Date: 2007-03-28 09:41 am (UTC)
Ocelot leaned back against the wall, rubbing his forehead with his gun.

"Don't call me sir, Seryhoza," he muttered, sighing. "It makes me feel like I'm forty with with a fucking mustache."

He didn't mind it, not really. Not always. He liked being called sir by The Ocelots, en masse. He deserved it. He'd earned it.

But the olive green wall had already been broken in this conversation, and there was no retroaction back to the chain of command when that happened, although Gurlukovich always dutifully tried.

"As far as motives and suspects go, they're looking at everyone. No concrete leads. They found the body...burned. When the greenhouse exploded," he added, realizing too late that Sergei had no idea about that either.

"The greenhouse exploded," Ocelot said, lamely.

Sergei's eyes were wide-ish.

Adam scowled.

"He didn't die in the fire. He'd been throttled, and fuck knows what else. His...he was...violated. Sexually. And his legs and one arm were severed by the killer."

Ocelot watched Gurlukovich's solemnly attentive face, saw him taking it all in.

"And," he said reluctantly, "there was something else. His khui. It had been stuffed down his throat, along with a fucking flower."
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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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