Clandestine pursuits

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

All clear. Good.

Initially, Ippolit had despaired of ever slipping past all of the fortress's watchful eyes. However, careful observation had revealed that there were often short gaps in the patrols, just long enough for a man to slip through, if he was quick. He had bought himself some extra time with an item he had found in the storeroom, wedged between a splintering crate and the wall. Ippolit sometimes saw things other people didn't.

A glance around the corner confirmed that the soldier whose route went by these particular offices was indeed neutralized for the time being. Honestly, he couldn't see what was so engrossing about women in black garterbelts, though it did also contain an interesting story about aliens by a man with a name like a fish.

Ippolit darted down the hallway, his hand moving to the other object his earlier foray had borne, nested safely beneath his coat. He'd been very careful not to ruin the shape. C3 was, after all, pliable.

The door was unlocked. Ippolit smiled to himself. The Colonel's reputation would be enough to keep most intruders at bay.

Ippolit kept his eyes straight ahead and his mind on the objective, refusing to be distracted by seeing in what kind of environment a man like the Colonel would live. There was no time to fall into a trance.

Withdrawing the object from his pocket, he held it up to his eye, examining it critically. He adjusted a few of the petals, ensuring that they were well defined. Detail was important.

Alone in the center of the massive desk, the small shape was striking. Delicate among brutality, artistry among ruthless efficiency, dangerous and, if he said so himself, beautiful. A single white carnation. Forming it had been difficult, but Ippolit had a dextrous bend, and, besides, the symbolism was ideal.

Fascination.

Deed done, Ippolit made his escape, taking care that his egress was unobserved.

By the time he arrived at the more populous parts of the fortress, he let himself feel a giddy tingle of relief. It was only a gesture, but it felt like a victory.

He even had an alibi.

Rakitin strode toward Liadov's office, ready to take on the day's interrogations.

Sergei's Return. [Open to anyone who wants to greet him.]

[gurlukovich.livejournal.com]

It had been far too long since Sergei had seen Grozynj Grad. Not many people would say that sort of thing - no, most people were eager to get out of there, not to go back - but it was closer to a home to him than where he'd just been.

When news had come that his mother was sick, he still hadn't hesitated to jump on a plane for home. The fact that he never spoke about his family was sign enough that they didn't get along very well, but blood was still thick. He wasn't about to ignore his mother's illness. If it had ended up being bad enough that she'd died from it and he hadn't gone to see her one last time, what then?

Unfortunately, the reunion had been far from pleasant, but he had been expecting that. As it was, it seemed that his mother would recover. At this point, however, he didn't want to think on it any longer. There was probably only one person that would ask him more than a few questions about it. Luckily, the major was the one person he was willing to talk to about it.

As he exited the helicopter, the artificial gusts caused by the propeller blew dust into his eyes. He turned his head and coughed. It hadn't helped that the flight into the base had left him a little queasy. Usually it wouldn't be problem, but the fact that he'd gone straight from an airplane into a helicopter meant there hadn't been much time for his stomach to settle.

Now that he was back home, however, he got the feeling he'd be just fine. Pulling out his unit's trademark red cap and placing it firmly on his head, he scanned around for anyone familiar. Had anyone caught wind of his return and decided to come give him a warm welcome, maybe? He'd been gone for a while, so it was possible some of the others had been missing him. Then again, he could be hoping for too much. But if no one showed up, he could easily get back to his room to unpack on his own.

A Change of Pace. [Open to The Boss, COMPLETE.]

[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.