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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Jul 18, 2015 23:07:07 GMT -8
She was crying.
He almost missed it entirely, at first; the sound of her sobbing was faint enough to be completely drowned out by the rhythmic beat of rain on the roof outside, and if she did let out a slightly louder sniffle at some point, the roar of thunder concealed it quite effortlessly. Neither her trembling nor the fact that she was uncharacteristically close to him rouse any suspicions either; Ivan merely figured that she was just cold enough from the chilly weather to let down some of her inhibitions regarding physical touch in favour of staying warm - and the words he whispered to her in a hushed breath were spoken with that very assumptions in mind.
"I know it's very cold, but I promise the drink will help."
The drink would warm her up and cease her shivering, he was certain - was, indeed, until the tears flowing from her cheeks into the shoulder of his relatively thin dress shirt reached the damaged skin underneath. Ivan didn't need to turn his head and check to realize that there was a wet spot on his shoulder, increasing in size with every tremble of her body. He still couldn't physically hear her sobs, but simply noticing her sorrow did bring a chorus of cries to pound against the inside of his skull, hammering in the realization he had tried to deny.
But... but why was she crying? He saw a little reason for her to do so. Was it just nerves, then - the much spoken of first day jitters at a new workplace, perhaps? Or, he wondered once his cheery facade allowed for it, had the body been a bit too much for her to witness? He'd been desensitized to such sights from a very early age, but he was fully aware that not all shared such a fate. And, truly, he'd be lying if he said his intention wasn't to shock her a little with it - after all, the lack of motivation for one's job was a common problem shared across all trades and he wanted to, ah, eliminate such problematic behaviour before it could began.
That was neither here nor now, however. Turning slightly enough to be able to face his men but not force her to move, Ivan ordered the first person his eyes met with to fetch them a bottle of the promised vodka. He had meant to do so himself, but he felt like leaving her without whatever warmth he could provide for to be both tasteless and cruel. So, instead, he wrapped his arms around her upper body tighter, one hand settling onto the small of her back, one reaching to rub at her shoulders to help her blood flow better.
"Just wait a little longer," Ivan mumbled, hand moving a steady circle on her shoulder until her hair got wrapped around his hand and lured him into playing with it, instead. He knew it wouldn't exactly warm her, but he figured it might feel relaxing enough to provide some temporary aid to her plight.
As he ran his fingers through the silk of her hair, the Russian stopped to take in their hue properly for the first time since they'd met; they were beautiful, deep black, and the Russian was sure that had the room been better lit, they would have shone under the light just so. Alas, the smoke wrapping around them was thick enough to render that visage nothing but a distant dream. Not that Ivan minded too terribly.
"You know, your hair is beautiful."
A beautiful black; the lack of all colour. Not yet tainted, not yet enriched by anything - and yet, as Ivan watched her strands flow between his gloved fingers, he could have sworn he saw the tips gain a bright red hue until deprived of his touch.
And when the bottle finally arrived and she brought the much awaited glass of vodka to brush against her lips, Ivan found the liquor illuminating the colour of her lipstick - which was strange, as he hadn't noticed her wearing any before. It, too, was a beautiful, lively red, and Ivan couldn't help but amuse a chuckle at the sight.
How funny.
Red was his favorite colour.
ooc: aaaand... that's it! Thread finished! vv7
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Jan 24, 2015 0:22:14 GMT -8
HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE. And I'm sorry that it's an arts thing and not a writes thing even though you preferred the latter and I should still do finishing touches and I dunno the characters so they probably look OOC and *wheeze* {Just.. sorry hope you like it anyway omfg} Full version here.
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Nov 30, 2014 21:17:33 GMT -8
SHEEP JFC JUST GIVE ME ZELOS/SHEENA ART OR FIC OR COMIC OR ANYTHING JUST GIVE ME ZELOS/SHEENA
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Nov 26, 2014 0:44:03 GMT -8
It's cold and lonely here. vJv
And we have our own driver~!
... Because I can't drive, ;3;
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Nov 11, 2014 0:42:25 GMT -8
"Yes."
Yes!
The power of that single word was immense and its affects immediate; the tall, seemingly immovable Russian suddenly became the most animated person in the room. With a simple motion, he snapped his back straight and let his boots separate from the floor into a small jump of joy, his palms brought together with a loud clasping sound. A smile spread from one plump cheek to the other, the previous fluster replaced with glee as Ivan let out a giggle, violet, previously so sharp eyes radiating excitement like they belonged to a kid on Christmas' Eve.
It was a complete, one-hundred and eighty degree turn from his previous threatening demeanor yet for whatever reason, none of the other men in the room seemed surprised. Most of them were rather neutral to it all, in fact. There were a few exceptions of course, with some looking a tad disturbed and some amused - but not to an extent that would suggest they hadn't seen something similar happen in the past.
She'd said yes. She'd agreed to take on the job he'd offered, and without a second's hesitation staying her tongue. Maybe all the bad things he'd worried about on their way here were just the result of her being nervous and feeling cold after all. Ivan was glad. Really glad. She was her previous, friendly self again, and Ivan wanted to let her know how happy he was - but before he could so much as start to turn his feelings into words, she interjected.
"But wait."
Ivan's mouth instantly closed and his attention refocused on the girl, heart missing a beat at the spontaneity of the word. His previous smile still lingered, but it had turned from genuine into confused. 'But'? Did she really just... say but? W-was she having second thoughts? Because if s-
"What... what is exactly the job I will be doing? I... I don't want t-to mess up like him."
...Oh!
Oh, she was worried about that - about letting him down. Aww, how cute, he should have known not to jump straight into expecting the worst - not when it was his friend they were talking about. So with that, Ivan settled to just listening, excitement slowly stirring and building up inside his chest again. He'd need to contain it for a while, though; the questions she asked all had to do with her future job, and as a responsible employer, it was his job to act suitably professional when answering them.
So, once she'd finished, Ivan nodded. "Mmm, don't worry about any of that!" He encouraged her, one giant hand resting on her head now. "The job is really easy! All you have to do is bring me information from certain people of interest - ah, and of course, you can continue your studies. You should continue; education is important." He would know.
And it was a good cover-up.
"And why I chose you, well~" Ivan smiled, gloved hand now ruffling her hair as another giggle found its way into the chilly, thick air of the room. "You're my friend and needed a job, so I thought it'd be nice to offer you one. And, well, when it comes to experience..." He glanced at the bag laying motionless some distance from them.
"He was a professional, and look what happened to him."
The Russian shook his head with a sorrowful sigh. "I think, in this job, it's better if you don't have experience. Everyone knows how to spot a professional spy nowadays." He returned his eyes on her now, lips curling into a slightly sly smile. "But nobody trains to catch amateurs."
Another giggle. "As for what's bratva..." It took all the Russian had to keep himself from chuckling at her naivety - or perhaps it was just innocence. He wouldn't know. To Ivan, the terms were always interchangeable. Knowledge corrupted. "To put it simply, we're a group of friends trying to make the world a better place - through any means necessary."
There was a slight drop of tone in his voice at the end of the sentence, gone in a second.
"But! So much of that."
With all the explanations finally done and over with, Ivan could finally let himself be whisked away by excitement - and that's exactly what he did. Enormous form moving with speed that seemed rather unnatural for someone as big as him, Ivan closed the small gap between him and the girl. For a split second his form towered over her, before the spur of the moment made Ivan bend his back and wrap his arms around the girl's slender form, pulling her into a spontaneous hug. Ivan always was a very physical person when it came to showing his affection, and in a moment of joy and... relief such as this, there was no way he could have held himself back any longer.
"I'm so happy!" The Russian exclaimed, hug tightening around her shivering body. "You became part of us after all! I promise the pay is pretty good, and you can join our drinking nights now, and... oh, that's right, would you like a bottle now? Vodka warms you up nicely on a cold day like this~"
She would say yes again, Ivan felt.
Time and time again, every time from now on.
She would always say yes.
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Oct 15, 2014 22:51:30 GMT -8
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Oct 15, 2014 22:47:29 GMT -8
Ivan was not a regular sight at a bar - gay or otherwise - when alone. When he drank, he usually preferred to do it with friends, so most of the time he was accompanied by at least one of his underlings to make sure he wouldn't need to be spend time with nothing but alcohol to keep him company; heaven knew that was not a good thing. That, and for all his influence and charisma, he could be very... shy at talking to people he didn't know, especially in crowded places like bars and nightclubs. Even when he was looking for romantic company, he always made sure to have someone sit somewhere near for encouragement.
Really, as far as Ivan Braginsky was concerned, talking business with cutthroats, acquiring new connections, blackmailing people and in general interacting with London's most feared were all relatively easy tasks - starting a mundane conversation with someone in a bar was not. It was scary. He always feared people would regard him as weird from the get-go and hardly offer him a chance to prove them wrong.
Which was most likely why he now found himself inching ever closer to the only one in the bar that was, decidedly, far more peculiar than him; a man with a bucket hiding his head, a simple straw enabling him to even touch his drink. It was fascinating and somewhat... mesmerizing how calm the person appeared to be despite the curious, glances and heated whispers around him. It sounded like a bad pun, but the man must have had the nerves of steel - either that, or he was very, very drunk. Either way, Ivan didn't feel quite as intimidated by him as he did with most of the bar's customers, so it didn't take long for him to find himself sitting next to the bucket-man with his own drink in hand. Vodka lemon. He'd already downed a few, but he didn't really feel it yet.
"May... May I sit here?" He asked in almost a whisper, eyes downcast as he tried to keep himself from sneaking unnecessary glances at the other. He'd been to his particular bar a few times before and while he had seen colorful folk before, this was definitely a new height and it would have been a lie to say he wasn't the slightest bit curious to know the man's reasons.
He wanted to continue his sentence somehow, say something to start a proper conversation, but he feared that if he opened his mouth again, the only thing blurting out would be the inevitable question of 'why are you wearing that', and he felt it rather rude. So, instead, he settled to just smiling.
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Sept 8, 2014 21:34:30 GMT -8
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Sept 7, 2014 22:45:26 GMT -8
So I've temporarily misplaced the cable needed to get my photos from my phone, so I'm going to cheat a bit and use pics of my city I've found online for now haa. Will upload ones I've taken after I find my cable! For now here {wooop} Old stream once used to power up the factories nearby. Now it's... just there. Chuuuurch I can't wait for winter tbh Ok this is kinda pretty actually moar winter View of (one of the many) lakes around. This one's small tho Again the lake and factory it's like in the center of the city so A bigger lake idk this one has islands you can rent for fishing, swimming, sauna etc.
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Aug 28, 2014 11:37:42 GMT -8
The stranger didn't answer him right away, but that was okay. He might have not looked too excited to get company, but there was no indication of the shorter man wanting him to scram, either. That was already progress, and it made Ivan smile widely as he settled to his spot next to him. He didn't really mind the silence that was forming between them all that much - sometimes words were hardly needed when making acquaintances. Sure, he loved to talk, but... he was well aware that he could be a bit awkward at times when he spoke to new people. So for now, this was fine. He wouldn't force the other to open up.
He did kind of want to know the man's name, though. Constantly referring to him without a name in his mind was getting a bit silly. So when the other broke the silence with words and even asked for a name, Ivan couldn't be happier. There it was, his chance to return the question right back at him. He took the cigarette he was offered with a mumbled thanks, placing the cig in his mouth as he focused on listening.
”Your lungs, your choice. You got a light somewhere in one of those pockets? What’s your name by the way, I hate smoking with people and not knowing there name."
Chuckling, Ivan pushed a hand into what the other had called 'one of those pockets', soon fishing out what was indeed a lighter. He never left the house without one - or two, in some cases - as they were not only useful for cigarette lighting, but for other things as well. You never knew what to expect from a day working for a criminal organization, after all.
"Of course," Ivan nodded as pulled out the lighter, shaking it in front of the other a few times before lighting his cigarette. He took a long drag and breathed contently, before offering the still burning lighter to the other. "Ivan Braginsky," he introduced, forgoing mentioning his patronym once again. Often it just confused people. "And you? I'm interested to know if your name is as extraordinary as your eyes, stranger~"
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Aug 28, 2014 9:23:32 GMT -8
The longer Ivan and his group of underlings walked and the further from their arrival place they got, the stronger and colder the wind around them seemed to get. The waves licked at the harbor, splashing against the lonely ships anchored nearby and from somewhere far away, Ivan could hear the low growl of thunder approaching. A storm was brewing somewhere over the ocean, and it was only a matter of time before it reached shore and the skies opened to rain down on them as well, in a manner not at all uncommon for London. If possible, Ivan wanted to be inside somewhere when it happened. He wasn't a fan of rain.
That, and it seemed like the Indonesian girl walking among them was about to freeze as things were. Even with his huge coat wrapped around her tiny form so tightly it hid the girl almost completely from sight, she seemed to be shaking from the wind. The last thing she needed now was to get soaked by a downpour and catch a cold. Ivan did have to wonder though... how did she survive in London during the winter? Granted, it wasn't nearly as cold as back home, but Ivan did recognize it was still somewhat chilly at times, most likely far more so than her home ever could be. Maybe he should let her keep the coat. She looked adorable in it, anyway.
As their silent march continued deeper into the harbor, it turned out that Nesia wasn't the fastest walker around, at least when compared to the Russian men she was surrounded with. Maybe it was just the difference in the length of their feet and the size of their steps, or maybe it was because she was cold, but Ivan noticed that she had to be constantly reminded of their pace lest she lag behind. For a while, Ivan thought of picking her up and carrying her to make the trip easier for all involved, but before he could carry out that plan, her sudden question threw his thoughts astray.
"Wer ar wi going?" she asked, and it took Ivan a while to decipher what she meant. At first he thought she had started to speak her native tongue - which Ivan admittedly knew next to nothing about - but perhaps because he himself had quite the thick accent at times, the Russian eventually understood it was just her own accent strengthening for a brief moment. It sounded funny, and made Ivan curious of the reason. Was she that cold that speaking was becoming difficult? Either way, he was just about to answer when her question gained continuation.
"Ar we... are we going to leave London?"
Ivan blinked in surprise.
"Leave London?" He repeated as if to ascertain he had heard her question right. Now where did that come from? He would have mentioned if her job was in another city, considering the possible problems with transportation and time it would impose on the Indonesian. Likewise, had her job been overseas. So why the sudden worry of leaving? Was it because of the harbour? Well, it did kind of make sense for her to want to make sure, he figured.
"Of course not," he almost giggled in response, patting her back for some added reassurance. "I told you, it's not far from here. A few minutes' walk more, at most!"
Even if he was smiling, Ivan couldn't completely shake the strangeness of her question from mind. That, coupled with her peculiar behaviour earlier really did make him wonder why she was being so... seemingly nervous. They were friends, right? And she had both wanted and agreed to come see the job he had offered. It wasn't even like he'd force her to accept the job, either. Oh no, he'd give her a choice to refuse - it'd just come packed with certain consequences, but that was to be expected. From where he was standing, there was no reason for her to be trembling. Hm. Maybe she just had a major case of stage fright - he should have probably mentioned that this job required neither official forms nor interviews for her to be accepted - just his nod of approval.
Speaking of a nod, one of Ivan's underlings gave him one before jogging ahead to knock on the door of their destination. Ivan smiled and rushed his last few steps to the door, allowing the thick smoke and lingering smell of alcohol to welcome him home once more. The smoke escaped from the open door, and in the time it took to keep the door open for the group to enter, the smoke eventually cleared enough to allow for a better view of the room. Not that there was much to see; boxes, crates, barrels and other cargo was scattered about the room, used as either seats or tables by the rugged-looking men that all turned to look at the new arrivals in unison.
Ivan raised a hand and offered them a smile, accompanied with a quick greeting before he motioned for the door to be closed. This was not one of their most well-hidden hideouts nor one of the biggest ones, just a temporary haven for the crew before they loaded the cargo on a ship bound for St. Petersburg and then relocated, but Ivan still didn't want it discovered prematurely - particularly so because lately, it had proven to be an apt meeting spot when they had to gather to scheme in a more remote location.
As the door closed and Ivan finished his greetings, he turned to Nesia in order to introduce her to her future colleagues - who were already curiously peeking at the girl, considering she was the only girl in the room, and they didn't yet know her reasons for being there. Before Ivan could so much as open his mouth however, he noticed that his new friend had slipped to lean against a wall in an almost defensive fashion and a bit amused at that, he chuckled and walked to wrap an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down.
"It's okay, don't be shy. They're all friends," Ivan whispered in what he hoped was a convincing tone as he half-forcibly dragged her to stand in the middle of the room, a dozen pairs of eyes all suddenly focused on her. Some of them were curious, some angry, and a few of them disturbingly intensive, but what they all shared was their focus. Ivan nodded and then spoke, voice easily carrying to every single corner of the room for all to hear.
"This here is Nesia~ I met her a few days earlier. She's my newest friend and a possible future comrade to you all, so treat her nicely, okay?" Ivan waited for a bit, just to allow for the girl to say her hellos before he continued, this time addressing the Indonesian herself. "These people here are your new friends, all working under me! Hum, I'm sorry the bigger bratva bosses aren't present, but I'm sure you'll get to know them too soon enough, if you decide to join us. Oh, and-"
Without skipping a beat, Ivan motioned to a few men at the back of the room, who lazily stood up and walked out of view for a brief moment. A dragging sound signaled their return, and before long they were back in the main room, dragging a large, vaguely human-shaped black bag across the floor. A slight stench emanated from whatever was inside, and as the underlings let go of the back and allowed it to hit the floor, it made a loud thumping sound.
"I did tell you before that some of your new friends were a bit more... lifeless than others, yes?"
The Russian smiled, back hunched to bring his purple eyes closer to hers. "This is who you'll be replacing. He went and saw something he wasn't supposed to, so we had to... hum, let him go."
For a brief moment, sadness visited the large man's features and transformed his smile into something close to a pout. Whether it was genuine or completely faked was impossible to tell, and neither option sounded any less dangerous than the other. Then, for the shortest of moments Ivan's tone dropped, his usually kiddy voice growing low. Each word out of his mouth was slow, lingering in the thick air of the room just a bit longer than was probably needed, like a haunting echo from beyond.
"I... don't really like it when things don't go according to plan, you see."
A moment's silence, and Ivan's smile was suddenly back, with his huge hand patting at the girl's shoulder and low voice dissolving into a kiddy burst of laughter once more. "Ah, but that's a bit off-topic, huh? After all, it's not like you'd repeat his mistakes! So, um..."
Ivan looked bizarrely nervous, even a bit shy as he continued, yanking his scarf upwards to hide his face and allowing his glance to fall on his feet. "Um, would you like to..." Like a timid child asking a neighbour out to play for the first time, Ivan drew in a breath and looked at her, eyes big and hopeful.
"... Join us?"
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Aug 23, 2014 5:34:02 GMT -8
Ivan Braginsky always did have a love for alcohol.
Many knew him as the man with a bottomless stomach for one particular alcoholic beverage in particular, but while vodka was his favorite, he did have appreciation for all kinds and the different situations they best suited. There was nothing quite like warming up with a sip of vodka on a cold winter's day, or relaxing with a beer after a hard day's work, or sipping a glass of healthy red wine over a meal in a fancy restaurant in downtown London. The surroundings and the type of liquor consumed might have varied, but they were all equally enjoyable in their own way.
But, no matter the time, place or taste, there was always one constant that made a drinking experience that much more enjoyable to the Russian; and that was good company. Sad men drank alone to drown their sorrows - happy men drank with others to share their joys. Drinking with friends was, without the shadow of a doubt, Ivan's favorite past time, whether it involved vodka or not.
And yet, as with all things, there was an exception to the rule - and tonight was it.
Ivan had tried not to think about it as he'd opened the heavy door to one of the many hideouts he had scattered throughout the city with a newly bought bottle in hand and his usual smile in place. He'd tried to ignore it as they'd all sat down and the room, previously so cold and lonely, had slowly filled up with smoke, the smell of alcohol and the loud chatter of drunk men and women enjoying a cold Saturday night in the confines of a fairly well heated room. But no matter how much alcohol he poured down his throat and no matter how many times he allowed himself to laugh at the stories and jokes being thrown about, he could not shake the disbelief, the suspicion, the sadness that lurked in the back of his mind and rekindled every time his eyes happened upon one of his newest - and dare he say one of his dearest - recruits; an Irish woman he'd so affectionately named Krasnayachka for her trademark ginger hair.
Because, despite what it might have looked like to those not in the know, this was not an evening to unwind and enjoy at all. No, this was a trap to lure out a traitor, to expose an enemy and end a farce that had been going on for far too long - at least, if Ivan's informant was to be trusted. The Romanian hadn't stated it outright, after all - the man never did. He seemed to very much enjoy his little mind games, his little riddles to leave the Russian having to do some of the brainstorming - and in some cases, guesswork - on his own. It was a quiet rebellion, a small show of power in an otherwise hopeless situation for the man, Ivan supposed, and so he tolerated it. That, and he always did have a certain fascination with the mysterious.
Regardless, the hints Mihai'd given had, when pursued, all led to one single woman in Ivan's immediate vicinity, and it was indeed the very woman sitting across from him now, laughing so radiantly Ivan almost regretted not giving her a nickname that had to do with the sun instead. It felt almost impossible a concept for her to have deceived him all this time, and not one Ivan was willing to believe without witnessing some form of proof on his own. And hence, he'd invited his best here tonight - to find out if she truly was the one who had sold him out, or if there was someone else he'd not thought of to suspect.
And with that thought heavy in his mind, Ivan figured they had all drank enough to get started on their actual plan of action before his closest comrades got too drunk to work - and before his chest burst from the pain of uncertainty. He'd rather deal with the pain of betrayal than the pain of the fear of it, even if he absolutely loathed either option.
The plan had been set among the few the Russian knew he could trust, and a simple nod from Ivan pushed that plan into motion so seamlessly that the 'slip up' from Kittyboo seemed nothing more than an accident to all those present. It was a simple, careless mention of impending danger to Krasnaychka's supposed superiors and colleagues, and if it did not push the woman into some kind of action she was either not a spy - or she was one seasoned enough to abandon all feelings in her line of work and cast the fear of loss aside for the sake of keeping in-character. Ivan believed that if anything, she would be the former. Her eyes weren't quite cold enough to fit the latter description.
Krasnayachka's immediate reaction was hardly anything suspicious; she merely laughed with the rest of the group, her smile never twitching, body never freezing on the spot or eyes darting to find an escape route should she be suspected of something. And for the shortest moment a small spark of relief lit within the Russian's chest. It was hope, a possibility for him to have been wrong.
But then her laughter died down and she turned to face him, and although Ivan saw no fear in her eyes nor heard panic in her question, something about the uncertainty, the way she turned to ask him and not the man who'd presented the concept made his stomach turn in worry. He might have not noticed it had he not been already tipped off about a spy, but with that information biasing his observations, it almost seemed ridiculously clear; she wanted to ask him, because he would be able to tell her the details better than anyone else. He would be able to give her information, and it was information she was after.
Ivan couldn't reply. His throat felt dry and the words were stuck. So this is what it felt like to look a traitor in the eye.
Kittyboo answered for him. It wasn't anything they'd particularly agreed on in advance, but he knew his boss well enough to understand when it was his time to take over and advance the plan. And so he did - he told her in vague enough terms of the incoming war and in a matter of minutes, the subject was dropped and they started to discuss their individual displeasures over London's weather instead. Krasnayachka's facade continued like it had never been breached at all.
And before Ivan knew it, before he could gather his thoughts she was gone, amusingly off-pronounced Russian the last thing Ivan heard before she closed the door of the common room for the very last time.
Ivan brought the half-empty bottle to his lips and emptied it all down his throat.
----
Needless to say, Krasnayachka was not in her bed that night.
Ivan would know; he'd spent the next hour or so constantly checking her room in case she'd just taken a particularly long bathroom break or grabbed a snack from the common kitchen before heading off to sleep. But as minutes ticked and the sheets on her bed remained untouched, Ivan had no choice but to eventually cut off the last shreds of hope he'd clung onto and turn to his comrades with an expression colder than the winters of his homeland.
There was no need for words. Even the thickest members of the organization understood what the frozen, sorrowful smile and eerily focused eyes indicated; on this chilly night, a certain someone out there would see a nightmare they could not awake from.
Ivan wasn't aware of the amount of time that lapsed between Krasnayachka leaving and the heavy door of the base opening with a painfully sad creak, but he knew exactly how many seconds it took for her to turn around and the panic of seeing him standing there to settle in. It was barely a full second. A reaction time befitting an agent, to be sure.
“Ivan! You scared me,” she spoke, but her usually beautiful voice was nothing but the sound of dripping poison to the man's ears now. She was no longer the promising new recruit he'd enjoyed teaching Russian to and taking around London. She was an enemy, and although she masked the fear in her voice, Ivan saw it on her face. She must have known it too. Known that this was the end.
“You’d better be careful – don’t want to end up giving people a heart attack, do you?”
Ivan smiled, his lips curled upwards in a fashion so utterly peaceful, that the words that flowed past them seemed nothing short of unnatural. Dangerous. Twisted.
"Ah, but of course not. That'd be such a waste," he commented in a dragging voice, as he slowly pushed himself to stand from the stairs he'd been sitting on, back still bent to allow him to straighten the hem of his coat. His movements were slow, peaceful, perfectly in tone with the calm of his voice. It was strange, distant, in a way; he seemed to be more interested in dusting himself off than looking at her, and despite the heavy weight his words carried, his manner of speech made the matter sound mundane as if he were talking about the weather.
"Death by a heart attack wouldn't be much fun at all."
He shook his head, smile never faltering as he finally allowed his gaze to lock with hers. His two men had already circled their way from behind their boss to stand a little ways to the Irish woman's left and right, ready to grab her should she attempt a sudden escape through the door. Not that there weren't men outside already prepared to handle that.
"Mmh, no..." The Russian pondered out loud with a shake of his head. "I'd prefer a method that'd make it last a little longer," he mused lightheartedly, not bothering to clear up the exact meaning of his words. She undoubtedly already knew what he was implying. Krasnayachka was never slow to catch on and even if she were, the look in the Russian's eyes as he continued barely louder than a whisper would have made his intentions very clear regardless: "This... is our last time seeing each other, after all."
His eyes closed. He couldn't bear looking at her anymore. It hurt too much. So much he wanted to hurt her back. And that was bad. That'd be premature.
"So, any suggestions?"He asked, polite, calm, the way he always was, except completely different. And when his eyes opened once more, they seemed to be almost alit with disgust as the next set of words slithered out of his mouth like they'd left a bad taste behind:
"... Agent O'Neill?"
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May 23, 2016 11:53:26 GMT -8
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Aug 10, 2014 13:16:30 GMT -8
Ivan would probably be Lawful Evil.
Lovi's Stupid Neutral Good.
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May 23, 2016 11:53:26 GMT -8
Tag me @romawhatuduin
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Aug 10, 2014 8:50:29 GMT -8
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May 23, 2016 11:53:26 GMT -8
Tag me @romawhatuduin
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Post by Ivan Petrovich Braginsky on Aug 10, 2014 8:47:43 GMT -8
Much to Ivan's relief and joy the stranger reacted to his words fairly fast, but not with alarm. The man even turned to face him, which effectively made the other distance himself from the dangers of the river below. From the looks of it, the man didn't seem particularly happy to be interrupted, but Ivan didn't mind all that much; if it was for the sake of saving a life he could take a few glares thrown his way, no problem. He'd gotten used to them in his line of work anyway, both from his supposed comrades and underlings and enemies.
That, and the man's eyes were undeniably beautiful so he didn't mind having their gaze, no matter how unfriendly, directed at him. He'd always had a fascination with rare eye colors, possibly because of his own purple eyes fit the description as well. It was refreshing to meet others who nature had played tricks on and possible made feel alienated at least at some point in their life because of it. Made him feel less alone.
But that was neither here nor now. He was here to save a life, not marvel at the pink of the other's multicolored irises. So, as the other shrugged and fished out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, Ivan refocused his gaze, a small, polite smile still lingering. Oh, the other smoked? Knowing how calming the habit from experience, Ivan decided to wait quietly and let him finish taking a drag. If the other was stressed enough to find himself staring into the Thames, he sounded like he sure could use that smoke.
And speaking of, so could he. Too bad he had used up his own batch of cigarettes earlier during the day. Would the stranger mind if he asked for one? Before he could ask and find out, the man suddenly spoke, his words breaking the silence that had started to build up around them.
“I don’t mind the cold, who can when you live here. Though what makes a stranger like you stop to talk to the likes of me?"
'When you live here', huh. Ivan found those words just the slightest bit amusing, considering London's cold wasn't that big of a deal compared to his home, or the other countries higher up north. But then, he couldn't assume this man had ever traveled to those parts of the world.
Now the man's question... that was a little bit more difficult to reply to. Should he tell the man outright he was worried, or should he lie and say he just felt lonely and in need of a man to talk to, or something equally harmless?
Turned out, he didn't have to worry about that for long.
"I’m in no danger of jumping, just contemplating options in a rough path. You best get home to your warm flat before that nose of yours falls off. I’ll not take the blame for that.”
"...Oh?" Was literally all that could come out of Ivan's mouth in response. So the man wasn't about to jump? That was certainly relieving to hear, provided the other didn't lie. But judging from his composition and tone of voice, the man seemed to just have a hard day, not a crisis worth tossing his life away for.
Unfortunately that also meant the man's rudeness didn't have a proper excuse, either. Oh, well, he'd seen people like this before. People who defaulted to being snarky even when met with friendly words. Normally, he would have just nodded and continued on his way, heeding the other's advice. But today, well, today he was bored, and this stranger did seem interesting if nothing else. He hesitated to call the man mysterious, but it was something akin to that.
"That's okay," Ivan replied after a while, shifting his hands inside his pockets, wide shoulders slightly hunched to better match the stranger's height. "I'm a big boy, so I'll take the blame for my own choices."
With that he moved closer, leaning on the railing next to the man, hands in the pockets of his long coat and head tilted in the other's direction. "So I'm choosing to stay for a quick smoke, at least."
The Russian nodded towards the pack of cigarette the other was holding, as if to ask for him to share.
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