tries to 'fix' the city from it's perfectly functional, if crime-ridden state, or who does damage to his people, earns a place on his personal shit list. A list -nobody- wants to be on.
He tends to throw forks at anybody who speaks to him before his morning coffee. Really, he does.
Alexei Anosov
Age:
47
Occupation:
As head of the Mafia in New Realna, Alexei has little time for a legal job- So as far as the city is concerned, Alexie Anosov is, quite simply, a very, very wealthy man who makes a lot of donations to local museums and galleries. In reality, he heads the Russian Mafia... To great effect.
Appearance:
Standing at an imposing six feet four inches, and built like a brick shit house even in his middle aged years, Alexei certainly looks the part as far as intimidating mob bosses go. He tends to dress well- Particularly for a Russian fond of vodka and crime. But this is not out of any sense of style. Merely a... Mark of station. His eyes are a dark, dark blue in color- Almost black, depending on the light. His hair, once a deep black, now takes on more grey, salt and pepper at best... With a lot more salt than pepper. Under the suits, he looks like any other crime-based Russian. Built with thick, rock-hard muscle, easily comparable to a tree stump in build, and covered in various tattoos. Words in Russian, various images- Plenty of things. His knuckles, arms, and chest are all riddled with scars of varying size.
Personality:
In public, Alexei takes on the poised, polite air of any other rich man who makes a lot of charitable donations to seem good in the public eye. His press persona is next to flawless! But, leading the Mafia away from cameras, he is a genuinely terrifying man. Not because he blusters and shouts- No, he rarely raises his voice beyond an easy, conversational volume. But because he never fails to follow through on threats made. Should you make a mistake, and fail to give him understandable reason why, you can be certain that -he- will beat you within an inch of life. Not his lackies. Not his body guards. Alexei himself. This is not to say that he is an unfair man. If you were told to kill somebody and failed, and the reasoning makes sense- For instance, because the other guy had ten body guards with shotguns and you like your limbs in tact- then he will not beat you. After all- One person can't beat ten people with shotguns! Not unless they're some kind of ninja, anyway. Instead, he'll send you back.
With ten guys with -bigger- shotguns.
History:
As far as histories go, Alexei's is actually fairly cliche'd. He started at the very bottom- And I mean lower than the shit one scrapes from their boots. Homeless, hungry, regularly beaten upon by those crueler inhabitants of Moscow whom saw him as naught but scum in the gutter. Needless to say, all of that left him harboring savage feelings towards those people who thought themselves so high and might. He would show them. He would be bigger than them one day, and show all of them!
At least, that's what he liked to tell himself. For the longest time, he thought it was just a pipe dream, impossible to achieve. But, into his teenage years, he found that he was on the receiving end of those beatings less and less- For even without food, living in the cold, Alexei was a big young man. Harsh living made him tough- Made him strong.
And that was how he first became a criminal. He decided to use that realization to his advantage, to try and make a little money- Maybe get off the street, if only for a night. So he attended an underground fight. No rules, no holds barred- And he won. He won a lot. No matter how many strikes he took, the boy never went down- And when he himself landed a hit, it was like thunder. Devastating. Breaking ribs and knocking out teeth with every wild swing. He began to earn money for each fight- Enough to live in a shitty apartment and feed himself, even! Slowly, he got better at it. He got hit less, and hit the other guy more. It was nearly a year into his career as an underground fighter that local crime organizations took notice. Young as he was, he was given no important work. But he became regularly hired muscle- And as he grew into adulthood, he took on more and more work- Until finally he wound up as a guard in the Russian Mafia itself. Slowly- Ever so slowly- he clawed his way up. Muscle. Leader of small groups of muscle. Guard to somebody moderately important- Then somebody more important.
Until finally, he became important himself. He was nearly thirty by the time it happened. He received an offer he couldn't refuse... Even if he wanted to. It was made under veiled threat.
To lead the Mafia branch in New Realna, a city ripe with crime that the Russians had recently moved into. For eighteen years now, he has led that branch, bringing in profit year after year for the Mafia as a whole from the cesspool of a city, bringing in the best around to work under him, turning the place into his personal playground... So long as he kept lining the profits of those back home in Russia, anyway.
Skills:
Alexei is a treestump of a man. During is brief time as an underground fighter, and again during his time as muscle for various criminal groups, he was called "The Wall", and with good reason. He'd been hit by people, stabbed, shot, hit by -trucks-, fallen off of two, even three story buildings... And still gotten back up and kept on swinging. (Admittedly after moderately extended hospital visits in the events of his falls.) Nothing seemed capable of bringing him down for long... And of course, he hit like a train. Originally, there was no real skill behind his fighting. Merely a will to stay on his feet, and a few lucky swings. But over time, he learned, and was taught. Krav Maga, Sambo, Systema, Kickboxing- A little Judo, even, though mostly as an extend of Krav Maga. He learned to shoot guns large and small, became a machine of walking war. Even now, leading from up high, he doesn't let his personal skills grow dull. A true leader, he says, fights in the mud with his men when it is required.
He also has quite the head for business, picked up over time with the Mafia before he became important himself. Well... Illegal business, anyway.
Gear:
In the case that he must get dirty, Alexei keeps himself well armed.
A -pair- of black-metal Desert Eagles. That right. Two fifty cal. handguns on him at any time. All the firepower.
A rather large, and exceedingly sharp, military grade combat knife. He is very fond of it.
His fists. Those count.
A cell phone. With the numbers of every dangerous person in the Russian Mafia on speed dial. Thou shalt use those men available to you.
Other:
Alexei can't drive. It's not that he's not licensed. He literally just never learned to.
Despite having all the power he could possibly dream of now, he's completely forgotten his vows of vengeance against those who beat him in Moscow. He has more important things to think of now... Like how to keep his city running properly to keep his profits up.
New Realna and his Mafia branch mean -everything- to Alexei. -His- city. -His- men. Anybody who tries to 'fix' the city from it's perfectly functional, if crime-ridden state, or who does damage to his people, earns a place on his personal shit list. A list -nobody- wants to be on.
He tends to throw forks at anybody who speaks to him before his morning coffee. Really, he does.
