The onsen episode

[lt-vulich.livejournal.com]

(OOC: Whoever wants to jump in here can feel free. Let's start a big soapy naked man party)



Vulich unslung the threadbare towel from around his shoulders, tossing it over the corner of the row of lockers that ran through the center of the room. He planted a foot on one of the low benches, and began to unlace his boot.

He was not the type to complain about an honest day's work, but ten hours spent digging trenches was bound to wear on anyone. And though he wanted nothing more than to sink into bed and sleep off the throbbing pain in his shoulders, he was soaked through with sweat, his clothes and hair were caked with dirt.

Sometimes, even a quick shower could feel like a luxury. Could make him feel almost guilty.

Especially since the showers were empty except for him. It was a bit early yet, and there might still be a trickle of hit water left in the pipes.

Vulich finished unlacing his boot, and kicked it off. He frowned reproachfully at the black muddy print it left behind on the bench.

He began to unbutton his heavy topcoat.

Comments

[charshy.livejournal.com]

There was an indistinct hum of voices before the door swung abruptly open, and loud conversation echoed through the room as a small swarm of blonde-haired, monochrome-striped Ocelots poured in, laughing, each holding onto a beret and balaclava.

"... Someone needs to keep an eye on the fucking watch next time," one of them said distinctly, shooting the man alongside him a dirty look.

"Did it look like I could whilst I was lifting weights, zalupa?" Came the scathing reply, but everyone was smiling, still in high spirits.

"Why, were you hoping I was watching?"

"Oh, shut up," one of them grumbled good-naturedly, and there was something in the way he spoke, the way the others all looked, that suggested he commanded some measure of respect. "Get your asses in the shower already, or the Major will have our balls for breakfast."

The men dispersed dutifully, still chatting, only throwing a brief look of acknowledgement at Vulich before returning to removing boots and uniform.

They were almost all identical – particularly when undressing in sync with identical grins and sweat-marked faces – apart from one, far more noticeable soldier, doing his best to be unnoticed in the far corner: dark-haired, and much older, sterner.

The others had stripped quickly, and all hurried into the showers.

"Andrusha, do a head-count now for me, will you?" The soldier that seemed to lead was saying as he scrubbed himself brusquely. "Just so mine doesn't get a bullet-hole in it?"

[lt-vulich.livejournal.com]

Vulich spared the newcomers little more than a glance. He had never been on good terms with the Ocelot Unit. There was an arrogance about most of them that didn't quite sit right with him.

He had been in a few skirmishes with them before. And he had his share of scars from them.

But he could be civil, when the situation called for it.

Scowling, Vulich began to peel off his mud-spattered uniform, shaking out each piece in turn, folding it and setting it on the raised wooden bench.

Cold air stung his newly bare skin. They left the widows in this room open all seasons. It helped to keep the place dry; helped keep rot from forming. By the time he was naked, Vulich was shivering slightly.

He grabbed his sliver of yellow lye soap, and crossed the concrete floor to one of the rings of shower heads.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"Kanyeshna, comrade lieutenant," Andrei said, with a grin. "Sure I'll count them."

Ilya was paranoid. No one was stupid enough, or disloyal enough, to make the Major look bad.

Still, he cast his eyes over the room, dutifully inventorying Ocelots. He noted each in turn, finding little amiss. Everyone was either changing, shaving or showering. Ledbedev was hung over, vomiting in a commode.

Andrei slung his jodphurs over the locker door and joined Ilya and the others under the spray. It was a chattering forest of damp blond hair and pale, lucid skin. And Vulich, in the corner, of course. Like a dark oak among aspen. Mustn't forget him, angsting.

It was always a mistake to forget Vulich. In light of this, a couple of them carried little keepsakes to remember him by. Like Pavel Ilyavich. Vulich had put his cigarette out on Pasha's arm once, during a drunken dispute, prompting a nasty barracks brawl. Broken chairs and upturned beds, and a very pissed off Major Raikov had been the highlights of that little morality play.

Andrei ducked his head under the spray, sighing appreciatively.

GRU was well-funded by the Brehznev faction, and the boilers burned hot every day. Maybe even a little too hot, he thought, watching Matvei's skin reddening as he cheerfully lingered, chattering.

"Oi, vorobei†," he said. "You'll cook that baby skin of yours, Makno. Get out."

He knew Charushkin hated being called that, preferring to go by Motya, but somehow, Andrei couldn't bring himself to care, when teasing him was so much fun. It didn't help his cause that he looked so much younger than his twenty one years.

Matvei gave him a finger gesture he didn't quite catch.

"That better have been a salute," he called, with a grin.

When he turned his attention back, Ilya was looking at him expectantly, arms crossed, his blue eyes hectically bright in the jungle of steam and spartan tile.

"Shto?" Andrei said, rolling his eyes. "So Sergei Nikolaev isn't here. You know he won't get in trouble for it."

Knowing Sasha's passionate devotion to the Major, he was probably already standing at attention in the snowy yard, all by himself, holding a salute.

Andrei snatched Ilya's bar of double-ration soap, as he had forgotten his own in the locker.

"That's everyone else accounted for...and a spare, even," he added, eyeing Kassian, who eyed him back with a noncommittal expression, meant to disengage and disinterest the observer.

It probably worked for him, in most cases, Andrei thought. Most people wouldn't bother engaging a concrete wall.

Andrei knew right off it wasn't true blankness. This was too studied, too deliberate. The man had clearly contrived to look like a spent cartridge, much like a snake playing dead.

"Privet!" he said, waving at the new recruit, with sardonically overblown effusiveness. "I said, hello, you!"

The dark man- he pegged him for perhaps in his late thirties, early forties?- averted his gaze as if nothing had ever happened under the sun. Not WWII, not the division of pangea, not the fall of the Roman Empire.

Andrei snorted and rinsed the suds from his arms and chest, shaking his head wryly.

"Looks like our swarthy friend Vulich finally has some competition in being our resident sulky bastard," he announced, for the benefit of the room. "Look out, Lieutenant! He might push you down the stairs on the way to the mess."

† sparrow

[lt-vulich.livejournal.com]

Vulich shook the lock of hair he had been working between his hands over his shoulder.

He knew, of course, the dangers of excessive vanity, but he always taken a measure of pride in his appearance. He wore his hair long, a few inches past the collar, to where it began to curl at the ends.

Longer, even, than Major Raikov's hair.

Vulich knew that some of the other men drew certain erroneous conclusions based on that, but he could live with that. It was a small price to pay, as far as he was concerned. There was a strong aversion in him to looking exactly like the other soldiers on this base; the type of men who would draw conclusions like that.

"Better that," Vulich said, pulling another piece of hair into his hand rather than look in Andrei's direction, "than in the company of boorish bastards."

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"Listen to the fox that lost his tail. Boorish, no less," echoed Andrei, laughing slightly. "Attention, soldati. Lt. Vulich would like you all to know that he can read. And that he hates you."

He shook his head.

"What else is new in Groznyj Grad this morning?"

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

He'd felt uncomfortable, out of place; self-conscious of both his age and his appearance, he'd tried to stay out of the way, avoiding the other men in his new unit.

And it had worked, at least for the most part, and he'd patrolled with them under the anonymity of the uniform and black balaclava. But now, in the showers, his differences were more pronounced, and the inevitable hazing had begun.

It had been a very long time since Kassian had felt like anything other than a stariki, an old-timer, one of the senior soldiers in a unit, but now he could recall the training of his youth, and how it had felt to be salagi instead.

It was not a welcome feeling.

Kassian had barely caught all of their names, but he knew the soldier's type: arrogant little shit-disturber, ringleader of misbehavior. It was best to deal with such types directly, looking straight through one's scope.

He turned a faintly contemptuous look in the young blond lieutenant's direction, about to respond, when the other outsider, tall and dark, though still young, spoke up instead, deflecting attention away from Kassian.

Watching the exchange between the two narrowly, he satisfied himself that the troublemaker's attention had been sufficiently diverted - for the moment, at least. He returned to his shower, deliberately ducking his head under the spray.

[lt-vulich.livejournal.com]

"On the contrary, comrade," Vulich said. "I don't hate anyone. I recognize that every one of you is a valuable and important member of this army."

He wrung the water out of a handful of black hair.

"You ought to do something about that perscution complex."

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"Stadja Education turns out another amateur psychologist," declared Andrei mournfully, shaking his head.

"As if it's not enough that we have to listen to Iliusha analyze people all day."

He grinned and chucked the bar of soap at his friend, pegging him in the thigh.

Andrei vaguely noticed that the brooding new Captain was once again immersed in his own reality, and shrugged it off. He was a uniformed Ocelot, and that was fine enough. So long as he was in the balaclava and beret, he was one of them, and none of them would treat him any differently.

But if he didn't want to engage them as a fellow, then he could damn well look out for himself out of uniform.

Andrei wasn't taking any blows for Mr. Sage and Special, that was for sure. Sullen, that one.

It was a shame. He could sharpshoot like a bastard. Maybe that's where the attitude came from.

[charshy.livejournal.com]

Andrei seemed to treat Vulich's insults like the water, sliding off his back. Matvei held deep admiration for his cool-headedness and his dry humour; a combination of qualities he wished he could use so well.

He had no idea what Vulich's problem was, but it was one he planned to leave well alone - unless, of course, he had the chance of silent vengeance. He allowed no injustice against his brothers to go unanswered, but he was loathe to follow the violent route.

... Not all of his brothers, though. That head-up-his-ass Kassian apparently was too good for their company, and was worth a good deal less in his eyes. He privately hoped he'd get deferred to another unit if his attitude continued, but, always seeing the best in people, he figured it could be initial outsider moodiness at being so different from the rest of them. He was the proverbial black sheep. He'd give him a chance before he gave up on him, meanwhile, he certainly wasn't going to offer up what the others had earned.

Scrubbed clean, he flashed Andrei a grin. "We've got a different kind of analysis waiting, so don't waste your breath on him," he informed him, having a better sense of time than most of them. "Or I'll have to explain to the Major you'd prefer to spend your time naked with Lieutenant Vulich," he said with a grin, as he left the shower, a few of his comrades following behind.

He figured it was a fair exchange for calling him Makno; he hated it, but he tolerated it - only within his unit, and in particular from Andrei.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

When no more taunts came, and the conversation seemed to flow past him once more, Kassian shot a glance at the troublemaker, who had, apparently, abandoned his game and turned his attention back to his fellows, and taunting lieutenant Vulich again.

It was a fine enough thing to dodge a bullet, Kassian thought, but wondered at the source of the friction between the Ocelots and the lieutenant.

He tried not to. After all, what did it matter, what did he care? But at the same time, Kassian was part of Ocelot Troop now, like it or not - though supposedly, it was an honor, he'd been told - and the inter-squad rivalries would affect him regardless.

He also tried to ignore the ache, distant and old, that cramped in his chest as he watched the Ocelots' easy camaraderie with each other.

Such feelings were akin to treason, in the neatly ordered ranks of his mind.

He kept his face hard and his eyes flinty, but had to look away nonetheless.

Around him, the others had finished their scrubbing, and were taking a final rinse under the shower heads. Kassian rinsed himself off and followed the others; in spite of everything, he was unwilling to be left behind.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei snorted as he snatched his towel from his locker and started to dry himself.

"I'd rather be naked with Vulich if it meant being off-duty," he said. "I'm dreaming of a week's leave in Saint Pete's."

Out of the corner of his eye, and just beyond Matvei's shoulder, he noted that the newcomer, Irinarhov- Captain Irinarhov, he reminded himself, the man actually outranked him- was close behind them, although not constrictively so.

So he had unit loyalty. Well, that was all he needed, as far as Andrei was concerned.

However, aside from training drills. it would be Irinarhov's first time reporting for active duty, and Andrei couldn't help but wonder how Ocelot would react to the dark horse transfer.

Ocelot generally preferred seasoned, not veteran soldiers, if only because he was remarkably young for his rank, and it saved on the tiresome process of having to prove his authority again and again.

Still, thought Andrei, if Irinarhov was transferred to the Ocelot Unit, surely it was at Ocelot's behest.

He gave a mental shrug. Then he grinned and crossed his eyes at Ilya as he buckled his jodphurs around his hips.