[identity profile] krasnogorje.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] groznyj_grad

Dmitry Grigoriev winced at the loud hum of the crowded mess hall, gritting his teeth against the throb in his head. He still had a headache, but he wasn’t entirely certain if it was a product of all the pertsovka he drank the night before, or the empty vodka bottle that his commander smashed over his head.

The aspirin and black coffee of the morning had taken most of the edge off, making the dull thump at his temples bearable.

It was a fucking stupid idea to go after the Fury with a knife anyway, but it seemed like a good idea at the time he found his Iosef sucking their commander off in the hovercraft hangar.

Dima limped along gingerly as he took his tray and started toward the table where the flame unit was usually quarantined. None of his own were there -- the table was deserted, excusing a stray napkin that lay in a crumpled heap at the edge.

He did not realize that he had stopped until a GRU grunt bumped into him and scurried off with a shrill apology.

Deimos did not want to sit alone, and he was suddenly aware of his disappointment that none of his unit mates were there waiting for him. It would have been nice to sit in the company of warm comradeship after the turbulence of the last few days.

Somehow, they reached an awkward, fumbling agreement, he, Iosef, and their commander. Everything, the Fury explained, was supposed to be shared equally between comrades, like good pertsovka, and by the end of the night they were drunk as hell and laughing like nothing was ever wrong to begin with, and thinking kalinka, kalinka, kalinka, moya was a wonderful song to serenade the night patrol with on the way back to their barracks.

Normalcy had returned like the first spring buds blossoming on a birch tree after a harsh winter, only to be frostbitten when Iosef suggested he should fuck Deimos while their commander watched.

He was smiling now, as he stood there in the shaft of sunlight pouring in from the window, and the GRU soldiers sitting at the nearest table began to murmur among themselves, stare, and scoot toward the other end of the bench.

It was amazing, the things pertsovka made men agree to.

The memory of the night drinking with Katerina flickered across his mind, chased by the meeting with the black-haired boy-sniper in the yard and the words spoken against the cold night air: “Maybe you should try something new…find someone to talk to, or do something else.”

Deimos’ depraved smirk faded as impulse inspired him suddenly; he turned on his heels and he made his way between the tables, wordlessly sitting down at a table near the center of the room occupied by a gaggle of Ocelot Unit soldiers.

He nodded to them even as they glared and their conversations fell silent, and self-consciously tugged at the sleeve of his jumpsuit, until the marbled scaring on the back of his hand was covered again. Deimos decided they would just have to deal with the faded blue letters on each finger above the first knuckle, because he wasn’t wearing his fireproof gloves in the chow hall.

Dima cleared his throat and picked up his spoon even though he didn’t have much of an appetite and it was unbearably hot in the mess hall all of a sudden.

“So... how's the borscht today?" 

Date: 2009-03-11 05:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Savva sat back on the bench, wiping his mouth absently.

The Flame Patrol soldier had taken a seat almost directly across from him. That was unusual, to say the least. The last time anyone from Flame Patrol sat down at their table, it had been the Fury, and he had stolen Andrei Isaev's scarf.

Semeyonev glanced to the Flame soldier's right, where Fyedor was adjusting the lay of his scarf hastily, shoving it further into his coat.

Savva grinned, and turned to look at the soldier again.

He recognized him, though not by name. This was the one that people talked about in whispers. In a squad full of criminals and mental asylum detainees, he was the one they said was the most dangerous, liable to turn from quietly agitated to explosively violent at the drop of an ill-placed word.

He had a look about him that reminded Semeyonev of a half-wild dog, maybe a Laika crossed with wolf. Large expressive eyes and angular features, unkempt hair. He was always in motion, gaze flicking from person to person, shifting in his seat, fingering his spoon, holding it between his fingers as if it were a knife.

Savva was glad it was him who happened to be sitting at the table, on the day the Flame soldier had chosen to sit among them.

He nodded to the man.

"Same as it is every day they make it, which is to say...good."

He smiled, easily.

The mess hall food was actually very good in Savva's estimation. He was well acquainted with the chef. Savva thought it was too bad that Kolyin was missing out. Borscht was one of his favorites.

Arkady was still off, playing Pathologist's Shadow. Savva was due to relieve him after lunch.

He raised his brows.

"So, what is it that brings you to Ocelot territory, comrade?"

Date: 2009-03-11 11:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Morchenko set down his spoon with a clink. He gave the Flame Patrol nutcase a perusal.

"Obvious. He wants to add something burnt to the menu."

Date: 2009-03-12 06:32 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Savva nodded, solemnly.

"I'm Five. That's Twelve over there."

He indicated Morchenko with a tilt of his head.

The younger Ocelot looked mildly disgruntled at Deimos' presence, though he seemed to be paying close attention to the conversation.

"Sixteen, Seventeen and Eighteen there, and that's Fifty-Six sitting next to you. He's special."

Semeyonev grinned in Fyedor's direction, the shook his head, turning his gaze back to the flame soldier.

"I'm just having fun with you, comrade. I'm Savva Semeyonev, Senior Lieutenant, Ocelot Unit. Good to meet you, officially."

His gaze flicked to the empty table where Flame Patrol usually sat.

"You're right to say that it's not a good idea to go out on the base alone. So where are your comrades?"

Date: 2009-03-13 06:53 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Savva shook his head.

"No, no sisters. Only child."

He smiled easily, then resumed eating, savoring the flavors, soaking up the sauce with a bit of bread.

Semeyonev looked up at Deimos curiously.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, which one of your comrades was the one who danced on the tank and, how shall I say it, saluted Major Raikov?"

Savva grinned.

"He made an...impression...on everyone."

Date: 2009-03-13 11:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Morchenko snorted. "Nobody here wants your rooster, tovarisch, no matter what instruments he plays real well."

He remembered the little lunatic on the tank from that day. Made a thunk when he hit the ground, and that was Raikov being lenient. Major Ocelot might've given him a bullet between the eyes. Crazy, all of those Flame Patrol bastards.

"Morchenko," he added, indicating himself.

He bit a chunk out of a roll. Savva was okay with the twitchy little freak, so he could stick around.

"Is it true what they say about you and your friends? You set yourselves on fire to prove you've got balls?"

Date: 2009-03-14 06:35 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
"Nobody with any brains believes that."

Morchenko had heard some of the rumors going around, obvious bullshit. Isaev was a good comrade. He had a dark streak, but he wouldn't waste time of day on that kind of sick shit.

Deimos had the look of a rangy dog baring its teeth. Morchenko wasn't the kind to poke dogs with sticks.

He was kind of surprised at something buried in the Flame Patrol's words. His eyebrows raised.

"Wait a minute. Are you saying you really do get set on fire?"

Date: 2009-03-14 08:05 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gg-infimary.livejournal.com
Mitrofan paused at the long table where the Ocelots convened in a riot of red and black, on his way to the nurses' customary round table toward the back of the mess hall.

"Hey guys," he chided amicably, "a lot of you still need to report for your annual physical."

He glanced down, smiling lopsidedly, but tempering it with a firm raise of his brow.

"Don't worry. I have lollipops."

Date: 2009-03-14 09:08 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Savva had been following the conversation with an amused smirk, but he looked up at the sound of the nurse's voice, attention immediately diverted.

"Nurse Mitrofan."

He hit Mitrofan with a long, slow smile.

"We'll be sure to get right on that," he drawled.

Date: 2009-03-14 09:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gg-infimary.livejournal.com
"Khorosho, spasiba."

Mitrofan's eyes moved over, settling on the hulking blond soldier, recognizing him from the infirmary, though he was the last person Mitrofan would expect to see there.

Everything about him spoke of country air and milk-fed pastoral vigor.

His eyes were blue and dauntless, his lips dusky and full, with a luster like pomegranate.

He was the very picture of health.

Mitrofan glanced at his chest.

His insignia revealed his rank as Lieutenant, and his name was legible beneath that. Semeyonev.

"Just a yearly formality," he said, to the table. "I'll take fifteen minutes of your time, no more."

He smiled, cocking his brows.

"Then you don't have to see me again for another year, provided you keep yourself healthy and your weapon stays clean and dry."

Date: 2009-03-14 09:02 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
"We'll endeavor," Savva said to Mitrofan.

Savva spoke for all of them, but he thought he might be the only one paying attention. The Flame Patrol soldier was talking, showing off his burn scars, which gave his arm a strangely twisted appearance, as if it had warped and shrunken in the fire, like plastic.

He eyed that for a moment, then turned his focus back to the tall nurse.

There was something about Mitrofan's look that had caught Savva's eye immediately. Bronze-blond, blue-eyed, arched and angular features, there were a lot of handsome young Soviets like that. But Mitrofan's face had an irregularity Semeyonev liked, a contradiction between the refinement of the sculpted cheekbones and arched brows, and the almost-aggressive thickness of his chin and jaw. Some would call that a flaw. Savva called it interesting.

He leaned forward.

"Tell you what. How about I drop by the infirmary later, and we can go over a list of who needs to report for their physical? That way, we'll make sure that no one slips through the cracks."

Date: 2009-03-15 02:09 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gg-infimary.livejournal.com
Mitrofan only studied him for a moment.

"Davai," he said, nodding artlessly, pushing up his sleeve. "I would really appreciate that, comrade, if you could help me wrangle some of these men."

He glanced toward the far side of the room where a white-suited flock of doctors and nurses convened at a rounded table, and lowered his voice.

Mitrofan made a face somewhere between a grimace and a smile.

"The thing is, the head nurse is busting my ass over it. The longer these guys evade coming in, the more she rips me out."

He was pretty much over it.

"So anything you can do would be great, comrade."

Date: 2009-03-15 07:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Savva nodded, meeting Mitrofan's eyes steadily.

"Don't worry. I'll have your back, comrade."

He grinned.

"It shouldn't be too hard to get after everyone, once we have a list."

Semeyonev glanced at the medics' table, where the head nurse presumably sat.

"And you won't have to hear about it anymore."

He shrugged good-naturedly.

"I think everyone just needs to understand that there's nothing to be afraid of. Sometimes people are a little worried that it'll hurt, or be uncomfortable. But I'm sure we'll be in good hands, with you."

Date: 2009-03-15 08:11 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gg-infimary.livejournal.com
Mitrofan smiled, gradually.

"Somehow I doubt spetsnaz soldiers are afraid of a little pain and discomfort. Let's be honest; I'd avoid it too. It's a hassle."

The Ocelot's gaze was open and engaging, and he seemed genuinely sympathetic.

"But I have very good hands," he promised. "It will be over before they know it."

He shifted his tray, easily, scratching his brow.

"I should get some lunch down before I have to start the night shift. It's my week."

He paused, tipping his chin at Semeyonev.

"Come by medical, whenever you have time."

Date: 2009-03-16 06:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Savva laughed.

"Thank you," he said, modestly.

He turned his full attention back to Deimos.

"I'm sorry, where were we?"

Semeyonev paused considering for a few moments. His gaze dropped to the burned and bared skin on the Flame soldier's arm.

He took a bite of borscht, then gestured at the faded tattoo with his spoon.

"What's that?"

Date: 2009-03-17 09:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
"Each to his own," Savva said, shaking his head. "I heard that the complications can be worse than the burn itself. Shock and infection, things like that."

He shrugged, then paused, regarding Deimos thoughtfully for a few moments.

"So how long ago was this? Your initiation, that is."

Semeyonev nodded at Deimos' now-covered forearm.

"Those looked like they healed pretty well, but you were talking about it like it was more recent. Are you the newest in the squad?"

Date: 2009-03-19 07:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
"Ahh." Savva nodded, sagely. "That was...a piece of work, all right."

Among other things.

"I seem to remember it was sort of an open secret, before the fact. Everyone but Krauss knew. I think he caught wind of something going on, but no one would give him the particulars, until it was too late."

He shrugged.

Semeyonev considered Deimos thoughtfully for a moment.

"So where do things stand, now, between Flame Patrol and Krauss? Did that even the score, or is there more to come?"

Date: 2009-03-20 06:35 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Morchenko punched the man next to him on the arm. "Told you I saw a pink cat."

Date: 2009-03-20 07:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
"How so?"

Semeyonev looked up from his meal, curiously.

"No one knows much about her or what she's doing here. But...it sounds like you have an idea."

He studied Deimos, who had grown considerably calmer since the conversation had begun, which was good. Deimos was not constantly glancing around them, as if expecting someone to jump out of the woodwork and knife him. Instead, his gaze was considering, even measured.

"What's changing? Flame Patrol...or is it Phoenix Unit?"

Date: 2009-03-21 11:30 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ocelottery.livejournal.com
Savva raised his brows.

"Somehow...I doubt it would be god," he said, dryly.

He shook his head then stood up, gathering his tray. Around him, the other Ocelots were shifting, apparently uncomfortable with Deimos' particular brand of humor. Savva himself didn't much like hearing about butchered girls.

Semeyonev nodded to his comrades, then the the flame solider.

"Well. I need to get back on duty. Good luck with the VVS, comrade."


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December 2010

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