Remembering a Friend

[Nox]

Nox was about to tell Pyotr he was gonna go home and do a few other things Bas might have enjoyed but he didn't have the chance when a callous thug spoke to them. "What did you say?"
He reminded Nox very much of the men that Bas might hang out with - his mob friends or whatever they where. He'd been in the Little Kremlin a grand total of once and this man looked exactly like he fit the part.

Nox gave the man a grin and bit back the sarcastic 'I say a lot of things you'll have to be specific,' instead he lifted his beer and tried not to yell over the music that started playing for the next show. "I was toasting a dear departed friend - may he make the devil's life a living hell!"


The man looked him over, as if trying to figure him out. After a moment he said in the same suspicious voice,"Bas...not a common name. Can you describe him?"
He seemed tense for such a chill place like Kallisti. It made Nox wonder what was going on.

Nox shrugged and turned to face the man instead of standing towards Pyotr he didn't like the idea of not being ready for a fight if this turned into one. Sarcasm wanted to slip out of Nox's mouth before he decided he didn't want to fight with this guy. He could probably break him with his power easily but he looked the sort to carry a gun and Nox didn't want to have to test his air shield just now. But just in case Nox pulled the power around him like an old friend. "Honestly, a lot like you."
Nox waved his hand to encompass all of the stranger in front of him. "A Rough and tumble sort of guy. My height, blue eyes, tattoo of the Virgin Mary... here."
Nox pointed to the upper right arm. "He died not too long back in a freak explosion in the Red Light District not far from here."

[Pyotr Grigory]

Pyotr took the toast and then they were interrupted by a tough sort. He looked like the sort Bas would have usually been around. Pyotr wasn't necessarily the best dresser, although he thought he wore a suit or tux well, but he never understood the silver suit thing, but people wore what suited them.

Pyotr was okay with Nox doing the talking, and he felt Nox grab the power. Pyotr wouldn't have even thought of it if Nox hadn't. He just didn't care about it that much. Pyotr did pull the power around himself though. If for no other reason than to say he was ready if this guy started anything. Pyotr didn't want to fight though.

[Yuri Obrechennyy]

Yeah, so this place was way different from that other shithole. Not quite sure if it was better. Cleaner, certainly. And at least no one was pointing a gun at them. Not like it would have made much difference to Yuri. With the power coursing through him at the time he had been like a fucking pressure cooker just itching to blow his load.

But fuck that place and that stupid bitch that started all that shit. The night was still young. Brodyagi seemed to know his way around, and plus he was footing the bill for tonight. Yuri looked around when they entered. Couple of fucks at a table wearing tight threads that were decent looking but probably knockoffs. They didn't look like they could afford top dollar shit like those peeps at that one fucking party way back. They were pouring each other drinks and talking real close like. Probably butt buddies out on a date. Maybe swingers, looking at how the one was scoping out the girl on the stage. Yuri took in the show for a moment. Damn, she was a tease. Get on with it already and take it off, bitch.


Yuri's head was swimming. Brodyagi said something about keeping his nose clean. He'd snorted a bump on the way here. Yuri dabbed his nose real quick and it came away without any powder. Nah, he was good.

Yuri looked around for a waitress to get him another drink, but then Brodyagi went over and started talking to the gayboys. That's when he felt it. The strong menacing feeling from the younger one with the chin strap stubble. Like a puma, whatever the fuck kind of animal that was, had walked into the room and was growling. Or snarling or barking or drooling, whatever the fuck a puma did. It was the fucking power.

Yuri took a step forward. His heart thudded in his chest like it had been when he'd had the weapon leveled at him. He reached out and seized the power, drinking it in, as much as he could stand to hold, the itching craving for more calling at him.

"Sup, goluboi?"
he said as he looked at the one who was radiating power.

[Sebastian]

Roman Mordvinov

Roman paused at the description. The fuck? That was Bas he was talking about. Kid seemed cocky but not in an in your face way. Whaddaya know. Bas had a friend. He'd seen Bas less those last few months. He had been moving up the ranks and didn't have as much time as he'd used to. Seemed Bas had found some companions to pass the time with.

Something tickled his memory. Was kinda hard to piece together. He was still high and a bit drunk. Their last conversation, tho. His last words to Bas. The warehouse. He'd remembered Bas had asked about it for a friend. Was this him?

Proya, it seemed, felt like looming again. What is wrong with this guy? He was all for flexing and shit. All that alpha male stuff. But Proya seemed to be itching for a fight. And not for any good reason he could see. Calling this kid a butt-boy was asking for trouble.

"Calm down, Proya. The kid's a friend, it seems."
He looked at the other guy. A word came to mind and he laughed. "His weasel buddy too."
He clapped the guy on the shoulder to show it was good natured. Sort of. He didn't particularly like the guy. Where blue-boy here was hanging as if nothing bothered him, mouthing off smartly, the other guy was silent. Gotta get noticed, son!

He smiled. "Bas was my boy for years. We go way back. I'll drink to him."
He looked at Proya and jerked his head to take a chair. "Mind if we sit down?"
he said, not really asking, since he already had pulled a chair up. "This pretty little thing is Holly,"
, he said indicating the girl. He flashed her a warm smile, as if to say it was all good.

"And this other, prettier little thing is Yuri. You might recognize him from the Bolshoi."
He smirked at Proya. "And I'm Roman Mordvinov."

[Nox]

Another meancing presence flaired to life - so much brighter than most near anything he'd ever felt before. But there was no one who was ever going to match the Ascendancy's level of power and skill. He had been the first. He was Apollyon. Nox's eyes floated to the man weilding the power and he refrained the impulse to roll his eyes. The man looked more thugish than the one who'd stopped him. He reminded Nox of a great ape ready to pound on his chest with his display of power.

"Sup, goluboi?"
Nox had to search his Russian dictionary of swear words in his head.

Nox laughed. 'faggot' but it also meant something else. It was weird how those things always did. Gay also meant happy. how gay was that? Nox chuckled at his own thoughts. He wanted to play that game. Nox looked the new power weild thug up and down like he was checking him out with a smirk on his face. "Nothing's sup. Unless you want a piece."
Nox rolled his eyes and turned back to the conversation that mattered. He nearly choked on his laughter when the man called Pyotr "weasel" but he only let the smirk show on his face.

Both men looked like they'd been having a good night, their eyes slightly bloodshot from whatever they were doing. Nox disliked that kinda fun... But the girl was interesting. So this was one of Bas' mob buddies. He recognized the name from the press release on Bas' attack on the market.

Roman took a seat and Nox sighed as he waved for the waitress and held up four fingers for four more beers for the table. Nox offered his hand to Holly first and when she took it he kissed the third knuckle with a smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Duckling. I'm Nox."
Nox sat back down in his seat, he wasn't going to let go of the power with this man trying to intimidate him. Instead he wove innocuous nets around the entire club, the most they would do is warm the air near them a few degrees making everyone sweat a little more than usual. Nox wove one around the left side of the room, and then a second one around to the right. Nox tried for a third weave but it fizzled and collapsed in on itself with a small pop near the stage. He'd have to work on that. Nox only drew a trickle of the power to manage the weaves. He was showing off.

Yuri eh? Yeah he looked like a Yuri - dumb fuck. But he was no dancer. He moved like a bull in a China shop. Pyotr was more graceful that him. But Roman started it. "Yeah. yeah. I remember him. That guy - wearing the pink tutu."
Nox pulled up his wallet and pulled up the current showings at the Bolshoi and laughed at what he found. "No wait, maybe he was the choreographer or maybe one of the regulars in the restaurant scene in The Golden Age."
Nox showed Roman the list of cast names on his wallet and chuckled. "But there ain't no way he's either one of them. He'd break his ass trying to do any of that."


The four beers arrived and Nox took his and smiled. A third toast. "To Sebastian."


(( links are the ironic names in the current ballet at the Bolshoi of the Golden Age choreographer and cast member ))


Edited by Nox, Oct 20 2016, 08:50 AM.

[Pyotr Grigory]

Thugs were all the same no matter how much they wanted to pretend they were superior to other thugs. First comment out of his mouth was a derogatory slur. How typical. You would have thought to have seen some progress on that.

It didn't really slight Pyotr that much. He could feel the power coming through one of them though. This could get bad fast. And of course, Nox had to push the man's buttons - also rather typical. Pyotr wasn't much into fighting, although he could defend himself if he so desired. He'd just rather not have a fight start in general.

Another drink came and Nox tuned it down and offered a third toast. Pyotr drank, but didn't say much besides. "To Sebastian."
He had very little to say to these people.

[Jacques]

He and his Legionnaire, Caporale Chander Iyer, stood out in a place like Kallisti. Naturally, everyone in attendance that evening wore fine clothes; suits and expensive dresses, designer outfits for the more casual attendees. Both Jacques and Caporale Iyer, however, wore clothes of a distinctly unusual air.

Legion dress uniforms; tan pants and jacket over almond green dress shirt and green tie. Where the Caporale's epaulets marked him for his rank and affiliation with the Legion, Jacques only bore the Legion affiliation, an ever curious hint at his lack of announced rank, and Iyer's uniform bore myriad qualification badges, patches, and other seemingly obscure markings. Both men wore the red and white fourragère, a corded rope across the chest which marked both men veterans of combat action, and where the national flag of France would usually have been worn, they wore instead the flag of the Legion. They were no longer of France, as France was no longer a country to be part of. There were no deep-hidden intentions in the Legion to 'liberate' the nation that had gave birth to the Legion; it flourished under the CCD after all.

Both men had checked their side arms, and Jacques his Infantry Sabre with the remaining Legionnaire, who stood in the chill evening air next to the Citroen Traction, who stood attentive guard even while eagerly awaiting his turn to switch off with Iyer for a glimpse of the well known establishment the pair had vanished into.

Despite both mens martial airs, neither seemed off-put or even the least judging of what they found with Kallisti. For Jacques, there was a moment to appreciate the architecture and furniture; while he had no practical need for such extravagances in his own life, he could still appreciate fine craftsmanship, and he idly wondered if the furnishes were indeed hand crafted or simply expensive factory products.

That idle wonder on the origin of the entrance way table was dismissed as some of the establishment's staff passed through his line of site. He had been in Africa much of his life, and much of his time most recently had been spent in the horrors of combat and its aftermath. So a glimpse of a lovely woman was entirely distracting, at least for the moment. He even had to gentle nudge Caporale Iyer in the ribs before the two of them checked their great coats and Kepis with another lovely, albeit far less scandalously dressed, woman who couldn't help but give Jacques and the Caporale a very confused look.

They saw many interesting clients in Kallisti, he had no doubt, but none dressed quite like Jacques and his guard. He simply flashed his charming smile, and nodded his head for Iyer to follow. "La mission est sacrée, tu l’exécutes jusqu’au bout et si besoin, en opérations, au péril de ta vie. However, should you die here, Caporale, I am sure it would be with a smile on your face."


Caporale Iyer smirked and glanced at Jacques in return, before nodding gravely, "Of course, Sir. I think perhaps though, death to be unlikely here. I may be struck blind though, should I forget to blink for too long."


Jacques smiled at that and nodded, before giving the man a pat on the shoulder, "Find your way to the bar then. Best to keep you hydrated. Remember to switch off with your compatriot though, else risk his ire later."


Considering he had arrived early, Jacques doubted Mr Jahoda was in attendance, and so he simply spent a moment to study the storied establishment. He was approached briefly by a waitress, who managed to not stare too openly at his unusual attire, and took his order. Chateau de Beaulon cognac. He had no use for extravagantly expensive furniture, but at $100 CCD a glass, the congac was well worth every penny.


Edited by Jacques, Oct 25 2016, 11:25 PM.

[Zoya Bocharov]

Her wine red cocktail dress sparkled beneath the lights of the ornate chandeliers. Around her, the club’s guests drank from expensive crystal and enjoyed one of the best shows in all of Moscow. Her own performance wouldn’t be until much later in the evening, and so, she set out to enjoy the company of their guests and to enjoy the show.

Like the rest of the girls found at Kallisti, Karina was the type of woman that would catch a man’s eye and often have him wrapped around her little finger long before the night was over, only to let him go without so much as a taste of what he longed for. Of course, that was the allure of a place like Kallisti, and always, their guests returned.

She pushed up the long sleeves of her backless dress as she reached the bar and gestured with a curl of her finger for the tender to come her way. She liked getting a quick lowdown on the place before doing a swift inspection of her own and settling with an interesting character or two. Light hazel eyes shone with mischief as the dark haired dancer waited for the man to hand a waitress a couple of drinks and moved over to her.

“Anything good tonight?”
The woman’s gaze shifted from her dear friend to really get a good look about the room. The usual type of patrons were there, expensively dressed and well accompanied. Just down the bar from them a fellow stood in a uniform she’d never seen before. Of course, she wasn’t exactly the sort to preoccupy herself with the military types.

Nodding towards the door, the svelte man called for Karina’s attention. “That guy over there just ordered a glass of Chateau de Beaulon. I was about to send his drink back.”


Looking in the direction pointed to her, Karina spotted the man desiring the cognac. “Hmm…”
The small velvety sound was enough to make the bar tender hand her the glass he’d served for their guest. “He’s a man of good taste, at least.”


Delicately holding the glass in both hands, the woman winked at her friend and moved on to what would hopefully be somewhat entertaining pastures. The closer she got, the more details she was able to pick up about the man that were not as easy to tell from a distance. For one thing, he was a little taller than her, even with the heels that completed her outfit. For another, the man didn’t seem very interested on much of what was going on about the place, at least not as much as the usual face that made its way through their doors, and that perked her curiosity.

“I believe this drink is yours.”
She offered the glass and a small smile. “Though, if you don’t mind my say so, you might enjoy it more from a more comfortable spot.”




Edited by Zoya Bocharov, Oct 26 2016, 11:17 PM.

[Jacques]

Jacques watched the young lady depart with his order, then after a moment found the resolve to tear his gaze away and finish giving the room a more detailed observation. There was a part of his mind that never changed, and after many long months of conflict and stress, that part was still ratcheted tight. Attention to detail, the subconscious urge to ever watch the crowd, the high places, the shadows. Hyper-vigilance. His gaze took in locations of fire exits and internal doors, analyzing where they might lead. Without his Landwarriors, he relied on memory for the aerial imagery of the city streets around Khalisti; roads and alleys, the size and significance of buildings around it. But that was but a small part of his ever-active mind, carefully tucked to the backburner, forbidden from becoming the center of his attention.

More importantly, was the final organization of mental notes regarding the one he was there to meet that night. Mr Jahoda, of AZO Mining. Some upper-middle-management type, there was little doubt in Jacques mind as to just what the man was trying to achieve with the impromptu meeting. The man wanted a promotion, and was seeking it by trying to bribe Jacques into giving AZO Mining proprietary rights to minerals in Sierra Leone, all pathetically disguised as an offer of humanitarian funding. To be arranged in a burlesque house. Totally on the up and up.

He had, for the moment, lingered to the room's edges. Not out of any degree of uncertainty as to how to act in such an establishment (in his days as a lowly 'battle captain' of Legion Premiere, he had had a well-earned reputation for his love of the night life, although gambling had always been his preference), but he equally was withdrawn from the idea of committing himself to any distractions until after what would surely be a very brief meeting.

Of course, as resistant to distraction as he might have been, he was, at the end of the day, only a man, and the young woman returning with his drink was certainly distracting. But, work had to come first.

He flashed his charming smile, and tucked his right hand at the small of his back; less so as if to hide the prosthetic, crude to the standards of the CCD, but more out of comfort of stance. "Merci beaucoup, mon chéri."
Despite spending most of his life in Africa, he still retained an air of his heritage accent.

While many of Europes languages were far from dead, they had grown far less common place since their birth nations assimilation by the CCD. English was the common tongue of the land, and many a person born in recent decades had forsaken their traditional languages to focus on what would best benefit them in the modern economic sector. Even in the heart of Moscow, Russian was spoken mostly by the elderly or the scholarly, something which had begun to hold true throughout the expansive nation.

"I suppose a moments respite would not be remiss. So long as the company is pleasant, and the cushions not too soft. It would not due if I were to be too comfortable, and distracted just yet"
The night was early yet, and he still had work to do, after all.

[Zoya Bocharov]

There was something delightfully pleasant about the way various accents caressed the senses. Especially when one didn’t encounter them often.

“Cela m’a fait plaisir.”
The pleasures was indeed all hers. Up close, the man wasn’t too hard on the eyes, and the way his posture change tugged at the strings of her curiosity. “I may be able to assist you on both fronts. But for that, you would have to follow me. Unless of course, you’ve already spotted somewhere that is of your liking. You seemed more interested in the décor than on the going ons on the stage a moment ago.”


The look Karina gave the man suggested a hint of teasing disapproval. Behind her, the dancer was in the midst of tossing a silk stocking towards the front of guests. “You are a curious one, Monsieur. From my experience, most of the gentlemen that visit Kallisti tend to welcome the distraction.”


Welcome it was a slight understatement; a good number of the patrons dove head first into the world of seduction and fantasy Kallisti offered. “Or perhaps you were hoping to meet someone?”

Edited by Zoya Bocharov, Oct 28 2016, 04:07 PM.