The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

Andrei shrugged, as he climbed up and took a seat on the highest bench.

"You'd have to ask Ocelot, chuvak," he replied, smiling affably as he tapped Sergei on the shoulder, indicating he should break out the liquor. "I don't make those choices. But you must have something, comrade, to recommend you."

He grinned.

"Any idea what it is?"

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"Ah... no. Not really."

That was a lie, there was really only one reason he could've been put into the Ocelot unit. His tracking ability and probably the fact that he was almost as good at night as he was during the day.

But he didn't want to brag, and he didn't want to be wrong about it. "Is he not here?" Vladya looked over the rows of blond haired, blue eyed men. It would be hard to tell them apart without their uniforms. They were all roughly the same size and appearance.

There was a briefly entertaining notion of a unit with interchangable men. An outsider would probably find it impossible to tell the difference if they were to swap uniforms, or, out of uniform, claim to be someone else.

The uniform appearance had to be intentional. He just couldn't figure out why.

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Andrei laughed.

"He doesn't keep company out of rank. Much."

He studied Vladya. Lean, blond and pale eyed. As he would be, of course.

"You'll be reporting with us in the morning, though, so you'll get to meet him then."

A grin spread over his face.

"Now, however, Makno is going to stoke the stove up so it's actually warm in here...then we're going to drink some serious liquor. And then, we throw you in the snow and you earn your accessories."

He sat back.

"Sergei, get him started on a bottle."

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Kassian did not usually drink much these days - like smoking, it was a social activity, and he often abstained from polite company. Still, there had been a time when he regularly fraternized with comrades, and the atmosphere - laughs, teasing - reminded him of those years.

He kept to the edge of the group by instinct, though, quiet, but let conversations flow around him while taking in every word. He watched the way they interacted and put names to faces he hadn't bothered to mark earlier.

Kassian tried not to pay overt attention to Isaev, though still found his eye drawn from time to time.

It would not do to be obvious in front of Charushkin, he thought, lowering his gaze. When he looked up again, he thought Charuskin tossed him a glare, but it was gone by the time he could focus.

He didn't care.

And fortunately, the new recruit held the center of attention. Predictably, he looked like the others, though Kassian read him as a little elusive. He could understand that, though - the shock of the kidnapping probably didn't help - but he thought Borishnakov would do just fine.

Kassian leaned back against the wood and let the rising heat ease him, relaxed enough to await his turn at the bottle.

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The steam was heavy, veiling faces intermittently.

Andrei leaned back and took a long pull of the slivovic Gurlukovich handed him. He swallowed easily, immune to the taste and the nuclear burn of it.

Elixir of plum and acetone. Delectable, he thought, vaguely amused. God, what those long winters of old have wrought for us in the modern age.

It was a better banya drink than vodka, which was better cold. If one was going to drink vodka in the banya, it had better be shots hard upon, so it had no time to lose its chill.

He slapped the bench next to him in invitation as Matvei finished stoking the fire.

It was billowing steam heat, now, and it filled his throat- a strange sensation before you learned to relax and enjoy it.

The men were getting down to the serious business of making Borishnakov pyan v stelku.

He watched, amused, through half-lidded eyes, as Alexei and Grigorii urged Vladya to down repeated shots of slivovic.

"Drink up, fresh meat. Think about how many worse things we could have made you swallow," snorted Alexei, but he was grinning.

Vladislaus seemed game enough.

Andrei was glad things had resolved between Charushkin and himself, even if a part of him was conflicted by the means of that resolution.

Satisfied he had ensured a good start to Borishnakov's shitfacing, he let his eyes rise deliberately, seeking Captain Irinarhov's storm-eye presence, finding him, unobtrusively watching the tableu from somewhere in the middle.

He felt his blood rising as Matvei sat down beside him, sighing and leaning back.

"Khuy, Isaev...you get off on terrorizing a man?" laughed Alexandr Ivanovich, looking pointedly at his loins.

Andrei glanced down, laughing slightly. He was hard, unmistakably so.

He smirked, and made it wave at Alex by tightening his stomach.

"I can't remember, Xasha- does your mother like her hair pulled while you fuck her? Or is that your aunt?"

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charushkin.livejournal.com

Matvei gave a light snort, and determinedly looked away, taking a decided interest in the bottle, watching that go around, instead.

It was best not to analyse anything that might end up having a similar effect on himself.

"Give me some, you pricks," he finally groused, good-naturedly, leaning forward, as it was depressing to be the only sober person in a room of drunks.

He finally managed to have the bottle passed back to him after some good-natured returning insults, and drank his share, smothering a splutter at the burn.

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Kassian leaned back, nearly drowsy, eyes half-closed. The steam and the liquor had conspired to turn his thoughts torpid. He merely listened as the Ocelots joked amongst themselves, following the conversations from one man to the next.

His attention was drawn by Isaev's voice, but as he looked over he saw that the others were teasing the lieutenant, and then he saw why.

Kassian looked away immediately, jaw going tight.

Among other things.

He closed his eyes deliberately and took in a deep, humid breath, then thought about nothing, again and again.

Kassian had the advantage of his years and self-discipline to keep him relaxed enough to not let any interest show. What also helped was the thought of drawing attention, or worse yet, someone making the connection between himself and Isaev.

Humiliation did not become him, and made him feel small.

It still didn't keep him from flinching when someone bumped his shoulder and handed him the slivovic. He'd taken sips in measured grimaces before, but this time he took a deep, violent pull, coughing before passing on the bottle on to the next man's hand.

He told himself it was nothing, not erotic in the slightest, that Isaev's state was a natural function of just the heat and bodies pressed close together, and the thrill of the kidnapping earlier.

Then he remembered he was not supposed to be thinking about it at all, and scowled.

Kassian did not dare to look at Isaev again, but instead kept his eyes firmly closed and focused on another conversation, marking it closely, hoping that it would be soon time to throw Borishnakov in the snow, or make him vomit, or something. Otherwise the night might just go on a little too long.

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Vladya was surprised to notice the only dark-haired, dark-eyed soldier among the group. He wasn't quite sure how it had taken him so long to notice, the guy really stood out.

His attention was quickly taken away as a bottle was put once again in his hands. Every time one came his way he made it a point to consume as much of it as he possibly could, intent on getting drunk enough to forget how utterly horrified he'd been a few minutes ago.

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"You know...he's really doing well," remarked Andrei, watching Vladya shotgun booze like a champ.

He glanced at Matvei and laughed.

"I think he's about ready. He won't feel a thing.

He lifted his chin.

"Hey, Borishnakov. Feel like taking a little jog around the vehicle yard?"

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gurlukovich.livejournal.com

It was nice to see how happy everyone was at the sight of so much good alcohol. While Sergei wasn't the hugest fan of drinking until he couldn't see straight, he knew that most of his comrades were. If he was expected to deliver, he wasn't going to let them down.

Quite a few were sending him thankful grins, which he returned with equally sincere smiles. He didn't drink much himself; for one thing, he wasn't exactly in the mood for it, and secondly, Ocelot had warned him to be careful. He was probably taking the major's words a little too seriously, but he tended to do that.

The new blood was mixing in well, though. He seemed to be fit to drink with the rest of them. Sergei would have liked a chance to speak with him so they could begin to form a friendship beyond mutual understand of being part of a close unit, but it was hardly the time for such things. No, he had a bit more to do before he was officially one of them.

Andrei seemed eager to get on with that, as well. Sergei just laughed and shrugged. It was cruel, but they'd all done it.

Almost all, anyway. He glanced at Kassian, try to size him up. But there wasn't much to read there, which really made Sergei even more curious. Perhaps he would ask Andrei about it--he seemed to be chipping away at the man already.

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charushkin.livejournal.com

"Oi, oi, Sasha," Matvei remarked lazily from his perch, "you'll have to do better than that."

He gave a grin, knowing no offense would be taken. He and Sergei were permanently on good terms.

He faced Andrei as he noticed that familiar, trouble-making smile settle into place.

"You really are a sadist," Matvei shook his head, trying not to laugh. "You go push him outside. I'm staying here."

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When Andrei called his name Vladya looked in his direction. Jog around the vehicle yard. He nodded before he had a chance to think about what he was agreeing to.

After a moment though it occurred to him he wasn't quite sure where the vehicle yard was. "Of course, Isaev... but you'll have to go with me to show me where it is. Just arrived on base, you know."

He took an even larger drink the next time the bottle came his way, getting the distinct feeling he was going to need every drop he could manage to make it through the night.

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Andrei rolled his eyes, standing up and stretching languidly.

The heat was nice, but not as hot as his reptilian senses liked it, and he hadn't reached his breaking point yet, but duty was duty.

Fucking snow it was, then.

"Oh, so it's like that, is it?" he good naturedly. " 'Andrusha Alexich, I don't how to roll around in snow, can you show me?'"

He shot a look at Matvei, and snatched the junior lieutenant's towel from him with a quick hand.

"If you're staying in like a proper lady, you won't be needing this," he smirked, wrapping it around his loins and tucking it in deftly. "You know, Makno, sadist is a terrible word. I really prefer 'catalytic diplomat'."

He glanced at Vladya, who was champing at the bit, already raring to go, hand on the wooden door.

Andrei laughed.

"Khuy, bratan! I've never seen anyone so eager to earn his spots before." He looked down, and grinned. "You know, Vladya, you can wear a towel out on the walk through the hall. We just whip them off before we dive into the banks. Put them right back on."

He turned surretitiously to his grinning comrades, making an exaggeratedly ironic face behind Vladya's back.

"It's not like we'd make you go through the Grad naked or anything. I mean, we're bastards, but that would just be...gosh, can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?"

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The sooner it was over, the sooner he could start sleeping this off. Vladya rarely did things in half measures, and while he was patient he didn't like wasting time, either.

Vladislav nodded and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. "Well, Andrusha. Since you put it that way... They do say it's best to learn by example... and don't call me Vladya." He really disliked that name.

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gurlukovich.livejournal.com

Sergei smirked at Matvei's teasing tone. He would have dared the other to finish the drink off for him, but there was no reason to encourage Matvei to take in more alcohol than he already was. Sergei instead took a few more sips, watching the exchange between Andrei and the new one.

He didn't like being called Vladya. He'd make a note of that. He wondered if it was a simple dislike or if there was some reason he didn't approve of the name.

Snorting at Andrei, he shook his head, not able to stop some mild laughter. That was almost unfair, but hopefully the fresh meat would pick up on how sarcastic Andrei was being.

"Just take him out, Andrei," Sergei pressed. Poor guy should get it over with already.

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Andrei grinned at Sergei.

"All right, all right," he said. "I hope his fablous prizes are ready."

He'd asked Gurlukovich to go out to the vehicle yard and hang each of the Ocelot accessories on the end of a tank, a tricky proposition, as the tanks- and their barrels, were blanketed in snow.

Sergei got to use a ladder to get them up there.

Borishnakov, on the other hand, would have to shimmy-hump and monkey-crawl his way along the canon barrel to get to the end and retrieve them for himself.

Andrei idly wondered if that was sadistic, or merely ingenious.

He looked around the room as he backed out, hand on the knob.

"Anyone else who wants to take a dip, now's your chance to join us."

It wasn't out of line. Most of them did when they used the banya.

But most of the Ocelots had seemed disinclined to give up their bird's eye view.

Still, it never hurt to ask.

He could use more backup when Vladislaus inevitably decided he didn't feel like dry-humping a frozen gun arm with his tender joybits dragging and made a break for it, thus necessitating tackling.

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Something was happening.

Kassian opened his eyes and paid attention, tracking the activity that had stirred in the group. Isaev seemed to be in the middle of it, of course, but it also looked like it was time to throw the new recruit in the snow.

He looked around at the rest of the Ocelots, trying to judge if the others were going along, but most kept their place. Kassian got up.

"I'll go," he said. In truth, he did not mind the cold. There were times when he'd had to nest outside for hours and after a while, he'd learned to adapt.

And he would feel more comfortable to be outside, not so many people all in one space. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

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Isaev didn't have time to hide his surprise.

"All right," he said, blinking, then smiling.

Irinarhov was the last person he would have expected to step up and give him a hand.

Well, not exactly. The Captain was one of the first people he'd have expected to led a hand. He'd proven that in the short time Isaev had known him.

But this sudden participatory streak...well, he could only assume Irinarhov wasn't above learning new tricks.

Andrei nodded.

"Da vai. Let's go then."

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Kassian wasn't sure of what he was getting into, but found himself unworried. He would hold Isaev at his word, then, and let the lieutenant take the lead.

Isaev met his eyes and smiled at him, which made Kassian lower his gaze and just nod slightly. Perhaps he had downed one too many swallows of slivovic. His face felt hot.

He was looking forward to sharp, chill air outside and the peacefulness of night. He followed Isaev and Borishnakov, bracing himself for the shock.

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It wasn't far to the end of the hall, from there it was out the metal door and down four flights of external concrete stairs.

The chill was welcome against his chest as Andrei pushed open the door.

He sighed, pleased, letting the fresh evening breeze lift his hair as his cheeks were touched by small, glinting stars of snow.

Perfect. The snow was deep and thick in this part of the yard, the tanks blanketed.

Andrei paused on the landing, putting his arm around Borisnakov's shoulder companionably.

"All right, here's the deal, Vladislaus. See those four tanks? Look what's hanging at the end of each barrel. There's your beret, your scarf, your gloves and your holster."

He shot a look at Irinarhov, a fleeting and conspiratory smile, before turning back to Borishnakov.

"Your boots, however, are in the dog yard. Right over...there." Andrei grinned. "They're in one of the dog houses. Probably Goliath's, if I don't miss my guess. He's Sergei's favorite," he explained, aside.

Andrei knew it depended on the recruit's personal cold tolerance how many trips a man had to take back to the banya and out again to retrieve all his items.

Occasionally someone made it to his boots and wriggled out to the ends of all the tank barrels in one trip.

He was betting on Borishnakov to be among the more hardcore, seeing as he was stone staggering drunk.

"You might want to get the boots first," he suggested, raising his eyebrows. "Without them you get a lot colder."

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"Dogs." He knew quite a bit about dogs, his father had kept them. Of course, his father's dogs had been trained for different purposes, and those had been part wolf. These were guard dogs, and they didn't know him.

It was time to make a good impression on his new unit. "Bring on the dogs," He muttered to himself, heading over for the dog yard in what was suppose to be a determined, dramatic stride.

The effect was ruined when he nearly tripped over a something in the snow. Not that his slightly drunken swaying had been very dramatic to begin with, but there was no denying his determination.

He paused outside the dog yard, staring to see if he could figure out which one of the little dog houses his boots were in. After identifying a likely target Vladislav carefully opened the door to the dog yard.

Hopefully the dog hadn't chewed on his boots.

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Andrei grinned to himself, impressed by the man's fortitude, even five or six sheets to the wind.

Sergei had left only puppies and half-grown puppies with access to the outside from their warm kennels, so Vladislaus had nothing to worry about, except being bratpacked, licked to death and probably knocked over.

"Watch," he whispered to the Captain. "This should be good."

He glanced up, as the locker room window slid open and a disembodied "Woooo!" sailed out.

The Ocelots were in form.

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There was both good news and bad news as he peered into the doghouse.

His boots were, in fact, in there. Unfortunately, he woke up the dog when he went to get them. As the furry form stirred Vladya could tell that it wasn't a full grown, fully trained guard dog.

But the puppy was almost as bad as it wagged it's tail and tried to pounce on him, barking happily. The puppy didn't knock him over, but it did wake up the rest of it's little friends.

Vladya found himself mobbed by pups of various ages as he ran frantically for the exit, dogs trying to lick and jump on him every inch of the way.

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Andrei's eyebrows rose briefly.

"And what would you suggest I call you, junior lieutenant Borisovich?" he asked, amused.

The rather tactless demand didn't faze him particularly, although he knew if Ilya was here in his stead, it would be a different story.

And a very different initiation process, he thought, wryly.

He'd be fighting to pull Ilya off the insubordinate soldier by now, as Imanov sought to familiarize the new recruit's face with the more intimate properties of tile grout.

Oblivious to his own vulnerable nudity, of course.

Andrei laughed out loud, shaking his head, knowing that no one would understand what brought on his sudden and abrupt levity.

For once, he was very glad Ilya was in the infirmary.

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"Vladislav, Yamirovich, or Borishnakov... just not Vladya... or Vladik, for that matter." When Vladislav drank, tact and common sense were the first to go. And, in fact, the more he drank the more talkative he became.

"And what was that you said about earning spots earlier?" Hopefully it was a metaphor. Though, Vladislav had heard of hazing rituals that had involved painting recruits with camouflage paint, and then making them do all sorts of strange things naked with the paint all over their bodies. Of course, he figured it was just a bunch of stories to scare trainees.

Andrei was laughing, though, apparently he had found something amusing. Vladislav wasn't quite sure what. These Ocelot's weren't nearly as bad as he'd expected from what he heard when he first arrived on base.

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