Beguiller uses his unearthly beauty, powers of persuasion, and psychic abilities to aid his team when brute force is not the answer.
Nikolai Kozlov never knew his parents. Abandoned as a child, he went from orphanage to orphanage and youth home to youth home till he was finally old enough to escape that hell and make his own way.
At least that’s one of his favorite lines. It worked almost every time. That sympathy play would land him in bed with almost any hot woman he wanted. Of course, the fact that he’s drop dead gorgeous doesn’t hurt either.
The fourth son of a privileged, well connected Russian bureaucrat, Nikolai learned the ins and outs of politics, manipulation, diplomacy, and good grace. He also learned well the arts of extortion, blackmail, coercion, and outright threats.
I’d like to say he put all this education to good use, but alas, no. Until the age of 17, he showed every sign of becoming another rich asshole, overdosed in a gutter outside some Amsterdam brothel.
Partying became a full time job for him. For weeks at a time, he never saw the light of day. He ignored his studies, his father (his mother actually was dead, but from cancer, several years earlier), and any actually caring friends. He was destined for self destruction.
Most of the time, he didn’t know where he was, who he was with or what day it might be. As long as the drugs, booze and women were there to make him forget, he was a happy guy. And then his bank card stopped working.
Nikolai, for the first time in life, was unsure what to do. Everything always came so easy for him. He tried to call his father at first but his mobile wasn’t working either. At first, he thought it some strange joke. He found his way home after having to settle for one of the matchbox women. That was a term used for the women who waited around at bars to see if any desperate men would pick them up after being drunk. So named because you’d rather set yourself on fire. It was good enough to make her happy enough to get him a flight home.
It wasn’t the homecoming he expected. He was denied access to his own home! His father came to the door and very solemnly told him that he loved him, but he couldn’t be reasoned with and until he decided to act responsibly, he would no longer be a member of the family. His only sister was crying in the upper room window, but turned away.
Stunned, he traveled to Moscow, trying to figure out what to do. He was quickly running out of money and places to go. He was exhausting friend after friend. Hospitality only lasting a couple days at a time.
He met another guy at the bar that turned him on to an activity that mystified him. This guy would enamor some woman, seduce her, and end up with an insane amount of money out of the deal. His words were flawless, he knew exactly what story to tell to pull on heart strings, and he always knew what turned them on. It was like he could read their minds. Nikolai tried to be like that but he always fumbled his words, or he’d tell a story that was offensive, or they’d lose interest. For weeks he followed this guy around, trying to learn, but it never did quite work for him. He was getting desperate.
Then he did something he’d swore he’d never do. He went into one of those nightclubs that only the tourists go to. You know, the ones that the hotel concierges send the tourists to so they could experience the Russian nightlife. You’d be hard pressed to find a Russian in one of them. Gaudy and cliche, no Russian would be caught dead in one.
But he needed a drink and the tourists were easy marks. He’d had terrible head aches in the days previous, even waking up in a hospital because someone had found him lying on a sidewalk, moaning. The staff told him they couldn’t find anything wrong. He had no id on him (apparently, the good Samaritan took his wallet for his trouble) and he had no way to pay, so he just left.
The place was called ‘BlackLight’ and it was one of those cheezy fluorescent painted glowing shock of senses type dance clubs that the tourists loved. The bass was pounding and the athletic shoe’d crowd bounced up and down to the beat.
Annoying, he couldn’t make it near the bar to spend his last amount of cash because this gigantic specimen of a man blocked his way because he was keeping the crowd away from this beautiful woman, probably in her late 30’s. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember from where.
He tried waiting, but the pounding in his head began again and his impatience grew until he started trying to jostle his way to the bartender. Giant guy apparently took offense and pushed him away. Nikolai tried to explain he was only trying to get to the bar when the guy pushed him so hard he fell. And that’s when the ice pick pierced his brain.
At least that’s what it felt like. He focused on the bodyguard with such intensity that he noticed he wasn’t breathing for several seconds. And then as fast as the pain erupted, it was gone. And so was the bodyguard. He looked confused? He just wandered off, leaving his charge behind.
Niko took the opportunity to get his drink and put himself strategically in line of sight of the apparently affluent American hottie. As gross as he felt, as disheveled as he must have looked, it was still good enough for her. She started talking almost exclusively to him. She started ignoring everyone around her. The bodyguard returned and she shoo’d him away. Nikolai was her whole world at that moment.
And he felt suave. He felt charming. No, he was suave, he was charming. Everything he said was right. Everything he did was right. At least to her. He could hear the words coming out of his mouth and they were trite. They were lines that would have gotten him slapped or drinks poured on him anywhere else. But here, with her, he was rock star, movie star, super model all rolled into one.
And later that morning, he left her lavish hotel room with $2000 American dollars in cash. Too easy.
That was the pattern for almost 3 months. Find a bar (it didn’t matter anymore which, but he found the rich Americans to be more willing to part with their money), find the girl, make her more satisfied than she’s ever been in her whole life, get money.
He still didn’t have enough to really get by. It was enough to find a place to stay, and enough to eat, but no where near the lifestyle afforded him by his father’s money. Rich bar hopping tourists didn’t exactly grow on trees. But it was enough.
It did get easier. Every place he went to, he was able to become the center of attention in moments. He blended in flawlessly. It was easy to attract the attentions of the women he wanted. And always he became the sole point of attention.
Of course at the time, he didn’t realize these were his Nova abilities unconsciously manifesting. He just thought he was that good. That handsome. That eloquent. That incredibly ripped and cut without even trying. Well, that part was undeniably true just looking at him, but… still nova given.
He was unstoppable getting into places he’d never otherwise pass the entry foyer. His chiseled good lucks, perfectly coiffed black hair and piercing blue eyes could charm and beguile anyone into giving him anything or letting him do anything he wanted, to a point. It seemed to work in a way that the person getting charmed had to take pleasure in what he was doing. Either laughing at him, being entertained by him, or engaged in some topic of conversation interesting to them. And of course, there was the sex. He was sure he’d be able to make someone die of exhaustion or hunger if he kept the pleasure coming.
He decided to travel, getting bored of the same bars, same cities. Carnival was approaching and it was bound to attract the attention of the rich heiresses of America so he hopped plane for Italy. He was spending the first night of carnival in the arms of some rich hotel owner’s daughter who’s name he forgot moments after meeting her.
He passed out at some point (odd for him to do the passing out) and woke up in a very unexpected place. He was in a jail cell. And with extremely strange company. There was one guy (a rather vulgar and loud American) who was encased what looked like styrofoam. Another continually drugged woman, a guy who perhaps was Finnish, and two women who’s cells were pristinely clean.
And that’s where his Nova story began.