Here goes nothing, looking around this part of the site there's really not much to work with….pity…. thought Vamp. Acad. is no Austen novel, but it is still an interesting plot.
Tossed around this plot, all human, by the way, see if you like it or not….
I flew first class from Samson to Kazan. It wasn't hard to rig a passport and skip through security. One thing you need to know about the worlds is this: it's all corrupt. Everybody wants something from you, like it or not. Flash some bribes, a few favors and a handful of hundreds in front of them and you're gold.
My father thought me well.
From there I took three puddle jumping planes out to Bargino. Unfortunately, there was no separation of the classes here. I was second with the rest. Each plane seemed to get more and more cramped the farther I got out till my last flight only had four passengers, two of which were the pilot and the copilot. I was odd to say the least.
I didn't see the landing strip in Bargino till we were hitting ground. It was bumpy as hell; and rightfully so the strip was nothing but old cracked asphalt and patches of grassy shrubs.
I almost had a heart attack.
Between the Russian woman beside me praying like hell, the copilot chugging vodka like it was his last canteen of water in the middle of the desert, and the pilot screaming something about landing back to us, even though there was no airport in sight, I thought I was going to shit a brick.
I was first out of the plane; the propellers weren't even off when my feet touched ground.
It was the middle of fall and, unlike in Turkey, my jacket and Jeans didn't suffice. Even with the extra thermals I changed into between my flights the wind still whipped right through me. I tried to pull my jacket closer to me in a pointless attempt to not become a human Popsicle.
The copilot threw my luggage out of the back of the plane and waved me towards a shack off to the side of the runway slurring in odd Russian that I couldn't keep up with.
The shack actually turned out to be the check-in, baggage claim, and security desk all rolled up into one. A plump old man with bloodshot eyes sat on a swiveling stool behind a scuffed wooden desk. He was listening to some sort of polka music on a transistor radio and didn't bat an eye when I put my passport in front of him and thwaped my luggage on the counter.
His brown eyes looked bored and dead. He looked from my passport, to me and back again before pulling out a stamp and marking me 'cleared' and flicking the booklet across the desk.
I placed the fake passport back into my pack and looked at the man. He had gone back to staring at the radio. Waiting a few moments I wondered if he would check my bags. I cleared my throat and he gave me an annoyed look.
"Shto?" what? he asked in a gruff voice thick with Russian accent.
I took the hint, out of sight out of mind; you don't ask, we won't do.
Shaking my head I pulled my stuff off of the counter and over to an old phone screwed into the crumbling cinderblock wall. There was a weathered phone book on a table near by and I flipped through the crumbling pages till I found taxi services.
When I got to Perm' I tipped the man well with about fifty rubles and headed towards the closest café where I ordered borscht and a few pelmeni. I ate quietly and the pulled out an old Time magazine I snatched off the plane when I was over Georgia. It was interesting, talking about Christians fleeing the Middle East, and the poles of the Earth switching. It held my attention till the sun set and the black Audi pulled up.
Two men got out and entered the café, high bells jingling when the door opened. I fixed my hijab I pulled out my Turkish paper and began to shuffle through the sections. They both walked without hesitation to my table in the corner and sat on the opposite side of me.
The two stared at me for a moment before briefly glancing at one another. They seemed to be communicating something between them in their stare. I didn't like it when people did that. Quite frankly it pissed me off.
The man to the right was tall and thin with broad shoulders and long arms and legs. His hands were clothed in worn leather gloves and he had high black leather boots on. His eyes were coal black with deep brown around the edges; the color hid his pupil and made me distrust him from the start. He had dark brown hair the color of Godiva special-dark-chocolate ice cream, which made miss home for a moment, but only a moment. His hair was pulled back with a leather thong and ice stuck to random strands. A brown leather feather duster rested lightly on his shoulders. He seemed to have very few layers on despite the cold.
Stupid cold resistant Russians…
The one to the right was stockier, about four inches shorter with dusty brown-blond hair that waved around his face, curling from the frozen moisture. His eyes were a green-grey and watery, like the color of his pale, near-translucent, skin. He wore a dark green wool overcoat and the same type of leather gloves that the other man had, just with less wear.
"Zdrastvooyte" hello the man with the dark eyes said, smiling slightly. He had a warming thick Russian accent that wrapped around me, despite his distasteful eyes.
"Allo" hello I said back. He smirked and I mentally rolled my eyes at him, prick. I had used the wrong form of the word but I really didn't care.
"Eezveeneete," sorry "Ya plokha gavaryoo pa rooskee." My Russian is bad.
He nodded, and shrugged his wide shoulders "Neechevo srashnava" no harm. With a small smile on his lips he continued, "Meenya zavoot Dimitri" my name is Dimitri
The man next him introduced himself as Stan, and again they exchanged glances making me wonder if those were their real names.
"Kak vas zavoot?" Dimitri asked for my name. He seemed to be the more talkative of the two.
"Rose" I said trying not to let my Turkish accent seep through the cracks, it tended to pop up when I was nervous or annoyed.
I was both at the moment.
Again they caught one another's eye and the corner of their lips turned up in small smiles.
What was with all of the looks between those two? I could tell they were laughing behind their eyes. Where they gay or something? Was this some sick trick?
No, Christian wouldn't do that to me, at least I hope he would respect me enough not to play a trick on me, or at least fear me enough not to.
Dimitri murmured a password under his breath in a deep Russian voice, and I responded on queue.
"Dobri, Mnye nam para eettee." good, we should go then. He nodded his head over my shoulder to where the Audi with tinted windows sat in the street, white heat venting from its chrome exhaust pipe.
"Da, pozhalujsta." Yes, please let's. I was so ready to be out of this odd place with these odd men and back with Lissa it wasn't even funny.
I tied another scarf around my face overtop of my hijab so only my eyes showed. I knew I looked like the perfectly stereotyped Middle Eastern bomber, but it was just too cold outside.
Before I could protest the men had my two bags and rucksack in their arms and were walking towards the door. I laid a few rubles on the table and looked back at the two men just to see Dimitri exchange another look with Stan.
Yeh, gay is a definite possibility.
They threw my luggage into the trunk as I opened one of the back passenger seats of the car. Stan took shotgun and Dimitri got in the side opposite of me.
No sooner had a placed one of my feet on the rubber matted floor did I felt arms ensnare me and tug me into the Audi with a forceful jerk.
I tumbled back onto the squealing ball of arms and legs that was Adrian Ivashkov, "ROSIE!!!" he giggled and hugged me harder. Somehow he managed to close the door with his foot and the car started rolling. "Long time no see my little terrorist!!! How have you been?!"
He always mocked me for my Middle Eastern ties; I could never live them down, not like I minded being called a terrorist, because really I didn't. What I did mind however, was Adrian's killer bear-hugs, especially now when I couldn't breath. He was like a fucking human Python.
"Adrian." I gasped out his arms restricting tighter around my ribcage, "Can't breath, let go!"
I could see Dimitri watching us from the other side of the car with a curious look on his face.
Adrian ignored my question and continued to play Coy and Anaconda, "Where have you been all these years my darling!?"
"Adrian, shut up!" I hissed, and struggled even more to break his grasp.
"Oh, how my heart has crooned for you!"
"Shut the fuck up" I yelled with the last of my breath.
"My sun and moon and stars have come back to me," he kissed the top of my head and I growled at him, "you see? She is the most beautiful tigress in all of Russia!" he sang to the other men in the car, "I told you she would come for me, didn't I?" he stroked my hijab and continued his insatiable rant to the Russians. Not like they could understand him, from my experience with Stan and Dimitri they didn't speak any English at all.
I managed to wiggle one of my arms free during his little serenade and elbowed him hard in the kidneys, efficiently shutting him up before he could embarrass either of us any further.
He released me and grabbed his stomach in pain, "Why, my love? Why would you betray me like this?" he moaned out.
I sat up and scooted back to my seat by the window and repositioned my scarves and head covering. They were completely torn apart from his codling and it ticked me off. Now I would have to re-rap them all. But not in this car full of men, I would do it later, in privet until then I would just have to make due with the mess.
"Because," I answered him in a matter-o-fact tone, "You ruined my hijab." I sighed and looked to the window to try to catch my reflection in the glass. I couldn't make out much, but from what I did see some of my hair had managed to slip out. I sighed and tried my best to fix it, not that it worked or anything, my hair never 'worked' in a hijab. Whenever I had this thing on my head my 'hair-dos' were 'hair-don'ts'.
"Fuck it" I muttered under my breath. I would work with my hair later.
"Ona neobichnaya, net?" she's unusual, no? I heard Dimitri say to the Russian woman driving the car.
"Da" was her only answer.
Stan made a quick comment that I couldn't catch and they all chuckled.
Note to self: buck-up on some hard core Russian.
"Adrian?" I said, trying not to sound too exhausted. Between him and the flights and the stupid Russian guys I was feeling incredibly tired. Not to mention the fact that with the time zone switch it was technically eight in the morning for me and I hadn't slept on any of my flights.
"Yes my love?" I shot him a dirty look, and I heard Dimitri chuckle quietly on the other side of the car.
"Make sure, the next time Christian wants to hire hot Russian bodyguards, they speak fluent English, ok?" I stifled yawned. "My Russian sucks too much to play translator." I shook my head. When we got to the house I was finding the closest bed and curling up on it.
"But, mocheré," he said in a confused tone, a stupid grin on his face, "They all speak fluent English."
Shit…
The car exploded with deep Russian laughter, and even with all of my scarves on I'm sure everyone noticed the deep red on my face.
Way to go dumbass, I mentally patted myself on the back, way to go.
This was turning out to be a very interesting first day.
So, hope you guys liked it, if so leave some reviews, if not, don't bother. The rating for this will probably go up to 'M' later on, but whatever…..
Click the button you will make me and the rest of the crazy Russians in the car happy.
Till then, Da sveedaneeya!!!