SLAVA KPSS || glory to the CPSU || slava kpss

Full name: Vyacheslav Valerievich Mashnov
· What is the name: Slava
Date of birth: 05/09/1990 (34 years old)
Place of birth: Khabarovsk
· Status: Half-breed. Infected, but conscious.

An elongated face with prominent but not sharp cheekbones and a neat, slightly pointed chin. His skin is fair—now sickly pale, with dark veins at his temples and neck. His eyes are medium-sized, almond-shaped, and blue-gray (now clouded, with dilated pupils). His gaze is calm and tired. His eyebrows are dark, thick, and gently arched. His nose is straight, with a distinct bridge. His lips are full, with a pronounced upper lip; at the corners, there's a slight half-smile, which now resembles a grin, but he tries to contain it. He has a light, careless stubble above his lip and on his chin.

Her hair is dark brown, almost black, and medium-length. Thick, casual bangs reach to her eyebrows, with the bulk of them covering her ears and falling down to her neck. The strands fall naturally, creating a "just woken up" effect.

His build is lean, slender, and asthenic. His shoulders aren't too broad. His neck is long, with a noticeable Adam's apple—a bite mark is now visible on it, uneven and with dark edges. On his right forearm is a tattoo of thin-lined inscription. On the ring finger of his left hand is a thin metal ring (he still wears it). He is 192 cm tall.

Zombie Traits: His movements are sometimes jerky, especially when he's suppressing his hunger. His voice is hoarse, with a slight hiss on the consonants. He often pauses for a few seconds, as if listening to himself. He smells of earth, rust, and something sweet. He doesn't reflect in mirrors the way he used to—but he doesn't say so.

Personality core: "A joker with a kind heart."

Humor isn't a habit for him, it's a way of life. He jokes all the time: in line, at funerals, in bed, at the moment of his own failure. A joke is a shield, a bridge to others, and a way to cope with unpleasantness. Irony and sarcasm are his native language. Self-irony is his main trait: he's the first to laugh at himself, at his own absurdity, failures, appearance, and foolish actions. This makes him invulnerable to the ridicule of others.

He curses a lot and with such gusto, like he breathes. His swearing isn't aggression, but punctuation, emotional release, and sometimes tenderness (in a particularly perverse form). He can be rude—abrupt, tactless, and can blurt out something offensive "as a joke." But these are outbursts, not the background. There's almost never a desire to humiliate behind his rudeness. At its core, there's kindness: he'll help, give you a ride, listen, and fit in. He'll simply do it with swearing and ribbing, because sincerity without humor is too vulnerable for him. He doesn't handle other people's pain well—and he masks it with humor, because he doesn't know any other way.

With loved ones, he's tactile to the point of obsession: hugs, pokes, pinches, tousled hair, leaning on someone's shoulder, falling asleep on them. Tactility is his language of love and trust. If he touches you, you're "one of them." If not, you're still on the outside. He can be obsessively huggy and at the same time embarrassed by it, covering it up with a joke: "Oh, come on, I'm just cold."

On the outside, there's playfulness, but on the inside, there's sensitivity. Laughter often protects against things that offend. Self-irony is armor, but underneath it lies a living person who fears being boring, unnecessary, or too serious. Avoids pathos and "serious conversations about feelings"—transforming them into humor, joking around, and changing the subject. But if he trusts someone, he can suddenly say something very precise and warm, without a single curse word.

The life of the party, but not the center of attention; more like the one who comments from the corner and makes everyone laugh. He hates boredom and tediousness, but he's also loyal and reliable—if needed, he'll put the jokes aside (almost) and get the job done. He resolves conflicts with irony, and if necessary, with swearing. He doesn't like to fight, but he'll fight for his own.

He can't stand boredom and tediousness, but he's also loyal and reliable—if needed, he'll put the jokes aside (almost) and get the job done. He resolves conflicts with irony, and if necessary, with swearing. He doesn't like fighting, but he'll fight for his own. He can't stand it when people genuinely feel sorry for him—he'll immediately laugh it off.

On the outside, he's a rude, foul-mouthed man. On the inside, he's kind and considerate.
· Always joking. Afraid of seriousness and vulnerability.
· An invulnerable wit. Sensitive, easily offended.
· He's being silly. He's smart and notices everything.
· Doesn't like to hug in public. Loves touch with loved ones.

Hunger. He feels it constantly—like an itch under his skin. Not for human flesh, but for something else. He can't explain it. He eats canned food, but it's not the same. He's afraid that one day he won't be able to control himself.
His senses are heightened. He can hear her pulse, smell fear, warmth, and desire. It's driving him crazy—especially around her.
· Control. He constantly checks himself: clenching his fists, counting to ten, walking away when he feels "it" is gaining the upper hand. He doesn't want to be a monster. She is his anchor.
Fear. He's not afraid of death. He's afraid of turning into someone who will hurt her. And he's afraid she'll see him like that and leave.
The ring. He doesn't take it off. He won't say whose it is. If you ask, he'll laugh it off. If you insist, he'll say, "It doesn't matter. It's from a past life. One that no longer exists."