The Gym

Dec. 14th, 2006 10:47 pm
[identity profile]
(Continuing from Raikov's journal, in the gymnasium.)

Ivan had been approaching the shower-room, idly considering the merits of raiding the rations shed, when he heard footsteps.

He rolled his eyes in irritation. He wasn't in the mood. Who apart from him wasn't on duty at this time of day, that they had the free time to fuck around? He had come here especially to enjoy his solitude, and now he wasn't able to take a shower to cool off.

The Colonel would probably obliviate anyone who dared to consider sharing a shower with Major Raikov.

He turned around, prepared to supply the appropriate look at whomever entered that would make them leave.
[identity profile]
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..."
[identity profile]
Matvei had helped Sergei along with his bad leg, determined they should get their fair chance to inflict as much embarrassment on Borishnakov as when they had each been forced to do the circuit.

And now, they had a damned good front-row seat of the hilarity.

The Gauntlet )
[identity profile]
(Continued from previous thread.)

Borishnakov burst from the dog pen, leaving dozens of barking puppies in his wake, though with a pair of boots clutched tightly to his chest.

First test passed, then. Kassian nodded. He had the feeling this particular Ocelot would earn his spots, as Isaev had phrased it, without any trouble. He certainly seemed ardent enough, barely pausing long enough to stamp on his boots before he began to slog through the snow toward the tanks Isaev had pointed out. Each was marked with a flash of red or black, though getting to the items in question without freezing body parts to the metal would be tricky. Trickier while drunk, he was certain, but Borishnakov seemed game.

As they watched from the landing, Kassian and Isaev started to talk...
[identity profile]
(A new Ocelot, the more the merrier)

Vladislav was quite relieved when he was finally allowed to go to his assigned bunk and sleep. First days were always boring, hectic, and exhausting at the same time.

Groznyj Grad was a very unusual base, filled with very unusual soldiers. This had become apparent when he'd nearly been knocked down by a soldier dressed in some frightening, full body, flame proof suit shortly after arriving at the base.

It had become undeniable when Major Raikov had grabbed him, by the crotch, then again, he wasn't the only one the Major had grabbed. That was slightly comforting.

Vladislav Yaromirovich Borishnakov had quickly come to the conclusion that this was where soldiers who fail their psych evaluations are sent.

But all of those thoughts left Vladya's mind as he closed his blue eyes, only to recall that Raikov had commented on those too. That was really the last thing to cross his mind before he fell asleep. He was too tired to be concerned about the Major.


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The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

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