Name: Boris Alexandrov
Aliases: The Great Bazhooli
Age: 30
Birthday: May 5th
Ethnicity: Caucasian, of Cossack descent
Birth Place: St. Petersburg,
FloridaLocation: Somewhere on the Norfolk Southern Railway System, headed Southeast
Gender: Male
Major/Minor: N/A
Occupation: Performer (Russian Knife Acts, Tumbling, Orator, etc.)
Languages: English, Russian (fluent in both)
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 187
Build: Athletic. Very good arms.
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Brown
Skin Tone: Paleish
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Numerous minor scars about his hands and forearms from years of knifework and training.
Adaptable * Proud * Optimistic * Showoff
Sexuality: Hetero
Relationship Status: Single
Personality: Ever the showman, The Great Bazhooli generally enters into new situations with an entertaining display of his talents, learned over generations of family history. He is very proud of this history, and will tell the story of his people (at length) to whomever will listen.
Preferring to go by his stage name, The Great Bazhooli (or Bazhooli, if pressed for time) rarely lets slip his birth name, unless he has been with someone for some time. It is a mark of trust on his part. The man himself, whatever the name, is a bit of a histrionic. He is proud, noisy, and remarkably optimistic despite the apocalypse crashing around him. Whether this is genuine or merely to raise the spirits of those around him has yet to be determined.
The Great Bazhooli has a stopping point to his revelry. When the worst of events threaten to happen, his persona drops away, revealing a man driven to do whatever is necessary to protect what little he has left. The skills learned over a lifetime of Impalement Arts assist greatly with this endeavor.
It is of note that, despite being born and raised in the United States, The Great Bazhooli’s upbringing (and parents insistence of correcting his diction) has resulted in him keeping a Russian accent. It gets much stronger as he gets excited or flips into his “Showman Mode”, but it’s always a little present. As a caveat, it is not a flawless accent. Time and distance made muddled it somewhat, giving it a kind of showy feel.
Habits: Twirling knives, mumbling to himself
Hobbies: Practicing gymnastics, trick throwing sharp things
Fears: - Being turned
- Dying without fulfilling family obligations
- Trusting the wrong people
Likes:- Music. Any kind will do.
- Dancing
- Sharp Things
- MEAT
- Reading
- Exercising
Dislikes:- Slugs. They creep him out.
- Too much down time
- Not knowing where his cat is
- Flash photography
- Buzzkills
- Being alone
Pre Outbreak Skills:
- Knife/Dagger
- Thrown Weapons (high proficiency)
- Acrobat
- Performer
- Juggling
Post Outbreak Skills:
- Rifle
- Hunting
- Reading People
- Stealth
- Sleight of Hand
Current Supplies:
- Clothing: (Red vest (reversible black), Black canvas cargo pants (thick patched knees), belt with dual pushdagger buckle, hightop boots, white sleeveless undershirt. Sometimes sports a thick, Bear Fur coat and matching Cossack Hat.)
- Knife
- Knife
- Knife
- Knife
- Knife
- Knife
- Remington 750 Semi Auto Hunting Rifle
- Spare clip for Remington 750
- Railway Handcar
Your First Walker Encounter:The worst of the whole Dead Rising stuff started while Bazhooli’s circus was in transit. Preferring to travel by train, they didn’t experience the beginning hours of the outbreak. The morning of Day Two, the train slowed to pull into a refueling station. The sight that the merry troupe of circus performers were greeted with involved a mass uprising of dead people tackling and chewing on the living.
A few fleeing people managed to hop onto the slowed but still moving train with the assistance of those already onboard, but mostly it was a slaughter. The Great Bazhooli uttered a sentiment that was unanimously concurred by the rest of those present:
“Da. Ve get gas, next town.”History Before Outbreak:Before dead people began to eat the living and civilization collapsed, there was a bouncing baby boy born to a proud line of performers. The name on his birth certificate clearly reads “Boris Alexandrov”, but try telling him that. Boris is a direct descendant of the original, world-famous “Great Bazhooli”, champion Russian Knife-Thrower. You see, the name was an important part of the act, and so it was passed down through generations: At any given time, the leader of the Bazhooli Troupe, by inheritance, became the next Great Bazhooli if they were worthy.
Boris’s father was the previous Great Bazhooli, as was his father, as was his father, back in the former Soviet Union. Circumstances of the Cold War sent the Bazhoolis across the ocean to the United States, where they hooked up with the other disenfranchised performers of their era, forming many of the carnival, circus, and sideshow acts touring the continent. As a matter of no small coincidence, where else would a Russian family set down roots? Why, St. Petersburg, of course. St Petersburg,
Florida.
In present day, few people remembered The Great Bazhooli, relegating the legacy to one of the few remaining circus acts still touring North America. The proficiency with which this family plied their trade was such that it endured, but never again received the acclaim it once did. They survived by moving from circus to traveling show to carnival, the strength of their reputation among such folk assuring them steady income, seasonally.
The modern incarnation of The Great Bazhooli was educated to the standards of the Florida State GED program; mostly home schooling. He was not a man destined for college. His life was one of experiencing grand adventures and hardships on the road, among his people, flinging sharp things at pretty young maidens strapped to spinning wheels while blindfolded and somersaulting through flaming hoops.
And then one day, a lady within which he showed interest said, “Grow a moustache! It will make you look more like someone named “Bazhooli”. So he did. Big one. History Since Outbreak: Since the Outbreak, Bazhooli’s life has become more interesting. He was with a circus at the time, traveling by train when the worst of it came to light. Following his Walker First Contact, he and his group of circus folk bid the rest of society a resounding “Nuh uh” and stuck to themselves. The self-reliant nature of these people worked in their favor in the fact that they had no problems coming together and helping one another against what seemed to be the rest of the world; it went against them because they had to learn each lesson of survival in this new world the hard way. Additionally, the superstitious nature of many of these performers (hazard of the trade) led them to believe many things about the walking dead people that simply wasn’t so. They lost a good amount of their numbers before readjusting the group outlook. By that time, there weren’t remotely as many left.
The few that remained trained each other as best they could, spreading the skill sets around for a better chance of group survival. One of the rednecks that pounded in tent stakes and wrangled animals taught Bazhooli how to hunt and use a rifle, in return for crash tutorials in throwing knives and close quarter fighting. The troupe cutpurses and stage magicians gave him impressive skills with stealth and sleight of hand. Everyone the remained alive after the first few months realized that in order to survive, they needed to step away from the strict specialization of their previous professions and become more rounded people, capable of taking care of themselves and each other.
Particularly in the event that someone died, having a backup was important.
They continued to live on their train for a long while, making forays out from the railways to hunt and scavenge. The elevated train cars provided excellent protection from the Dead, even hordes of the rotting bastards. But not living people.
One day as Bazhooli was scouting the track ahead on a handcar, a sizable group attacked their train, hoping to raid their stores and make off with whatever and whoever took their interest. After a hard fight, both groups were annihilated, or near enough that the bitter skirmish could not continue. The Russian heard gunshots from a long way off, prompting him to return as quickly as he could. Between the battle and the Dead that showed up to finish off the dying/recently deceased, he figured that he was the last of his people. He searched as best he could, given the conditions, but found no one else. If any survived, they had long since scattered.
The Great Bazhooli gathered what few supplies hadn’t been set on fire or befouled, loaded his handcart, and continued down the tracks. He didn’t do “Alone” very well, he found out. He survived, but it was a very low point in his life.
As he carted down the tracks, he caught sight of a cat that seemed to be following him. A little orange tabby, to be precise. Sometimes it came close when he was camping, but mostly the little guy stayed out of sight. Sometimes for days at a time. Because of the fact that, at any given moment he had no idea whether it was alive or dead, he had taken to calling it “Schrodinger”.
Onward he drove his little hand cart. Dangerously low on supplies, he now has no alternative than to push forward and hope his luck changes.
Character Quote: "Now, let us try the same trick…
ON FIRE!!!"
Theme Song: Saliva - Ladies and GentlemenHow Many Walkers Have You Killed: "Dozens, I do not know. As many as vas needed."
How Many People Have You Killed: "Eleven. Eleven people I have killed. Other people I know have killed more, people I vas vith. But for me, eleven.
Why: I vant to live. I vanted my families to live. It did not help them, but I vould try again.
Anything Else:roleplayerguild.com/posts/3214659*By submitting this CS in its completion I am stating I have read all the rules for this Rp and am agreeing to follow them to the fullest with respect and courtesy.
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