Mongoose - Chapter 2B
anonymous
March 10 2010, 06:03:55 UTC
Russia’s mouth quirks. He tucks that picture behind the third, which shows the father and son pair once again-the former slumped over the sticky bar counter and the latter tugging at his arm, nerves written across his face.
It is, in a way, a waste of money. The town is small; the residents know each other perhaps too well, putting their fingers in another’s business without thought. This is the danger of mankind, thinks Russia, stomping up the rotten stairs to his house. So many people put close together, they can’t help but hurt each other.
A thought for another day. Russia enters his house and puts on the lights, heading toward the kitchen. There’s nothing in the icebox except vodka, but he’ll take that on a chilly night like this. The door, he doesn’t bother locking-at night, he sleeps with a pipe under the mattress and an eye open. No lie.
Everyone knows about Arthur Kirkland. Even Russia, who had come to this place less than four years ago, has had no choice but to absorb the information that saturates the family. Arthur Kirkland, son of a wealthy merchant family that had too many boys and not enough kindness for them. In a way, Arthur, as the youngest, had gotten off the easiest-by the time he’d grown into an age of inheritance, his older brothers had been worn thin by the sea and economic hardship. They left the business in Arthur’s lap, utterly broken, future prospects hopeless.
Only, Arthur Kirkland took after his mother: shrewd and reckless.
Russia likes this part of the story. His mother used to tell him these kinds of tales, where the unfortunate child that no one loves earns his revenge by gaining gifts untold and eternal glory. Arthur, a flea-bitten punk, amassed an empire virtually overnight. The company, as Russia understands it, is wildly successful and touches every corner of the globe (or at least the ones that stand to profit). Unfortunately, money in the bank does not transform the rebel into a gentleman; it always seems that as fast as Arthur grows his fortune, he loses it nearly as quickly through the drink and a habit of making bad gambles. Some of which he’s gotten out of with the help of Wang Yao. Help that has gone, apparently, unappreciated.
None of Russia’s concern.
His concern is Matthew Williams.
Even though he’s the illegit one, Gilbert had said, teeth sharp like wolves are when they’re starving, he’s the one who’s gonna inherit. Everyone knows it. Fuckin’ Kirkland, all up and in love with the kid’s momma before she died, doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the proper way of doin’ things. More power to ‘im. Let the underdog have its day.
‘Course, you tell that to his legal wife. Former wife.
Deceased.
Guess you can’t tell her shit, can you?
The vodka burns a slick trail down Russia’s throat. He sits at the table, elbow resting against the edge, and watches the distant lights of the harbor outside of his window. As he does, he considers just how easy this job will be.
In a way, it’s almost disappointing.
It’s been a very long time since Russia has felt his blood quickening in his veins. But thus far, the only things that enthrall him seem to be the things that he can no longer have.
I adored this I loved how you weaved the Kirkland backstory in amongst some great Russia characterization it's a really nice way to learn more about both and I also love not learning everything at once. I'm not very good at doing that spreading exposition and backstory out across long distances but I wish I was.
Gilbert...oh gods we haven't even really met him yet but man do I adore him already. That's a perfect bit of casting that.
Seriously loving this fic and anxiously waiting for the grab to happen and Russia's dreams of a nice easy job dissolve into madness.
Re: Mongoose - Chapter 2B
anonymous
March 14 2010, 02:44:10 UTC
This. Is amazing. I don't find this part boring at all. Very Interesting back story and now I'm interested in seeing where Alfred plays in that whole family web. Why are you so awesome?
Recpatcha: forewarn who. That is the question isn't it... To warn Alfred? Or Ivan?
It is, in a way, a waste of money. The town is small; the residents know each other perhaps too well, putting their fingers in another’s business without thought. This is the danger of mankind, thinks Russia, stomping up the rotten stairs to his house. So many people put close together, they can’t help but hurt each other.
A thought for another day. Russia enters his house and puts on the lights, heading toward the kitchen. There’s nothing in the icebox except vodka, but he’ll take that on a chilly night like this. The door, he doesn’t bother locking-at night, he sleeps with a pipe under the mattress and an eye open. No lie.
Everyone knows about Arthur Kirkland. Even Russia, who had come to this place less than four years ago, has had no choice but to absorb the information that saturates the family. Arthur Kirkland, son of a wealthy merchant family that had too many boys and not enough kindness for them. In a way, Arthur, as the youngest, had gotten off the easiest-by the time he’d grown into an age of inheritance, his older brothers had been worn thin by the sea and economic hardship. They left the business in Arthur’s lap, utterly broken, future prospects hopeless.
Only, Arthur Kirkland took after his mother: shrewd and reckless.
Russia likes this part of the story. His mother used to tell him these kinds of tales, where the unfortunate child that no one loves earns his revenge by gaining gifts untold and eternal glory. Arthur, a flea-bitten punk, amassed an empire virtually overnight. The company, as Russia understands it, is wildly successful and touches every corner of the globe (or at least the ones that stand to profit). Unfortunately, money in the bank does not transform the rebel into a gentleman; it always seems that as fast as Arthur grows his fortune, he loses it nearly as quickly through the drink and a habit of making bad gambles. Some of which he’s gotten out of with the help of Wang Yao. Help that has gone, apparently, unappreciated.
None of Russia’s concern.
His concern is Matthew Williams.
Even though he’s the illegit one, Gilbert had said, teeth sharp like wolves are when they’re starving, he’s the one who’s gonna inherit. Everyone knows it. Fuckin’ Kirkland, all up and in love with the kid’s momma before she died, doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the proper way of doin’ things. More power to ‘im. Let the underdog have its day.
‘Course, you tell that to his legal wife. Former wife.
Deceased.
Guess you can’t tell her shit, can you?
The vodka burns a slick trail down Russia’s throat. He sits at the table, elbow resting against the edge, and watches the distant lights of the harbor outside of his window. As he does, he considers just how easy this job will be.
In a way, it’s almost disappointing.
It’s been a very long time since Russia has felt his blood quickening in his veins. But thus far, the only things that enthrall him seem to be the things that he can no longer have.
Reply
I adored this I loved how you weaved the Kirkland backstory in amongst some great Russia characterization it's a really nice way to learn more about both and I also love not learning everything at once. I'm not very good at doing that spreading exposition and backstory out across long distances but I wish I was.
Gilbert...oh gods we haven't even really met him yet but man do I adore him already. That's a perfect bit of casting that.
Seriously loving this fic and anxiously waiting for the grab to happen and Russia's dreams of a nice easy job dissolve into madness.
:-)
Reply
Reply
Recpatcha: forewarn who. That is the question isn't it... To warn Alfred? Or Ivan?
Reply
Leave a comment