Walkin' down the my street

[Mikhail]

So Mikhail walked. So fucking bored. No fun anywhere. Pretty much pissed him off too. Guess he should move. His shtick was up here. Not that these assholes had more than two brains between all 37 of them. Somehow they had finally figured out he was behind all the crazy shit that happened around the neighborhood.

So suddenly everyone was walking wide of him and being all nice and god he just wanted to.poke someone in the eye to see an honest reaction. Ehh....but he didn't, not really. Didn't seem right to blind someone on a whim. Not unless it was funny, anyway- and they deserved it.

So....he's walkin down one fucking street or another and realizing that he has nothing to do. Fucking Ascendancy. Outing a bunch of people who weren't doin more than having a little fun. Guy deserved payback for that. He kinda wondered if he ever could get close to the guy. He smiled at the idea.

Prick would all be watchin for assassins from governments or higher ups. Not some rando who just thought it would be funny to smack the guy on the back of his head.

Actually, he laughed at the idea. Douche's hair all perfect and manicured and shellacked or whatever and then SMACK!!! HAHAHAHAHA! Cowlick all stickin up and he's lookin around wondering what the hell just happened and Mikhail is lookin all innocent and no power cuz he was so very quick and the asshole-supreme-holy-kiss-his-ass ruler of the world would have to find a stylist cuz he looked like a doofus.

God, he would about die laughing if he could pull that off. Talk about a dick who took everything far too seriously. Ruining it for all honest folks like himself.

Anyway, so he's walkin along, bored enough to set something on fire or see if he can get the Mordvinovs and Kolomovs fighting again when finally (thank you universe for some fun, finally) some asshole pricks are picking on some old lady.

He's no superman. There's no fun in being predictable. Or being at someone's beck and call. But these fuckwads beg for it. And he can be a hero too, when he wants too....well or when it would make it funnier.

He flips his lighter and siezes the power and his eyes flare and the street lights up. And suddenly its like he can feel them.

Melted clothes later and they are running. Well, trying to. Melted clothes really fucking hurt. Get into skin. But hey, his motto that he invented just right then and there is "don't wanna get melted? Don't try to rob old ladies." It's a good one, if he didn't say so himself. Everyone should live by it. He is wise, after all.

He laughed at himself. Dick! And on a whim (hey, he's being a hero, now, what do you expect?) helped her scoop up her groceries, stuff like apples and....what was that? Yuck. Sardines? Not even if he was starving.

Old people....

Well not old, now that he was closer. Not really. Maybe 10 or 15 years older. She just had that slow tired way of walking. Weary with life or whatever. And she looked tired. Rode hard or whatever.

Yeah, he didn't mind helping out. Even put a smile on just for her.
Edited by Mikhail, Jan 28 2018, 12:14 AM.

[Oriena]

The storm flurried and Nadezhda huddled against its onslaught, gripping the bags that slipped from her hands and splashed their innards on the ground. The torments fell on deaf ears; she was inured to the demon voices. But how they plucked at her, teasing every step on the path towards home. This morning had risen so bright; bright enough she'd decided to venture from the apartment at all after weeks of darkness and grey. She regretted it now. You were wrong, wrong, wrong.

You were supposed to stay home. You have tempted Fate, Dezhda, and now you will pay the price. Burning meat seared her nostrils. Imagination, imagination. She blinked at the pavement, dared not look up in case those flames licked her vision with their lies. Of course there is no screaming.

Then someone stooped to help rescue her groceries, and she flinched violently, about to lash out. Those are mine! No, no, no! But the smile stayed her hand in the brief moment she glanced up. Some of the tension drained from her face. She murmured something under her breath. About angels and thanks. Her things recaptured, she gratefully pressed the bags into his hands. "Thank you, thank you. I live this way."

[Mikhail]

Mik frowned, trying to figure out was was up with the chick. Like she was having trouble knowing what was going on. One moment she seemed all ready to lash out when he reached for something and the next was gushing with thanks.

He shook his head. Yeah. The sad kind of joke. All the fun seemed to run away from him, enough that he sorta regretted helping. Well, not really. He was a dick but not that big of a dick. Was not, anyway, he thought with a smile.

Ah well. Part of the hero game. Take out some chumps. Help the girl. Maybe get a kiss at the end. As he helped get the rest of the stuff, he noticed. She might have been pretty one time. If you looked, you could see the signs. All hidden tho. Lot of it was clothes and mood and the crazy in her eyes.

Nah. He didn't need a kiss. She let him have some fun. One last hooray before he was gonna leave. So it was worth it.

Her building was your typical shithole. I mean real piece of work. Trash in hallways, including junkie needles and rubber bands and shit. Any kids'd need to be careful in here. Loud voices or tvs as they passed doors added to atmosphere.

Real homey like. His place wasn't any better. Not that he couldn't afford more now. His work was steady and he took on more dangerous jobs since he'd been channeling. Moving was in the cards, for sure. Just hadn't gotten around to it.

Anyway, she fumbled for keya while he stood there holding her bag and looking around. Prolly looked like a goddam boyscout. Please can I walk you across the street grandma? Ya, cookies and milk sounds good.

Actually, cookies and milk did sound good. Once they got inside- if she ever figured out the right key- he'd ask.

Inside wasn't a lot better. Had a musty smell and everything had a boarded up feel. The windows and curtains were closed tight. Yeah it was still only spring, but it was warm enough to let in the fresh air at least.

Anyway, he put the stuff on her table. She murmured thanks....and then just sat. Tired, he guessed. He sat at the table and looked at her, head tilted. "Look, you got anyone coming?"


He wasn't sure if she heard him. From the looks of the place, if someone else lived there, they were as bad off as her.

Well, wasn't his problem. Not like he knew where stuff went anyway. He got up and then paused. She did have some frozen meat. That at least was obvious. Suck to let that sit there.

He grabbed the bag and shoved what he found in the freezer.

[Oriena]

It didn't seem to occur to her that he wouldn't follow, and in any case he didn't seem to protest. It was a short walk to the looming grey apartment block, hardly an imposition at all really. In the foyer the elevator had a peeling out-of-order sign slapped on its metal doors, dissected by a lick of obscene graffiti. She led him up to her door, fumbled a long time for the keys, too desperate to get in, her hands all shaky. The people here didn't scare her; she'd seen many faces come and go over the years. This was home. This was sanctuary, the safest place she could be. And she just wanted to get in.

Murmuring thanks to the kind boy, Nadezhda plonked herself in a seat at the kitchen table, hands drawing over her face as the tension and fear ran out of her. Why had she gone out? Ori would have done that for her. She was a good girl. Except when she wasn't. Had the demons in her, that one. "I can still smell the burning."
Dezhda didn't pay any attention to what the stranger was doing now, but pulled herself up to go wrench open a window. If she heard the question there was no sign of it, but there was no indication around them that she lived with anyone else. The place was spartan but tidy. Gloom touched the corners. She closed the curtains again.

Didn't hear the front door open and close, or the rhythm of footsteps.

"Who the fuck are you?"
She turned and blinked as suddenly her daughter stood in the doorway, arms folded, the pierce of her glare hostile. The boy was rooting in the freezer; the target of her ire. Oriena's muscles corded tight, hands curled into fists. Dezhda still saw that scrappy little girl mottled with bruises. Blood on her lip. Hate in her eyes. "Did he hurt you, mama?"

[Mikhail]

After shoving in the frozen stuff, he paused, then looked back at the table. Ah well. Not like it would be that hard. Not like he hadn't helped him mom do this a million times. He pulled another bag and got stuff out, poked around in cupboards and what-not.

Somehow, he managed to get most of it away, then noticed the freezer hadn't closed properly. God he hated when that happened. When were they going to put magnetic latches on freezers? He opened it again and shoved the frozen stuff in more tightly, the icy scratch irritating his ears so he didn't hear the door open.

A voice cut through the room and he turned his head to look at the girl who walked in. Hot even with the ice shooting out of those stone cold blue eyes. Blood on her lip and bruises on her face. That sure tightened his gaze, I'll tell you what.

He was all about having fun, sure. And life was a game, true. But that....nah, man, that was something you didn't do. If you fought someone, if you were gonna beat someone, it should be fair. Mostly. As much as it could be anyway, Not like those goons downstairs could channel. But they were picking on a lonely lady coming home from shopping- and there were like 3 or 4 of them, so he figured the odds had been fair. Assholes.

And she was defensive of her mama. He got that. He chuckled as he shut the freezer and sat down, stretching out his long legs and looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a friendly smile. "Yeah, I doubt the street thugs would be all that scary if, after roughing up tenants, they helped them carry up their groceries and put them away."


Idly, he pulled out his lighter, seized the power and felt the room grow bright. The sounds of outside seemed louder through the now open window, as did the breathing of the two women, the girl in particular. He could see the bruises and busted lip more clearly, didn't notice his lip curl up in a snarl. "Some punks were bothering your mom..."
and even as he spoke, the fire called to him and he couldn't help but flick the lighter, watch the flame, make it dance and follow his fingers as he trailed them around it "...and they needed to learn a lesson or three."


His eyes flicked back up to hers. Be nice if she'd actually smile. "I'm Mikhail Sergeyev. Of the nobody Sergeyevs."

[Oriena]

Oriena held up a silencing finger without even sparing a look in his direction.  "I wasn't taking to you, asshole."
Meanwhile her mother shuffled back to the table, eyes flitting between her daughter and the stranger in her kitchen like she was the one who had just walked into a surprising situation. Her face looked troubled, but sometimes she just needed a few more seconds to process her surroundings. 

"He carried my shopping, Ori. Away from the burning men."


Burning men. Right. Ori levelled a stare on the stranger, but not one that asked a question. The flame from his lighter danced across his fingers in a decidedly agile way; something she chose not to read a threat into. Instead it just seemed cocky, like the grin. Not a snake, then, which alleviated at least one concern, but she still didn't want a channeler around her mother.

By the twist of his lip as he spoke, either he had a problem with the way the locals treated the neighbourhood crazy, or he found fault with her bloodied face. How fucking chivalrous. But since neither was any concern of his, she ignored it in favour of dumping the gym bag at her feet, and proceeded to root in the cupboards while he talked. Two pills popped from a blister pack, then the pipes set to groaning as water spilled from the faucet. She placed the glass on the table alongside the pills, right by her mother's hand. Leaned to smooth the greying hair at her temples.

"You know you shouldn't just let people in. We talked about that."
If her voice sounded tight, it was not irritation at her; it was anger at the fucks who were supposed to be watching the door. Though she supposed all they saw was some mug conned into burdening a woman's bags. She would have to be clearer about the nature of the fucking threat.

Which just left her with the one problem. Nobody Sergeyev. After watching her mother swallow the meds, Ori wrenched open the freezer he'd had his head in, rummaged for a packet of something frozen. The ride over had been an exquisite agony; her ribs ached, her shoulder burned tender. She pressed the pack to it, winced at the sting, and - since he was in the only other chair - leaned against the counter, the cold biting through her skin. A small breeze ruffled the back of her neck. When was the last time her mother bothered to open a window?

Her eyes flicked up then, expression inscrutable. Finally absorbed the stranger, long legs stretched out like he was right at home. "Are you waiting for a medal or something, Nobody Sergeyev?"
The flicker of a smirk tipped her lips, dark as storm clouds. The power sharpened every pain, but also sent that little dancing flame up in a roar.

[Mikhail]

"I wasn't taking to you, asshole."
When she did look at him, her blue eyes shot daggers at him.

He couldn't help but laugh- well more of a chuckle, but he did raise an eyebrow too. "Really? I coulda swore 'Who the fuck are you?' was for directed at me."
He smiled at her, a real friendly like smile.

Girl seemed to fling off cast iron bitch like droplets of water from a whipped towel. No biggie though.

Her focus went to her mama, of course. Got her some pills. Made sense. The old girl did seem to a few shy of a dozen. She was tender with her even while her voice whipped out. Might even cut herself on her own tongue.

Ahh, but it made sense. He knew the game here. He changed his appeaisal slightly. Protective cast iron bitch. More understandable, him being the epitome of danger and all. (Idiot, he laughed at himself.)

And then it was to the freezer for some poor people meds. As in a cold piece of meat or frozen bag of peas. Looked like peas. More give that way, anyway. Meat was too hard.

He thought about leaving then. Cept he didn't want to. He wanted to see if he could make her smile, damnit!! Even with the split lip. Or maybe because of it. He didn't know.

So he's doing his little fire trick and she wants to know if he wants a medal? The fire dances little trails around his fingers and he was about to answer when suddenly the thing up and flares on him.

He bounded back in shock, knocking the chair over as he pulled his face back. Singed hair smelled really bad. Looked even worse. That would hurt him, that's for sure. Oh, and it would actually hurt something fierce too.

It had never done that before! It always always obeyed him. Always. But he knew fire. Had been playing with it every since he found he could channel. It was like a friend. Even as he was jumping back he pulled at the flare, tried to absorb it into his thread. It obeyed this time (thank god) and he spun the flare into a spiral that slowly went around and around.

It was kind of pretty. He looked up at the girl- well looky there! Not a smile. But the hint of one. A bit mean, but it was something, at least. He threw out a grin at her and winked. "Sorry about that. Still learning the ropes."


After a moment, he let it go and the fire went away, heat going into the surrounding air. "Well, enough of that. Rather not burn your mama's place. So....a medal? Nah. Happy to help. Lady like that deserves respect. But...."
He paused. She was leaning against the counter with that wicked smirk on her lips. Defiant. Challenging. The almost smile that he wanted to see for reals.

And somehow, he just wanted to play. Like playing with fire. Might get burned, sure. But it was fucking fun, either way.

He turned to her, ignoring the overturned chair, looked at her. Not aggressive. Nope. Not his style. If they didn't even like you a little, what was the point? But he wasn't gonna be a little bitch either. She'd say yay or nay. And either way, all'd be good. His smile became playful. "How about just your name? Promise I won't tell."



Edited by Mikhail, Jan 31 2018, 12:18 AM.

[Oriena]

He fell back as the flame burst. Her mother did too, though while his chair flung right back and smacked the cabinet behind, hers only scraped across the linoleum. He controlled it quickly, and for a moment it spiralled languorously above the table. Her mother pressed her hands over her eyes; Ori could hear her slowly counting under her breath. Waiting for the hallucination to disappear.

Oriena herself smirked but seemed nonplussed by the anomaly; she did not flinch. Hardly a shame if this place burnt to ashes; it might finally convince her mother to move to a nicer area, like the house in the suburbs that had been purchased several years ago for exactly that purpose. She shrugged; regretted it when her nerve endings jammed with pain. It was lucky Luka hadn't dislocated her shoulder. Hurt like a bitch though.

Mikhail was grinning in that delicious way fools did when they thought to play with her. Before they realised how deep her claws sunk, or what a vicious little soul housed within. It was not a challenge he offered, just an invitation; one she might have disregarded but for that dancing flame and the opportunity it presented. She tutted. "Who would you even tell, Nobody Sergeyev?"
The tease was evident, a kitten with a length of string. The violence at the club had scoured her clean; beat the frustration and stress right out of her. She was in a surprisingly good mood given that he stood in the beating heart of the only thing in this world that really mattered to her.

"A good deed is it's own reward for a noble soul like yours."
The sarcasm was like razor wire. "But how about I trade it for a favour?"

[Mikhail]

""Who would you even tell, Nobody Sergeyev?"
Mik raised an eyebrow in amusement. Well, as to that, he might surprise her. Not like his work for the various families hadn't given him contacts. Ahh, but who cared. He sure as hell didn't care about them and their current position at the top of the heap. That was the big joke, after all. All these dickheads thinking they were somebody.

Nope. He was content to come and go as he pleased. Nobody Sergeyev. There was hint of something in the name. The man who was no one. Who chose to be no one. A ghost.

Oooo...now I'm a spook. An invisible man. Hah! None of this showed on his face, of course. She'd laugh at him. Hell, he was laughing at himself. Dick!

He put on a mock hurt face. "Probably, doll. Nobody Sergeyev knows no one and no thing."
A wink. He didn't care to impress her.

Her eyes glittered with....well, he didn't know what it was. She seemed to radiate danger, though. Ahh, but that always meant fun, if a girl was involved. ESPECIALLY if a girl was involved. Especially if she was a hot girl.

Her words dripped sarcasm. He snickered at "noble soul". She knew. "Oh yeah. You know me. Sir Fucking Galahad of whatever court."
Or was it Galant? Goofeth? Anyway. "Whatever you need, gorgeous. Fight off dragons. Sell cookies. Help old ladies across the street. Take out a few mooks. Smack Ascendancy on the back of the head. Warms the heart...and fills a mug with beer, all those noble and good deeds."


She was smart enough to know he was teasing her. He hoped. Or not. Whatever. He was bored, as I said.

He grinned. "Sure. Whatever. Let's see how much trouble I can get into today. Go for the hat trick. Still....hope that leaves something fun for me to do tomorrow."
Then, he paused, looked mock-serious, as if it had just occurred to him. "All for just a name, though...not sure it's a good trade. Lot's of pretty girls. Lots of pretty names."
A ghost of a smile met his lips. Just a game.


Edited by Mikhail, Feb 1 2018, 01:59 PM.

[Oriena]

"I didn't even tell you what the favour was."
There was glitter in her eyes; the kind that wrecked ships on rocks unwary enough to follow her siren call. He amused her; the irreverent chatter, the tease in turn. But there was apathy in him too, and the passivity threatened to bore her. In the maelstrom of high emotion was where Ori thrived; she coveted obsession, cultivated it. The fires of hate and passion and chaos.

"Sure, that's true. Prettier girls without the split lip and wrenched shoulder too. Right out that door, where you ought to be by now."
Of course, she could have already ousted him from her mother's kitchen -- whether he was willing or not. Instead she dumped the frozen peas in the sink, rotated her shoulder with a grimace, then closed the short distance. Her gaze flicked up, the ghost of a smile; a defiant blaze of challenge. "You're not game, I understand."


The irony here? She'd only been going to tell him to pick the fucking chair up.