#i know this is someone indulging me from discord and i salute you

[the-darklings]

ღ and jeara bestie 🤪

OH BOI DO I HAVE THINGS TO SAY. GET A SNACK FOLKS.

Who’s the first to wake up in the morning: Jean. He's more prone and used to waking up at the crack of dawn. Clara does it only if she needs to - she's far more likely to stay up way past normal sleeping hours, and he likely has to seduce coax her to bed. If he stays in bed longer it's because she's all wrapped up around him and he doesn't want to move though he would never admit it.

Who’s the one to make breakfast: He's more likely to be up early, so he either makes it or if they're away on business, orders for them. He's bigger on breakfast in general while Clara could likely get by with some coffee and that's about it.

Who’s the one to serve the other breakfast in bed: He's FAR too into little games between them to not try it at least ONCE. Does it half because he wants to and half because he enjoys the suspicious glint in her eyes as she munches on her food - and yes, he might totally end up using this as a stepping stone for some morning seduction but whose counting?

Who would suggest a quickie in the morning before work: Jean, Jean, Jean. Honestly, they're more likely to start their day with slow (or not) morning sex just in general. They both have quite the appetites, especially for each other, so that's always on the menu. Slow murmurs of French and kisses against her throat, tugging her close and stroking her skin with a little smirk - it's all part of the fun. Clara more often than not meets him in the middle though, and those times are just perfect for heating his blood to boiling point.

Who suggests they both ditch work to lay around all day: Could be either. Jean, for how calculating he is in everything he does, is also more impulsive when it comes to such things. A big believer in living only once and for yourself, no matter how selfishly. Is 100% the type to drop by the Pit of Vipers and just steal her for the day under the guise of needing her for something important but it's for selfish reasons of waiting to escape for a bit.

Who chooses the movies: They take turns. Neither is in too wildly different things. Jean has a keener interest in historical things while Clara favours thrillers and mysteries.

Who initiates kissing during the movie, thus distracting the other from the movie all together: Jean lmao. Definitely, the type to already have his arm around her anyway, stroking his fingers down her shoulder/arm, teasing over the sensitive skin, his nose dipping closer towards her ear where he might whisper something in French for the sheer purpose of distracting her. Only to then dip his nose even lower, his lips teasing over her shoulder and neck. A slow kiss there, chuckle if she shivers (because she always does when it's her neck, and he knows it, and wields this fact as his absolute favourite weapon in melting her) before grasping her chin and kissing her slowly. She may be his viper but it's not long before he's wrapped her in his arms and she relocates from his side and onto his lap where he has access to every inch of her skin. She may grumble and scowl but her eyes glow and her kisses are even hungrier than his. He loses the track of the movie entirely somewhere between her nails scratching and tugging on his hair and her sucking on the skin of his neck.

Who orders lunch: Either - but Jean is more likely to take the lead in most social situations.

Who steals food from the other’s plate without asking: Both do it, but Clara more often than Jean. There is still that high-class etiquette he's had to learn stuck inside his head. But when she's in a particularly playful mood, he throws the rule book out of the window. Playful Clara is one of his favourite things, if only because she's an even bigger delight yet a challenge when she's willing to sink her teeth into him verbally as much as he is.

Who curls up next to the other and falls asleep due to a full tummy: Clara. In fact one of her favourite spots is beside him, resting on his shoulder or even in his lap. Since one of his favourite things to do is play with her hair, he doesn't mind it one bit. There is an insane amount of trust that comes with such a gesture, so that trust in him unsettles him a lot but he rather selfishly indulges in it all the same.

Who distracts the other from trying to work at home: Jean does it all the damn time. He pokes around her things, asking questions she's happy to explain, but once he starts touching things he likely shouldn't she's just :/ mf these things can kill you. Clara gets hers back though. Him on the phone to an important contact? Time to walk around naked or strip for a shower. Then it's only a matter of silently counting how long he lasts before his hands are on her, followed by a low growl of her name in her ear.

Who asks to go get ice cream like a five-year-old: Clara : ) and he's happy to take her. They often take long drives and sit on the hood of his car, eating ice cream, and he 100% taunts her about the happy smile on her face even if he's unlikely to admit how much he enjoys the sight of it.

Who takes pictures of their partner eating ice cream: Clara is more likely to do it if only to have a silly picture of him (something about him always looking like he expects someone to paparazzi him and dressing like a supermodel to go buy eggs), and she 100% uses this silly pic as his contact photo. 😌

Who makes a sexual joke about the dripping ice cream on their partner’s face: Both. Their casual, sexual talk would get a fair few flustered but they do it so casually in between sharp grins. Just the more one pushes the more the other strides forward. It's all about seeing who comes out on top - if it's too easy, it's no fun.

Who cooks dinner: He's likely the better cook of the two, but they're usually too involved with their worldly affairs and attending the Syndicate business to bother with dinner at home. But on the very rare occasion they do, they're more likely to do it together. He enjoys having her close, asking her to stir something only to sneak behind her (not like she's unaware with those razor-like instincts), and kissing her neck while wrapping his arms around her waist.

Who cleans up the kitchen afterwards: As above. But if they do cook, it's both, again, mainly because he 100% uses that time to just play the cat-and-mouse.

Who stays up until 2 reading: Clara. They actually enjoy reading together a lot. It's one of their most subtle ways of spending time together yet most peaceful. She curls against him or lays her legs across his lap and he keeps occasionally stroking his thumb against her inner knee. She finds it rather distracting ofc.

Who stares at their partner while they're sleeping: Both do it to a criminal degree. Clara enjoys doing it by resting her chin on his chest, eyes narrowed with fondness, a small smile tugging on her lips. Jean just stares at her a lot - period. The man has mastered eye-fucking long ago and honestly if eyes could devour. . . but when she's asleep? Curled up in blankets and comfortable? Her hair loose and messy. . . he might let his fingertips trace over her cheek or temple.

Who kisses their partner while they sleep: He's likely to kiss her awake and she's likely to steal the last kiss of the night. When in a particularly wicked mood, she's likely to wake him up with slow kisses across his chest, neck, and finally mouth. Suffice to say, it doesn't take much to rouse him. It's a low, sleepy groan that vibrates against her lips until suddenly his arms are around her and he's dragging her on top of him.

[felikatze]

Just wanted to say thank you so much for all the brainworms you have been giving me and my friends for the past few hours about Ayin and all the analyses you've been doing about him.

I have been losing my mind in the middle of the night thinking about all the things you've said, turning it over like crazy and trying to compare it with the gameplay I've had of Lobotomy Corporation and Library of Ruina.

Please do more analysis and share more of your ideas! Please? Please, with cherry on top? Please, I beg of you?

Especially if you have in-depth ideas of analyses for the Sephirah and how it relates to both their own characters and Ayin and Angela.

I thank you greatly in advance!

the implication that i've infected an entire friend group with my brainworms is power that will 100% go to my head i feel amazing. what else is analysis posting except trying to inflict people with the same thoughts bouncing around your skull on repeat

i DO have shit on the sephirah but mostly netzach, because i love netzach, and i in fact found my discord ramble about him (and chesed)

i dont have things on how they relate to A and Angela specifically because I mainly kept thinking abt Reverbaration Ensemble parallels... i have so many thoughs abt Netzach and Bremen.

(but if you want me to talk about, say, a specific core supression, or floor realization... i have a lot of thoughts on floor realizations.)

First off I am so sorry that you seem to think I'm smart because that means i have the perfect opportunity to inflict you with this

okay now we can get to the serious stuff

[transcript:

containment breach:

quick ramble abt lor again but i love the ensemble receptions so much. i'm at chesed's rn, and i know he's been chill the entire game, but him just refusing to comment on jae-hoon's tragedy seems, out of context, a dick move, but also is so important for chesed to do? he recognizes that another's suffering is not related to him, that he can't do anything about it, and that this is fine. The closest i'd describe chesed in lobcorp would be "activist burnout." Due to betraying the lab from garion's pressure, chesed was so consumed by guilt, he just blamed himself for everything and became more callous because it's already his fault, right? There's nothing he can do. But in lor, he knows what his responsibilities are, and allows himself joy where he can find it. I love the ensemble receptions bcuz they are just examplary of each patron libriarian's growth and i iqbfjc (sobs)

GOD this sure is a paragraph

also have to salute netzach for carrying his scene all by himself as the musicians of bremen just (animal noises) :pray:

ykno being online i realize that i'm not quiet at all i am a complete and utter chatterbox /end]

[transcript:

containment breach:

thinking abt netzach's scene where he doesn't talk to bremen, because he can't, but recognizes this who has not only lost themself in their own art but also their own suffering

i just i love netzach so much his entire character arc is abt learning to live with depression and learning to want to live again

so he becomes unable to understand, really, why someone would sacrifice themselves for their own art

when he started out just, similar yet different from bremen, completely submerged in his own misery

musicians of bremen reminds me i still have bremen bon bons at home i should eat those. they r tasty /end]

i wanna specifically dig into this scene more because i love that scene, a lot.

Art as we get to know it in the City is irrevocably tied to violence. Puppets are made of human bodies, music is played on bones and sinews. To the artists of the City, to create art is to make someone suffer. Rewatching Netzach's story bits, Roland describes it as doing nothing but seeking stimulation and being provocative.

Furthermore, there is a direct comparison between art and alcohol. To paraphrase more, the Pianist must've been one hell of a stimulant, like getting hit by a strong booze. A performance some are still hungover from.

Netzach's main struggle was addiction because of depression, and his growing appreciation for art is a continuation of that arc. He says himself that art and alcohol are linked.

However, alcohol is a step down from hard drugs. Netzach hasn't quit, but just that step down shows he learned moderation, which makes me very proud of him.

Moderation is what the other.. let's just call them artists, lack. I said in the screencaps above, initially, Netzach was lost in his own suffering, and the musicians of bremen are lost in their art. And if art is seen as equal to suffering, that just means Netzach and Bremen are more similar than expected. (Especially considering what we see of the musicians previously; they’re always trying to chase the same high they experienced listening to the Pianist by any means necessary. The addiction parallels are not suprising.)

I rewatched most of Netzach's lor scenes, and what rlly gets me is that in his first one, he seems almost the exact same as in lobcorp. He doesn't want to work, he got dragged into this against his will, he feels as if his accomplishments are futile.

But! He eventually invites Roland for drinks. He's not drinking to forget alone anymore, he's doing it as social activity. Furthermore, the more time he spends as Patron Librarian of Arts, the more he grows to appreciate art. Art is tied to suffering, still, but it is an expression of suffering. It does not produce any. Or should not, in any case. He sure wishes it wouldn’t.

So we arrive at his Ensemble Reception. This one makes a rather interesting comparison: art as the pursuit of the light. Let me elaborate.

To quote, “Honestly, I wanna tell people to stop doing the kind of art that requires ‘em to immolate themselves and others. Although, on the other hand... I can kinda see where they’re coming from. Art narrows your vision, after all.

You stop caring about the things around you. That’s how most artists seem to act, I think. And so, you indulge in the craft, not realizing that you’re throwing yourself and your surroundings into the fire you started.”

I pose this: Netzach speaks of his experience as Giovanni. Giovanni was a researcher who, when push came to shove, willingly sacrificed himself to advance the project, in hopes of seeing the light, seeing Carmen, again.

Though he dislikes Bremen’s actions, he does not judge them for it, because he recognized that it would be hypocritical. Even so, what shows that he’s grown is that he.. doesn’t want to see people harm themselves anymore. The focus here isn’t if Bremen hurt other people, which they have, but how much of themselves they’ve given up for their performance. He condemns the act, and not the people.

“If I can see that light once more... If I have to muster up the courage to reach it, I’ll gladly do it. It’s easier said than done, though; you need a lot of fearlessness for it.

And I guess you saw the same kind of light I was so desperate to see, yeah? Even if yours was a twisted creature... [...] Though, I don’t think I can tell you off like the others. At least I can see the reason behind it.”

He even explicitly mentions the light. The funny thing is, both Giovanni and Bremen tried to reach the Seed of Light, and Carmen. It’s tragically hilarious that we know Carmen is the voice the Distortions hear.

Hell, the more I think about it, the more you can just compare the Ensemble as a whole to the Outskirts Lab crew, down to Angelica’s puppet body and Carmen’s desecrated corpse.

“And I know pretty well that we have no right to devilishly pick apart each other’s way of art. I’m not very proud of mine, really...”

Netzach just.. gets it. I can’t remember atm, but I don’t think the other Patron Librarians really draw parallels like that. I’m seeing all the parallels now and I can’t unsee them ever. Bro.

His “art,” his way of protecting the light, is still violent. But he sees that perhaps it didn’t have to be, or rather shouldn’t be. I fucking love Netzach so much. His arc just means a lot to me personally, and I’d wager a lot of people who’ve struggled with mental illness would agree.

I’m not gonna get into Netzach’s floor realization here because this post is already long enough, but like, look at the specific flashback of Angela shown in Netzach’s story bits and contrast it to his arc of learning to want to live, and. Yeah.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, ASH! You’ve been accepted for the role of IAGO. Admin Sidney: With such a clear vision, you’ve brought Ivan to life and I could not be more pleased with the result! He’s wicked and petty and all the things that make up a good, horrible villain. But what struck me the most, perhaps, was your clear plans for his future within Verona, for all the inevitable destruction that will ensue as he pulls those puppet strings like a master of the performing arts. So many praises to you, Ash, and I simply cannot wait to see Ivan (and interact with him) on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

Out of Character

Alias | Ash.

Age | 25.

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | I think everyone can attest….that I never leave, so I’ll say my activity is 9/10. I’m always reachable on discord to plot, and I usually get out a reply or two (at least) every other day.

Timezone | EST.

Current/Past RP Accounts | *gestures grandly to my Tiberius and Calina blogs*

In Character

Character | Ivan Ahmad ‘IAGO’ Rahal.

What drew you to this character? | I like to think I’ve been intrigued by Ivan since the first time I saw his name mentioned – via Grace’s bio. The thought of such a terrible twosome, an empty man yet full of such tangible chaos, fueling the fires of his hellcat friend and creating a reign of terror on Verona (just because), definitely drew me in to want to know more about the pair and more about Ivan. So it’s safe to say I’ve been awaiting his bio for a long time – and the moment it was released it was like catching lightning in a bottle, inspiration and ideas pouring in faster than my fingers could type, so I couldn’t resist applying.

Upon reading, I think what really sold me on Ivan is just how…diabolical he is. A snake hidden in plain sight. The one you feed mice to and allow to lovingly coil around your arm only to be surprised and dismayed when it wraps around your throat and suffocates you slowly. A demon forged of the bowels of hell and somehow escaped and walks among mere mortals causing power lines to snap and spark as he passes, glass displays to shatter with his sharklike stare, earth to rise beneath his feet with his every step, destruction left over his shoulder with a devilish grin. He toys with people like a far too full and languid tabby cat with a ball of yarn. He tears lives to shreds without batting a lash, he turns friends into foes with carefully crafted fibs, pits spouses against one another with evidence he’s fabricated, if for no other reason than because he can, if for no other reason than to delight in watching it all crash and burn around him. He places no stake in things like love or loyalty, not even family, as he turned on his own, his venom sinking and infecting them all slowly but surely.

But he seems to have a sort of complex: doing the devil’s work only to appear like an angel in the end. A savior to his family, a hero to his country, an honest man to his friends, an ally for justice to his coworkers. But he is every bit the serpent in the Garden of Eden, wearing one set of onyx scales to camouflage with the shadows only to shed such skin for something far more beautiful and iridescent when the right set of eyes falls upon him. This is probably what I find most intriguing about his manner and motive – why would a boy so driven to indulgence and pride in his sins want to come out smelling like roses, come out to be revered as something holy for the plights of wickedness he caused himself? It’s definitely something I intend to unpack and explore with Ivan, where does this thirst for the beauty in corruption truly derive from – we’ll have to find out.

But a sinner under the veil of a saint, a plague under the guise of a prophet, I fear what kind of damage a man like that can do on the unsuspecting.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

“–I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible.” –  Beautiful to him, of course. Ivan looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment and sees Verona as a vast life-sized game board. He sees all the pieces lined up, soldiers and captains, kings and queens, emissaries and associates, and he intends on making a new game with the rules ever shifting to benefit himself at every turn. He wants to see the Capulets and Montagues not only destroy themselves but each other, and he thinks all they need is a little push. A little aid, a little whispering in the ear, a little devil on their shoulder whispering of darkened desires that they have always considered but never acted on. I want him to try and turn Montagues against their own, have him be that danger that they flirt with from across the bridge, give them kernels of information to send them on a wild goose chase only for it to turn up fruitless. I want him to sow seeds of doubt within the Capulets and attempt to crumble their foundations from the inside. I want him to seek out neutrals and send them with a poorly-disguised pointed finger in circles as they search for the answers they seek most out of Verona. I want him to weedle so deeply under Pandora Phan’s skin that when he whispers of just how capable she could be, how she could be the catalyst of Roman Montague’s ruin – she believes him. I want him to pester Chiko just enough, that his fellow war dog takes a semi-automatic to the cathedral’s stained glass. I want him to goad Halcyon to her brink so she’ll see that she’s doing God’s will to free him from his bonds. I want him to cause as much discord in this city as possible, and I want him to do with with a lazy grin and a two fingered salute.

“–it’s a well-known fact about you: you’re like death, you take everything.” – It all starts with Odin, and it will end with Odin. Perhaps Odin just had one of those faces. Like the keen wide-eyed sort that made them a target to rob, a target to swindle and steal from, a target to dupe and con. He had one of those faces that made Ivan’s teeth ache and inspired him so creatively all in the same breath. It’s something Ivan saw in him since they were children. And I imagine that breaking up Odin and Delilah was his greatest scheme in a long line of schemes, his grand finale, his masterpiece. I see Ivan taking all the crayons in their scuola primario class, hiding them in poor unsuspecting Odin’s backpack so he’d get time out, only to find them later to garner praise from the class. I see him letting the dog out only to snatch it by the leash just in time to save it from a speeding vespa. There’s chaos for chaos’ sake and then there’s vendetta – what is it that Odin has done that has left Ivan with such a dire need to put his poisonous touch on everything he loves? Is he jealous? Does he detest the ichor that pumps from his heart, that he’s always looked to as something gilded and pristine while he had to fabricate such an image? Did he hate that Odin got the job, the promotions, the beautiful wife, the happy endings, while he didn’t get to have any of those things? Or does he hate that all these things have distracted his friend, drawn his attention away and so he’s not needed, not as important? Mostly – I want to see if Odin will finally get wise, see that his best friend has been playing him like a finely tuned violin all this time.

“–he tore the beauty from his face, and called it terror.” – There’s an innate ruthlessness to Ivan. This isn’t to say Tiberius and Calina aren’t ruthless in their own ways, but it holds true that they are both inhibited by certain degrees of decency, knowing that there are people they love and cherish and have to think about during their actions, even for them, some actions are unforgivable. But Ivan if void of that, gaze sliding lazily over towards his conscience with cool, callous indifference, letting it starve and shrivel as he feasts on his own depravity. There is nothing he won’t do. From splitting the marriage of his best friend to facilitating the downfall and dependency of his own family. This uninhibited nature of his actions has made him a fine soldier over the years, not unwilling to pick up one of his prized Chinese ring-daggers or lay down a line of bullets in the Capulet name (but not for the Capulet name – there’s a difference). But I would love to see something or someone finally compromise him. Someone or something that makes him think twice, makes his finger hesitate on the trigger – if such a thing even exists. Or, alternatively – I’d love to see someone attempt to try, try and crack him, appeal to the better nature they assume he has somewhere deeply hidden, only to be disappointed that as the further they delve, entranced by glittering glass-shard grins and the mesmerizing waves within the ocean of his eyes, that it’s the further they sink into the inky tar-like substance that he’s made of, that he covers those around him in.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Force feed him crackers to `til he chokes to death, he hates them.

In Depth

In-Character Para Sample:.

The sound of laptop keys clicking is the only thing to slice through the serenity of Cosimo Capulet’s office.

Odin had told him that the Don would eventually want to see him after his endorsements all these months. It was necessary if he wanted to make the jump from contracted black-hat hacker on occasion to full time soldier, complete with a benefits package of protection and black market weapons. Ivan had always been a rather good student and decided he’d bring a few visuals for the class as he gave his … ‘presentation’ before the syndicate’s crime boss.

His glasses are dark and tipped down the sharp slope of his nose, ice chip eyes flitting languidly back and forth. Elegant fingers typing idly, lines of cobalt blue rapidly moving in their own synchronized dance within a black text box. Codes. And they only answered to one master, only moved because he willed it so with a perfectly executed chain of embedded commands.

“I’m in,” he drawls, mouth forming a snug smirk, and the sound of hard bottomed oxfords tapping against marble tile sounds from behind him, announcing the other’s arrival, just like clockwork. His eyes lift first, only for his head to tip upwards in succession. Looking to the man that stands over him, he offers a wordless nod, a borderline-flippant salute of two fingers tapping to his temple before continuing to type. He was ancient – granted, anyone over the age of forty was ancient to Ivan, but that was neither here nor there – with eyes that crinkled at their edges and salt and pepper weaving through his hair, but he had to admit the Capulet patriarch was sharp, suit cut in slim lines and tailored angles. But the man was stern, and considerably serious – and it just so happened that Ivan positively shined in light of such solemnity in others.

“Now, what am I to call you, Mr. Rahal–”

“Ivan works,” he replied coolly, one shoulder lifting in a shrug, as if he couldn’t be bothered to raise the other in tandem, “But I almost like Mr. Rahal…makes me sounds real distinguished, like I have a waistcoat with a pocket watch hanging out.” A pause, a contemplative squint into the distance, a decision. “Changed my mind – Mr. Rahal works.”

A risen brow is all he’s offered, as Cosimo takes a seat in the high-backed leather chair behind his desk and folds his hands beneath his chin, considering Ivan openly, “And where are you in, as you said?”

“The Capital Library.” Now that caused the boss to blink twice.

Mouth curling into an impish grin, Ivan stands, resting his laptop on the desk, minimizing his terminal and pulling up a live security feed within the Montague headquarters. Long, clever fingers swipe at a crystal paperweight, tossing it up only to catch it again and again. “And that was without a single sip of espresso. Though, they have a dinosaur of a security system, which helped a bit.”

Paperweight is swapped swift for his laptop again, the movement so quick you’d think he was doing a magic card trick. “Can you do this in other places?” Ivan gives a soft chuckle, the sound low and rich like sweet syrup, “Can I do this in other places,” he repeats, all the more smugly, settling himself back in his chair lazily, and it’s unmistakable the manic glint flickering through his gaze,  “I could do this feed in Hotel Emelia in a few more minutes if the Witches don’t try to sprinkle their dust and stop me.”

Cosimo sniffs, a few nods given. He was thinking, calculating. It’s an expression Ivan knew well.

“You know,” he starts, after a few key clicks, tone flattened, almost bored, “Your footprint reads like a jacked up traffic cone stuck in a pothole.”

“My…footprint?”

Ice chips harden to a shard, piercing as he stares blankly at Don Cosimo. “Your digital footprint,” the words slip out slowly, as if speaking to a dunce, someone delayed in understanding and comprehension, “It’s a trainwreck. My little brother could hack you.”

With a tap of his finger to the F9 key, the lights in the east wing of the Capulet estate went dark. All devices powering down with a life-draining hum. A shrill ‘Papa’ sounding in the distance, ripped from the throat of the principessa. Only Ivan’s teeth shone in the shadows as he grinned, a smile wicked and knife-carved, jagged in all the wrong places.

“Alright, alright – I think we’ll have a talk with Odin.” Capulet almost looked like he wished to add a ‘Dio, help him,’ but smartly trapped it behind his teeth.  “Seems he might have a new soldier on his hands.”

And then there was light.

“Nice doing business.”

Extras:

And on this edition of Ash Attempts Headcanons (DISCLAIMER: Ramblings About My Son, Some Coherent, Some Not):

If you delve deep into the symbolism behind each of his given names, it is clear his parents took great care in naming him. Ivan is the Russian equivalent of the name John, a strong, biblically tied name that means ‘God is gracious.’ It’s a name his mother adored when his father’s tour stationed them briefly in St. Petersburg before he was born. A name fitting of their first born child, their first son, the first in a long line of bountiful gifts from upon high only made possible by the grace of their God. And as Ivan went through life, he made sure that in their home of weak-willed gluttons, he shined as something honorable and superior in their unworthy presence, making sure they knew how lucky they were to have him, their only redemption personified, siphoning their gratitude as sustenance. For such, it is only fitting that he is bestowed the middle name of Ahmad. Of Arabic origin, the native tongue of his Syrian parents, the name means ‘much praised,’ and was often considered one of the alternative names to the Islamic prophet Muhammad. To family and friends alike, he has never shied away from taking on the appearance of prophet – leaving no room for protest that he was an individual in contact with divinity, an intermediary to bestow blessing, someone God-touched and pristine in beauty. And it is this same beauty that makes him most dangerous, because no one expects the devil and his servants to look otherworldly.

There is something to be said about the first born child: a uniqueness that children to come simply won’t possess. There is something to be said about being the first born child – a privilege, a perk, of gracing the earth first. Because while children to come know nothing other than to have siblings, the first born knows what it is to be alone. To be coddled and cared for without interruption or distraction. To be the number one. But the moment that Amira Rahal was pregnant with her second child, a child that would soon be Omar, his younger brother, the seed of resentment had been sowed. Ivan detested that his mother was with child, an ugly festering tar-like hatred that threatened to consume him – and it did, he let it. Making his lunches became forgotten as baby Omar kicked in her womb, his stunning report card overlooked as she rushed to her doctor’s appointments. One extra child, he could deal with: but he couldn’t deal with two. And when little Alia was born, Ivan had to learn to wear the number three instead of number one he was accustomed to. He wasn’t wanted, more importantly, he wasn’t needed unless someone needed holding, or changing, or babysitting. So he’d had no choice but to show them just why he was needed. He leaves the young boy with crayons, letting him crawl and color as he aimed for the vast canvas of the living room wall, and it was Ivan who snatches the vibrant indigo from Omar, just as his parents return, salvaging the saffron gold wallpaper. He flicks the playpen latch open with a clever finger, leaving it open as his sister plays, knowing childlike wandering would overtake her as it once overtook him, and he’s sure to scoop her up and return her just in time before she can head for the open patio doors. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you,’ his mother often breathed, a relieved sigh, and he made sure she’d say it again, and again, and again.

The son of an ex-Marina Militare officer, Ivan and his family were cushioned by the luxury of having a veteran in their midst. Upon his homecoming from Lebanon, he was given the tools to create and found Rahal Securities – a private company affiliated with the Italian Military and Chief of Defense dedicated to providing security and military services that are not limited to personal security detail, convoy security, and private tactical operations. This is made possible through the enlisting of former military soldiers to take on the tasks. But Hassan Rahal took the war back with him when he returned to mother Italy, often drinking to forget realities that blended seamlessly into his dreams. His dependency on the bottle, the home his hand made around its slender neck, it threatened to ruin their family – but he’d tried his hardest to keep it in check, and like a bruise to an overripe fruit, Ivan pressed into the vulnerability, dug into it with thumbs until it tore, keeping the liquor cabinet key in far too obvious a place, letting his father think he outsmarted him every time he snuck a bottle of cognac.  

He works at Studio Legale Biondaro as a Senior Intelligence Analyst – leading and aiding investigative teams with research, case building and data collection efforts for specific unit investigations including (but not limited to) the prosecution of violent organized crime, street gangs, intercity gun trafficking and narcotics dealing and gang related homicides. He also aids in concealing or ridding of paper trails to clear the Capulet should any of their associates find themselves in a legal bind. After being snubbed by the police department for their digital forensics team – Odin had been rather keen on them working side by side on the home front too – he turned lemons into lemonade, figuring it better for his own illegal activities to be much more under the radar – and to work shoulder to shoulder, sharing a floor with Odin’s beloved made quite the sway on his decision. But the top reason he continued on the path from military to criminal justice? Because he continues to be paid and sought after to help people, his redeemer’s motif continuing to permeate through.

Before returning to Verona, Ivan was in the Esercito Italiano for 6 years – from he was eighteen until he was twenty-four (timeline might shift depending on plotting w/ Odin’s player). Enlisting in the army was something he felt surprisingly drawn to for a long time. Perhaps it was the fact that he was continuing a legacy his father started, or perhaps it was because he always thought school was boring, unable to bear the thought of having to sit through another four years at Università degli Studi di Verona just to obtain another degree. After his grueling basic training he took the track of becoming a cyber operations officer, learning alongside the best how to detect and identify security threats only to take such tactics and plant them himself. He took his knack for hacking and used it to clear his own records and trails, wiping his digital slate clean from the internet so he can move with anonymity and retain the pristine image he’s crafted. He knows that information is how you can hurt people most – the more you know or appear to know can break them down, make them stutter and squirm as you threaten to hang them out to dry – it’s why Ivan made locating the Achilles Heel his favorite past time, even if he had to create it himself. His skill made him sought after for freelance work for black market businessmen and shady government characters once he touched back down in Verona – something or other about the walls of the underground whispering of him slipping past the encryption systems of the Verona mayor’s office one time or two.

Special Skills Include: Encryption and decryption, forging electronic signatures, making fake identification cards, creating false social media profiles, installation of malware and spyware, identity theft … and Photoshop.

He also specializes in Trojan Horse programming. Misleading in it’s true intent, this is a malicious cyber attack technique disguised as something mild like an email or website add that opens a backdoor to personal devices, leaving Ivan access users’ personal information such as banking information and passwords.

Ivan Rahal, the same schemer who devised and doctored fake texts and emails to show Odin to aid in his case of Delilah’s infidelity, staging photographs at their workplace to show his poor friend after asking

Always has headphones in. 30% of the time he’s listening to music, the other 70% he’s keeping a keen ear on listening devices he’s planted in offices and meeting spaces, car interiors and hotel rooms. Tiny devices he’s stuck on the side of rubbish bins and under lamp shades, beneath fire detectors and in the corner of your underwear drawer, in the underside of your glove compartment or beneath your gaudy book ends. So it’s safe to say, pay careful attention to Ivan anytime he enters and exits a room, and if you feel comfortable to carry on a private conversations after he’s gone – you probably shouldn’t.

Constantly changes the Cathedral wifi password just to be a nuisance; makes Capulets do embarrassing things to obtain the new one, like butter him with a compliment, or answer a riddle, or fetch him the tallest iced coffee they can find with a straw…and Dio forbid they forget the straw.

TV TROPES: The Trickster, Affably Evil, Big Bad Friend, From Camouflage to Criminal, Pretty Boy, Manipulative Bastard, Dragon with an Agenda, Driven By Envy, No Sense of Personal Space, The Unfettered, The Sociopath, Villain With Good Publicity