Night Club DJHouse:
Anton Igorevich Zaslavski (AKA Zedd)Appearance:
No Significant differencesSpheres:Forces:
Control Heat/Light/Sound, Control Electricity/Flame, TransmissionMind:
Multi-Tasking, Subliminal UrgingTime:
Zivon is one "wild and craaazy guy!" He's all about fun, all the time. Life is short and then you die so why not eat, drink, and be merry and all that jazz! He also loves
American culture, too bad most of his understanding is a result of watching too many MTV reruns from a decade (or more) ago back home in Estonia. All of that however, pales in comparison to his love of music. All music! Any music! It's all wonderful, even if it isn't the kind he makes. It's all wonderful!
Underneath the bravado and bluster however, Zivon is a kind and gentle soul. He would never hurt a fly intentionally and is very careful to not cross the line of "obnoxious" or "annoying" when dealing with people both physically and emotionally. He's also honest to a fault, taking nearly literal pain from the act of deception. Above all however, he feels he has something to prove. Prove to his mom that his career choice (DJ) can make enough money. To his employers/coworkers that his has the skills to be worth his employment. Even to himself, he has to prove that his dreams are worth pursuing...History:
Zivon’s early life was different from those he grew up with. While many of his childhood friends lived in town, Zivon did not. Many of his friends played at the park and ignored their schoolwork, Zivon could not. All his friends were living with both their parents, Zivon was not. Zivon was different, but that did not mean that he did not fit in. He was the ‘cool kid from the country,’ and his friends often rode their bikes down to his home. His mother was strict with Zivon’s homework, but with many other things she was not. Zivon and his friends would spend their days running about his family’s farm, often getting themselves into trouble. Even the boys would know they had gone too far, when Zivon’s mother could be heard calling them to face her in front of their latest destruction. Old vehicles stripped of their parts, broken tools, collapsed sheds; nothing was safe from the boys and their search for fun.
Zivon’s home life was far from normal, for his father was absent almost from the day of Zivon’s birth. Zivon told his friends it was because his father had been sent away by the government, for not being “normal.” His friends believed him, fascinated. His mother told him that the days of that happening were long over, and the Russians had left their native Estonia. The wall may have been in Germany, but it affected everyone. Estonia was free and independent again. She told him that his father had actually been forced to leave because he had angered some old friends, and they had told him to not return. Zivon never listened. He wanted his father to be different, so his friends wouldn’t think he was weird for not having a father.
Zivon grew up ignorant of his family’s history, never knowing of his true heritage. His father had once been a well known member of the Order, and a fairly high ranking Mason at that. His associates had turned on Zivon’s father, after he started making political moves of which they did not approve. Because of the events of the Masons driving his mother away from the Order, he grew up remarkably normal and ignorant of his father's legacy. He never seemed to notice the odd events that his mother heard about the world around them, and he played his childhood away. After he reached puberty, his mother began to watch closely. She had been told it was during the teenage years that Magi-to-be showed their potential. She watched and waited.
When Zivon was about 14, a group of Russian men came to his mother. They asked for a place to rest for the night. Zivon thought that they were weird and smelled funny, but his mother ordered him not to say such rude things. He had learned that his mother was not to be argued with when she had company, and he retreated to their small living room. Turning on the television, Zivon found something new, something that would change the course of his life, MTV.
The station was new to Estonian airwaves, having only recently been piped in from nearby countries. To fourteen year old Zivon, it was the coolest thing he had ever seen. He did not understand the words he heard, having never heard English, but he liked it all the same. He watched it for hours that night, and the next day. It soon became a staple of the young boy’s life. As Zivon entered high school, he began showing an interest in music. He showed nothing beyond a tertiary interest in the classic instruments. Instead, he began to experiment with the tools of the New Wave.
It took many years of begging his mother, but slowly Zivon amassed enough parts to cobble together a crude synthesizer. Zivon would spend hours playing with his crude contraption, oblivious to most of the world around him. While Zivon practiced, his mother listened as tales of the Baba Yaga and her Shadow Curtain’s fall with relief. Her son had not changed, but she knew there was time. With the Curtain gone and things returning to normal, the Garou could once more concern themselves with the next generation.
It was late spring in the year 2000. Zivon had shown no signs of Awakening and his mother hoped it would not happen. She watched as he whiled away his days playing with electronics and trying to build a better Synth to practice on. Fate is rarely kind to hopeful mothers though and one evening large man named Andres, a member of Zivon's father's cabal, came to check on the boy.
Andres saw potential in the boy, but saw little chance of Awakening. He talked to the boy often during the next two weeks. He asked Zivon about school, about music, about television. They talked of many things. Andres learned that the boy’s synths and music were all that were truly important to him. He had checked the boy’s birth date, and saw great potential. All the boy lacked was that inner fire. Thought and logic was important, but without that spark, there would be no Awakening and Zivon would live his life as nothing more then a talented kid. Andres devised a plan.
He snuck into Zivon’s room later that night, preternaturally silent, and took two important items from the room: Zivon’s current project (a new and better Synth) and Zivon’s pride and joy, the first Synth he built. The next morning he waited outside Zivon’s window. He had learned the boy’s pattern from the weeks he had spent there. At exactly 8:43am, when Zivon would still be groggy from his recent rising, Andres began to whistle loudly. He walked out the front door and dropped the Synths on the lawn. To be sure he had the boy’s attention, he “accidentally” stepped on one of the newer Synth’s buttons. He heard a window slam open, just as he planned. Andres ignored Zivon for the moment and made eye contact with Zivon’s nervous looking mother. Andres said loudly that music was a distraction to Zivon, and he would never be a true Mage if they allowed him to continue. Andres grabbed a sledgehammer he had placed nearby the night before and lifted it high. With a crash he brought the hammer down on the newer synth, breaking it to pieces.
Andres could almost hear Zivon’s stomach wretch, and a soft whimper escaped the boy’s throat. Andres lifted the hammer again and kicked the broken pieces aside, revealing Zivon’s pride, Cynthia, his first creation. Zivon cried out, screaming at Andres to stop. Andres shook himself slightly, as if preparing, and started to swing his shoulders. The hammer began to move. Zivon’s cries changed from desperate to frantic and the sounds of someone leaping out of a window could be heard. The hammer reached vertical and began its descent. Zivon was no longer speaking words, as his cries became angry. Andres smiled. The hammer neared horizontal, mere inches from its target. The hammer made contact and a soft cracking sound could be heard. Zivon roared, Andres relaxed himself, and a large blast of electricity struck Andres and sent him flying like a ragdoll. Zivon stood, eyes empty of thought, over his pride and joy. He bellowed a feral challenge at Andres, who stood, unharmed, and smiled. It had worked perfectly, now the hard part.
Hours later a bruised and singed pair sat at the kitchen table. Zivon glared angrily at Andres, who smiled softly in return. Zivon’s mother brought them warm drinks and joined them at the table. Andres explained what he had done and why. He explained, with some help from Zivon’s mother, what had happened to Zivon. They talked for some time before Zivon spoke. All he said was that a replacement would be needed. Andres smiled and asked if Zivon had looked at his old Synth. When Zivon confirmed the negative, he led the boy outside and showed him what he meant. The new synth was useless, damaged beyond repair. The older one, however, was only superficially damaged. The plastic casing broken, but the electronics unharmed. Andres explained his plan, and how he had asked the spirits to help protect the valuable equipment. He offered to buy Zivon the best sound system they could find to replace the new Synth, and offered to help replace Cynthia’s casing. With a smile, he accepted Zivon’s angry kick in the stomach.
Two months and many trials later, Zivon found himself sitting in a large office in the Columbiana Valley. The chair he sat on was comfy, but decidedly lower then the one across the desk, where a big man stared him straight in the eye. He almost seemed to be daring Zivon to show fear. Zivon merely smiled goofily, as he always did, and asked her to “spin it down, cause the beat keeps callin.” The man was amused, but did not show it. He saw Zivon’s buffoon-ish act and knew he wasn’t as dumb as he looked, that his accent and demeanor belied something more. He stared the young man in the eye and told him to be serious for a few moments, as he needed to be prepared. It was time to live up to his potential and learn how use his skills responsibly. That was two years ago, and all Zivon has really achieved since then was getting a sweet “gig” at the local night club as a DJ, though he has proven quite skilled at that at least...