There's a man in the shadows with a gun in his eye, and a blade shining oh so bright
His cell phone was practically ringing non-stop with the peculiar little tune that belonged to Dad's number. It was insistent, almost growling with the anger Misha imagine pouring out of the tiny device.
He didn't answer it. He was doing Dad a favor. Dad would order him back to the mansion and Misha would ignore the order. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? He wasn't going back to the mansion just yet. Sooner or later they would have realize he was an adult and didn't have to respond to their demands.
When Dad's ring tone got on his nerves, he set the phone to vibrate. His pocket buzzed and hummed with a beat you could almost dance to, if you danced. After awhile, Dad's number stopped coming in and a couple of other numbers came and went, all from Xavier's. He didn't answer those either.
He hadn't slept well in days. Food was hit or miss if he was hungry enough for it. Aimless wandering was hard work so he hit the usual places he enjoyed, ones with plenty of people around. Pool, cold beer that seemed to settle his stomach just fine, pretty waitresses to flirt with to pass the time and take his mind off what he had in his veins and why he did it. And maybe some small part of him thought he saw the fine hand of Fate in all this.
That's when he switched to vodka. He could drink a lot of vodka. Served warm, it was a punishment for existing at all.
It was probably his moody, fatalistic Russian half that wanted to see meaning in what was happening to them and accept it as due. The Hand using him against his father was just another reason why Mikhail Loganovich Romanov never should have been born. He owed his father everything. No Mikey to torture, Dad wouldn't have this special kind of hell now.
If he didn't survive this, it would only be the universe correcting an error.
He didn't answer it. He was doing Dad a favor. Dad would order him back to the mansion and Misha would ignore the order. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? He wasn't going back to the mansion just yet. Sooner or later they would have realize he was an adult and didn't have to respond to their demands.
When Dad's ring tone got on his nerves, he set the phone to vibrate. His pocket buzzed and hummed with a beat you could almost dance to, if you danced. After awhile, Dad's number stopped coming in and a couple of other numbers came and went, all from Xavier's. He didn't answer those either.
He hadn't slept well in days. Food was hit or miss if he was hungry enough for it. Aimless wandering was hard work so he hit the usual places he enjoyed, ones with plenty of people around. Pool, cold beer that seemed to settle his stomach just fine, pretty waitresses to flirt with to pass the time and take his mind off what he had in his veins and why he did it. And maybe some small part of him thought he saw the fine hand of Fate in all this.
That's when he switched to vodka. He could drink a lot of vodka. Served warm, it was a punishment for existing at all.
It was probably his moody, fatalistic Russian half that wanted to see meaning in what was happening to them and accept it as due. The Hand using him against his father was just another reason why Mikhail Loganovich Romanov never should have been born. He owed his father everything. No Mikey to torture, Dad wouldn't have this special kind of hell now.
If he didn't survive this, it would only be the universe correcting an error.