Yokai Academy| An Advanced Roleplay discussion
Dorms & Residences
>
Apartment 319 - Markaus Volkrov
Markaus lumbered up the metal stairs not too gracefully. He was allowed to let the appearances slip a little out of the classroom. Man, that bitch really hurt. He rubbed his forehead in slight pain, wincing. His nose would need time to heal(not like it hadn't been broken before) but he would need a shower definitely. The promise of his warm bed and a hot shower were too much to pass up. With a sigh, he entered his apartment, dropping his keys on the counter. Stripping his jacket, he flung it onto the couch, skulking into the bathroom. The water was hot and ready, crisp and clear against his skin as he washed. Humming an old sea chanty, the Russian lathered and dolled himself up, not minding the blood that ran off of his body and down into the drain. The clothes were definitely ruined: splattered with blood, the deep maroon stains taking a resident. Markaus dried himself, feeling rather refreshed in new loose clothes, clean and fresh. He plopped onto the couch with a sigh, propping his feet up on the end table. With a whistle, a large furry dog came bounding into the living room and into Markaus's lap. He laughed jovially, petting the excited animal. "Easy boy! I missed you too." Smiling contently, he scratched behind the fluffy dog's ear. "I'm not sure what to do, Hakoda. These students don't like me.... You're still in like with me, right boy?" Hakoda, the beautifully colored Native American Companion dog, closed his panting mouth and tilted his head to the side. Markaus grinned. "Thanks buddy."

Markaus was peaceful just with Hakoda, smiling at how friendly the dog was being. He knew that even if no one liked him, this dog would love him. The dog jumped as the plates crashed, huddling closer to Markaus for protection. The professor looked confused, staring into the kitchen before he gave a long drawn out sigh. Of course it would be Daemon. Who else? "Look, I've already been punched in my own classroom today and laughed at, I would prefer to leave my students back in the classroom, da?" His eyes flicked to the cuts and he sighed again, knowing that he had to care for the boy now that he was hurt. Pushing the scared dog out of his lap, Markaus stood, flicking Daemon on the nose as if he were a worse animal than the one on his couch. "Bad boy. Don't you know how to take care of yourself? You broke my plates-- you ass by the way --you're bleeding on my floor, and you scared my dog. You're apologizing to him when we get back. Come." He grabbed Daemon by the wrist, forcefully taking him into the bathroom.Sitting Daemon on the floor, he sat beside him, prepped with cotton, a needle and thread, tweezers, and a towel. "Now stay still, I'm going to pull the glass out." The Russian went to work, not being gentle as a sort of payback. "What are you doing in my home anyway? If your Daddy wants to spy on me so badly, tell him he can come down here and kiss my ass himself."

Markaus listened as he worked, amazed by how much blood could come out of the little boy's body. Sopping it up with the towel, he covered the wounds in alcohol (nearby vodka from a flask) and began stitching up some of the larger cuts. "Well, you should knock. That's number one. Number two, my fridge is for my Russian sodas and my food, so be careful just grabbing what's in there. I'll have to cut your fingers off." He nudged his bloodied hands. "Looks like you beat me to it though." He hummed lightly, finishing by taking a swig of the vodka and wrapping Daemon's hands in firm gauze. "Try not to be clumsy. I could barely afford those plates, much less a lot of food." Standing, he pulled Daemon to his feet as well. "Go apologize to Hakoda for scaring him. And while you're doing that, I'll clean up the kitchen and get you a slice of pie." He patted Daemon hard on the back, heading off into the kitchen. Hakoda sat expectantly on the couch.

The dog listened intently for the apology, tilting his head with one ear up. As soon as he heard the mumbled sentiment, Hakoda burst with joy, rushing over and giving numerous kisses to Daemon's cheek as a thank you. After a few long minutes, a few sputtered Russian curses, and a clang later, Markaus returned carrying a paper plate, a plastic fork, and a large slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream. "There. Eat up." He rubbed Hakoda's head adoringly. "Do you like the ass man now that he said sorry?" Hakoda sneezed, panting. Markaus laughed, plopping onto the couch. He looked very natural, in a loose white shirt and baggy brown pants that stopped mid calf. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he was barefoot, and his long white hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. He watched the tv with interest, drumming his fingers.

Markaus eyed Daemon levelly, all relaxed and laid back on the couch. His arm was slung over the back, one hand holding an open flask, his leg crossed nonchalantly. His eyes flicked back to the tv. Hakoda curled up at his side, the Russian's fingers curling into the puppy's mixed coloured fur. "You're allowed on the couch, Daemon. If the two dogs in the room can get up on the furniture, you can too. We don't bite."

He took a long swig of his drink, the smell of it strong and intoxicating, seeming to have no effect on the man. Markaus raised an eyebrow, sitting up quickly as well in case he had to catch Daemon somehow. He sat on the edge of the couch, observing the boy before him. "In the woods? I just got all comfy." With a relenting sigh, he stood, slipping on his coat and boots. "Okay. Lead the way. And make it fast, da?"

Markaus fixed the hood of his jacket so that it wasn't caught by his hair, straightening his boots. The Russian rolled his eyes, giving a deep sigh. "I am a werewolf, da. But I'm a werewolf who is sane. SO I'll take the stairs." The werewolf eased down the stairs, feeling the healing work in on his nose, rolling his shoulders back. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he met Daemon three stories down, looking at him skeptically. "So where exactly are you taking me? I know I'm not the best teacher, but give me a chance, yeah? My first day was bad, but you don't have to take me off in the woods to kill me."


Dae had stolen his cigarettes purely because a, he was curious, and b, Markaus had told him not to smoke, so that had been exactly what he'd been planning to do. He hesitated, but when he was invited in he gladly did so, stumbling inside and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Who you callin' sweetheart!? I'll have you know that I am a demonic killing machine."
Markaus rolled his eyes, ruffling Daemon's hair as he stepped inside, closing the door. "Oh hush up. You could be God, and I'd still call you sweetheart." The Russian popped his fingers, putting some dog food into the bowl for Hakoda. "We only stopped here briefly. Let's go eat in the school cafe. I don't have much food right now until I get time to go shopping. I'm starving. Come along." He marched right back out of the room, heading towards the cafeteria.

As Daemon woke up, he was on top of Markaus's couch, covered in a blanket with a mass of pillows by his head. The Russian had wrapped most of his injuries and had placed a cool washcloth over Dae's forehead. The professor himself was sitting crosslegged on the floor, the tv on absently in the background. He grumbled, rolling up his shirt sleeves to be able to patch up his shoulder wound, focusing as he tried to stitch up his white coat, already having bleached the blood stains out. "Wakey, wakey, princess."

"It's okay," Markaus mumbled, lost in concentration. It wasn't everyday the werewolf had to sit down and hunch over a needle and thread to fix his clothing. He cursed silently as he jabbed his thumb again, sucking on the blood that sprang forward. He went back to work, trying to salvage the sleeve as much as he could. "Please, sleep more. Sleep is good when you've been in pain. You had a nasty fight in there. I don't even know where my whip is, quite honestly." He stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. "That guy didn't think I was tough. How dare he?"

Markaus didn't argue whenever Daemon pulled the coat away, folding his arms over his chest and huffing instead. He screwed up his lips, grumbling out a soft 'no' whilst sulking. Not being taken seriously really took a hit to the wolf's pride, and he would pout about it relentlessly.

Markaus pressed his lips in a small thin line, slowly relaxing. He supposed that the demon had a point, and there was no reason to be all upset about a coward that ran from a fight. Leaning his head back against the couch as he rested on the floor, he absently flicked through the channels, humming a ditty to himself quietly. He knew that Daemon needed sleep, and he needed relaxation time. Raising an eyebrow, Markaus glanced up at the boy shivering, "Aw, is the poor little princess cold in this easily air conditioned apartment? How sad..." He just watched him for a few minutes before reluctantly standing. The Russian walked away, returning a few minutes later with a few more blankets, deciding the least he could do was tuck Wrath in. He placed the wash cloth back on Daemon's forehead, observing him for a few more moments. "Damn. You're still shivering. You need to get warmed up, boy." Since the couch was big and Markaus was practically a living heater, the Russian gently crawled onto the other side, settling down next to Wrath. He moved the blankets so they encompassed him as well, looking expectantly at Daemon. "Well? You going to come over here and get warm or what?"

Markaus rolled his eyes at how welcoming Daemon dove into his own body. He would've spent a shiver in retaliation to the cold digits now pressed firmly against his warm body, but he didn't. The wolf was unbelievably warm. The type of warm that was almost unachievable for even a mythical creature. He wrapped his arms around Dae's waist, chin atop his mop of white hair as he watched the tv. The Russian's feet were large, enough to balance Wrath's on, and his stomach was toned from working out. His collarbone jutted out far, pronounced and sculpted to fit the rest of his bone structure. "Feeling better?"

"Silly," He chuckled, still watching the television show over the Daemon's head. He didn't speak again, letting the demon get the sleep that he needed to heal. Markaus remembered having to huddle up under blankets upon blankets when he was younger. The winters were harsh in his village and this was something that he had to do frequently with- No. Don't think about him. You haven't thought about him in years, don't bring it up now... The Russian shook his head, taking out his flask shakily and taking a few swigs of vodka.

Markaus was out cold, snoring softly. He was now criminally warm, having sweat from all the blankets and igniting heat from emptying his flask of vodka. His black cased flask hung limp in his arms as he snoozed, face pressed into the texture of the couch.

He released a loud yawn, rubbing his eyes as he sat up, stretching out his arms. Smacking his lips, Markaus rolled over like a fussy baby, whining as he moved to put his hair back in a ponytail. He rubbed the stubble on his chin, groaning with the realization he'd have to shave before going to class. With sleepy eyes, he glanced up at Daemon. "Why don't you just stay? We can have breakfast and you can help me plan today's lesson."

Markaus shrugged, stretching out his shoulders. He removed the bandage from around his arm, the wound gone completely and healed over. He yawned, sitting at the bar by the counter. "No, it's alright. Once I'm up, I can't go back to sleep." He looked around groggily. "Do you know where my flask went? I'm thirsty."

He rubbed his temples, "Was I drinking it last night? Oh yeah..." He shook his head, sighing slightly. "Who knows... But drinking won't kill my liver." Markaus scratched behind his ear, making a face. "Maybe for someone else, but my liver is kind of indestructible. Same with all of my other organs. Except for my heart, but, eh."

Markaus shrugged, "It tastes good. And I like it. You can't have me stop drinking. Yesh, you're not my mother." The Russian watched his friend chop the vegetables, shaking his head. He whistled. "Slow down there. We're not in a hurry."

He scowled himself, crossing his arms over his chest. It was enough to feel helpless all day yesterday. To feel helpless under the vampire's fist. To feel helpless under Romulus and Cheshire's attack. But what was worse was to be patronized and told not to try and do good things by the person he considered a friend. "Look. I'm not trying to be a hero. If someone's in trouble, I'm going to try and help them, no questions asked. I'm not trying to be a good guy, I'm just trying to do the right thing."

"Nearly," Markaus mused, leaning on his elbows on the counter. It was obvious that he was trying to lighten the mood. "Well, if that's the case, I'll save you die, you can almost die and all will be right with the world! Eh?" He let out a boisterous laugh, slapping his stomach. "Oh,it would be funny to see the world that holds my death. It would be very boring, no?"

The Russian sighed. He really wished he had that vodka right about now. He was always a smoother talker when drunk. He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Oi, you're going to break the spoon. Be careful."

"Sunny side up," Markaus said aloofly, leaning back on the stool and observing Daemon. "What? Have I made you mad at me already? Could've sworn that would've taken longer."
This is the apartment of Markaus Volkrov (Werewolf, Monster History 101 Teacher).