10-17-2014, 11:03 PM
<small><small>continued from Root Down</small>
</small>
The meeting went well enough. Vlad's territory had been large enough that there wasn't too much overlap on the neighborhoods Stoya wanted and those that Rodion Mordvinov wanted. Bas knew what he was doing. Mik and him understood each other. Neither family was ready to swallow up the whole thing. That way drew too much attention to yourselves. Payoffs, bribes, blackmail- it all took time to set up. Getting too big too fast spread you too thin and you ran the risk of it collapsing on you. Bas understood this point. So, it seemed, did Mik.
When it was all done, they toasted and Bas shot a text with the details to Roman. He'd let Mordvinov know how it went. Bas could now settle down and really enjoy the show. He poured himself a nice full glass- his platinum cube chilling the vodka so that it was thicker than normal. He liked the way it rolled around in his mouth, over his tongue, and then down his throat. He enjoyed the nice lift it gave to how he looked at everything.
On whim, Bas prayed and the power flooded him. Everything in the club seemed to light up. The woman on the stage- she was in a body hugging turquoise blue-green dress that shimmered iridescently and was was jaggedly cut at shoulders, bosom and mid thigh, revealing black stockinged legs- moved across the stage as if in flight, a bird nearly catching air. His power enhanced vision allowed him to see the rainbow that played across her bodice even as parts of it disappeared as she danced. He allowed the music and the imagery to wash over him. The dance was erotic and yet suggested rather than displayed. He found himself enjoying her clothed form and the curved tilt of her eyes and soft exhilarated smile as much as the form fitting dress. A part of him laughed at himself. He was pretty simple in his needs. A nice drink. Some buddies to hang with. Maybe some smoke. And a nice pair and a real ass of course. His being high-brow about some girl dancing around in a bird outfit took the cake. But he watched anyway.
As if reading his mind, Mik handed over a silver case. Bas looked at it and flicked it open. The smell was pungent and immediately cast Bas' mind back. If he was relaxed before, this would take it to a new level. "Nice. Which is this?"
"It's Shoalin Sleep. From near the Himalayas I hear. Some serious shit."
Bas picked up the box and put it to his face and breathed it in. With the power-flooding him, it was as if he bathed his consciousness in it. He looked at Mik and laughed, then pulled out a paper and rolled some. He looked around the club. It wasn't forbidden or unknown in this place. Mik was pretty lit so he'd probably not notice. Bas channeled a thread of fire and the joint flared. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke permeate his lungs, held it in until he was unable to hold any longer, and yet still only exhaled slowly so the smoke streamed from his mouth. The power, the vodka and now the drugs all worked together and Bas felt his mind enter a whole new level of consciousness. He seemed to melt into the soft leather of his chair, felt himself seep into the air of the room, could feel the dancer's movements, the soft material of the dress on his hand, the taut muscle of her legs and hips against him. He became the room and luxuriated in it.
"Dude. You aren't kidding,"
and passed it to Mik. He wasn't sluggish. He was relaxed and at peace, his mind taking in every sensation and synthesizing them into one surreal experience.
After what seemed like an eternity but really only lasted until the song ended, he slid upward, finding himself standing. It was as if he were floating. He warmth of the club seemed a bit much, now, the sensations all merging together to create a feeling of being smothered in blankets. He needed the sharpness of cold. He took his drink- the cold perspiration on his fingers a delicious contrast- and took a sip, feeling the liquid ice slither down his throat, could feel it make its way to his stomach and suffuse him with coolness. "I'll be back in a sec,"
he said to Mik and went to the exit. He was not stumbling. He was still alert- the combination of drugs, drink and power giving him heightened senses- and made his way outside.
The cold air slapped him in the face and followed the icy drink down his throat and chilled his lungs. The clouds now floated like charcoal pillows in the sky, fringed in silver. He could feel them overhead. He let himself walk, feeling the air against his cheeks and neck, on his hand with the drink. The city bathed him and he let it lead him, drifting. Only a street over, and turning a corner he nearly walked into a man standing near a pole. looking at a flyer, the wind snapping it in his hand- or maybe the paper crinkling only sounded loud to him- his face frowning. "Sorry man. Didn't expect to see you there."
The man was probably about 10 or 15 years older than him. The look on his face- Bas could see as if there were a spotlight on it despite the hood- said he was uncomfortable here. Easy to get lost in Moscow. And if you didn't know where you were or what you were doing, the red-light district was a really bad place to be. Not as bad as his old neighborhood, but still. Normally Bas would let him be. Wasn't his job to help tourists out. But he felt good. It had been a nice piece of business they'd done back there and he was feeling charitable. "You lost buddy?"
</small>
The meeting went well enough. Vlad's territory had been large enough that there wasn't too much overlap on the neighborhoods Stoya wanted and those that Rodion Mordvinov wanted. Bas knew what he was doing. Mik and him understood each other. Neither family was ready to swallow up the whole thing. That way drew too much attention to yourselves. Payoffs, bribes, blackmail- it all took time to set up. Getting too big too fast spread you too thin and you ran the risk of it collapsing on you. Bas understood this point. So, it seemed, did Mik.
When it was all done, they toasted and Bas shot a text with the details to Roman. He'd let Mordvinov know how it went. Bas could now settle down and really enjoy the show. He poured himself a nice full glass- his platinum cube chilling the vodka so that it was thicker than normal. He liked the way it rolled around in his mouth, over his tongue, and then down his throat. He enjoyed the nice lift it gave to how he looked at everything.
On whim, Bas prayed and the power flooded him. Everything in the club seemed to light up. The woman on the stage- she was in a body hugging turquoise blue-green dress that shimmered iridescently and was was jaggedly cut at shoulders, bosom and mid thigh, revealing black stockinged legs- moved across the stage as if in flight, a bird nearly catching air. His power enhanced vision allowed him to see the rainbow that played across her bodice even as parts of it disappeared as she danced. He allowed the music and the imagery to wash over him. The dance was erotic and yet suggested rather than displayed. He found himself enjoying her clothed form and the curved tilt of her eyes and soft exhilarated smile as much as the form fitting dress. A part of him laughed at himself. He was pretty simple in his needs. A nice drink. Some buddies to hang with. Maybe some smoke. And a nice pair and a real ass of course. His being high-brow about some girl dancing around in a bird outfit took the cake. But he watched anyway.
As if reading his mind, Mik handed over a silver case. Bas looked at it and flicked it open. The smell was pungent and immediately cast Bas' mind back. If he was relaxed before, this would take it to a new level. "Nice. Which is this?"
"It's Shoalin Sleep. From near the Himalayas I hear. Some serious shit."
Bas picked up the box and put it to his face and breathed it in. With the power-flooding him, it was as if he bathed his consciousness in it. He looked at Mik and laughed, then pulled out a paper and rolled some. He looked around the club. It wasn't forbidden or unknown in this place. Mik was pretty lit so he'd probably not notice. Bas channeled a thread of fire and the joint flared. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke permeate his lungs, held it in until he was unable to hold any longer, and yet still only exhaled slowly so the smoke streamed from his mouth. The power, the vodka and now the drugs all worked together and Bas felt his mind enter a whole new level of consciousness. He seemed to melt into the soft leather of his chair, felt himself seep into the air of the room, could feel the dancer's movements, the soft material of the dress on his hand, the taut muscle of her legs and hips against him. He became the room and luxuriated in it.
"Dude. You aren't kidding,"
and passed it to Mik. He wasn't sluggish. He was relaxed and at peace, his mind taking in every sensation and synthesizing them into one surreal experience.
After what seemed like an eternity but really only lasted until the song ended, he slid upward, finding himself standing. It was as if he were floating. He warmth of the club seemed a bit much, now, the sensations all merging together to create a feeling of being smothered in blankets. He needed the sharpness of cold. He took his drink- the cold perspiration on his fingers a delicious contrast- and took a sip, feeling the liquid ice slither down his throat, could feel it make its way to his stomach and suffuse him with coolness. "I'll be back in a sec,"
he said to Mik and went to the exit. He was not stumbling. He was still alert- the combination of drugs, drink and power giving him heightened senses- and made his way outside.
The cold air slapped him in the face and followed the icy drink down his throat and chilled his lungs. The clouds now floated like charcoal pillows in the sky, fringed in silver. He could feel them overhead. He let himself walk, feeling the air against his cheeks and neck, on his hand with the drink. The city bathed him and he let it lead him, drifting. Only a street over, and turning a corner he nearly walked into a man standing near a pole. looking at a flyer, the wind snapping it in his hand- or maybe the paper crinkling only sounded loud to him- his face frowning. "Sorry man. Didn't expect to see you there."
The man was probably about 10 or 15 years older than him. The look on his face- Bas could see as if there were a spotlight on it despite the hood- said he was uncomfortable here. Easy to get lost in Moscow. And if you didn't know where you were or what you were doing, the red-light district was a really bad place to be. Not as bad as his old neighborhood, but still. Normally Bas would let him be. Wasn't his job to help tourists out. But he felt good. It had been a nice piece of business they'd done back there and he was feeling charitable. "You lost buddy?"