Nika was almost amused at the pompous German's hubris. Like a character from a novel, this one. And utterly unaware of it.
Funny little stump-fingered man.
"Seeing as you only just told me of his presence here- no, of course I have no idea what manner of unit he's in."
And mercurial, too, Liadov noted, carefully. He had thought he could write off Krauss as a suspect from his initial impression of the man. He'd since been forced to reconsider. Someone able to turn on a ruble like that- from grateful and gracious to sinister and supercilious- was not anyone he would put above murdering an unfaithful lover. Although he doubted Krauss would have had the courage to do it himself. No, he'd have hired someone to do the dirty work, and cried when it was done.
As it was, he was hard-pressed to imagine kind, humorous Misha getting within five miles of this venomous posy- much less into his bed.
For a moment, Liadov wondered if Natasha wouldn't be better off taking her chances with Roman Olavyenko.
"You seem dissatisfied with my reaction. What would you have me say, comrade? That Grigoriev is the worst man the gulag has ever seen? That nothing and no one could ever eclipse his psychopathy, and that because someone has handed him a glorified blowtorch, he is evil incarnate and invincible?"
That was ultimate hubris.
Liadov had seen sadists who performed live surgery on children. A man who had locked a young girl in a cage in his barn, that dwarfed and distorted her body as she outgrew its confines. She'd never learned any language, and hissed and scratched whenever anyone came near her. He'd recommended her for the asylum, but he wondered privately if a bullet to the head wouldn't have been more humane.
His petty concerns with the vengeance of the guilty paled in comparison to the suffering masses.
Chest-thumping was something Nika found tiresome, especially by proxy. Krauss seemed anxious to insist that the Flame Patrol was an unchecked force, blazing a swath of destruction across Groznyj Grad as they saw fit, and that nothing anyone did could counteract that. But Volgin was no shrinking violet. How ludicrous would it be to assume that this cosmonaut and his wingnut brigade could simply trot around imposing their plans and will on every man in Groznyj Grad, while the mammoth and supercharged Colonel shrugged helplessly?
Nika was not impressed. Every sociopath was firmly convinced of his superiority. It didn't make them special. It just made them egotists without boundaries.
I should be more horrified by you, wouldn't you say, Major? Surely some of the things you got up to in the Schutzstaffel would make even Grigorev go pale with nausea.
Suddenly, all Krauss' beautiful things did little to hide the ugly underneath, and Liadov felt a repulsion unlike any he'd ever felt before.
He rose, setting his MVD cap on his head and giving a brusque nod.
"Major. Enjoy the remains of your day."
If anyone tried to interfere with his investigation, they would find themselves answering to several parties beyond himself.
no subject
Funny little stump-fingered man.
"Seeing as you only just told me of his presence here- no, of course I have no idea what manner of unit he's in."
And mercurial, too, Liadov noted, carefully. He had thought he could write off Krauss as a suspect from his initial impression of the man. He'd since been forced to reconsider. Someone able to turn on a ruble like that- from grateful and gracious to sinister and supercilious- was not anyone he would put above murdering an unfaithful lover. Although he doubted Krauss would have had the courage to do it himself. No, he'd have hired someone to do the dirty work, and cried when it was done.
As it was, he was hard-pressed to imagine kind, humorous Misha getting within five miles of this venomous posy- much less into his bed.
For a moment, Liadov wondered if Natasha wouldn't be better off taking her chances with Roman Olavyenko.
"You seem dissatisfied with my reaction. What would you have me say, comrade? That Grigoriev is the worst man the gulag has ever seen? That nothing and no one could ever eclipse his psychopathy, and that because someone has handed him a glorified blowtorch, he is evil incarnate and invincible?"
That was ultimate hubris.
Liadov had seen sadists who performed live surgery on children. A man who had locked a young girl in a cage in his barn, that dwarfed and distorted her body as she outgrew its confines. She'd never learned any language, and hissed and scratched whenever anyone came near her. He'd recommended her for the asylum, but he wondered privately if a bullet to the head wouldn't have been more humane.
His petty concerns with the vengeance of the guilty paled in comparison to the suffering masses.
Chest-thumping was something Nika found tiresome, especially by proxy. Krauss seemed anxious to insist that the Flame Patrol was an unchecked force, blazing a swath of destruction across Groznyj Grad as they saw fit, and that nothing anyone did could counteract that. But Volgin was no shrinking violet. How ludicrous would it be to assume that this cosmonaut and his wingnut brigade could simply trot around imposing their plans and will on every man in Groznyj Grad, while the mammoth and supercharged Colonel shrugged helplessly?
Nika was not impressed. Every sociopath was firmly convinced of his superiority. It didn't make them special. It just made them egotists without boundaries.
I should be more horrified by you, wouldn't you say, Major? Surely some of the things you got up to in the Schutzstaffel would make even Grigorev go pale with nausea.
Suddenly, all Krauss' beautiful things did little to hide the ugly underneath, and Liadov felt a repulsion unlike any he'd ever felt before.
He rose, setting his MVD cap on his head and giving a brusque nod.
"Major. Enjoy the remains of your day."
If anyone tried to interfere with his investigation, they would find themselves answering to several parties beyond himself.