Meanwhile, back at Groznyj Grad... [Night Search Corpus 2]

[raidenovitch.livejournal.com]

Raikov's boots struck the floor hard and fast, as he paced furiously around the central building.

He was not pleased. Not pleased at all.

Being thrown off of Ocelot was not the greatest moment, but he could grudgingly admit that Ocelot was needed elsewhere.

So, of course, as soon as they had all left, it had been just him and the Colonel, and a shared wicked grin.

And they'd just settled into the mood when Raikov had been turfed out, again.

He was too annoyed at the whole situation to say much to the Colonel, although he was not personally angry with him. Jesus motherfucking bastard christ, he couldn't concentrate on a thing.

And the worse part was he couldn't go back to his quarters to deal with it himself, not when he was supposed to be keeping tabs on absolutely everyone on-base.

Anyone who came near him right now would live to regret it.

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[parabellum-p08.livejournal.com]

It was forty-seven past the hour when Johann Krauss finally appeared in the East Wing, gray wolf skin coat all pulled up around him, adding an undue air of royalty to his presence with a high fur collar and oversized cuffs.

He was starting to feel like himself again though more bitter and ruthless; a knife sharpened against an unyielding stone of grief.

Krauss had immediately known the reason for the meeting, with nauseating dread that turned his stomach over and over and made his heart skip a beat. It wasn’t what Adamska said on the intercom, it was what he didn’t say. The old German was adept at picking up the small things, the little waivers of voice, the silences where there should have been something else. Reading between the lines was his specialty.

There was no reason to hurry, and he wasn’t even sure that he would report at all. Only Volgin would question his absence, and the Colonel had been too busy to notice much of anything. It would have been easy to make up a million lies for his absence, but something willed him to move from his comfortable bed, chase Motte from his neatly folded pile of clothes, and join the rest of the world in the main hall.

So he sauntered through the crowd languidly, in his characteristic limp, taking his own sweet time. The Major nodded to greetings from GRU soldiers, not because he felt social, but it was required and expected.

Johann raised his head and smiled to Raikov, though he felt a twinge of resentment nagging at him. Second best, again, and Volgin’s precious Vanya was left in charge, pacing back and forth and pretty even though he scowled.

“Smile, liebste Brüderlein.” He encouraged, interlacing his fingers behind his back, straightening his posture. Molokov always said the gesture made him look just like Erwin Rommel in the text books, and he wasn’t sure why he thought of it. “It will make people wonder what you’re thinking of.”