2- The View from the Afternoon
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Clink.
Ivan stared down at the chipped mug that had been full just seconds ago, passing the back of his hand over his mouth, which had curled up into a satisfied smile. Nothing could end a long day better than a proper dose of good old-fashioned Zyr.
"Drinking too fast is bad for your metabolism."
His gaze shifted to the side, resting momentarily on his official drinking partner, who had barely made a dent in his own despite the hour that had passed since they had shuffled from the windy night and into the warmth of their run-down tavern. It was a girly little fruity …thing in a slim-stemmed glass, fitting perfectly with his mental image of Yao. The back of his hand passed over his mouth again, this time to stifle a snicker.
"Comrade is forgetting we in Russia are built for fast drinking." Without hesitation, he tapped his mug against the wet-wood counter to summon the bartender, much to the chagrin of the slim Chinese man. His much taller companion could have sworn he heard something that sounded distinctly like 'will never understand Westerners', but shrugged it off with the grin of someone with a good night ahead of them.
Tonight was a special night, after all. There was no time for trivial things when one was supposed to be celebrating!
Unless, of course, that 'trivial thing' happened to be a certain bartender not doing his job – that was grounds for berserker mode, and reasonably so (in Ivan's ever so humble opinion). Mug met counter with a bit more force a few seconds after the first time, along with the palm of Ivan's free hand. Though his eerily passive smile was still firmly in place, a few of the other patrons had begun to inch their own stools away just a tiny bit, some even choosing to duck through the dented wood doorframe before things had a chance to escalate.
Though he hardly ever caused a scene unlike some of the more raucous individuals, nobody ever stood between Ivan Braginski and his nightly fix – even the most dimwitted of the customers that Easy received were well aware of that. And it seemed that the only person who didn't care was the manager himself.
Who doubled as the bartender.
Who was currently having a very intense conversation with the only other bartender that Easy had.
Who didn't like Ivan much to begin with and, as such, was doing his very best to keep the first bartender preoccupied with whatever they were talking about, going so far as to start herding him into the small joint staffroom.
Which in the end made for one antsy Russian sitting just out of reach of the colorful collection of bottles, with no one to bring any to him.
It could not end well for anybody.
"Is rude to leave Ivan waiting, Alfred!"
Yao sighed, stirring his strawberry daiquiri absentmindedly and praying to whatever gods were listening that the bespectacled manager of their haven would actually pay Ivan mind today. The last time something like this had occurred… His gaze strayed towards one of the windows at the front of the store, which had been patched shoddily with layers of plastic tarp and duct tape, bits of the mouldy wooden frame sticking out at odd and possibly dangerous angles. It was a miracle none of the STOP goons had heard about that one.
Peering over the shoulder of his shorter companion, said manager made something of a face and waved his hand dismissively. "Business going on here, hang on for a minute would you?" Ivan was one of the regulars, yes – a member of the inner circle, even – but it didn't mean for a second that Alfred bent to his incessant whining. Especially not tonight, when there were more important things to do.
Turning around, he allowed the shorter man – whose gold nametag read Arthur in thick block letters – to usher him into the attached room, not bothering to shut the door behind them. Anyone who frequented Easy enough already knew what they really were, even if they weren't directly a part of it.
Arthur perched himself on the back of their only office chair, his posture tense and eyes excited. That in itself could have been a good or bad sign, and the taller blonde cast him a somewhat skeptical look before waving his hand. They had been dancing around the topic for too long already and he didn't want any more bar stools being flung through his windows. "Do you actually have anything to say, or was the plan a bust after all?" His skepticism was met with an indignant glare. "You're lucky I even did this job for you, you git. Now this is truly reason to celebrate, so listen carefully."
"The bar that Matthew owned down the road was shut down just two nights ago, as I'm sure you're well aware." Alfred gave a nod. There wasn't anyone who didn't know about that by now; it had been a major hit for the underground business and had shaken the confidence of several of the newer bar owners. STOP had never been a force to take lightly, and with the rate the militant group churned out new and more terrifying biological warfare weapons, theirs was not a business for the timid.
"Well listen to this." The man leaned forward and cupped his hand to his mouth, which caused Alfred to roll his eyes at his partners' childish antics (despite the fact that he always played along anyway and had leant in to listen). "Remember the time that we covered for them back in the strain of busts a few months back? Matthew came through with the return favour."
At this, Alfred's eyes lit up and he had to restrain himself from punching the air in victory, seeing as Arthur's face was in the way. "Seriously!? Great! So the red herring worked?"
A nod of confirmation was given and, looking quite smug, Arthur tapped the leather messenger bag he almost always toted around. "Perfectly. The bloody loons fell for it without question and are on a wild goose chase as we speak. Matt really pulled through for us this time, I don't think we'll have so much as a curious cop in the area for days."
The Brit hopped off of his chair, finally giving Alfred ample room to do a mini victory punch session. "He really did pull through! Man, we've got to find a way to thank him." As he spoke, he was reaching towards the bag, which Arthur yanked back with a tut.
"These are very sensitive documents and I went through a lot of trouble to get them. I won't have you ruining them with dirty bar hands."
Before his rebuke could be answered, a crash resonated through the dim tavern, causing both of the blondes to freeze momentarily. Alfred was the first to move, cautiously peering around the door, half expecting to see that Ivan had finally catapulted himself over the counter and broken something in the process. Instead he saw an equally disgruntled Ivan staring towards the front door, which had been thrown open with such force that several of the old flyers tacked to the wall next to it had come down in a paper shower.
"Mon dieu!"
"Bloody hell."
At roughly the same time Arthur slapped his palm over his face, the door was closed again (with the normal force this time), and the figure stepped across familiar creaky floorboards to slide onto the empty stool next to Yao. Without a second thought he reached for the long-haired man's drink who, used to these antics, let it go without protest. Temporarily forgetting about his empty mug, Ivan rested his elbow against the counter, casting the newest arrival a lopsided grin. "Is also rude to come late to important meeting."
His reprimands were simply waved off as the man downed nearly half of the frozen beverage in a few seconds time, leaning back on his stool and sliding it back to its original owner afterwards. "You can't blame me, fate interfered on my way here."
"You were off molesting school girls again, weren't you." All eyes rose to the new participant in the conversation; Arthur simply crossed his arms over his chest, giving the newcomer a once-over. "Same as always, Bonnefoy."
Snickering at the comment, Francis flipped his hair over his shoulder and tipped his chair back to balance on two metal legs before allowing it to fall back to the ground. "You break my heart, accusing me of such foul things! It wasn't a girl." Turning away from the gape-mouthed Brit, he waved over towards the manager, who was still leaning against the door as if surveying the insanity from a distance might save himself from it. "Alfred, Alfred! How did it go?"
This seemed to pique the interest of everyone within hearing distance, but the patrons of Easy followed a strict set of their own moral codes. Wordlessly, the five or so people still lingering in the tavern began to pack their things away, tossing used bottles in the rubbish bin and leaving empty mugs on the counter for Alfred to grab later. The five watched passively from their cluster at the front of the bar, and once the last had left, Alfred moseyed past the counter to bar the door shut. Five locks and a thick chunk of wood kept the inside door reinforced, though it was difficult to find to begin with. In order to get to Easy, one had to be given directions from someone who had already been there – past the set of abandoned apartment complexes, down the electrical management shaft, through the parking garage and down the fenced-off alleyway.
Alfred had picked the location and Francis had approved it as the main meeting point. Being the most street-savvy of them all in certain aspects, they trusted his judgment there, and it hadn't failed them yet.
Clapping his hands together, the manager turned back to his four ragtag teammates of, all of whom were staring at him intently (save Yao, who seemed more interested in finishing his drink before Francis could strike again). "Alright then! You know the deal."
On cue, Arthur slapped his messenger bag on the table and unfastened the buckle. Instead of reaching in to take the papers out, he simply pulled the bag away and allowed it to unroll on its own. Three sets of attentive eyes stared it over, and though Ivan and Yao remained on the periphery of the excitement, soon enough five grins were being shared.
This was the first step to relighting the old torch, the first step to turning some heads and grabbing some attention.
This could be the key to a major turning point.
The innocent-looking paper remained laid out on the counter as a fresh round of vodka and spirits and the leftover food from the back were brought out by Alfred, careful not to let any grease spatter the bold print on the front of the document.
'Blueprint for new local STOP weapons bunker, construction to begin immediately.'
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Sorry for the wait and somewhat short chapter, and thank you for bearing with me through it. R&R if you will!
