I started this a long time ago and only just finished it now.
You might be able to spot a difference…or maybe not.
Disclaimer: Nothing.
-Dinner entertainment-
He walked, silently following in an obeying fashion the elder leading the way as his eyes fixed upon the cement beneath his feet. It had to be the most interesting thing on the planet at that moment, the mixture of asphalt and rocks formed from a mold and left hardened for them to walk on.
This batch of concrete was perfect and oddly a whiter gray than the darker usual layers along the town's roads, though there it was common to expect the unexpected. Such a catchy contradiction.
The pathway traveled along was the least of things ranked in a higher class compared to the average roads traveled on by the city's inhabitants at that certain mansion, a ruby, a beautiful gem in a mountain of rubble.
His expression was blank, though leaning more towards discontent if you looked ever closely at the boredom that his eyes contained and that was the only thing visible on the surface of the void orbs.
''Do not look so sour Boris.'' The man hissed, coming to a stop before the entrance doors.
The boy, Boris looked up at his father, almost scowling just to spite the man's wishes. He merely sighed instead and strained out his posture gaining a more serious air of sophistication. The improvement was smiled upon whilst his father fixed his own red tie and strolled in, a servant greeting the family pair.
''Dobre viechir Kuznetsov.'' The young lady bowed in respect politely, knowing her inferior role in the greeting process.
Her English was heavily accented from her foreign tongue but the small sentence was comprehendible. ''I shall escort you to the master.'' She instructed to be followed, a single slender frail arm reaching out for the rail as they approached the stairs.
''Spashiba.'' The father thanked her, a slight shock as he ensued after nodding the sign she was doing her job as required in an adequate fashion.
Her other hand lifted the mass of black and white robes she wore from trailing along the scarlet velour their feet walked upon, revealing her tiny feet, protected by white heals that remained quiet against the wood.
Her fingers slid against the cherry oak wooden banister newly waxed and glossy, easily giving off someone's reflection. Gazing back from the polish was a pair of lilac eyes, looking out of the corner of them at the mirror like image of himself and the obvious scorn etched on his features.
At the top of the staircase, the lady opened the large doors reigning supreme over their small figures and gestured to enter, waiting for their compliance before closing the entry behind them.
A shot hall followed and when the new blocking closed doors were pulled open, a round of smiles proceeded.
''Welcome, Welcome.'' Said a voice, doing exactly what passed his lips.
Boris's own father whom shook hands with the host met the darker haired man on foot towards them.
''It's a great pleasure to have you here as my guests Kyznetsov.'' The owner, mid thirties in age with black hair, slicked back upon his head beamed, the curving, like his hair almost dripping with not oil but warmness, which was disturbing and unnerving.
It was unsettling because the fake persona was almost believable but behind the joyous role of host was the cold man who built that enormous empire they stood in. A kingdom, a vast mansion and castle built on lies, deceit, betrayal and backstabbing so high that no one could reach the top to knock it down. No wind could topple each thick layer, compressed with filth; no weaponry could penetrate the fortress reeking of the stench of death and the putrid scent of deception.
Though disrupting for most, his own father helped in that creation and almost like a brother to this ultimate blackmailer had his own counterfeit supremacy, which was just as lofty and dangerous. He was the heir of the second deadly family, a descendant of the branches that sprouted from a corrupt land.
Boris watched the shake of hands and friendly pat on the shoulder, glaring at the presence behind the man associated with his father. The man's son, like himself only present because it was mandatory of him and nothing more, to play out a fake relax evening between friends.
The glower was met with a smirk playing upon the redhead's lips deviously but not as malice as the threatening look he was receiving. There was bad blood amid the younger generation of executives but pushed aside for the social event and they mingled together, on best behaviors.
''The pleasure's all mine Ivanov.'' Was the reply and Boris's parental elder joined in on the uncommon and eerie show of contentment. That had been the only first startling perturbation of the night.
The four men sat down for dinner as the conversation erupted between the fatherly cohort and sometimes a younger added in a comment wisely, appearing in the best of manner and etiquette.
The meal had consisted of caviar; a homeland delicacy served with more from the underwater creature, dried and salted fish. The courses were not for the faint of heart and washed down with a fine homemade wine.
The Micako wines, which they were enjoying, were rare and expensive adorned with cork and attractive but simple western style label. The price was unspeakable but the taste was impeccable, bitter but rich and savory. They judged by quality and not the price tag.
Boris had been impressed with the smooth flowing of the night but more precisely the wine that the alcohol inside of was barely traceable upon his taste buds. He had been through three glasses, indulging in an action battle against the redhead who was finishing his fourth cup and looking still un-phased by the high percentage.
''Will you be joining them father?'' Yuri asked, catching an opening to be inquisitive and intelligent appearing when he would rather go somewhere secluded with a bottle of wine to himself.
However, as his father went to speak, mouth opened and words at the tip of his tongue, when a cellular ringing came as a response and the son had to wait for his answer while his drink was being refilled yet again.
Master Ivanov excused himself, taking the call in the entrance hall, leaving the boys and his guest to eat quietly and away from his rambles with another person.
Boris was sipping on his next glass, fork readying another bite of chicken, marinated in red army vodka, a serving that sounded horrendous but tasted excellent when he'd quietly choked on the burning liquid.
''Shto eta?'' The last adult asked semi worriedly, glancing over at his son whom cleared his throat, finally ingesting the rest of his drink.
''Neecheevo.'' He responded even if either seemed to notice the simper that Yuri on the other side of Boris was wearing so mischievously.
The disruption had been dismissed, the meal in continuation as the last alluring morsels were devoured and plates pushed aside when nothing remained on the ivory stained porcelain. More wine was consumed with idle conversation until the departure from the head of the household was excused by his returning, with an undertone of stress that was not questioned, only taken into acknowledgement as they all accepted the apology.
''Boys, would you retire to the lounge for the evening? Both of us have an urgent matter to settle with acquaintances of ours.'' With that said the adults left, leaving the dinning room silent, looming in absolute stillness until Yuri rose from his chair, full glass in hand.
Boris trailed Yuri out, gulping the alcohol in a quick swallow, discarding his empty glass on the table for the servants to clean. Each reluctantly strolled down the hall, only their footsteps echoing, not even their breaths deep enough to be heard. Upon arriving, the brass knob was jerked forward and they walked into the adjoining room.
The plush carpeting greeted their feet and spread across the entire room with its velvety texture. Furniture, namely the couch in the middle was slip covered with the same material. It had a Victorian shape, elegant and sophisticated, as did the one across from it. A table rested amid them and soon two shot glasses were placed on them as Yuri opened a cupboard, or rather, the mini bar and sat down on the sofa.
Boris took a seat at the opposite end, eyeing the bottle of vodka that joined each tiny crystal glass. Would wine and something that strong mix? The redhead seemed to think so, and pored them a shot. He smiled deviously and brought one to his lips, handing the other over.
''Cheers to the end of that bore fest.''
They cheered. Then, again and again until the bottle had been drained of all but the last remains, a shot glass each.
''Cheers to you, Boris.'' Yuri grinned, drunkenly and drank down the hard alcohol.
''To me?'' Boris frowned but drank nonetheless.
The redhead nodded vigorously, crawled over from one end of the couch, to the next, and stopped as his hand rested audaciously in his guests lap. He leaned in close, the vodka harsh and intense amid them, before he murmured almost inaudibly.
''Because you are fucking sexy.''
Yuri kissed the other boy and just as passionately, Boris complied with the lusty meshing. They had lied to their fathers, just as their fathers did to them, everyday of their lives. They did not hate each other, rather, far from it. They loved one another.
Their families would find out, some day…and the war or the linking of the two-mafia clans would occur. Sometimes they wondered what exile would be like, when they would be looked at in disgust and when they really felt in love, they imagined how strong they could become.
''I'm amazed we lasted this long.'' Boris said quietly, now smirking devilishly as well.
Yuri licked his lips and his blue eyes twinkled deviously.
''You're a good actor…you even managed to compose yourself after my foot wandered…''
''I did not appreciate that.'' Gray orbs glared at the content face, grinning at him.
There was a shrug, then a cocky reply ''I don't care.''
They kissed again, entertaining themselves for a long while, after dinner as their fathers were occupied by…business.
-EndE-
More wonderful translations! Again, forgive me if they are not completely accurate.
''Dobre viechir, Kuznetsov.'' Good evening, Kuznetsov.
''Spashiba'' Thank you
''Shto eta?'' What is it?
''Neecheevo.'' Nothing