[identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
The night was clear and cold as hindsight. By the time Rakitin flicked on the lights of the empty lab, the glaring fact of his own idiocy had settled in and made itself comfortable.

Only Ippolit could walk in on a man who had been found poisoned and assaulted and manage within minutes to make it worse.

He shuddered in sympathy.

Grey eyes, clouded with urgency, then sharp with horror.

Better that he be here, where he could do some good, and no harm.

Ippolit took the vial of blood and began to distill its secrets.
[identity profile] heartofthunder.livejournal.com
Volgin popped the last chocolate in his mouth and closed the box.

He felt better.

It had been a long, stressful day. Every time he'd walked unthinkingly past a window, realizing only as he'd passed that he shouldn't have done that, Volgin had nearly flinched, and Colonel Yevgeny Borisovitch Volgin did not flinch.

Ocelot had been scowling, even more than usual, as he saw to various security precautions: extra patrols, guards posted on rooftops, a stuffed effigy wearing one of Volgin's uniforms left to sit behind his desk. Ocelot was looking even for another decoy, but there were few men who even approached Volgin's size.

That made Volgin think of Alexei, who actually did approach his size. Alexei, who'd appeared out of the ether and back from the dead to warn him, who cautioned him to move from his regular quarters in the Main Wing to his secondary quarters bunkered below, and just in time, too.

Like he'd known there would be an attempt on Volgin's life. He must have.

Volgin wanted to talk to Alexei now. He wanted answers, but more than that, he wanted to feel Alexei's ruthless mouth and unyielding arms, to have Alexei take him, possess him the way only Alexei ever had.

He sighed.

But there was no Alexei. Not last night, not all day.

His monthly shipment of imported Belgian chocolates had arrived earlier in the day, and it had been like a godsend. Exactly what he needed. He'd even put off eating them until he was alone in his quarters, and could really enjoy them.

He'd eaten every delectable piece in the span of mere minutes.

Carefully, Volgin hid the empty box in the trash, making sure to get every wrapper. It wouldn't do for Ivan to find out. Ivan disapproved of the chocolates, especially when Volgin ate too much in one sitting. "You'll ruin your teeth, Zhenya, or you'll get fat," he would chide, and then take them away, just like Volgin's mother had done, all those years ago.

Volgin loved Ivan, but he also loved chocolates.

Ivan didn't have to know about this.

Volgin got up, restless. Too early to go to bed, too late to be stalking around the base, especially with a sniper on the loose.

Maybe he should go find Ivan. Maybe he should find Ocelot, so they could have that talk. Maybe he should find someone hapless to terrorize, one of Ivan's men, perhaps, someone dispensable, whose smoking corpse wouldn't be particularly missed the next day. There had to be some sort of discipline problem that could use his assistance.

Hmm. Yes. That sounded like a good idea, actually.

Volgin turned to the door, then frowned. His stomach hurt. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten all those chocolates at once, after all.
[identity profile] raidenovitch.livejournal.com
Raikov didn't fancy much spending time with the MVD people, showing up uninvited, but knew he had little choice in the matter. However, as he subtly nodded to Ocelot, it didn't mean they wouldn't have as much fun at their expense as possible. Who knows, maybe it would scare them home.

More than a murder, he thought with a grimace.

He sighed, and dug into his pocket, having sent one of his swifter men to retrieve a plan of the entire base, for the benefit of the investigators. Criminal forensics experts might find that sort of thing useful; Raikov knew the entirety of Groznyj Grad inside and out. Ocelot could speak more for the surrounding areas.

"Where would you like to begin?" Raikov asked politely, aware it was necessary for him to do so as the Colonel's representative. "You'll need to familiarize yourself with the area before getting to work, I'm sure."

He held out the base plan to the pair, having no clue as to what they were planning, but hoping they would say "yes" and they'd get on with it, or refuse their offer and he wouldn't have to play host to them ever again.

The map was clear, plain, and basic. It was all that was needed at that stage. )

[OOC: Thread closed, continuing here]
[identity profile] nafanielkhostov.livejournal.com
The night after the Greenhouse Explosion

Chemical Storage Shed number 12 had a sub-basement.  The whole warehouse had been built on top of a stable and the old cellar was still standing beneath it.  It wasn't a secret, simply a room not on any map.  The technicians or any other of the myriad of support personnel knew where it was.  For those who couldn't get into the officer's club, it was the local speakeasy.  Even some of the officers knew about it.  Mostly because from time to time... there was a poker game.

Marco the Cuban quarter master with his thick black beard presented the rules.  "The Americans play with chips.  We comrades, we play with their money" the quarter master grinned and stood up grabbing the metal briefcase and opening it upside down.  Stacks of currency fell onto the table.  "The finest counterfeit unfit for our spies" the Cuban said, each player bought their tokens exchanging real money for the American fakes.  Khostov had suggested the idea.  At first the Cuban didn't understand but after playing one against one with stacks of the fake bills sharing a bottle of vodka, he had seen the light.

There were four people in the room including Marco.  "No I don't think he'll be coming" Marco said answering a question from the man on his left.  He turned his head to the man on his right  "Non, non" Marco said.  Marco looked around the table.  "Everyone heard the... fireworks last night?" he said.  He dealt the cards talking while smoking his cigar.  Everyone in the room laughed.  The Cuban simply smiled a little.  "Khostov's sister was inside" the Cuban said.  Dead silence for a few minutes except for Marco who concentrated each hand.  "What what his name" the Cuban frowned either it was from his cards or frustration at the words on the tip of his tongue.  "I can never remember that man's name" he said.  He rubbed his beard and snapped his fingers.  "L'Albinos! He helped Khostov smuggle her out of France, three years back.  I wasn't on base at that time but Nafaniel told me about it" he said threw a hundred into the pile.  "Damn shame.  Ante in" he said. 

((Edit, the version uploaded was not the spell-corrected one.  This is.))
[identity profile] ilya-imanov.livejournal.com
The general unpleasant feeling of tiredness was the only real lingering sign of his illness left, and Ilya still wasn't allowed to leave the fucking medical room. Quarantine, blah blah blah. He was fed-up, bored, slightly lonely, and itching to reclaim command: he had no idea how things really were, and doubted that Andrei, as good a friend as he was, would let him know if things had fucked up in his absence.

Although Andrei's note had provided him with some comfort. He'd carefully unfolded it and re-read it several times. It was currently sitting in his breast pocket, and it made him feel like his friend was a little bit closer.

Strange things to miss... )
[identity profile] valithil.livejournal.com

"No, no, NO!" Khostov said as he threw the rack of testubes against the wall.  The sight of the blood dripping down the walls did little to calm him.  "This patient" he said as threw the file in the face of the intern, "is A postive and yet his test results show me that his rhesus is negative!" he said.  He was livid.  "Mislabeled specimens, unclean instruments and sloppy lab work is not acceptable" he said.  He threw his glasses against the wall and rubbed the clefts left from them on the top of his nose he sank down into his chair.

"Get out" he said whispering.

They flinched and seemed unsure what to do.  He threw himself off his chair and stood toe to toe with the first one within reach.  "GET OUT" he said screaming.  They fled.  As they left he crashed back into his chair, spinning himself and the room around him.

[identity profile] gurlukovich.livejournal.com
Sergei was seated in a chair in the infirmary, his head placed into his palm, trying his hardest not to pout.

He'd been forced to walk alongside the doctor's jeep while his leg continued to make a fuss, explaining how he'd stupidly ventured too close to the swamp area and ended up getting intimate with a crocodile's teeth--on his leg. Then again, this sort of thing must have happened before. At least he hadn't been rendered unable to walk. Then he would have been laying in the middle of the denser jungle area, bleeding to death.

Not fun.

After his report, he'd ushered himself back to the infirmary for the second time that morning. Everyone else would be eating at the moment, but he had to sit and wait.

Prodding carefully at the makeshift bandaging on his leg, the boy let out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. It was just about numb at this point, though he knew it still had to be taken care of.

He was going to need crutches, wasn't he? Otherwise he'd tear the stitches and--



Jul. 17th, 2006 06:48 pm
[identity profile] raidenovitch.livejournal.com
(OOC: Feel free to start... incidents. This is another introduction, breaking-us-in-gently entry before we get stuck into the story/crack properly.)

Soldiers had best better get in line... )


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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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