Comments | insovietme: 1812 Overture [RL] [Ivan Braginski, Nicholas Angel]

insovietme

1812 Overture [RL] [Ivan Braginski, Nicholas Angel]

Jun 28, 2009 19:46

[He hummed a song, as he walked down the London streets, pipe carefully hidden in the folds of his coat. It's so lovely to see it when it is not a bombed out wasteland, but now is not the time to be picky, yes? Not when there was a police officer out there who needed to learn his proper place. And, more importantly, to learn not to invade his ( Read more... )

nicholas angel, ivan braginski, lead faucet pipe of communism, why do headwounds hurt so much?, kolkolkol, roaring rampage of revenge, rl

Comments 9

angledtwat777 June 29 2009, 00:08:47 UTC

[[How a large man with a lead pipe could manage to get into the Met without a problem would baffle Nicholas until he was transferred out, away, like he knew he was going to be. It had to happen eventually, didn't it? Of course it did. He was apparently just too God damn good for them to handle anymore. He'd seen the looks, registered the faces, his skepticism growing every minute or every hour of every day.

He was quietly tending to his peace lily, wearing a white polo and a pair of relaxed shorts, socks up to his ankles and sneakers impeccably clean. When he heard the knock on the door, his brow furrowed. Who the hell would be bothering him? The recruits knew to stay away, stay far, far away, especially after the break-up he'd had with Janine.

Janine. No. It couldn't be her, either. After a moment's pause, he cleared his throat and simply called out an:]]

It's open.

insovietme June 29 2009, 03:26:09 UTC

[Ah, good. Ivan would've found breaking down the door an easy, but unnecessary option. Still, he uses the faucet end of his pipe, brought out from behind his back, to open the door. He does it as quickly as possible, prying his way in, still smiling his highly unnatural smile. Still bleeding and wounded in one too many ways. And his voice is high and childish as he speaks.]

We need to have a talk, Kolya.

[He says absently, before shutting the door behind him, again using the pipe.]

angledtwat777 June 29 2009, 03:30:57 UTC

[[It wasn't that the voice was a new one that nagged at the back of his mind, no. It was that the voice was familiar in a way like he had heard it over a telephone, over a set of speakers...over the community. In a dream. That voice. It was Russian. The only Russian he...this wasn't Chekov's voice.

He turned to look up at found the man behind the voice, hands stopping as he wiped one of the leaves clean of whatever dust had landed on it during the day. His face gave away nothing, nothing at all. But he didn't seem nonplussed.]]

Mister Braginski. [[Was all he said.]]

insovietme June 29 2009, 03:52:44 UTC

Call me Ivan, da? For we are very familiar, Kolya.

[And then, he begins to pace around the room, back and forth, tracing a pattern on the carpet. He's getting blood on it, blood that won't be there when he checks tomorrow. He's tracking dirt and mud in it, stuck between his boot treads. Every now and then, he slams the pipe in his hand into the open flat palm of his gloved left hand. And as he talks, he smiles like a brilliant winter sun.]

My dreams belong to me, and you should not meddle in them. Not even my boss, not even all my bosses, not even the man of steel, can ruin those for me. But here you have tried. Do you think yourself a dictator, as well? You can not dictate my dreams, Kolya, no matter how much you might want to. You do not touch things that do not belong to you, da?

[At some point, as he speaks, he pauses his pacing. He notices a lily, sitting there, unassuming. A chain to the world, yes. Something like that. And it was supposed to be more beautiful than his sunflowers. It makes his violet eyes burn even brighter ( ... )

Thread 9