[identity profile] zabytsya.livejournal.com
David woke with a start.

It was dark.

His heart thrummed, and his breath caught in his lungs, seized by a momentary panic. In those seconds, everything was alien to him, the strange sterile smells and the rasp of rough cotton, and the cold breeze that hit his face.

He couldn't remember where he was or what he was doing, and for long moments, it was like he really did have amnesia.

But then it came back to him: infirmary. Nurses. Poison. Antidote. Rakitin. The one true gap in his memory he couldn't reconcile, the missing time, and what he'd been told had happened to him in it.

His shoulders shook, but he drew in a steadying breath. He was fine. The infirmary was secure.

David closed his eyes, and lay back.

A second later, he recalled the cold air he'd felt on his skin.

It had carried with it the smell of night.

Adrenaline surged through him again, and he sat upright in bed, even as pain speared through him, tore at the deep wounds in his chest and back.

He knew he wasn't alone.
[identity profile] naked-snake.livejournal.com
It would take too much energy to get worked up over the fact that he had been sent away while Volgin talked to The Boss. He didn't like being treated like a child who was being sent to his room while his parents discussed matters he wouldn't understand.

Or in this case, things he wasn't supposed to know about. While he wanted to hope that The Boss would fill him in one what had been said once she caught up, he was almost certain she would continue as if nothing had happened, without providing the smallest of explanations.

And it wasn't like he could question her. He valued his life a little too much to do that too many times in one day.

He took all the energy he could have been spending being upset and used it to find a suitable place for them to practice. It didn't take long, seeing as the jungle had a number of clearings that would give them enough space to toss each other around. (Or rather, for him to get tossed around, since he knew he still hardly stood a chance against his mentor.) He found a nice, open area with a good amount of trees surrounding it, which would give them some privacy.

With a sigh, he found a log that looked comfortable enough and plopped down on it. He considered doing some hunting, but he would only resort to that if she was delayed longer than he expected her to be.
[identity profile] heartofthunder.livejournal.com
[PJATNICA, 14 FEVRAI, 1964 1100 hours]

Yevgeny Volgin strode out of the investigators' office, his mind turning like the gears of war, slow and grinding, but inexorable.

The Internal Services major had given him a lot to think about.

He was actually more concerned about the murder now than when it had occurred. Liadov's grim words had sent wet, icy fingers into his core, a sensation of numbness that threatened to spread.

It felt something like electrocution, though only without the pain.

The thought of Ivan as the object of some psychopath's fixation...

In the distance, outside the building, he thought he heard thunder rumble.

Another storm, perhaps.

Volgin had learned early on that delegation was a good thing. Surround yourself with the best people, tell them what to do, but leave them to their own discretion as to how they do it. It had worked for him throughout his entire career, and he was highly pleased that now, at the apex, he had the very best people he'd ever had - well, with a few exceptions.

He had a lot of people to talk to this morning. Ocelot. Ivan. The Boss. Krauss, and the Fury. He thought he was missing someone...or something...but he didn't let it bother him.

It would come to him.

It always did.

He had faith in himself.

He hadn't come this far to let something like this stop him.

Soldiers and secretaries scattered in his wake as he returned to the East Wing, equally alarmed by the intensity of his bearing, though probably for different reasons.

"Where's Major Ocelot!" he snarled, and one of Ivan's men blanched.

"Sir! We'll find him for you!"

The solider made to hurry off, but Volgin just shook his head.

"No. That will take too long. But if you see him, tell him I'm looking for him," he said, then cut a swath out of the office area, rumbling like a single tank on a mission to conquer all of Europe.

Faint sparks of electricity trailed in his his wake.

[OOC: Volgin wants to talk to several people in succession, including but not limited to Major Ocelot, Major Raikov, Voyevoda, Major Krauss, and the Fury. I will update this tag to reflect who he's currently looking for/talking to, so you'll know when your turn has come!]

[Currently: off to The Groznyj Grad Tour thread.]
[identity profile] naked-snake.livejournal.com
Of all things to miss out on, a reason to take his pants off. That was just his luck, really. He had always felt that he could sneak with the most ease with the least amount of clothing on. Unfortunately, that didn't make much sense since skin color was fairly horrible camouflage.

It wasn't like he'd been influenced by films, either. He wasn't much of a movie watcher. It was just so uncomfortable to be weighed down by a uniform with countless straps and buckles on it.

He had heard tell that the soldiers had been made to stand out in the cold in their underwear for far too long, however, so it might have been for the best that he wasn't in attendance. Unfortunately, his absence might put him under even more suspicion, but there was no way they could prove he was guilty for a crime he didn't commit unless they wanted to scapegoat him.

Considering there were outside forces on the base to look into the murder, he doubted that was the case. They wanted to find the real guy behind this, and it wasn't him.

While he wasn't fond of cumbersome uniforms, his mentor had actually seen to that problem. A few days ago he'd found a package left in his room. Upon opening it up, he'd found a perfect sneaking suit. It was black, sleek, amazing camouflage...

And definitely better than the Russian uniform Krauss had forced on him - the one that didn't even fit. This was much more suited to him. He wasn't showing off the fact that he was an American, but he wasn't trying to be something he wasn't by bearing Russian colors, either. He would be distinguished, and while on one hand it would make him stand out, it would also make sure he blended in. Hopefully, if he continued to wear it around the base, everyone would stop taking such note of him. They would become used to his presence, which meant if he ever needed to sneak around...

He was getting ahead of himself, though - a side effect of the fact that he was starved for action or at least some sort of mission objective. He needed to find The Boss - first, to thank her for the gift (where had she even gotten it?) and second, to clear up what both her and his purpose was in being here. Had she really defected? And did she expect him to follow her in that defection so easily, to turn his back on his country? Or was there more to it than that?

Upon reaching the door to her room, he knocked and took a step back, standing proudly in the sneaking suit as he waited for her to answer.
[identity profile] parabellum-p08.livejournal.com

“Welcome to Groznyj Grad.” Krauss chuckled, stealing a sideways glance at the investigators. He decided it would be best to play it all off as a routine, normal occurrence, both for his own personal amusement, and because such strange sights were common around the Grad. Better to let them in on the secret now, lest for the poor bastards get a nasty surprise later on.

“Are you gentlemen alright?” He raised an eyebrow, gesturing toward the yard full of naked and semi naked soldiers. “You act as though you have never witnessed morning roll call!”

It was easy to pick out Volgin, a mountain swathed in olive wool among the fleshy-pink unclothed crowd. The sooner he was able to pawn the investigators off onto someone else, the sooner he could retreat into his office, and drown his misery in Cognac.

“Right this way then. There is the man which you seek, by that tank, that’s Colonel Volgin.” He skittered along the edge of the crowd, not particularly inclined to venture into a writhing sea of naked men. Unusual, for the Major, but he was still heartbroken over the loss of Stefan.

“Colonel!” He called out, “we have a slight --” problem, was the word he wanted to use. “We have visitors.” Krauss did his best to smile, but it was useless, and hopeless.  

[identity profile] parabellum-p08.livejournal.com

How entirely fucking humiliating, taking orders from a psychopath and subordinate soldier, if the cosmonaut actually qualified as soldat. Scowling, Major Krauss pulled off his ushanka, cold blue eyes following Snake across the mostly empty mess hall, just starting to fill up for dinner.

Boots clicking sharply on the concrete floor, he grabbed a tray and closed the distance between them swiftly, slipping into the seat beside the American with only a friendly smile, that hid resentment. “Comrade Vladislav sent me to keep an eye on you.” He smirked at invoking the Fury by his given name his absence. “You’re pretty obvious around here. I thought you may enjoy conversation over dinner. It is so difficult being a stranger in a strange land…”

Krauss looked the American over, no, not at all the kind of man he would typically want to have dinner with, not soft or blonde or even vaguely feminine, and the filthy spy could certainly do with a shower.

“We shall find you a suitable uniform straight away after dinner,” he offered, picking at his meal, then added thoughtfully, “and maybe a haircut too.”  Thoughtfully, he examined what they were passing off as dinner and smiled grimly.  Was that a potato, or slime mold?

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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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