The First Age

She smiled broadly at him and laughed. Ah yes, Americans loved their guns. There was no forgetting that bit. It struck her then, that if he was armed, he could have dispensed of the trio a lot faster and easier. Instead, however, he had chosen to beat them stupid. Zoya couldn’t complain with the results, but it did make her wander as to the kind of man he was. After all, just aiming a gun would have been enough to make them walk away, no?

In any case she liked his grin, and his laugh wasn’t half bad. The fact that he picked up her joke and ran along with it made her feel more at ease as well. Just as she was about to comment on the beast’s activities come morning, which were in fact none what so ever, a familiar figure stepped up to their booth.

Looking up, Zoya smiled and raised her glass in greeting. “Ivan! You got here fast! I’m alright now. Come, sit down!”
She turned to White and quirked a brow, “It is ok if he joins us no?”
Then as quick as a butterfly going from flower to flower, she turned back to Sarkozy. “Ivan, this is Mr. White… or Pops… he keeps calling me kid, he’s the one that helped me out earlier… You should have seen him!… White, this is Ivan…Supercop, he’s the one with the magic cuffs.”

Hood noticed Ivan's arrival, and it wasn't hard to get a read on the guy. Sure he was in civies and probably had a few drinks down range, but the man was a cop. And one familiar with the place as the bartender sent him Hood and Zoya's way. He hadn't done anything, at least to his knowledge, that would warrant any unwanted attention by the police. Nothing that could be linked to himself anyway.

As the man approached, Hood leaned back into the cushions of the booth and threw one arm out, which just happened to drape dangerously close to being seen as 'across her shoulders', mostly just to get a rise out of the guy. Hood could understand full well why the officer had come running at her call; the man had it bad. And 'it' of course was a wholly consuming interest in Zoya.

"Benefit of being a cop. Know where you can put the petal to the metal."
He smirked. It was meant as a joke, with perhaps a grain of truth to it. "Take a seat, lad. Don't want to just grab the girl and run. Gotta show the locals that you're able to fit in or they'll never take you seriously."

Zoya looked up at him and smiled. He had to admit the openness of it was breathtaking. Of course he knew what it was. With the power coursing through him, he noticed the dilated pupils, her flushed neck and cheeks and- interesting, he'd not seen that before- the tip of her nose. Heh. While her words were coherent, the speed at which they came- and their flitting nature- cemented his opinion that she was hooched up. Which is to say, she was hammered. Despite the fear and adrenaline he'd felt the drive over, it made him laugh. Zoya drunk would probably be fucking hilarious. Sober, she was headstrong and with a mouth on her that probably got her in a lot of trouble. It was one of the things he liked about her. He laughed at the memory of her in the car. "Can't you drive faster or something?" Drunk Zoya should be a riot, then, what with what filter she had down and all.

Ivan noticed the man in the booth as well. With his enhanced senses, he could see the hardness in the man's face, the set of his jaw, as well as the way his eyes took in everything, sizing the situation up- including himself. He was definitely a dangerous man. But right now, he seemed to have an amused twinkle in his eyes as he oh-so-casually leaned back and threw one arm out, just close enough to Zoya to be seen as possessive. But Ivan noticed the way he watched his reaction closely, hoping for something. It wasn't hard to figure out.

Ivan had to laugh. There was nothing sinister about the move. This was a game to the man. Zoya was not his goal. Well, at least not his only goal. Playing games was also, challenging others, measuring himself against them, seeing what they did. And for some reason Ivan liked him immediately.

In response to the man's comment and smirk Ivan gave him a grin that said he knew exactly what he was doing and liked it, and then sat down. "I'm in no hurry. Not now."
He signaled the waitress and ordered a beer. They were shit in this place, but you took what you could get. He looked around and gave the man an honest look. "Seriously though. What would you do, you get a call from a pretty girl like Zoya and find out she's swimming in it at this place? She may think of you as pops, but you're not dead yet."
His grin said how he meant it. He exhaled noisily, gesturing with his head. "Can't tell you how many fights I've busted up in here on my route. Fights or worse."
For a moment, the fear threaded through him again at what might have happened. The power in him that had been starting to dissipate strengthened. He gave the guy an appreciative nod, man to man, but said no more.

He looked at Zoya and then said, "You must have had some scare to come running to this place. But I had no clue as to what you were talking about. What happened?"



Edited by Ivan Sarkozy, Jun 25 2014, 08:10 AM.

Well, well, well…

She watched as the two men sized each other up, produced a surprisingly dainty snort, and shook her head before focusing back on her beer. While in her drunken fog, she doubted that either one of them saw her as any sort of prize, Zoya couldn’t help but feel a little smug about her situation. A look around the room revealed the women from earlier giving her current grouping a glance; one which she quickly misinterpreted. That’s right she-hulks, eat your hearts out.

As Ivan talked, her attention went back to him and she started to laugh; eventually needing to replace her glass on the table. She gave him the same tale she’d had shared with Hood, except this version included some giggles and curses about rusty containers, grabby men, wasting a perfectly good drink, and a description of how one of them had likely made a nice dent on the bar. “In the end, what I still don’t get is how that thing got zapped from out of nowhere. Thank God for faulty electrical equip…equip…outlets!”


She drank more of her beer. Aside from that little stumble of her words, she really didn’t think she was too far gone. The subject of the outlet was something she hadn’t had too much time to wrap her mind around, however. How had that happen? Did it really matter?

“Also, I think I should stop breaking into places for a while.”

"Well, from the sounds of it, you're not very good at it. Caught once, and now confessing to a cop?"
He leaned forward a bit to glance at Ivan, and jerked his head towards Zoya pointedly, "Think you stirred up a bit of a fetish in the poor girl with those cuffs."


The idea of sitting around sharing drinks with a known cop was less then appealing to Hood; he had a reputation to maintain after all. And besides, he wasn't likely to be getting in a good fight with Ivan in the bar.

Then Zoya mentioned the power outlet. Zapped from out of no-where? He pondered briefly what he knew of the Rakshasa, but nothing about them having an ongoing disagreement with electricity came to mind. So perhaps it was something as simple as a freak accident; or perhaps there had been one of those 'reborn gods' the Atharim were so worried about.

If that were the case, and they were putting down monsters, all the power to them...although on the other hand, that made the market of interesting things for him to kill a bit narrower. He pondered the possibilities; either there had been someone else there, probably hunting the monster, she was a 'reborn god', or she was just really fucking lucky. Or of course, it was possible the whole thing had been a delusion on her part. The human mind could play all sorts of tricks on themselves after all.

Ivan listened to The Zoya Show but was unsure of how to take it. On the one hand, her retelling was a sharp blend of humor, wry observation and wit. But the funniest part was all of the that was run through the filter of what was clearly a healthy dose of alcohol, as she giggled her way through the story, only messing up her words at the end. But on the other hand, once you got passed the way she told the tale, the story itself was another matter entirely.

Ivan was perplexed. The fear he'd felt finally left him, and with it the power. The room and everyone in it- particularly Zoya, more's the pity- reverted back to normalcy in his perceptions. But for the most part, his clarity remained. Now that he wasn't flooded with power and could compare, he saw that he was still ok on the how-hammered-am-I scale.

But what puzzled him was her tale. He'd been a cop long enough to learn to tell the difference between people who were telling the truth and those who weren't. Oh, folks had all kinds of reason why they might exaggerate or lie. Neighbor pissed them off. Seeking attention. Then too there were those who were delusional or had just burned out too many brain cells huffing glue or something. Like the guy who'd confided to him that he was an alien who'd been sent to observe whether or not humanity was ready for their revealing. Or the woman who thought herself a wolf and had nearly bitten him.

He knew crazy and he knew liars and he knew fools. Thing is Zoya didn't give off any of those vibes, even though she was drunk. He supposed that just could mean that she was split-personality or something. Or even that his own judgement was off because she was hot. The Hot-Crazy scale was a thing, after all. And that much hotness allowed for a much higher level of crazy before it became a deal breaker.

But he just didn't think so. He didn't get that vibe from her. And his instincts were good. Even now, without the heightened observational skills from the power, he sized up White pretty well.

For starters, it was clear that wasn't the man's name. Pretty generic, really. Sure, there were Whites and Byehliy's around, but adding that to the rest of made it obvious. When he had reached for the newly refilled Stein, his jacket shifted and Ivan caught the glint of black steel. He was packing. And yet from Zoya's account, he had taken on 3 or 4 guys and used mostly his hands before swiping one of the blades. That was operational training right there. Military, special ops, something like that. He hung out in this shit-hole and looked as if the salvation army was out looking for donations and he didn't have 2 fucks to give. Everything was a game to him, one big contest. Women, fights, whatever. He didn't care.

He trusted his read on people. But monsters in a old building? He was still trying to figure it out and so almost missed "White's" comments on the cuffs. He smiled at the words but didn't respond. While there had been some obvious flirting- first from him and later from the both of them that one time- it wasn't like they were a thing or that he expected them to be. Sure, if it happened- if she wasn't too crazy, he amended, laughing to himself- then that'd be cool. But if it didn't, no big deal really.

What was more important was what had happened to Zoya. Because what she said tickled the back of his mind. He was reminded of how Ascendancy had known what had happened to him in that crack house- the miraculous luck that had saved his partner. Ascendancy hadn't mentioned that there were women among those who could use the power. But he doubted that the man would tell him anything but what he needed to know. Ivan knew himself well enough to know that he wasn't any great shakes as a deep thinker, not when it came to stuff like that. He did his job and took care of the people under his care. Simple as that. And when more would be given to him to take care of, he do that too. That was enough for him.

So what to do? Clearly, Zoya- for whatever reason- was looking to forget what had happened. He didn't mind, now that she was in no danger. And maybe when she sobered up he could ask her some questions. But in the meantime.... "Well Zoya, what do you want to do? You look like you've gotten yourself on a good start to forget-me-town. You feel better?"
An idea entered his mind. "You feel like going out and doing something? Dancing? There's some pretty nice places downtown- even old school stuff like swing or cumbia. Karaoke?...Hell, we could toilet paper the Kremlin!"
A wink.

He looked at 'White' and grinned. "What about you...'pops'."
He said the word exaggeratedly, to let him know he was joking. "If you don't need to head home for bed."
Then a wicked thought entered his mind and he said it before he thought much more about it. "If you want, I can get Igor to get you a nice bowl of soup before you go bedy-bye. They make a mean Borsht, even if their beer tastes like shit."
His grin stayed on his face as he watched the man.


Edited by Ivan Sarkozy, Jun 26 2014, 10:48 AM.

Her eyes widened a little. Dancing? At that point Zoya wasn’t too sure she would look too graceful standing up. She did a mental count of all the drinks she’d had and her outlook on the dance floor would not be a pretty one. Papering the Kremlin… now that had some appeal, but she wasn’t thirteen any longer.

Turning to White, she made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "While Supercop seemingly has a habit of going above and beyond he is off duty... apparently... and I'm drunk... could be making the whole thing up!"


Looking at her beer one last time, she gently pushed the glass away from her. “No thanks, I think I’m done.”
Suddenly, she felt tired. The stress of the night had left her body and she simply felt drained. The thought of food made her a little queasy but she managed to suppress the feeling. “It has been very eventful, and I’m sorry you had to come all this way Ivan. I should probably head home though. Uh… either one of you care to point me in the direction of Krasnopresnenskaja?”


The woman wasn’t sure how far away from home she was, but she didn’t think she could walk there; nor did she know what would happen to her vehicle. Obviously, she hadn’t really thought things through when she ran out of the factory. Not her brightest moment, but surely a memorable one.


Edited by Zoya Bocharov, Jun 26 2014, 07:42 PM.

Hood finished his beer in one last long pull and set the stein down mouth-down while Ivan joked about soup, then after a moment of eyeing Zoya's drink he shrugged dismissively, picked it up and finished it off too, setting it down in the same fashion as his. "You're right about the beer. And hey, don't ask don't tell right? You go ahead and enjoy the soup."
There probably wasn't actually anything questionable about the food, but it wouldn't come as a huge surprise for a place like Dzhanki.

"Don't think you're in any state to be getting yourself home, kid. Or to be driving. Your boy-toy there should be enough of a fuckin' White Knight to see you home safe and sound."
He leveled a pointed 'don't be a fucking cop' sort of look at Ivan, and held out his hand to Zoya, offering her a business card at the same time, "Take it you drove? Give me your keys. You leave your car here, it won't be there in the morning. I'll get it to you tomorrow."


He hadn't actually been drinking much the whole night; it had been more for appearances then for effect. More likely to get into a fight if folks thought you had been drinking too.

Ivan was looking at White when Zoya's pushing the beer away caught his attention. As she spoke, he could see all the bubbly energy and playfulness leech out of her. He'd expected it- not exactly then, of course. He figured she'd have been good for at least an hour more of just-lookin-to-forget-about-what-just-happened-to-me fun before the shut down. And he'd been game. At least keep her out of trouble, which, from what he knew of her from two encounters now, was looking to be pretty much a full time job. But it was just as well. Now that it was over, sleeping it off- and by it he meant the drinks and the experience at the factory, not to mention here in the bar- would make a world of difference for her. He was still curious about the lucky electrical strike, but he'd ask another time.

Assuming he saw her again, of course. Full time job? Eh, maybe it was. But he had a feeling that on those occasions when she wasn't breaking into buildings and trying to save the world- those no doubt very rare times when she was actually having what normal people called fun- well, then they might actually have a good time together.

Oh well, he shrugged. White was right though. She was in no condition to drive. Ivan was still good. White gave Ivan a look, but he wasn't sure what he meant. He looked at the man for a moment, perplexed. Of course he'd make sure she got home safe. White handed her his card and promised to get her car to her later. Ivan smiled a bit as a line from a movie came to him. "You old softie." Yep, summed up White pretty nicely. Despite the external appearances, Ivan triusted the man.

"He's right Zoya. You're in no condition to drive. I can take you home."
He laughed a bit. "I kinda already know the way."
And then kindly, but more seriously, "You think what happened at this bar is bad, try walking home at night in your condition."
He softened his tone. "Alright?"

White drank her beer and she opened her mouth in protest, but there really was no reason. She was all done with it. Hearing him call Ivan a White Knight made Zoya want to giggle and forget about her beer. She couldn’t argue with the man, however, Sarkozy had already seen her safely home once already, and despite their brief meetings, she considered him trust worthy. The fact that he had rushed to her when he thought her in trouble was testament to his character.

Then there was White, who after the evening they’d had, also seemed the sort of man she could trust despite their very brief interlude. After all, it wasn’t every day a stranger beat up men to get her drunken butt out of trouble. Of course, she’d helped a little. She did throw her drink at one of them, after all.

She took the offered card and smiled gratefully. After reading it, she raised a questioning brow and slipped it in her pocket to exchange it for her keys; all the while wondering just what a bar brawling, gun totting, card wielding, American did for a living. “Thank you, White. I’ll call you tomorrow with the address. Not a lot of fights down that way, though.”


“You are right, Ivan… and don’t let that get to your head, now.”
Zoya shook an admonishing finger at Ivan, keys jingling slightly in her hand. Unlike her roommates, she had a minimal amount of keys, and managed to untangle the ones White would want without much fuss. Not only did she need the rest, but she doubted the man would appreciate walking around with a cute little sparkly rhinestone turtle dangling from his keys.

“Here you go,”
she placed the key on his hand then gently tapped his nose before retrieving her hand. “Now if you’d be so kind as to let me out.”
While she waited for him to let her out of the booth, Zoya had the sneaking suspicion that she could have very well lost a finger… or a hand… but she was feeling too good to care.
Edited by Zoya Bocharov, Jun 29 2014, 03:21 PM.