Piotr Rasputin doesn't have a custom title currently.
Location: Xavier Institute
Born: No Information
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Code Name: Colossus
bio link: http://live2rise.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=492&st=0&#entry2302
plotter link: http://live2rise.jcink.net/index.php?act=ST&f=21&t=495
Joined: 7-November 15
Last Seen: Apr 14 2018, 01:43 PM
Local Time: Apr 20 2018, 04:57 PM
237 posts (0.3 per day)
( 2.42% of total forum posts )
Aug 15 2017, 10:40 PM
Starry, Starry Night - Elizabeth & Piotr - May 9th, 2014
Making Trouble - Logan, Piotr, Darcy - Oct 29, 2014
Brooklyn Bridge is Falling Down - Piotr & Sam - Nov 23, 2014
Feast For The Famished - Clint, Jean, Kitty, Piotr - Dec 10th, 2012
They Grow Up So Fast - Kitty, Piotr, Illyana - Feb 16th, 2014
A Silver Lining - Loki & Piotr - Mar 20, 2014
The Plans of Mice and Men - Tony, Clint, Piotr, Loki, Alex, Phil - April 10th, 2014
Out of Left Field - Thor, Alex, Piotr - April 18th, 2014
Curiosity & The Cat - Piotr & Marla - May 12, 2014
Specters of the Past - Logan, Gyrich, Piotr - September 2nd, 2014
Trespassers Will... - Gambit, Rogue, Xavier, Piotr - Oct 31, 2014
Aerobics The Day Away - Ororo & Piotr - Nov 10th, 2014
Old Habits, New Experiences - Charles & Piotr - Nov 18th, 2014
Student Welcoming Committee - Piotr & Tess - Dec 4th, 2014
Jun 3 2017, 12:03 AM
The why and how was the business of somebody else. Piotr was not a leader, he wasn't a tactician, nor was he a subtle combatant. Piotr was a blunt instrument when it came to physical pursuits such as battle. The best way to deploy him was either on free fire offense or choke point defense. Fortunately, those of greater tactical wisdom amongst the X-Men were well aware of this fact.
Thus it was that Piotr, the X-Men known as Colossus, appeared in a disc of light on the island side of the Brooklyn Bridge in his standard tactical gear. Sleeveless, as it was, meant that the unnatural chill bit even into skin acclimated to harsh Siberian winters, necessitating the change into his metallic form. Obviously tougher, apparently stronger, and beneficially immune to all but the coldest of colds. He wasn't nearly as spry as many of his peers, but then he didn't have to be while defending the relatively finite width of a bridge. Even one as broad as the famous Brooklyn Bridge.
The wind howled, the snow drove, and Colossus stood impassively in the middle of the bridge for a long moment waiting to see if anything would choose the moment to jump out at him. When nothing did, he made a choice and began striding slowly toward the mainland side in search of the opponents he hoped had elected to give up and go home. Piotr was no optimist, he had his full measure of Russian fatalism, but he liked to hope for mildness even while setting his stores for the harshest of seasons. The wind died down a bit as he moved forward and he paused, turning just his head to cock his ear into the distance behind him. Had he heard something? Perhaps one of the abandoned vehicles stuck in the snow on the bridge still had its radio on... his hulking figure waited another moment, his face impassive, before moving forward again.Sam Wilson
May 6 2017, 05:24 PM
May 12th, 2014
Piotr loved shrimp puffs.
That said, there he sat at the back of the gallery on a bench, fortunately spanning an empty space between the only two works that were his, eating several of them off a tiny plate made of clear-ish plastic. It was, seriously, the high light of his evening thus far. He hadn't seen Betsy in a day or two, she had work and faux work and stuff that made it look like she was doing faux work avoidance along the way so it would seem normal... he rubbed the back of his neck because it was all confusing to him but she'd explained it with such confidence that he felt confident believing it was important.
When he'd gotten the call about providing a couple of pieces to the gallery for a show that didn't have enough to cover their required space he'd accepted on the promise that he could have as many of the shrimp puffs as he wanted. They liked Piotr, so they'd made good. The fact that he let them sell his paintings at whatever price they felt they could get probably had something to do with that, they loved it when the artist didn't get in the way of business. Piotr genuinely had no idea what his paintings were worth. Everybody was happy with the arrangement.
To his left was a painting of two plucked flowers, both in the palm of a hand, up close and in high detail. One flower is starkly pale white with odd black markings. The other flower is a pail peachish color with fiery red streaks and speckles. The name of the painting is "Black Eyed Neena & Irish Forget-Me-Not: Plucked"
To his right was a painting of Betsy standing in water up to her collarbone, no apparent bathing suit, wet hair. The scene is darkly lit, casting it in blacks and deeper blues. One hand gracefully touches her cheek as she looks at the viewer through her lashes. Her eyes stand out from the rest of the painting. It's name: "Seeing Through Me"
Piotr seemed perfectly content to sit where he was eating his shrimp puffs, wearing a nice suit he'd come into ownership of thanks to a friend. Obviously, given his size, it was tailored.Marla Drake
Mar 4 2017, 05:12 PM
What a day. What a glorious day. Things were just going great. There was the whole Betsy situation, which for good or ill had certainly been exciting but with a new dawn he'd returned to his school endeavors. They had new students, so Piotr had grabbed a couple of sets of school issued items and set out. The first student had been delightful. Well, mostly. It had started out with the young man looking confused, suspicious, and largely disinterested in being given
anything. But then he'd asked a question, and Piotr had answered it since it was just about where he was from. Then, the fact that he'd grown up on a farm had triggered a fantastic conversation about survival, herbalism, animal husbandry, living or playing in the woods.
All in all, Ben had really turned out to be a top notch kid.
Which meant that Theresa Cassidy was next. The daughter of a former, now returned, member of the school and newly reconnected with her father. Piotr was certain she would have a great many questions of her own and he was keen to offer up answers. Maybe even about her father's past at the school though Piotr had only known Sean as a peer for a very short time after being promoted to the team late in his academic career. Still, that might prove to be the perspective that Theresa would want, one more like hers. Looking up at the paternal figure she'd no doubt missed greatly.
He was fully prepared. Piotr pushed the cart up outside the door and knocked, then picked up a stack of clothing and some school supplies. Kids often came to them with various levels of possessions and preparedness. He had toiletries, he had socks, he even had a prepaid cellphone for if she had somebody she desperately wanted to get in contact with. So far as he'd been made aware, Theresa wasn't under any special restrictions so the sky was the limit. "It is Piotr, I am here to welcome you and bring you things."
He said it happily, cheerfully even, and waited with a happy smile on his face.Theresa Cassidy
Jul 30 2016, 09:09 PM
Piotr was ruminating on a variety of things that day, but in the true form of Russians he liked to do such things while doing something that required him to exercise. Today, it was his mind. If you wanted to lubricate your thoughts you did it by exerting yourself, like typing nonsense when wanting to write a letter to get things moving. So the big, yet gentle, Russian had made his way to Central Park to find a game of chess. Never one to trust to fate he brought his own set with him. Unique, it was a gift that his father had given him when still a boy, a parting gift as Piotr had made his way to America to join Professor Xavier's grand dream for the future. The pieces were somewhat crude, but they had been carved by hand by Piotr's grandfather long before Piotr or any of his other siblings had been born.
So, there the large man sat with his obviously home made chess pieces set out on a wooden board that had been stained more than a generation ago in Russia, waiting for someone to arrive who wished to play a classic game, untimed, with him. He put a bright and cheerful expression on his face, trying to be as friendly and welcoming as he could be while hunched over a stone chair and table set put in place for precisely the purpose he was there for.