KAAN KALAYCI

IT AIN'T ABOUT HOW HARD YOU HIT. IT'S ABOUT HOW HARD YOU GET HIT AND KEEP MOVING FORWARD.

[wrathofkaan]

{Aras Bulut İynemli, male, he/him, 30} We just saw KAAN KALAYCI entering CAMDEN MARKET. I heard through the grapevine that he is an UNDERGROUND BOXER and BARBACK. Although he is a CIVILIAN, he can sometimes be RESTLESS, IMPULSIVE, or even VOLATILE, but I've also heard some people say he was DETERMINED, HARDWORKING, and quite FRIENDLY. – {K, she/her, 31, EST, no triggers}

MOBILE NAVIGATION MORE ABOUT KAAN PLOTS & CONNECTIONS AESTHETIC ASKBOX LONDON FALLING RPG

note: wrathofkaan is a sideblog to shadowdavutoglu.

[juliekang-deactivated20240331]

"I go wherever my feet take me -- so, thrift stores, usually," Julie explained. She pointed the light, pausing at Kaan's next question. A light laugh slipped past her lips.

"Not yet, but we also don't shine the laser's directly into your pupils," she said, watching his eyes shift towards the light and then away. She also noticed the tension in his neck muscles as he fought to keep his eyes on the light not his entire face. Suspicions more than confirmed.

"I know caffeine helps you think, but you should be resting these next couple of days as is -- tea, should be okay. Just two cups and not immediately in the morning or before bed," Julie acquiesced between scrawling some notes. She had a distinct feeling he would only take half of the direction.

[[SKIP: Present-day @ a thrift store]]

It was one of those dappled mornings in London -- not quite rainy, but not sunny either. Julie was looking among the crowds when she caught sight of the fluorescent soda bottle in Kaan's face. She laughed despite herself. "Kaan, it's not even noon," she said with a nod to his bottle, grin matching his immediately. "Glad to see you're in a good mood and no scrapes! I'm proud."

[wrathofkaan]

At the sound of Julie's voice, Kaan turned, grinning back at her as he capped the bottle. "That doesn't matter," he insisted, "people drink coffee in the morning and that, this is the same thing. Anyway, I've gotta focus." He held his hands up to mimic blinders, like he could confine his attention to what was right in front of him despite all the aisles of clothing, shelves of knickknacks, and pieces of furniture. "I'm looking for a present for Eira. What're you here for?" At her compliment, though, his grin widened. "Thanks! I knocked a guy out in the first round last night. Didn't even bruise."

[emmsvanity]

"Is it just me or do you also feel weird being surrounded by so many rich people?" She looked at her cousin through her mask, popping a tiny entrée into her mouth. She'd never been at an event as upscale as this and she felt out of place. It was way too fancy for what she was accustomed too. "Do you think some of their masks have real gold on them and if yes, what are the odds of me walking home with one?"

@wrathofkaan

[wrathofkaan]

"Hundred percent," Kaan agreed instantly. To be honest, he never would have chosen to attend an event like this on his own, but Eira loved to dress up, and he was willing to go along anywhere she wanted. They'd found him a suit at a secondhand shop, and at least it fit better than the one he'd had since his parents' trial, but he couldn't help fidgeting with his tie, feeling like if he had to wear it much longer it might start to choke him. In order to stop, he took a bite of one of the appetizers, a little piece of toast topped with what he thought was a blackberry--only to taste something salty and slightly fishy instead. To his credit, he didn't spit it out. But he did chase it with every single tiny dessert on his plate, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. "What the fuck was that?" he hissed. "Did you eat one of these?!"

Finally, when he could concentrate on her question again, he looked around at the other guests. "Probably," he said with a shrug. He didn't know what real gold would look like--his own mask had only cost a few quid. "Do they take 'em off? It'd be hard to steal 'em off their face." If he took his off, he'd likely walk away from it and never see it again--although he doubted anyone would care about stealing it.

[andrew-aatakni]

Viktor isn’t a patient man, but he can forgive Kaan’s delay in catching on; taking regular blows to the head must inflict at least some lasting damage. Only, holding meetings beyond the four walls of his office brings with it a deluge of security and safety risks, and this is a conversation best held in private and away from any potential eavesdroppers.

“Very well. You’re a survivor. You adapt. And you’re a damn good fighter. I’m offering you the opportunity to hone your skills in a setting less restricted by rules. A job, in more simple terms. Think of it as a security position with some extra responsibilities.” Understandable enough, surely. Dipping his hand into an inner pocket of his jacket, Viktor retrieves a small silver box from whence he produces a business card. One side holds his name, the other a phone number. He holds it out. “I believe I’ve given you much to think about. Might I leave this in your possession, so that once you make a decision, you can contact me?”

[wrathofkaan]

Kaan frowns, trying to parse the man's words for some indication that he's either good or bad; that either Kaan's suspicions have grounds, or that this guy is actually legitimate. --Well, as legitimate as someone in the underground circuit can be.

And he's not sure. Kaan's not used to being suspicious, that's the thing. He's used to taking everyone at face value, relying on his fists to get him out of trouble when needed, and for time to show a person's loyalty. So what is it about this guy and his offer that's making him hesitate?

But a job offer's easy enough to understand, he guesses. And while he's got a job--the best one, and longest-running, he's ever had--he knows better than to take it for granted. It can't hurt to accept the card, right? Just in case? Taking it from him, he nods. "All right," he agrees, reading the name. "--Viktor. Thanks." He's not sure he'll actually contact him--if he decides against the job, there'll be no need, right? But he offers his hand anyway, to be polite, his muscled palm and bruised knuckles and fingers crooked from old fractures contrasting with the unexpected formality of taking a card. He doesn't think he's been offered a card since the Olympics. "I gotta get back to work," he says--and he'll have to finish his meal on the way. "See you around, then?"

[perfectquote]

“I never realized what a big deal that was. How amazing it is to find someone who wants to hear about all the things that go on in your head.”

— Nina LaCour

[whydontusayso]

[juliekang-deactivated20240331]

Julie decided to humor Kaan as she paid attention to the little signs. Judging by the way his eyes squinted, and the muscles in his neck tensed, there was a possibility for a mild concussion. "I work three twelve-hour shifts, so three nights a week. Four days off -- plenty of time to party and stuff," she said with a little wink before slipping a mask of professionalism back into place.

"Well, you just said what I'm thinking. Looks like a mild concussion, but I'll have to blast you with light in a moment," Julie sighed. She held up her pen light for emphasis, but listened carefully to the situation Kaan described. "If he's okay, you might want him to come get you. You'll need to spend a day or two avoiding activities that can cause another head injury -- so, no fighting. Light physical activity. No caffeine and limited screen time until your vision improves and the pain subsides. "

[wrathofkaan]

"Four days off?!" Kaan couldn't believe it--that sounded like the dream. (Actually, he got bored and restless and into trouble when he had more than one day off in a row, but he thought it sounded good, anyway.) "Where do you go? I keep getting banned from places."

He sighed when she suggested that he had a concussion, but it was more out of resignation than surprise--this was what, his third one this year? "I'm ready," he assured her. "Have you ever made someone blind with one of those?" He was much less enthusiastic about the thought of asking his roommate to do him a favor--after all, Kaan had been punching him just a few hours ago. "I can walk," he said. "What am I supposed to do without caffeine? It helps me think." In fact, he'd bought a bottle of soda on the way to the hospital, which the entrance staff had promptly made him get rid of. Kaan had only been trying to give himself the best chance of focusing...although he wasn't sure that it'd done anything this time.

[masterzmei]

"They were very upset that I didn't say I was a woman when I got here, so there was no legal record of a woman who transitioned just a regular Russian man who'd need his tits removed in three years. Recognition certificates are idiotic anyway-" Zmei waves it off before he can ramble too much, and looks up to see the shift in Kaan's posture where he's getting too lost in his head and turning sadder by the moment. The apology makes him grind his teeth, seeing the blame in his eyes and out of habit reaching up to lightly slap Kaan's cheek, just hard enough to sting and refocus him. "I will not hear you apologize, except for something you did and can change."

Zmei sighs, taking his bowed head between his hands and keeping him close, like he's afraid to lose his boy again. "Of course." He pauses, thinking. "Nowhere specific. I've been doing more writing than training these days."

[wrathofkaan]

"That's bullshit," Kaan says, and if an NHS representative had been there, he would have told them so, too. "So now what happens? You want me to do anything?" He doesn't know what, exactly, he could help with, besides telling them he'd always known Zmei as a regular Russian man, but he wants to help somehow.

--Which makes it worse when Zmei tries to help him, because he doesn't know what all Kaan's done. The slap hurts his bruised face, but not as much as having to tell him the truth. "Yeah, well," he mumbles, "I did a lot. I fucked my life up, that's why I'm not good anymore." If he'd been training the last ten years instead of drinking and getting high and then having to deal with getting out of both, he would have won this fight. Hell, he might not've been here in the first place--he might've made it to the Olympics again after all.

But with Zmei in his corner, his chances will be better than they would have ever been on his own. Leaning into him, more than willing to be held--Zmei's always been like a second father, but it means even more now that he hasn't seen his own parents in so long--he nevertheless pulls back at Zmei's answer. "Writing?" he repeats in surprise. "Do you have a book or something?"

[madgirlscosm-deactivated2024052]

You and me, we can disappear.

[wrathofkaan]

What is one random fact about you?

"I like to draw, especially buildings and skylines. If I'm gonna sit still, that's what I want to do. I keep a notebook in my coat so I can draw stuff I see on walks."

[wrathofkaan]

💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages do you speak? what language(s) are you learning, if any?

💚 GREEN HEART — do you prefer being inside or outside?

💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages do you speak? what language(s) are you learning, if any?

"Right now I pretty much just speak English. I used to speak Turkish pretty well, since Babaanne used it at home, but it's been a long time. I'm learning a little Spanish because of the food truck, which is cool."

💚 GREEN HEART — do you prefer being inside or outside?

"Either one's okay if I'm allowed to move around. But if it's equal, probably outside. You can walk wherever you want, and there's more to see, and sometimes you get to meet people's dogs. --If there's a dog inside, though, that's good too."

[wrathofkaan]

💜 PURPLE HEART — what is your ancestry/genetic background?

"Turkish! My dad's side is from Tekirdağ, and mum's is from Bursa. If the Sea of Marmara's a clock (it's not, it's kind of an oval), Tekirdağ's at 10:00, Istanbul's at 1, and Bursa's at 5."

[wrathofkaan]

TMI TUESDAY

Bora

Kaan

Charley

Ender

[juliekang-deactivated20240331]

“I didn’t do anything that may have resulted in a concussion,” Julie deadpanned. She listened as Kaan talked excitedly. His speech was clear and he was alert — all good things, indeed.

And yet, the blooming bruise continued to swell across his cheek. Julie held up her hand. “You might not have been knocked out, but we’ll still have to check. You mind watching my fingers without moving your head?” Julie asked, two fingers raising off to the side. “I’ll also have to blind you with a light in a minute, but I am glad there’s no broken bones. Mainly because I’m not an x-ray tech and you’d be here even longer — either way, how exactly did you wind up here?”

[wrathofkaan]

"That's good," Kaan said agreeably--although he was waiting for her to fill in what she'd done instead, and he frowned when the answer didn't come. "Do you have to work every night? Do you still party and stuff?"

His first instinct was to watch her hand while moving his head, but he managed to get following her request straightened out, trying and failing to blink and squint her fingers into focus. "Not gonna lie, I'm not seeing too good," he admitted. "That's why I came." When she asked how he'd gotten there, he said, "I walked, it's only a couple miles"--and then realized that might not have been what she was questioning. But it was a lot more comfortable to talk about than what'd led up to his arrival. Looking away, he said finally, "I got in a fight with my flatmate. --But he's okay. He's a bouncer."

[masterzmei]

Where a couple of his fellow boxers outside backed away when Kaan started yelling, Zmei just raised an eyebrow, unflinching, until his boy realized who he was taking that tone with.

Ten years. Ten years is very long time, and Zmei could see the marks of it all over Kaan: his metabolism had slowed enough to let his shoulders fill out and put on some muscle, but there was a hollowness in his cheeks and under his eyes, thick scar tissue across his knuckles, and a twitchiness that wasn't just a teenager with ADHD. Images flickered to mind of unemployed soviet factory workers and desperate opponents in less-than-legal prize fights who had "bad allergies" and "no apatite". His brow furrowed slightly as they stared, and suddenly Kaan was on him.

The kid still nearly bowled him over with the hug and Zmei couldn't help but laugh into his hair, barely able to catch the handle of his cane through his belt loop before pulling Kaan tight into his chest. Some things never change.

"Hiding from Tories, mostly. Waiting for the NHS to let me walk and sign a fucking paper that says I'm a man." He shrugs, shaking his head but still smiling, then letting out a long sigh as he looked Kaan over. "Out of practice, yes, and... different. You have the strength you wanted, but have lost your lightness."

"I might die of shame if I do not fix it." Apart from a slight smile, it nearly sounds like Zmei wasn't being sarcastic.

[wrathofkaan]

All it takes are Zmei's arms wrapping around him, heavy with muscle and holding him tight, for Kaan to feel seventeen again, like he can forget all the hell of the past ten years. Like he's on top of the world instead of fighting his way up from the bottom, and like he's never gone a day without his coach's support.

Even once they pull back, and Kaan can get a better look at him--he's a little older, he guesses, a little less hair, maybe a little more worn--he's still unmistakably the same fighter Kaan's spent his life looking up to. --Even if he's a little taller than he was at seventeen, and now they're eye-to-eye. Zmei's words make him grin (not that he's stopped beaming the whole time), and he demands, "What's the NHS got to do with it? I thought they were over that shit." But the memory of Zmei getting dragged into his parents' scandal, and Zmei's observation about what he's lost, turn him sober, and he nods. "...I'm sorry," he says finally. For what Zmei's gone through, for losing the advantage Zmei's training had given him, for what his coach will find out about him sooner or later, or maybe already knows. He doesn't know what else to say.

But Zmei's words buoy him, like they always had, and he looks back up to scan his face, hope and relief and gratitude making him scrub a hand across his eyes. It's just sweat, he tells himself--knowing it isn't, and not caring. But he manages to keep from throwing his arms around Zmei again, instead ducking his head as if it'll hide his grin. "Okay," he says, "thanks." As if it's not the best news Kaan's heard since Eira agreed to help him. "Where are you training now?"

[andrew-aatakni]

“A politician?” Viktor huffs a small laugh. “No. That I am decidedly not.” A most unflattering comparison, and certainly one he’s heard before. But Viktor’s had enough of politics, and of those who practice it, to last a lifetime. His line of work forgoes all rules and pleasantries forced upon the public figure.

“Think of me as an investor of sorts. I have significant monetary resources at my disposal, much of which I invest in projects, or people, worthy of my support. Case in point.” He gestures broadly in Kaan’s direction. “You are incredibly skilled at what you do, but you lack the resources necessary to make the most of your talents. I’d like to change that.”

The table beside them is briefly vacated and in the lull of silence, Viktor dares a sip of coffee. It’s as unpleasant as expected. “You misunderstand me, Kaan. May I call you Kaan?” He returns the cup to the table. “I find street fights to be incredibly pedantic. All those restrictions dictated by decency take the fun right out of the fight. What I’m looking for is someone with your skillset. Someone who isn’t afraid to back down from a challenge. Someone who knows how to survive the worst and still come out on top. You have experience in that regard, do you not? You seem to have quite successfully clawed your way out of the shadow of your parents’ disgrace.”

[wrathofkaan]

Kaan doesn't mind being contradicted--he's just trying to understand--but he's so confused. He's not good with subtlety on his best days, much less when he's also trying to eat dinner and keep track of the time so he doesn't get in trouble for being late again. While he's thinking of it, he checks his phone, the lockscreen picture of him and Eira flashing into brightness behind the time display before he sets the phone face-up on the table. He's got fifteen minutes, but he has to be careful.

As the man goes on, Kaan narrows his eyes, trying to follow what he's getting at. "So you're like a sponsor?" It's yet another guess, but if the man's not going to come right out and explain himself, it's all Kaan can do. He gives a shrug and a nod to being called by his name, but he's paying more attention to what else the man says. He's not sure what pedantic means...but he's pretty sure restrictions dictated by decency just mean the rules.

The rules that keep them from killing each other. That keep them from being as brutal as the no-holds-barred fights that can ruin a life without killing.

And then the man brings up Kaan's parents, and while that used to be major news--it's been thirteen years. "Who the fuck are ya, mate?" It's not exactly hostile, but it's a hell of a lot less friendly than he'd been a few minutes before. "What're you asking? Give it me straight this time."

[efyamclub]