Privāta firma- 'Private Company'

[man_nav_naudas]

WHO: Ivan and Raivis
WHEN: September 18th, Friday evening (Back to the future~)
WHERE: The Braginski apartment
WHAT: "Make your offering by the door, but once you enter the Russian's den, you'll not be seen no more..."
RATING: K, Kolkolkol. Not for 'kids'.

Comments

...I can has Vodka?

[das_vedanya]

Desperation. Ivan clutched his chest at the sound of the very word pounding in his ears. It was almost as if a doppelganger was standing behind the kitchen chair, his cold voice breathing snowflakes into ears endlessly until his earlobes formed icicles. 'Getting lonely, Ivan~? Oh, poor Ivan~ no one ever wants to be around you~ and now you're desperate enough to invite your secretary~?'The chairs of the chair screeched across the floor as Ivan pushed back an inch so he comfortably rest his head against the mahogany table, hands clapped tightly over his ears to save them from any sound other than that thankful silence. His elbow bumped against the glass bottle, threatening to knock it clean off the table and onto the merciless floor where it would most-definitely shatter. Frustrated, Ivan plucked the glass from its station to migrate it against the empty fruit bowl located at the center of the table. The matroyshka dolls painted on the fruit bowl beamed at Ivan with unnatural rosy red cheeks that reminded him of the numbing blush that

I has vodka, you can has vodka too- is gift-?

[man_nav_naudas]

It was raw, shocking, and disturbingly humanRaivis automatically inclined his head, subservient in body language- the shoulders slumping, the chin tilted down, the allergen induced watery sheen glazing over his eyes- until he realized, again with a start, that this was, in fact, very much not the office. And that he was, simply by staring so wide eyed and bewildered, being quite rude

Comez to da darkside... we haz Vodka.

[das_vedanya]

The Russian dragged his hand down hid left cheek and let it fall limp, useless at his side where the fingers could grab at the fabric swaying in the draft coming from the door down the hallway. He refused to pay patronage to Ravis's quivering arms, as if it weren't obvious from the noise the bottles emitted from the rattling. He frowned and pushed his back against the door, pushing it open in the process so Ravis could have a (comfortable enough) cushion to push past his boss and into the small apartment

...long, so long...

[man_nav_naudas]

The abnormality of seeing Ivan Braginski in such a domestic setting, while it did continue to instigate the shivers along his spine, was almost sadistically comical. The couch, the television. The sunflowers hinted at here and there- it was a cozy apartment, for what was available to work with and had it not been for the company, Raivis might have been able to convince himself he was back home in Riga with an aunt or a family friend. Just about to settle down for an evening's repast...

Chimes sounded.

No no, glass. The bottles. The bottles placed on the table. The table that was so inconspicuous and suddenly very prominent in his mind as a potential bludgeoning device.

Raivis suppressed a shudder. Despite the paranoia of physical harm, how little he had encountered the Russian in the outside world he wasn't going to dwell on short shorts and knee , tonight seemed a little

[das_vedanya]

The Russian found his hand kneading at the base of his eye socket again. It was strange, really… because he wasn’t tired at all, he was just… stressed.

And this… situation… was awkward in itself. Ravis was seven years his junior… and his secretary. The title ‘friend’ or even ‘acquaintance’ was a word that Ivan never dreamed of tagging onto Ravis Galante. Like a label at a clothing store, tag dangling off of Ravis’s shirt, making Ivan’s bottom lip curl when he realized what the price was. He hated seeing people leave him… which was why he needed for people to need him. Which was why he dangled Ravis’s paycheck over the boy’s nose and backed Ravis into corners when he showed any sign of quitting

[man_nav_naudas]

Fighting an instinctual flinch at the tone there was potentially the most exemplified example of self control that Raivis had thus far experienced. It took every bit of focus to keep himself still and unaffected and even then, that wasn't quite enough to bar the shaking from returning to his hands. He'd be tearing holes into his shirt if he wasn't careful, but dear God, was it difficult. "O-oh, I... I'm s-sorry..."

He was, truly. For a multitude of reasons. Regretful that he continued to inspire some form of ire in the Russian, apologetic that perhaps he had in fact interrupted a period of quiet contemplation and- most disturbing still, the bit he was perhaps sorriest for, was the suspicion that so much time spent under fear of Ivan seemed to have fine tuned his comprehension of the nuances of the man's mood shifts. Rarely had he seen Ivan cheerful, but he knew the difference between smiles. Indifferent. Content. Angry. Angry as hell. Murderous. Pleased. Pleasantly homicidal. Depressed.

IrritatedNo. Nonono

I AM HERE TO MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE.

[das_vedanya]

The Psychiatrist bit the inner-wall of his cheek to keep the ”you’d better be” from getting anywhere beyond forming on his lips. His brows furrowed contemplatively as he planned his next move. Before he could come to a proper mean of attack, Ravis beat him to it with the decision to leave.

"Y-you must be tired, I-I won't um, I'll... I-I'll g-g-g-go now..." The first portion of the statement wasn’t essential, as it was the latter Ivan concentrated the most on. As instinct compelled him to, Ivan smiled and paced toward Ravis’s back in a agonizingly slow manner… so Ravis could see Ivan’s shadow swallow up his shoulders. Only when standing properly behind the boy did Ivan take notice of how petite he really was. The therapist had grown terribly accustomed to seeing the Latvian seated behind the secretary’s desk, but the negligible difference it made in terms of inches on the barrel of his chest versus his middle-stomach was humorous to say the least

OH I'M UNCOMFORTABLE ALRIGHT.

[man_nav_naudas]

When at last the world ended and the final breath was drawn, Raivis had often wondered, nestled beneath shadowed bedsheets, what the sky would be like at the culmination of man's eradication. As his eyes closed and sleep's silvery tendrils squeezed consciousness from his mind, there would be a fleeting glimpse of crimson and a dream scape night transformed into a sky of red and an endless ocean of flames.

Now-

As Robert Frost had once too pondered on the nature of an Armageddon, Raivis found his intestines churn from the chill seeping through his body. Yes, Mister Frost had had the right idea, he himself had been so very, tragically wrong-

For though the world dwelt on hot desire, and held its favor with an end of fire, in the dark of towering sin and vice, he knew it now that such skies would be not red but blue above an earth of ice.

His neck burned at the almost contact, not unlike the harshness of frost bite. He wasn't even certain if his ear was still attached, for the closer Ivan had become, the quicker a sensation of

EXCELLENT~

[das_vedanya]

“Good boy,” Ivan placed a excessively firm hand on Ravis’s shoulder and squeezed it, which to an outsider, would look similar to the same gesture a father would give his son, but to Ravis and Ivan meant something more along the lines of possessiveness. They brushed shoulders (shoulder and elbow to be precise) when Ivan bypassed the boy to retrieve the can opener in the leftmost kitchen drawer. The can opener was located… conveniently in the same drawer that Natalia kept her spare knives - the same ones that she used to kill all of the rats that scurried around their apartment - and Ivan made sure to set out one, two, three of the knives out on the counter so Ravis could see them while he searched for the only object in that drawer that couldn’t… easily kill someone

Wait, I think I've seen you somewhere before... America's Most Wanted, perhaps?

[man_nav_naudas]

Raivis choked on air, choked back a sob when the squeeze became strong enough he knew a bruise would remain where the contact would not. Deep blue that would transition into a violet disturbingly similar to frigid, Russian eyes.

That were, mercifully, trained elsewhere, scanning a drawer for- was... was that a... were those Natalia's knives?- presumably something to open the bottles w- ah, yes, and there it was. The can opener. An item that really shouldn't have been as heart-stopping terror evoking as it currently was. Those massive hands were the equivalent of a Michelangelo among the potentially homicidal- anything they touched appeared to be sculpted from a nightmare.

It brought little comfort to him that they weren't still attached to his shoulders. Not when they were now busied with something sharpIvan held out his hand with an impossibly wide smile and Raivis briefly entertained the notion of leaping out the window. Diving under the coffee table. Throwing the bottle elsewhere as a distraction and darting away before he could

Nyet. It was Russian Idol.

[das_vedanya]

“You’re welcome,” he replied off-handedly while the bottle opener pried the metal cap, arching it off of the bottle’s lip and watching it rattle to the countertop. His nostrils flared at the smell of that curdling scent and he quickly rid himself of it by practically shoving the bottle back into the Latvian’s arms.

Once his hands were vacant, he occupied them with the Vodka bottle. His left hand searched through the cabinet level to his head for one of the crystal glasses on the second shelf up to fill it half-full, or half-empty, with the monochrome liquid.

And he wasted no time in downing that glass - fast.

It burned from lips to stomach, but damn, that burning felt wonderful. Like a thousand hot coals running, scraping down his throat, but… the effects were working. His brain was slowly succumbing to a numbing haze.

Good old Russian Vodka… never a disappointment.

You... you can SING?

[man_nav_naudas]

Strange how the bottle in his hands had at one moment been filled with beer and the next, seemed to be as poisonous as Ivan's sneer of disgust. The expression itself was enough to curb any sort of appetite he might have had for the drink- over a week without a single drop had left him somewhat morose at Logan's constant offers and his unfortunately equally as prevalent declines. It looked innocent. A nice foam, a good, heady aroma. The sight and smell of a good Latvian beer should have made the situation marginally more bearable.

Instead, it made his stomach curl from nausea and his eyes glisten with moisture.

Ivan himself, of course, was having no difficulty with the vodka, a fact which, despite his rapidly escalating level of paranoid fear, made Raivis somewhat proud. At the very least, he could do something right.

Just-
What to do about the beer? There was nothing more rude than having a drink opened by one's host only to have it refused. No. No, Raivis was not a horrible guest- unwilling as he may have been- so, with a

And Tapdance.

[das_vedanya]

It was growing increasingly difficult to suppress that little demon stirring in Ivan’s stomach. The vodka made it more bearable to offset, but, like an Inca god begging for another sacrifice, it demanded more - more - more so the deceivingly dormant volcano wouldn’t erupt. Was that what he was…? A volcano? The Russian’s smile trembled and he slammed the glass against the counter without a single regard as to whether it would lead to having to pick glass out of the carpet… again…

“You will do no such thing…” Ivan hissed while his hunched figure settled against the lip of the countertop, braced by his right hip. He canted his hip with enough force to push his frame off, passed the bar with the low-hanging lamps. The light bulb in the leftmost lamp flickered, caused the Doctor to shudder in retort to a quantity of painful reminiscences.

“You can’t expect me to drink all of this by myself,” his voice dropped an octave in mid-sentence, scarcely noticeable over the ticking of the sunflower-shaped clock over the refrigerator. “I’m a

Goddamn- where was my VCR when I NEEDED IT?

[man_nav_naudas]

Raivis literally jumped at the hard contact of glass to counter- a half an inch off the ground that he almost wished he could simply put more of between himself and the floor- spread his arms and just fly far, far away.

Because the touch of his heels back on solid support made him feel chillingly vulnerable. There was a palpable aching in his arms as though they had been clipped- wings made useless possibly long before he'd made so much as a step inside this gilded cage, willingly lead in by the hungriest, grinning Cheshire cat.

'You'll do no such thing...' Not run. Not breathe. Not smile or feel warmth ever again. If Raivis had been dipped into a bath of ice water and forced to lie there until the last cube melted, even then that numbing, endless sensation of cold would have been hotter than the sibilance that passed from Ivan's lips.

The pleading Don't come near, please don't come near in Raivis's posture did not appear to register with the Russian. Almost as though to spite it, he was pushing away from the counter, ambling

Is this not why we have TiVO?

[das_vedanya]

It was both amusing and frustrating watching Ravis try to loosen the cap off of that bottle; Amusing because… any degree of torment toward the Latvian just meant delight for Ivan and frustrating because it either meant Ravis was trying to stall (intentionally or unintentionally - it didn’t matter) or buy enough time to get Ivan to just throw him out in a vent of frustration.

So, with that paradox of emotion carving intricate little curves into Ivan’s lips, he liberated the bottle from the shorter’s sweaty grip and separated cap-and-bottle with another trademark hissssss…

He paused, considered taking that bottle for himself (after all~ that effort it took to get that cap off!), drawing nearer

B-but I don't have T-tiVo (you sexy bastard you)

[man_nav_naudas]

That troubling tick which haunted Raivis's nightmares nearly as much as the eyes that gleamed under electrical light. When the bottle came to him, his fingers curled around it in the manner of one taking hold of a snake- with a careful, dread hesitance that attempted to prolong an inevitable bite. Too long his eyes had lingered on the bottle in Ivan's hands- no, rather, too long on the horrifying moment where it had hovered near those thin most probably icy lips. Now in his own grasp, it seemed that to drink was somehow-

Sacrilegious.

He would connect to a thing, however indirectly, he was certain he did not want.

The climate here was fickle. Cold before, now it sweltered. His clothing stifled. The beer finally splashing his tongue tainted it with a stale, nauseating flavor. Not so much hops as it was bile. VileAnd yet- He could not stop. He was not permitted to stop. Once the bottle had been open, its contents had to be consumed. It was a courtesy he shared with Ivan. The wasting of alcohol was a social error in which he would