A L E X A N D E R
❚ ALEXANDER KREUTZER MÆCHEVSKY
❚ (KROY-tzer MAI-chev-ski)
❚ (trans)male / 26
❚ istj / capricorn / lawful good
❚ aromantic / asexual
❚ german-russian american
❚ 6'3" / blond / blue eyed
❚ ❚ ❚ PERSONALITY (SHORT VERS.)
❚ Professional
❚ Serious
❚ Prideful
❚ Anxious
❚ Fatalistic
❚ Judgmental
❚ Reliable
❚ High-strung
❚ Hard-working
❚ Quirky
❚ Lawful
❚ Uncompromising
❚ ❚ ❚ HISTORY (SHORT VERS.)
Alexander is a Boston native who currently works full-time as a hospital secretary as he studies to be a pediatrician. He comes from an upper-middle class family and currently lives alone in a small apartment. He is estranged from his father, who divorced his wife long ago, and Alex's only true confidante, Elaine Mæchevsky, died of cancer complications when Alex was younger. Holding his father responsible for Elaine's death, Alex moved in with his maternal aunt's family, and spent most of his highschool years with them. Alex never felt comfortable with his assigned sex, and identified as male starting grade six. Because of his anxiety and his gender identification, he was very much alienated at school, and turned his focus to getting the best grades he could. He graduated at the top of his class and began college at age 17 on a scholarship. At the behest of his father, Alex pursued an accounting major so that Alex might begin to work in his father's company, but after a particularly nasty argument between them, Alex switched to the medical field instead. Now at 26 with a useless accounting degree, he keeps himself very occupied with both school and work, and dreams of having a big house in Alaska with two or three siberian huskies.
Disclaimer: Background is subject to change. This is only Alex's "canon" history; I write new ones for every new universe.
❚ ❚ ❚ APPEARANCE
Alex is 6'3" and lean; he does keep fit and runs because he's a bit of a health nut. His shoulders are broad, but not as broad as he'd like them to be as a transmale, and he's already gone through with a mastectomy (breast removal surgery)— he has not undergone sex reassignment, but plans to in the future. He does pack. He very much passes for cismale. having began HRT (hormone replacement therapy) in his teens. Alex has blond hair and blue eyes, and he wears glasses. He has sharp facial features that, coupled with his fashion taste, makes him look quite impeccable. He loves button-ups, dress shirts, nice slacks, oxfords, ties, and wrist watches. For more casual days, he will wear sweaters and polos typically, and when he's really, really lazy, he pulls out tees for comfort. Here's his preferred wardrobe.
Scroll to the bottom for a more detailed profile.
❚ (KROY-tzer MAI-chev-ski)
❚ (trans)male / 26
❚ istj / capricorn / lawful good
❚ aromantic / asexual
❚ german-russian american
❚ 6'3" / blond / blue eyed
❚ ❚ ❚ PERSONALITY (SHORT VERS.)
❚ Professional
❚ Serious
❚ Prideful
❚ Anxious
❚ Fatalistic
❚ Judgmental
❚ Reliable
❚ High-strung
❚ Hard-working
❚ Quirky
❚ Lawful
❚ Uncompromising
❚ ❚ ❚ HISTORY (SHORT VERS.)
Alexander is a Boston native who currently works full-time as a hospital secretary as he studies to be a pediatrician. He comes from an upper-middle class family and currently lives alone in a small apartment. He is estranged from his father, who divorced his wife long ago, and Alex's only true confidante, Elaine Mæchevsky, died of cancer complications when Alex was younger. Holding his father responsible for Elaine's death, Alex moved in with his maternal aunt's family, and spent most of his highschool years with them. Alex never felt comfortable with his assigned sex, and identified as male starting grade six. Because of his anxiety and his gender identification, he was very much alienated at school, and turned his focus to getting the best grades he could. He graduated at the top of his class and began college at age 17 on a scholarship. At the behest of his father, Alex pursued an accounting major so that Alex might begin to work in his father's company, but after a particularly nasty argument between them, Alex switched to the medical field instead. Now at 26 with a useless accounting degree, he keeps himself very occupied with both school and work, and dreams of having a big house in Alaska with two or three siberian huskies.
Disclaimer: Background is subject to change. This is only Alex's "canon" history; I write new ones for every new universe.
❚ ❚ ❚ APPEARANCE
Alex is 6'3" and lean; he does keep fit and runs because he's a bit of a health nut. His shoulders are broad, but not as broad as he'd like them to be as a transmale, and he's already gone through with a mastectomy (breast removal surgery)— he has not undergone sex reassignment, but plans to in the future. He does pack. He very much passes for cismale. having began HRT (hormone replacement therapy) in his teens. Alex has blond hair and blue eyes, and he wears glasses. He has sharp facial features that, coupled with his fashion taste, makes him look quite impeccable. He loves button-ups, dress shirts, nice slacks, oxfords, ties, and wrist watches. For more casual days, he will wear sweaters and polos typically, and when he's really, really lazy, he pulls out tees for comfort. Here's his preferred wardrobe.
Scroll to the bottom for a more detailed profile.
▇ PERSONALITY (DETAILED)
❚ Professional. Workaholic. Serious.
Alex prides himself on his ability to do his work, and boy. He does it well. He's very business-like, and prefers to work over engaging in idleness whenever he can. To him, focusing on his task at hand is therapeutic; it helps him take his mind off of other things, and he quite enjoys having a boring desk job a lot more than most people. However, his productivity is more of a coping mechanism than anything else. Instead of dealing with his problems directly, he tends to drown himself in work in order to keep his mind occupied, and often works himself to exhaustion when he's stressed.
❚ Anxious. High-strung. Stressed.
Alex is socially inept. Has been for the majority of his life, stemming from intense discomfort in the sex he was assigned, as well as an innate inability to properly converse with others. He's very mildly neuro-atypical, and has very real, and very prevalent anxiety over whether or not he's acting properly, or doing anything people would consider weird. He has a tendency to overreact and assume the worst of any situation, and he tackles this problem by over-preparing even for things as trivial as going out on a date. Google is his best friend when it comes to navigating an intimidating social world. He also has hypochondriac-like tendencies, often calling up his doctor in times of stress, convinced he has a life-threatening illness. Alex is a mess.
❚ Honorable. Moral. Lawful.
Alex has a huge respect for the laws and rules of society. He strongly believes that they're there to protect people, and tries to uphold them as much as possible. He's a moral law-abiding citizen and sees things in black and white; those who commit crimes had it coming, and as far as he's concerned, good riddance to them. Alex, however, often fails to see the intricacies of socio-economic issues, and although he's only trying to do the right thing, he lacks the knowledge of how society may force people into corners, thus forcing them to commit crimes to survive. He is very judgmental with a strong sense of justice, and he has very little sympathy for people he deems immoral.
❚ Loyal. Reliable. Kind.
Although "kind" is not the first word that many people would use to describe Alex, in truth, he is exceedingly generous with his time and his energy when it comes to aiding others. He never smiles, nor does he perform these acts with amiability— instead, keeping it quick, to the point, and as curt as possible. Thus he comes off much colder and much more intimidating than he really is. However, those who know him recognize that it's simply in Alex's nature to help others, and selflessly so. Alex never expects thanks or recognition; he simply thinks it's the right thing to do, and doing the right thing is a standard he upholds.
❚ Emotional.
The funny thing about Alex is that, despite the sharp image of a crisp business man that he works to cultivate, Alex is, in reality, very emotional. The problem is that he often doesn't know how to express it. It's not just the constant anxiety swimming under his fine exterior, it's also his joy, his excitement, his anger, his frustration. To put it quite simply, he doesn't know how to deal with feelings. This leads to ridiculous coping attempts, like overworking himself or abusing substances— and yes. He has a drinking problem. Sometimes a smoking problem. And when he's really upset, he's likely to mix his medication with a bit of vodka. On the extremely rare occasions when he's truly angry, he seethes, and sometimes it gets physical. It's very difficult to push him this far, but if it happens, his anger is both ice cold and scathing simultaneously, and he'll treat you as if you're dead to him. On the flip side, when Alex is excited (or drunk), he has a tendency to ramble and say whatever's going through his mind. He often forgets to smile, but Alex's body language is extremely easy to read, and it's easy to tell when something pleases him or not.
❚ Quirky.
It should be obvious by now that Alex is a mess of contradictions. His behavior is no different. Contrary to the image he'd like to achieve, he's just about the dorkiest person you could ever meet. He has a terrible taste in home decor. His love of dogs pervades his entire apartment, from paw-print towels and shower curtains to his favorite apron, with an image of a puppy sewn onto it. Also, his cousin sent him dog paw oven mitts for his birthday once. Alex does, in fact, use it. He cries during kid movies, especially the ones with dogs in them. He has a fridge covered in postcards from a friend he claims to absolutely hate. He collects shitty porcelain dog figurines for his fireplace. He buys everyone socks for Christmas. He's terrified of the ocean and can't swim. He loves to bake. He likes playing tactical RPGs in his free time. And perhaps the most memorable of all, once he was set up on a blind date by one of his coworkers. Alex spent the entire evening googling blind date tips and went as far as writing them in pen on his wrist, which, in his carelessness, his date did actually notice. Alex is, quite honestly, not the intimidating business man he tries to be, but more like a quirky, harmless goofball who never quite notices his own eccentric behavior.
▇ HISTORY (DETAILED)
❚ Childhood
Alex was born as Tatiana to Elaine and Arden Koelman. Elaine, a charismatic, kind, and sensual russian café & bar owner, was Alex's mother, while her husband, Arden, was a hardworking, direct, yet cold and distant CEO. Alex often did not see his father due to his frequent business trips and consequently he developed a much closer bond with his mother instead. Elaine was always supportive and kind towards Alex, even when he, at a young age, began expressing signs of discontent with being female. He preferred to wear boy clothes and didn't care much for the feminine toys Elaine bought, so for her child's sake, when Alex told her he was indeed trans, she wholly accepted him without a second thought. Arden, however, did not understand and insisted that Alex be brought up as Tatiana, but both Alex and Elaine refused and effectively cut Arden out of their lives via divorce. They legally changed their last names to Elaine's maiden name (Mæchevsky) to reflect this. However, when Alex hit middle school, his mother developed brain cancer with a grim prognosis. She passed away three years later, and Alex moved in with his aunt— Elaine's sister.
❚ Teens
His aunt's family was overwhelmingly good to him; they were a close-knit set of three— mother, father, and Alex's 7-8 year old cousin, Keith —who were all outgoing, warm people. Johan, the father, was an avid classical musician of many disciplines who married a cellist by the name of Abigail. Johan suffered an accident that left him unable to play many of his favorite instruments, but he opened an instrument shop to continue sharing his love of music. As a result, both parents encouraged both Alex and their son, Keith, to learn instruments. Alex became very good at the piano and learned to sing church hymns for a while as well, while Keith took up the viola passionately. With a stable and supportive home life, Alex took to focusing on school work and perfecting his studies— both to avoid his peers, and to make his adoptive family proud. Although Alex was never the recipient of extreme bullying, he was more or less ostracized for his transness, and tried to keep to himself to avoid awkward staring. He went on HRT when he was around 15. He graduated at the top of class, earning a scholarship and a ticket into a well-funded ivy-league school. At 17, he left his adoptive home and moved to a dorm for his studies.
❚ Adulthood and Present
Alex spent four years pursuing a bachelors in business at the behest of his father, who by now had his own family and was seeking to make reparations in their relationship. However, in the last semester of Alex's graduating year, the issue of Alex's transness sparked a huge, ugly fight between them. Alex blamed Arden for not being there, for never accepting him when he needed it the most, and for Elaine's death, although Arden had little to do with it. In an act of rebellion, he renewed his education, switched majors, moved out, and got a job as a secretary at a hospital— all so he could stay independent and not tied to his father's money. Five years later, his education is still on-going as he manages to balance a full-time job with part-time classes, and things are going quite smoothly as far as he's concerned.
▇ OTHER
❚ Sexuality & Romance
Alex has no interest in dating. He felt a bit pressured to do so during highschool because he thought it was normal behavior, but his issues with communication made it much more troublesome than what it was worth. That, and he has found that he has no interest in relationships, especially not of the physical nature due to his discomfort with his sex. As a result, Alex does not date, nor does he actively seek out a partner; he'd much rather focus on work and school.
❚ Dogs
His favorite animal is the canine for a number of reasons. They're not complicated like humans are, they provide unconditional love, and they do not judge or communicate the way humans do, which turns them into the ideal companion for someone as anxious as Alex is. His apartment does not allow pets, so he often volunteers and donates to the local dog shelter and can often be found soliciting money from guests when he's very, very drunk. Dogs are the only animal he likes. All else are basically pests to him. One day, Alex dreams to move to a big house in Alaska to raise siberian huskies in a huge yard. He also has a fondness for other large dogs, such as german shepherds and akita inus.
❚ ❚ ❚ ASSOCIATED ELEMENTS & IMAGERY
❚ ice
❚ mountains
❚ glaciers
❚ stone
❚ vast evergreen forests
❚ ❚ ❚ RPG STATS (X/10)
❚ Attack: 8
❚ Defense: 10
❚ Speed: 4
❚ Intelligence: 7
❚ Luck: 0
❚ Classes: knight, paladin, support-tank
❚ Weapons: polearms, hammers, fist weapons.
❚ ❚ ❚ LIKES
❚ the color blue and gold
❚ dogs
❚ baked goods
❚ expensive alcohol
❚ expensive watches
❚ ties
❚ order & stability
❚ rules
❚ chocolate
❚ coffee
❚ ❚ ❚ DISLIKES
❚ chaos & disorder
❚ loud, annoying people
❚ having nothing to do
❚ abstract concepts
❚ all other animals
❚ public speaking
❚ ❚ ❚ OTHER
❚ plays piano; loves debussy and chopin
❚ used to be a habitual smoker; does it far less now
❚ when he drinks, he drinks a lot.
❚ loves himself some cognac.
❚ birds are somehow attracted to him. he hates it. a lot.
❚ has a patterned tie collection.
❚ is on medication for his anxiety.
❚ is a tactile person and very touch-starved, but too anxious to approach others.
❚ is a bit of a hypochondriac.
❚ excellent at managing money.
▇ ROLES IN ALTERNATE UNIVERSES
WIP
▇ ROLEPLAY SAMPLES
"..."
Alex looked at the picture.
He looked at the picture for a long time, with a glass in one of his hands, a bottle of cognac in the other, and one confused customer blinking at him as he continued to look at the picture.
It was a picture of two puppies. Two shiba inus. Factually, they were very intelligent dogs, which made them popular splicing choices for the canine-inclined. But another thing about them was that they were really fucking cute. And Alex, being a dog person (and also a tiny bit dog himself) loved dogs, which by extension meant he loved shiba inus.
His expression did not change as he looked at the picture. Nor did he stop looking as he poured the cognac into the glass and finally slid it over to the customer, who mumbled an awkward thank you in return. At length, Alex finally pulled his eyes away, staring somewhere at the wall with an unchanging expression.
"...Very cute."
That was all there was to say on the matter.
Except. Not at all.
"While I like shibas," he started, taking another order without missing a beat, "I prefer larger dogs myself. Something sturdier, larger, more befitting an active lifestyle and one that would warrant a large estate in which to get it run. I do like spitz in general, so shibas rank a higher on the list than a dog such as a chihuahua, for example, but compared to its much bigger relative, the akita inu, I would have to pick the latter for its sheer size difference."
Trace didn't realize it, but with a single picture he'd opened the flood gates of hell.
"Of course, taking coats into account, I prefer dogs with more varied coloration. Akitas are wonderful dogs, very intelligent, feisty, and independent, but I also enjoy russian borzois for their odd, but endearing skull shape and their gorgeous fur— and, on top of that, they're very active animals as well, which I believe is an important quality for a dog to have. Though, I'm not sure how fastidious they are. Cleanliness is an important factor."
"But I think I can overlook messes if such a dog is amiable in nature. Friendly dogs are the best kind of dogs. I do prefer the kinds that are very open about their emotions— the ones that greet you with lots of energy at the front door, for example. They are straight-forward which makes it much easier on someone like me, because I don't have to guess at how they are feeling, or otherwise worry about their emotional well being. It's funny, because dogs can't talk, and yet they seem to communicate better than some people do..."
"But, I think," Alex continued, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was on one of his rambling stints again, "that the best dog is a siberian husky. And I am not saying that because I happen to be somewhat genetically similar to one. I believe huskies are the superior dog breed because they possess all the traits I find attractive in a canine. For example, they are aesthetically pleasant to look at, with their lovely black and white fur, sharp eyes, and stately posture. But, in addition, they are very playful, loving, friendly, silly..."
He trailed off a little, seemingly distracted with thoughts of love.
"I love huskies." Alex mumbled at length, soon realizing that half the bar's population just heard him think out loud.
He turned a very obvious shade of pink.
And with that, Alex's entire life was over. That was it. It was over. Gone. Good bye. Sayonara. Leave the funeral arrangements to his mother— Alex was too busy grieving the untimely death of his dignity.
"Oh god," he breathed. "Did I just say all that in public."
--
There were times when Alex felt as if the world was slowly falling apart. Not with a bang— not even a slow, graceful descent into chaos. But the kind of dilapidation you saw crawling over roadside corpses. Gradually being reduced to nothing, bit by bit— an ugly sort of decomposition. Only through his own self-discipline was he able to keep himself together, unlike so many others before him. After all, it took a will of steel to face reality: people simply falling dead on the streets, their bodies reduced to dust in an unknown disease.
No one knew how or why it came, now how it worked.
Naturally, it was only a matter of time before his turn would come too.
Alex stood in front of an empty building— an old grocery store with broken windows, almost completely ransacked on the inside. He adjusted his gas mask and maneuvered through the rubble, eyeing something sparkling in one corner of the room. He picked it up, scraping the grime off with his work gloves— a spoon. Practical. Could be good for cooking, or prying something open. He slipped it into the sack slung over his shoulder and scanned the room again, searching for something edible— expired cans of food or, even better, bottles of water.
Water. The word echoed in his head a little. So much of it was contaminated.
He peered back outside, measuring the sun's heat. Midday passed already. It'd been four hours since he left base camp, so it had to be afternoon— and that meant it'd take another two hours to trek back before sun set. Quickly, he scanned the room one more time before climbing out of the store's window frame, gingerly stepping over a fungus-ridden corpse as he made his way back towards the street.
He needed to hurry. The night crowd wasn't one he wanted to run into.
"..."
Alex looked at the picture.
He looked at the picture for a long time, with a glass in one of his hands, a bottle of cognac in the other, and one confused customer blinking at him as he continued to look at the picture.
It was a picture of two puppies. Two shiba inus. Factually, they were very intelligent dogs, which made them popular splicing choices for the canine-inclined. But another thing about them was that they were really fucking cute. And Alex, being a dog person (and also a tiny bit dog himself) loved dogs, which by extension meant he loved shiba inus.
His expression did not change as he looked at the picture. Nor did he stop looking as he poured the cognac into the glass and finally slid it over to the customer, who mumbled an awkward thank you in return. At length, Alex finally pulled his eyes away, staring somewhere at the wall with an unchanging expression.
"...Very cute."
That was all there was to say on the matter.
Except. Not at all.
"While I like shibas," he started, taking another order without missing a beat, "I prefer larger dogs myself. Something sturdier, larger, more befitting an active lifestyle and one that would warrant a large estate in which to get it run. I do like spitz in general, so shibas rank a higher on the list than a dog such as a chihuahua, for example, but compared to its much bigger relative, the akita inu, I would have to pick the latter for its sheer size difference."
Trace didn't realize it, but with a single picture he'd opened the flood gates of hell.
"Of course, taking coats into account, I prefer dogs with more varied coloration. Akitas are wonderful dogs, very intelligent, feisty, and independent, but I also enjoy russian borzois for their odd, but endearing skull shape and their gorgeous fur— and, on top of that, they're very active animals as well, which I believe is an important quality for a dog to have. Though, I'm not sure how fastidious they are. Cleanliness is an important factor."
"But I think I can overlook messes if such a dog is amiable in nature. Friendly dogs are the best kind of dogs. I do prefer the kinds that are very open about their emotions— the ones that greet you with lots of energy at the front door, for example. They are straight-forward which makes it much easier on someone like me, because I don't have to guess at how they are feeling, or otherwise worry about their emotional well being. It's funny, because dogs can't talk, and yet they seem to communicate better than some people do..."
"But, I think," Alex continued, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was on one of his rambling stints again, "that the best dog is a siberian husky. And I am not saying that because I happen to be somewhat genetically similar to one. I believe huskies are the superior dog breed because they possess all the traits I find attractive in a canine. For example, they are aesthetically pleasant to look at, with their lovely black and white fur, sharp eyes, and stately posture. But, in addition, they are very playful, loving, friendly, silly..."
He trailed off a little, seemingly distracted with thoughts of love.
"I love huskies." Alex mumbled at length, soon realizing that half the bar's population just heard him think out loud.
He turned a very obvious shade of pink.
And with that, Alex's entire life was over. That was it. It was over. Gone. Good bye. Sayonara. Leave the funeral arrangements to his mother— Alex was too busy grieving the untimely death of his dignity.
"Oh god," he breathed. "Did I just say all that in public."
--
There were times when Alex felt as if the world was slowly falling apart. Not with a bang— not even a slow, graceful descent into chaos. But the kind of dilapidation you saw crawling over roadside corpses. Gradually being reduced to nothing, bit by bit— an ugly sort of decomposition. Only through his own self-discipline was he able to keep himself together, unlike so many others before him. After all, it took a will of steel to face reality: people simply falling dead on the streets, their bodies reduced to dust in an unknown disease.
No one knew how or why it came, now how it worked.
Naturally, it was only a matter of time before his turn would come too.
Alex stood in front of an empty building— an old grocery store with broken windows, almost completely ransacked on the inside. He adjusted his gas mask and maneuvered through the rubble, eyeing something sparkling in one corner of the room. He picked it up, scraping the grime off with his work gloves— a spoon. Practical. Could be good for cooking, or prying something open. He slipped it into the sack slung over his shoulder and scanned the room again, searching for something edible— expired cans of food or, even better, bottles of water.
Water. The word echoed in his head a little. So much of it was contaminated.
He peered back outside, measuring the sun's heat. Midday passed already. It'd been four hours since he left base camp, so it had to be afternoon— and that meant it'd take another two hours to trek back before sun set. Quickly, he scanned the room one more time before climbing out of the store's window frame, gingerly stepping over a fungus-ridden corpse as he made his way back towards the street.
He needed to hurry. The night crowd wasn't one he wanted to run into.