Post by Marko Iliev on Mar 16, 2012 20:18:29 GMT -5
IC
Character Name: Marko Veselinov Iliev
Nationality: Bulgarian
Gender: Male
Birthday: March 3rd
Age: 25
Education: High school degree
Occupation: Soccer player
Family:
Veselin Iliev, Father;
Aleksandrina Ilieva nee. Nikolova, Mother;
Two younger brothers, three younger sisters.
Hometown: Petrich, Bulgaria (birthplace)
Starting Town: Dublin, Ireland
Brief History: Born to a poor couple on a farm on the outskirts of Petrich, Marko was the first of six children. He was a very brash and selfish child, and he craved attention, which he mostly didn't get. He was poorly-behaved and picked on and pushed around his silbings as well as other children, even if they were older than himself. Just before he reached his teen years, he fell in with the wrong crowd, particularly the bad kids who constantly got in trouble with the authorities... Veselin and Aleksandrina were at a loss with what to do about this for a long time, so when he turned 13, despite the fact that the family had very little money to do so, he was sent to a boarding school in the centre of Sofia.
Though unhappy about this, as any child would have been, the boarding school seemed to work on changing his behaviour for the better. It was here that he was also introduced to playing soccer on a competitive level; though he had been playing it since he'd been a young boy on the fields and the streets of his home town. It became pretty much his obsession, and he practised every day (or, whenever possible, anyway) until he was scouted by FC Septemvri Sofia, a team known for its strong development of amateur players. Two years later, having improved considerably, he was signed by a professional second-level team. He's been transferred around quite a few times since then, having only just been signed by PFC Slavia Sofia, a first-level team, with hopes that he'll be able to play for his national team soon.
Personality: On the exterior, first impressions of Marko can vary. Generally he's fairly polite, and seems like a pretty okay guy overall, albeit in an off-hand manner. He doesn't seem to say much at first, though. This can make him seem rather stoic, at times. His mood or whom exactly he's talking to can affect this, too, because on the other hand, he can be quite cheerful and friendly. However, if he doesn't like the look of someone at first, then it'll be quite a task for him to get to like them at all; it isn't impossible to get on his good side, though. Pay him enough attention, and he'll soften up quite quickly. Likewise, ignore him completely and he'll probably be sulky about it.
On the other hand, he can at times be exceptionally headstrong, selfish and arrogant. He has a tendency to pick on people, although his means are quite varied. He isn't against bullying others. To friend and foe alike, he's the type to get a kick out of messing with others' heads. Unless it's clear he hates someone, though, it usually isn't done with spite, though he likes to give bad reasons for doing so, too. He mostly just does it for attention. Outwardly, any slyness about him is also rather obvious.
He's a very proud guy, too. He thinks everything he does is fantastic, and that the world revolves around the oh-so-wonderful him. So the best way of getting on his bad side - if one wanted to do so - would be to spurn him, or point out particularly weak points. This would be at one's own risk, however. He's generally quite irritable, and pushing the wrong buttons can invoke a nasty, often violent temper in him. Or, if you're somewhat intimidating, you can attempt to freak him out... This doesn't always work, though. He's strong, both physically and mentally. Even if it doesn't seem possible, he can endure a lot just by gritting his teeth and bearing it. He's the type who can't see failure as an option. And if he fails at anything, he'll make up an excuse as to why it wasn't really a failure for him, whether he has to explain it aloud, or just tell it to himself.
That isn't to say he's completely hard-hearted, though, even if it may be quite easy for one to assume he was. There's a side of him that's pretty sensitive. He adores children and animals and flowers and is actually pretty sweet and loving if you do happen to get on his good side. But he prefers to keep it to himself, or failing that, as few as possible. The fact is, if you tease him about having a soft centre, he will probably get annoyed. It takes a surprising amount for him to really gain someone's trust, but once someone gains it, he'll be exceptionally loyal to them.
Appearance: There's nothing really very particular about Marko's appearance upon first glance. Perhaps the most obvious is that he's a good couple of inches or so taller than a lot of people, standing at about 6ft 2. He has very dark, very sleek hair that reaches his chin at its longest part. All things considered, his hair is probably the most uniform thing about him. It would be unusual for any of his hair to stick up on top or be out of place. His eyes are actually a hazel colour, but in certain lights have more of a dull greyish hue to them. If one were given the chance to look for long enough, they'd see very little emotion actually in his eyes, though he tends to wear a shady look about his countenance in general. His facial features are also quite angular, and his skin is lightly tanned; often covered in bruises and the occasional scrape or cut.
Fashion Style:
www.refinery29.com/static/bin/entry/daf/x/36815/sweatervests-checklist08.jpg
s3.thisnext.com/media/largest_dimension/CABAE31E.jpg
images3.chictopia.com/photos/JuanJesusR/2004294825/shirt-jeans-boots_400.jpg
27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0xhyy6ck91rpr4auo1_500.jpg
26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m07geaHevj1qeuyogo1_500.jpg
Goals:
-To be rich and famous and make enough money to buy his family a new house.
-To learn to adopt the 'nodding for yes, shaking head for no' thing every other nationality but his own seems to do. It might make things a hell of a lot easier.
-Get married, have kids, continue the bloodline of awesomeness.
Secret:
-His eyesight isn't the best, but he refuses to wear glasses (and he can't really, due to his occupation) and the idea of contact lenses - ie, people touching (their) eyes - makes him cringe.
-His seemingly gigantic ego is the product of an inferiority complex and a fear of rejection.
Other:
-He's a chain smoker.
-And a heavy drinker.
-And a compulsive yogurt eater.
RP Sample: (Historical; from The Last Days)
[April 21st 1917; Lake Dojran, the Macedonian front]
When he had closed his eyes, it was late afternoon, and there had still been a pale light shining behind the grey clouds. When he had opened them again, it was pitch black. It seemed the blizzard had never stopped once. Neither had the shelling.
He wondered why he'd fallen asleep, seated on the trench floor, his legs crossed and his shoulders hunched over, hugging himself for warmth... Then, momentarily, he wondered how he'd managed to sleep at all through the noise. The barrage was near deafening.
Shaking the settled snow off his coat, Bulgaria rose with a stagger, his legs numb from the cold. With no source of light, he was forced to pat around the wall to get his bearings. There were no soldiers in the trench around him; those who were not on lookout were behind in the galleries, he expected... He hoped. Squinting, he looked up at the black sky above. It was difficult to make out what was bullets and what was snow. It was perhaps midnight, were he to take a guess - it was too dark to go looking for a watch or a clock of some kind - and the British had been firing relentlessly since the previous morning. It had come as a shock, at first. But that was natural - how often did open fire not come as a shock? Yet since he had last checked, only three of his men were wounded. It was both relieving and gratifying, to think that, whilst knowing that the shells were flying far overhead.
Perhaps England's aim was just abysmal. Or perhaps he was wasting perfectly good ammunition on purpose. Maybe he'd bored him to sleep - maybe his tactic was to bore him to death. Unlikely. He was there to defend what was his - his land, his people, his honour and dignity. The Entete's task was to break through the Balkans. His task was to liberate Macedonia. There was no room for error. Losing here would open the way for the enemy to enter Sofia. They would do it over his dead body.
When the hail of bullets ceased, it came suddenly, and as the silence filled the air for a moment, it was almost as if the battle was over. Cocking an eyebrow in both surprise and suspicion, he felt around for the trench ladder, and - beginning to get the feeling back in his legs - climbed, peering over the top, cautiously - though the likelihood of him being shot at was incredibly slim. He licked at his chapped lips for a moment, mulling over whether this was some kind of trick to lure his men out... Was England aware he wasn't hitting his targets? Perhaps he'd given up entirely. His mind toyed with the notion of victory for a moment... But he remembered he'd been told not to get cocky. Vazov's tactics were working almost perfectly, but if he got ahead of himself, he could mess up. That was normally his downfall.
Still, he narrowed his eyes, spending a while watching the other side of No Man's Land. So much so that, when they came, he was startled - if only because he was surprised he hadn't seen them first.
The first voice to break across the hissing northern wind cried backwards, towards the galleries. "Te idvat!" 'They are coming!'
And come they did - armed, in a line, fading in from the dark abyss of the other side; seeming to carry themselves without concern, without doubt, advancing over No Man's Land like Angels of Death. Interesting... So England thought he'd won, after all. How he wished he still had the capacity to smirk. He jumped off the ladder and went for the nearest machine gun, as the men departing the galleries upon being called forth would soon do, too. He was confident, he wasn't afraid of England or the Entete or the fact that they outnumbered him greatly. But his soldiers were naught but humans; naught but men incapable of suppressing this level of fear. He'd witnessed many officers abandon their uniforms for parade clothes and white shirts. All this time, they expected they would die. Yet their moral was superior. They were defending their homes, their families, their freedom.
He locked on to the other nation, aimed, and put his finger to the trigger. Silently, he thanked his men for their bravery.
OOC
Name: Jess
Age: 20 (October 25th 1991)
Contact Info: MSN: hclarcy@hotmail.com; holla at me if you want my Skype.
Website: clarcster.tumblr.com; again, tell me if you want my Facebook.
Other: Anything else?
Character Name: Marko Veselinov Iliev
Nationality: Bulgarian
Gender: Male
Birthday: March 3rd
Age: 25
Education: High school degree
Occupation: Soccer player
Family:
Veselin Iliev, Father;
Aleksandrina Ilieva nee. Nikolova, Mother;
Two younger brothers, three younger sisters.
Hometown: Petrich, Bulgaria (birthplace)
Starting Town: Dublin, Ireland
Brief History: Born to a poor couple on a farm on the outskirts of Petrich, Marko was the first of six children. He was a very brash and selfish child, and he craved attention, which he mostly didn't get. He was poorly-behaved and picked on and pushed around his silbings as well as other children, even if they were older than himself. Just before he reached his teen years, he fell in with the wrong crowd, particularly the bad kids who constantly got in trouble with the authorities... Veselin and Aleksandrina were at a loss with what to do about this for a long time, so when he turned 13, despite the fact that the family had very little money to do so, he was sent to a boarding school in the centre of Sofia.
Though unhappy about this, as any child would have been, the boarding school seemed to work on changing his behaviour for the better. It was here that he was also introduced to playing soccer on a competitive level; though he had been playing it since he'd been a young boy on the fields and the streets of his home town. It became pretty much his obsession, and he practised every day (or, whenever possible, anyway) until he was scouted by FC Septemvri Sofia, a team known for its strong development of amateur players. Two years later, having improved considerably, he was signed by a professional second-level team. He's been transferred around quite a few times since then, having only just been signed by PFC Slavia Sofia, a first-level team, with hopes that he'll be able to play for his national team soon.
Personality: On the exterior, first impressions of Marko can vary. Generally he's fairly polite, and seems like a pretty okay guy overall, albeit in an off-hand manner. He doesn't seem to say much at first, though. This can make him seem rather stoic, at times. His mood or whom exactly he's talking to can affect this, too, because on the other hand, he can be quite cheerful and friendly. However, if he doesn't like the look of someone at first, then it'll be quite a task for him to get to like them at all; it isn't impossible to get on his good side, though. Pay him enough attention, and he'll soften up quite quickly. Likewise, ignore him completely and he'll probably be sulky about it.
On the other hand, he can at times be exceptionally headstrong, selfish and arrogant. He has a tendency to pick on people, although his means are quite varied. He isn't against bullying others. To friend and foe alike, he's the type to get a kick out of messing with others' heads. Unless it's clear he hates someone, though, it usually isn't done with spite, though he likes to give bad reasons for doing so, too. He mostly just does it for attention. Outwardly, any slyness about him is also rather obvious.
He's a very proud guy, too. He thinks everything he does is fantastic, and that the world revolves around the oh-so-wonderful him. So the best way of getting on his bad side - if one wanted to do so - would be to spurn him, or point out particularly weak points. This would be at one's own risk, however. He's generally quite irritable, and pushing the wrong buttons can invoke a nasty, often violent temper in him. Or, if you're somewhat intimidating, you can attempt to freak him out... This doesn't always work, though. He's strong, both physically and mentally. Even if it doesn't seem possible, he can endure a lot just by gritting his teeth and bearing it. He's the type who can't see failure as an option. And if he fails at anything, he'll make up an excuse as to why it wasn't really a failure for him, whether he has to explain it aloud, or just tell it to himself.
That isn't to say he's completely hard-hearted, though, even if it may be quite easy for one to assume he was. There's a side of him that's pretty sensitive. He adores children and animals and flowers and is actually pretty sweet and loving if you do happen to get on his good side. But he prefers to keep it to himself, or failing that, as few as possible. The fact is, if you tease him about having a soft centre, he will probably get annoyed. It takes a surprising amount for him to really gain someone's trust, but once someone gains it, he'll be exceptionally loyal to them.
Appearance: There's nothing really very particular about Marko's appearance upon first glance. Perhaps the most obvious is that he's a good couple of inches or so taller than a lot of people, standing at about 6ft 2. He has very dark, very sleek hair that reaches his chin at its longest part. All things considered, his hair is probably the most uniform thing about him. It would be unusual for any of his hair to stick up on top or be out of place. His eyes are actually a hazel colour, but in certain lights have more of a dull greyish hue to them. If one were given the chance to look for long enough, they'd see very little emotion actually in his eyes, though he tends to wear a shady look about his countenance in general. His facial features are also quite angular, and his skin is lightly tanned; often covered in bruises and the occasional scrape or cut.
Fashion Style:
www.refinery29.com/static/bin/entry/daf/x/36815/sweatervests-checklist08.jpg
s3.thisnext.com/media/largest_dimension/CABAE31E.jpg
images3.chictopia.com/photos/JuanJesusR/2004294825/shirt-jeans-boots_400.jpg
27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0xhyy6ck91rpr4auo1_500.jpg
26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m07geaHevj1qeuyogo1_500.jpg
Goals:
-To be rich and famous and make enough money to buy his family a new house.
-To learn to adopt the 'nodding for yes, shaking head for no' thing every other nationality but his own seems to do. It might make things a hell of a lot easier.
-Get married, have kids, continue the bloodline of awesomeness.
Secret:
-His eyesight isn't the best, but he refuses to wear glasses (and he can't really, due to his occupation) and the idea of contact lenses - ie, people touching (their) eyes - makes him cringe.
-His seemingly gigantic ego is the product of an inferiority complex and a fear of rejection.
Other:
-He's a chain smoker.
-And a heavy drinker.
-And a compulsive yogurt eater.
RP Sample: (Historical; from The Last Days)
[April 21st 1917; Lake Dojran, the Macedonian front]
When he had closed his eyes, it was late afternoon, and there had still been a pale light shining behind the grey clouds. When he had opened them again, it was pitch black. It seemed the blizzard had never stopped once. Neither had the shelling.
He wondered why he'd fallen asleep, seated on the trench floor, his legs crossed and his shoulders hunched over, hugging himself for warmth... Then, momentarily, he wondered how he'd managed to sleep at all through the noise. The barrage was near deafening.
Shaking the settled snow off his coat, Bulgaria rose with a stagger, his legs numb from the cold. With no source of light, he was forced to pat around the wall to get his bearings. There were no soldiers in the trench around him; those who were not on lookout were behind in the galleries, he expected... He hoped. Squinting, he looked up at the black sky above. It was difficult to make out what was bullets and what was snow. It was perhaps midnight, were he to take a guess - it was too dark to go looking for a watch or a clock of some kind - and the British had been firing relentlessly since the previous morning. It had come as a shock, at first. But that was natural - how often did open fire not come as a shock? Yet since he had last checked, only three of his men were wounded. It was both relieving and gratifying, to think that, whilst knowing that the shells were flying far overhead.
Perhaps England's aim was just abysmal. Or perhaps he was wasting perfectly good ammunition on purpose. Maybe he'd bored him to sleep - maybe his tactic was to bore him to death. Unlikely. He was there to defend what was his - his land, his people, his honour and dignity. The Entete's task was to break through the Balkans. His task was to liberate Macedonia. There was no room for error. Losing here would open the way for the enemy to enter Sofia. They would do it over his dead body.
When the hail of bullets ceased, it came suddenly, and as the silence filled the air for a moment, it was almost as if the battle was over. Cocking an eyebrow in both surprise and suspicion, he felt around for the trench ladder, and - beginning to get the feeling back in his legs - climbed, peering over the top, cautiously - though the likelihood of him being shot at was incredibly slim. He licked at his chapped lips for a moment, mulling over whether this was some kind of trick to lure his men out... Was England aware he wasn't hitting his targets? Perhaps he'd given up entirely. His mind toyed with the notion of victory for a moment... But he remembered he'd been told not to get cocky. Vazov's tactics were working almost perfectly, but if he got ahead of himself, he could mess up. That was normally his downfall.
Still, he narrowed his eyes, spending a while watching the other side of No Man's Land. So much so that, when they came, he was startled - if only because he was surprised he hadn't seen them first.
The first voice to break across the hissing northern wind cried backwards, towards the galleries. "Te idvat!" 'They are coming!'
And come they did - armed, in a line, fading in from the dark abyss of the other side; seeming to carry themselves without concern, without doubt, advancing over No Man's Land like Angels of Death. Interesting... So England thought he'd won, after all. How he wished he still had the capacity to smirk. He jumped off the ladder and went for the nearest machine gun, as the men departing the galleries upon being called forth would soon do, too. He was confident, he wasn't afraid of England or the Entete or the fact that they outnumbered him greatly. But his soldiers were naught but humans; naught but men incapable of suppressing this level of fear. He'd witnessed many officers abandon their uniforms for parade clothes and white shirts. All this time, they expected they would die. Yet their moral was superior. They were defending their homes, their families, their freedom.
He locked on to the other nation, aimed, and put his finger to the trigger. Silently, he thanked his men for their bravery.
OOC
Name: Jess
Age: 20 (October 25th 1991)
Contact Info: MSN: hclarcy@hotmail.com; holla at me if you want my Skype.
Website: clarcster.tumblr.com; again, tell me if you want my Facebook.
Other: Anything else?
And there's nothing I can do,
I just gravitate towards you,
You're pulling on me like the moon;
I just wanna get you sideways.
I say anything I can
To give me more than just a dance,
Tell me where to put my hands,
Y'know that you could be my favourite one night stand;
You get me higher...
...What would you do if I told you that I
la-la-la-la loved you?
Do if I said it tonight?
What would you do if I told you that I
la-la-la-la loved you?
'Cause you know I la-la-la-la lie!
I just gravitate towards you,
You're pulling on me like the moon;
I just wanna get you sideways.
I say anything I can
To give me more than just a dance,
Tell me where to put my hands,
Y'know that you could be my favourite one night stand;
You get me higher...
...What would you do if I told you that I
la-la-la-la loved you?
Do if I said it tonight?
What would you do if I told you that I
la-la-la-la loved you?
'Cause you know I la-la-la-la lie!