[identity profile] imre-nico.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] groznyj_grad
Andrei breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him.

That had been easy. Pleasant, really.

He wasn't sure why he lacked the instinctive fear of the man that everyone else seemed to carefully carry in a handkerchief. Probably had something to do with being the son of a party member, and growing up seeing far worse beasts.

The Fury was a violent, tormented man. Russia was full of violent, tormented men. He'd seen them all his life- on the streets, in the taverns, in the Palace Square. Beating their wives and daughters, knifing other men in alleys, sodomizing the weaker. Dragging themselves upright in the morning again, to drive his father's car and shine his boots.

Those were broken men. Wounded and furious. Dangerous, certainly, if one was too trusting, or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But they weren't beasts.

Real beasts were sleek and well-fed, and their wives wore white mink. Real beasts had smiles and platitudes that killed more slowly and painfully than any britva to the gut.

Andrei had been raised by wolves.

It might have made a good folk tale, if not for the lack of a cautionary moral.

Isaev sighed. The scarf was his again. And next time he saw Ilya he'd be wearing it, prominently, so as not to catch hell from his comrade.

Ilya was very sentimental. Especially when he was drunk.

Andrei grinned.

Irinarhov. He'd almost missed spotting the fucker, he was so still and unflinching in his perch.

"Ochi chornoyje," he sang loudly, throwing open his arms. "Ochi krasivy..."

Date: 2006-11-27 11:30 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] andrei-isaev.livejournal.com
Andrei nodded, meeting his eyes briefly, quashing his emotions after letting them flash for a millisecond, unrestrained.

"I'm all right, Irinarhov."

He patted the sniper's shoulder and gave a lingering squeeze of gratitude.

"I guess I just think it seems like an unfair end to a glorious career. As if you got hit by a train instead of dying in battle."

The crocodile had been playing by the rules. The normal rules did not account for Ocelots.

He looked at Kassian's profile, like a glacier carving through the afternoon light.

"Do you know, she kind of reminds me of you," Isaev said, with a grin. "Hard exoskelton and fiersome jaw. Inerring deadliness."

His smile gained a subtle sincerity.

"But a delicacy on the inside. And a shining example of her trade."

His voice dropped to a subsonic pitch.

"I wonder if she tastes as good," he murmured, with a slow raise of his brow.

He cleared his throat and raised his voice once more.

"Bind that fucker up so his leg doesn't bleed everywhere. I'm not about to be scrubbing up the Kamov's floor. And you- Borishnakov."

He paused.

"Think of something to tell Ocelot."

Andrei nodded.

"We'll back you up on it."

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