Date: 2007-07-13 11:56 pm (UTC)
"Morning," Ippolit said absently as the newcomer arrived. He was staring down at his food, trying without much real effort to discern what part of an animal it might have come from. It was like finding shapes in the clouds, except more vaguely disquieting.

He looked up belatedly. There was a fog lingering in Ippolit's brain that had less to do with last night's depleted bottle of vodka and more with the dreams it had been meant to kill.

An Ocelot. Not one Rakitin had met. He would have remembered. This one looked even younger than all the rest.

He, however, seemed to know them.

"Your friend," Ippolit said abruptly, without thinking. "I'm sorry."
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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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