fic: swallow the bullet. (original: spyverse) | PG
swallow the bullet.
original: spyverse, miron, atwood, vaughn
334 words
PG
A man resigns; a spy defects.
He doesn't have glasses.
The man in front of him looks composed-- composure is what he has. Even when he asks questions in English and Miron responds in frustrating, perfect Russian, giving all the right answers but none of them in the right language, he composes himself-- and every question in turn-- with perfect simplicity.
Miron expected glasses, somehow.
-
"Well, that went nowhere."
"Can we throw him out now? For god's sake, Atwood, he's wearing a suit. Anyone who defects in a suit is trying to run their own game."
A one-shouldered shrug. Atwood is effortlessly commanding of attention. "No-- we won't throw him out. Why do defectors generally do it?"
"Do what? Fuck off?" Atwood ignores the informal slip, of which Vaughn has many.
"He's running a game-- but he's inviting us to play. This is the game he's likely been playing for more than half his life and now he can't play anymore, but it's the only game he knows." Atwood seems drawn to the presence on the other side of the glass; this dark-eyed stray that's come begging at their doorstep. "He's not speaking Russian because he's trying to be frustrating for us but because he doesn't know how to be anything else, I think. Defection is sabotaging the game from the inside-- you can't stop playing until you're out."
-
Atwood doesn't speak much of anything besides English. What little he does speak besides it is a story, twenty-eight years' length, that spans the globe and the counterintelligence community from the inside-out.
He runs his own games, now. So it's easier.
-
"So you can speak English."
The spy makes a small, noncommittal grimace. "I don't know all the words." It's apparently code for 'I'm sorry I spoke Russian at the other suit for fifteen minutes but I'm not sorry enough to explain why'.
Vaughn leafs through a folder. "Your English is remarkably convincing for someone who doesn't know all the words." An observation.
Miron smiles. "So is yours."
original: spyverse, miron, atwood, vaughn
334 words
PG
A man resigns; a spy defects.
He doesn't have glasses.
The man in front of him looks composed-- composure is what he has. Even when he asks questions in English and Miron responds in frustrating, perfect Russian, giving all the right answers but none of them in the right language, he composes himself-- and every question in turn-- with perfect simplicity.
Miron expected glasses, somehow.
-
"Well, that went nowhere."
"Can we throw him out now? For god's sake, Atwood, he's wearing a suit. Anyone who defects in a suit is trying to run their own game."
A one-shouldered shrug. Atwood is effortlessly commanding of attention. "No-- we won't throw him out. Why do defectors generally do it?"
"Do what? Fuck off?" Atwood ignores the informal slip, of which Vaughn has many.
"He's running a game-- but he's inviting us to play. This is the game he's likely been playing for more than half his life and now he can't play anymore, but it's the only game he knows." Atwood seems drawn to the presence on the other side of the glass; this dark-eyed stray that's come begging at their doorstep. "He's not speaking Russian because he's trying to be frustrating for us but because he doesn't know how to be anything else, I think. Defection is sabotaging the game from the inside-- you can't stop playing until you're out."
-
Atwood doesn't speak much of anything besides English. What little he does speak besides it is a story, twenty-eight years' length, that spans the globe and the counterintelligence community from the inside-out.
He runs his own games, now. So it's easier.
-
"So you can speak English."
The spy makes a small, noncommittal grimace. "I don't know all the words." It's apparently code for 'I'm sorry I spoke Russian at the other suit for fifteen minutes but I'm not sorry enough to explain why'.
Vaughn leafs through a folder. "Your English is remarkably convincing for someone who doesn't know all the words." An observation.
Miron smiles. "So is yours."