AN: As it goes, all rights belong to the creators of the Black Lagoon Manga and anime respectively. Thanks to my Beta DemonicDRAMAqueen for editing this mess.
It's...an interesting take on Balalaika. Yuri/femslash mentioning so if you ain't into that don't read.
Review's are appreciated but I won't beg^^
The clock ticked loudly on the wall and her stocking clad feet swung freely from the chair. It was much too big for her but the girl knew of the importance of her grandfather….and the bigger the chair the greater the person, as a lush king in his throne were.
"Miss Sofia?" a woman opened the door.
The girl raised her head from her lap.
"He will see you now."
And she remembered vividly how intimidating it was entering his study. The walls seemed to bend in around her, the ceiling had no end. The girl took notice of the few pictures in the room. Only one depicted family. It was of her and, her father and her mother smiling regally at the camera. Sofia thought it was the last time she'd seen her father so happy. Her mother she decided was sweet, always happy. Of course Sofia could just barely remember her. She'd smelled of expensive rose perfume and someone had knifed her on the way home one evening. They'd told her it was painless.
"Sofia" his voice was rough, not unkind, blunt though and unsweetened.. "My son is dead."
Her wide blue eyes had shot to attention.
"Executed for desertion last Friday."
She waited but he said nothing more. His back was still turned and Sofia could just barely make out the silhouette of his head, obscured by the bulk of a chair.
The woman snubbed out her cigarette on the armrest of a leather couch and waved the memory away. Memories like that were pointless.
"We are done here." her tone left no room for argument or confusion.
They scattered like ants. Wise decision, she thought. She stood, gathering up her coat.
"Kapitan." Boris approached her stoically.
"Hm?"
Although her back was turned, Balalaika felt the wind from the trigger as it was pushed.
"KAPITAN!"
Boris's yell was thunder to her ears, louder than any machine gun more intense than any gas bomb they had encountered. But the pain in her side was just comprehensible, and the wail of the ambulance not quite deafening.
She remembered the flames to her skin had been mesmerizing and she had thought it something like a wall of sirens, their erratic movements a dance of fiery passion. Peeling off her burned skin was a painful and tedious process. The hospital lights had felt to bright for her sensitive blue eyes. Blue, like ice but they had never felt more hot as they had then as she'd recalled the sway of the seductive sirens. Suddenly it had felt very warm inside the hospital. The doctor currently tending to her burns slipped.
"Shit, oops, I mean, sorry miss"
One trigger was pulled, the hospital erupted into mayhem, but the doctor was dead, and that was what really mattered. She shot him again just because. The gun was painful in her grip, tear-jerking even. She wouldn't let it go, no not for all the goddamn sirens in the world.
One hell of an eternity later and wisps of flames like sirens still haunted her. She woke some hours later, after a brief surgery. The first thing she noticed was Boris. He was hunched over in a chair, reading a magazine. The scene was so domesticated, it was almost comical.
She gulped in a breath of stale air "How long?"
"About five hours, Kapitan." He answered folding the magazine and dropping it carelessly on the floor.
"And the rest of us?"
He didn't miss a beat "I sent them back. They were too jet lagged to even hold their guns out in front of them."
The woman nodded, resting her head back against the pillow. "I see."
The man stood "Would you like for me to gather them here?"
She closed her eyes and breathed out "No, that won't be necessary."
Boris waited for a few moments before apparently realizing she wasn't going to elaborate.
"I'll be outside, Kapitan."
It was a few minutes after he'd left before Balalaika felt she could breath again. The woman knew that despite their strictly professional relationship, Boris had always wanted more. When she'd met him, he'd been barely a man, hormones still buzzing, so eager to prove his worth to the world. Time, pain, and grief had hardened his features. Balalaika had almost begin to toy with the notion of them together. It would of been a joke- at least to her. He was an oaken Caquetoire chair, riddled with tradition and understated simplicity. He called for straight shoulders, and was too hard to fall back on. She was an electric chair, a woman most people avoided at all cost. Made of metal, her rule would only be sacrificed by one thing, fire. No, they would never work, Balalaika needed a siren, someone who could get her blood to boil. Someone who could get her to bend. Someone who could get her fired up and excited about life again.
The first time she had met the fierce gunslinger by the name of Rebecca, she had sneered. That brat had been nothing more than insolent to her. Balalaika had years on her, but what was that to a little ghetto rat? Absolutely fucking nothing. She'd met Balalaika's piercing gaze with one that said everything about her personality. Later Balalaika would berate the pirate, telling her that the eyes gave away just what appearances could not.
Revy had responded with "Goddamn bitch, think you know me?" and then followed up with "I only let 'em see what crazy shit they need to see before I blow their brains out."
The first gunfight they'd had together had been as intense as any one of Balalaika's few and unexperienced orgasms. Revy tossed her a severed head and grinned wickedly.
"Souvenirs."
She peered at the pirate and in that moment knew she was able to look past the crazy.
Because why the hell not? Anyone who claimed they weren't crazy was a liar.
Balalaika often wondered if her grandfather would approve of her choice of life. Had this been a black and white, disgraceful or not decision, she would've been content. But alas, like life, her choices-and his were blurred. Not murky so much as just plain grey. Her style of leadership, if nothing more would have earned her at least a nod of acknowledgment.
A screeching sound interrupted her thoughts as a chair was brought to her bedside, about as sturdy as her sanity and plastic like the breast on a hooker's chest.
"Sis, my day just got about ten times shittier. Even shittier than you look right now."
No, Balalaika thought decidedly, he most certainly would not have approved.
Hm, little to OOC? Eh, I tried.