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Contrary to popular belief, Ivan wasn't a fan of his job. In fact, one could even say he loathed it at times, to the point his skin crawled and mood grew sour just from the mere thought of having to wake up to another day of committing crimes. Drugs, blood and smoke filled his days, whether directly or through the orders he gave to his underlings and quite frankly, he was sick of it. And yet, he couldn't very well quit, now could he? His job was part of him, and it was essential in realizing his dream. He'd chosen this path himself, not because he'd enjoyed it, but because it promised him the power and wealth he needed to change what had to be changed.

But even knowledge of that fact, of the necessity of the work he did, was hardly enough to completely drown his disdain towards it - especially on days like this; days when he had to commit murder.

And, as if knowing what was to come, London was crying.

The skies had opened a few hours ago by now, heavens pushing downwards rain the city was famous for. The downpour beating down on the Russian's shoulders and drenching his long, black coat was relentless and cold, and Ivan couldn't take a single step without hearing the splash of a soaked shoe breaking the surface of what seemed to be a miniature river forming on the sidewalk. He had walked underneath the abuse of droplets for no more than half an hour, and yet he already felt wt to the bone. He still remembered his first months in the city, years ago Oh, the weather had caught him by such surprise. Nowadays, Ivan could almost say he was used to it; its cold touch had stopped sending shivers up his spine, and there were days when he even welcomed the droplets as refreshing.

But not today.

Today, the rain felt like a punishment for a crime he'd yet to commit.

The weight of Ivan's gun, a gun that would soon find itself used, was heavier than usual, almost painfully so. Its cold, steely surface froze his fingers underneath the confines of his jacket, and yet the Russian couldn't stop his fingertps from playing with the barrel as he walked, nervous and wishing his destination never came.

Alas.

Blinking open his eyes and squinting to make out the address of the house in front of him, Ivan took a step closer, mind cold and heart forced to calm. This was it, this was the house of the Frenchman whose only crime had been to happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If only the man had been a few minutes late when waking up, if only he'd taken a slightly longer shower that morning, maybe he wouldn't have found himself walking past a crime scene with the culprit still there.

Alas.

Ivan brought his steps up the stairs and stopped only when the door stood right in front of him. Francis Bonnefoy. Today, he read the name from a name plate. Tomorrow, it would be written on the man's grave.

The Russian brought his hand upwards to place a knock on the man's door, his grip on the silenced gun tightening. The Frenchman's first reaction upon the door opening would dictate the nature of his death. If the man started to scream or attempt to close the door, he would force his way inside and shoot at once. If not, if the man did not recognize him as the culprit, he would introduce himself as a stranger wanting shelter from the rain - and walk inside when invited. Find out how much the man had seen. Drink coffee if offered, and then bid his farewells with a bullet.

Either way, he'd be the only one exiting the house alive tonight.

A heavy sigh and Ivan knocked, his gloved hand quickly sliding back into his pocket, hood falling lower to cover what little was visible of his face from underneath his coat.

Ivan's enthusiasm seemed to be met with nothing but silence from the girl, and if the Russian hadn't known better, he could have sworn he even saw her grow tense from his words, as if they were somehow unpleasant to her. Seeing it all made the man fall silent, gaze slowly falling onto his hands that rested peacefully on his lap. He felt... hurt, somehow. Hurt and confused by the girl's peculiar behaviour. Just a little while ago, they'd been sharing dinner at a fine restaurant, both smiling and sharing stories and dreams, exchanging words like old acquaintances. But now, seemingly for no reason at all, the girl had suddenly grown cold and distant, and Ivan couldn't fathom why.

He couldn't really recall having said anything insulting to the girl. All he'd done after the dinner was thank her, give his contact information and ask for hers, and then head over to see the play he'd wanted, only to call her a few days later, call for his men to pick them up so he could introduce her to the job he'd promised, the job she'd agreed to come check out, and then head out. So then, why this treatment? It made Ivan feel nervous, fearful, and paranoid that he had indeed overstepped his boundaries at some point, for some reason. He admitted that for all his charisma and manipulation skills, he could be somewhat dense at times, not really understanding social clues and situations at times. Then there was the difference in cultures. In Russia, it was customary for the man to pay for the meal without questions asked - perhaps it was not so in her home? Maybe that had been what had made her feel uneasy?

Mind racing to think of explanations, all Ivan could think of to fix the situation was to simply apologize. But saying sorry when he didn't even know what for sounded... superficial at best, and would no doubt make her even angrier. That was a no-go, then. Hmm, then maybe making it up as they arrived would do? He could offer her some of his alcohol. It was a rare breed to find in London, and considering she was from overseas, the chances of her having tasted proper vodka were even slimmer. That was it, then! They'd re-bond over a nice, throat-warming drink.

Mood somewhat uplifted, Ivan turned to look back out the window, some level of a smile decorating his face once more. The night was growing darker and cooler by the minute, and it truly made the Russian miss the sun. Unlike many of is colleagues, he never was a fan of darkness. True, it concealed him during his shadier missions and it offered him both shelter and cover whenever he needed it, but to him it was more a necessary ally than a welcome friend. He didn't love the darkness, even if it did seem to love him, the way it did with all the other lawless men and women that made their living during the chilly nights of London, not during the day and under the kiss of the sun.

But one day, Ivan was sure, he'd be able to walk in broad daylight like he could in the night, the entirety of London, of the UK, of the World under his thumb, his subjects loyal and happy. It... might have sounded like a childish dream, but that didn't make it any less important to the Russian - quite on the contrary, actually. It was always childhood dreams you should hold onto, for they usually meant the most to you.

The sound of the breaks of the car broke Ivan from his thoughts and brought his focus back on the here and now. They'd arrived, it seemed. Ivan nodded to the driver, and after waiting for his pawns to open the doors to him and Nesia alike, the Russian stepped outside into the refreshingly cool breeze outside. The night was cold and the air smelled of salt and fish, reminding them all of the close proximity of the sea and the harbor. Ivan rather enjoyed it, this smell. It wasn't something he was accustomed prior his life in London, but he'd grown to love it during his stay.

"W-where are we?" Came the shaky words of his friend and at the sound of them, Ivan turned to face the Asian. He'd almost forgotten how small she was, but seeing her standing so close to him now, he was reminded about their height difference once more. She truly was frail. It was cute.

"We're almost there," Ivan repeated his earlier promise, his words accidentally leaving their actual location ambiguous. "We just need to walk a bit more." As he said that, he motioned towards the darkness that surrounded them. The street lights - if there ever had been any - were gone, and the only light they had came from the posts near the harbor and the car they'd just exited. They were in the far ends of the harbor, where not many people found themselves in at this hour, if ever.

"It's... so c-cold..."

It was? Ivan couldn't really claim he felt it but then, he was more appropriately dressed for the weather than she was, and certainly had more experience with low temperatures. He didn't hold her way of dressing against her, though; it's not like she could have known she'd find herself still up at this hour, and in a place like this.

"Hm, that so?" He questioned regardless, head tilted a tad. "It's the sea breeze, then. Um, here-" Ivan unbuttoned his dress jacket and let it slid off his broad shoulders, before stepping closer to the girl and letting it fall on her shoulders instead. Despite being rather tight-fit for the Russian, the cloth was enormous compared to the girl's own tiny size, and the sight of her buried under the black of his jacket made the Russian chuckle playfully, amused.

"All better?" He asked, the wind now flapping his tie and hair freely in the wind. "Then, let's go~! You can get a warm drink once we arrive."

And with that, the Russian nodded to his subordinates, not bothering to turn and look back as one of them re-entered the car and drove it away so as to not attract suspicion, the other underling jogging behind him as he waved for Nesia to follow.

Ivan's day had been fairly peaceful - uneventful if you will, and as such he had decided to forgo calling a cab in favor of walking back home instead. The evening view of London was beautiful, even if the stars weren't as visible as they had been from the forests back home, partly due to the weather, partly due to all the pollution, be it from factories or the bright lights scattered throughout the city. But even then exercise never hurt, and one could catch far more interesting things when they took their time to look around, not limited by the frame of a car's window.

Interesting things such as... Oh.

Ivan's steps came to a sudden halt as he caught a sight of something peculiar - and certainly alarming - a little distance ahead; around midway through the Grosvenor bridge, body illuminated by the warm lights of the structure they stood on, a man was leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed onto the murk waters of Thames below. The man was unmoving, silent, and something about his form made Ivan incredibly uncomfortable. The person wasn't planning to... to jump, was he? It wouldn't be a first Ivan heard of such a thing, and not even the first such act he'd witness with his own eyes, but it didn't make the prospect sound any more appealing to him. People taking lives was always bad, be it their own or someone else's. He had to intervene.

Feet moving again, Ivan walked closer to the stranger, mind working to think up words for him to offer to the man. Any words, just as long as they served as a distraction enough to make the person forget his crazy, reckless plan to end his life. Sometimes all these people needed was someone to listen, he'd found.

"Chilly night out, huh~?" He chirped, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stopped some feet away. He didn't want to startle the man into acting out his plan prematurely. "But it's also a pretty one, da?. Makes your mood go all the way up." He giggled a bit, plump cheeks slightly rosy from the wind, mouth half-covered by his scarf. "Don't you think so? Stranger?"