"Walk with me, Captain. I'm on my way to find a spaceman. I thought I'd try his office first, just to give due credit to Occam's Razor, and, barring the easiest solution being correct, I'm heading down into the tunnels."
He paused, as the sniper dutifully fell into line.
He gained a level of personal comfort, when under explicit command, that he had not displayed when interacting with his new fellows that morning. Ocelot had noted at once the ill ease, the reticence. He had scowled. The file seemed accurate. A misanthrope.
It concerned him less after he'd seen the sniper at work.
Slightly less still when he glimpsed moments of responsiveness toward Isaev, the ever-reliable socialite.
It didn't concern him at all now.
Irinarhov was a man who liked to serve, for whatever reason. Denied the arms of a mother or a lover, perhaps, finding his proxy in the cold comfort of military strictures.
Imanov would have a word for it, and a whole accompanying pathology.
Ocelot could understand a man like that. Trust a man like that. To the extent that he ever would trust a man.
"You see a lot, Irinarhov." It was not a question.
Ocelot pulled out one of his guns and gave it a lazy jerk to set it spinning.
"You see, I'm hearing things- or rather, not hearing them. Murmurs when I leave, silences when I enter. There's been something curious going on since this morning, and I want to know what it is."
He locked his gaze onto the Captain's.
"I'm not the only one. Major Raikov noticed it too. So tell me. What the hell is going on, Irinarhov?"
Ocelot smiled obscurely.
"I'm fairly sure you're privy, even if you're avoidant."
He paused, cocking an eyebrow.
"Although you certainly seemed to warm up to our Andrusha. Our poor little rich boy. It takes some ruthless genes to kill men with your own bare hands."
His lip curled.
"I guess he had a lot to prove."
Ocelot didn't watch Kassian's reaction, turning his eyes up to the smoking tower above the weapons hangar.
"I'm pretty sure, whatever this little undercurrent of chatter is, Isaev's got a pretty good idea of what the topic is. And I'm pretty sure, gregarious as he is, that you've heard an earful."
He narrowed his eyes, catching the gun in midmotion.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2006-09-04 01:13 am (UTC)"Walk with me, Captain. I'm on my way to find a spaceman. I thought I'd try his office first, just to give due credit to Occam's Razor, and, barring the easiest solution being correct, I'm heading down into the tunnels."
He paused, as the sniper dutifully fell into line.
He gained a level of personal comfort, when under explicit command, that he had not displayed when interacting with his new fellows that morning. Ocelot had noted at once the ill ease, the reticence. He had scowled. The file seemed accurate. A misanthrope.
It concerned him less after he'd seen the sniper at work.
Slightly less still when he glimpsed moments of responsiveness toward Isaev, the ever-reliable socialite.
It didn't concern him at all now.
Irinarhov was a man who liked to serve, for whatever reason. Denied the arms of a mother or a lover, perhaps, finding his proxy in the cold comfort of military strictures.
Imanov would have a word for it, and a whole accompanying pathology.
Ocelot could understand a man like that. Trust a man like that. To the extent that he ever would trust a man.
"You see a lot, Irinarhov." It was not a question.
Ocelot pulled out one of his guns and gave it a lazy jerk to set it spinning.
"You see, I'm hearing things- or rather, not hearing them. Murmurs when I leave, silences when I enter. There's been something curious going on since this morning, and I want to know what it is."
He locked his gaze onto the Captain's.
"I'm not the only one. Major Raikov noticed it too. So tell me. What the hell is going on, Irinarhov?"
Ocelot smiled obscurely.
"I'm fairly sure you're privy, even if you're avoidant."
He paused, cocking an eyebrow.
"Although you certainly seemed to warm up to our Andrusha. Our poor little rich boy. It takes some ruthless genes to kill men with your own bare hands."
His lip curled.
"I guess he had a lot to prove."
Ocelot didn't watch Kassian's reaction, turning his eyes up to the smoking tower above the weapons hangar.
"I'm pretty sure, whatever this little undercurrent of chatter is, Isaev's got a pretty good idea of what the topic is. And I'm pretty sure, gregarious as he is, that you've heard an earful."
He narrowed his eyes, catching the gun in midmotion.
"Now spill."