The drive home was uneventful, tragic. Revy's hands gripped the steering wheel as her head bobbed back and forth, the amount of alcohol consumed begging her head to hit the horn and spin out into an unfortunate apartment building. Her nose had a sensation of an aching heart beat, and the reflection in the rear view mirror showed a blooming pink bruise line the bridge of her nose. She didn't drink enough.

A cigarette laid on her bottom lip, it jostling in between her teeth when the car hit a particularly nasty speed bump. The side roads in Roanapur were absolutely neglected; only the main routes had asphalt repeatedly laid on top of the broken parts. It would be chaos if there was a closed lane for construction. There was no need for licenses, the cops never pulled anyone over for speeding, and heavy traffic often ended up in a gunfight. Construction workers wouldn't risk their lives for a smoother road unless a specific gang persuaded them to take a look at it.

The streets near all the rival gangs headquarters were immaculate. One could feel the difference in the road underneath their tires, the smoothness of the road could almost lull Revy to sleep. The straight relief of not having to live in fear of getting another popped tire made her shoulders relax and her eyes droop more. She was definitely ready to sleep. Pass out, really.

Disco music blasted from the radio; the rock one she'd flock to had an interview with a washed-up singer who sounded as if he had embers in his throat, and the rest of the stations weren't even in English. All the windows were down and still she could not feel any sense of relief from the orange-hot sunset. Bangs fluttered against her face, grazing the hot sunburn that traveled from her brow bone to her cheekbones. At least the irritation would keep her awake, including her nearly broken nose.

Her cell phone rang out in the passenger seat. Revy contemplated just letting it ring, to just focus on getting home before she slumped against the dashboard. Head pounding, she flicked ash off the cigarette, the dust dissipating into the air outside the window. Reaching over sluggishly, she pawed around the leather seat while her eyes remained on the road. Her eyesight blurred and focused sharply back, the streetlights softening in her gaze.

Her fingers found it and she flipped it open with a swift motion, lifting it to her ear. The cellphone she had now had lasted the longest out of all the ones she'd owned before; most would be thrown at her bedroom wall, or out into the open water, or even shot if it kept ringing. Dutch pressed the newest phone into her hand and promised her if she destroyed it, this would be the last one she'd ever be allowed to have. Like lighting money on fire, he'd state, as he took in the shrapnel of metal that lied in the hallway. Or, more like shooting it.

"Yeah?"

"You took the damn car, didn't you?" Dutch sighed exasperatedly. Revy could envision him running his hand down his face.

"Yup. I went up to see sister bitch, but I'll be back in..." She raised her head up, scanning the surroundings. "I'll be back at the ol' home front in fifteen, twenty minutes tops."

"Forget about that, Revy. You'll have to make a detour up at Balalaika's place."

"Fuck! Why? Dutch, I'm fucking wasted." Revy was a violent drunk but there was no way in hell she'd bitch at Dutch, and instead took her contained frustration by pressing her boot into the accelerator. Under normal circumstances she'd drift around corners and race past pedestrians, but this was the car, Benny's baby, the one where he would spend hours under the hood, changing the oil and brakes and whatever else needed to be tended to. When Rock had gotten his first flat tire in the Plymouth, he thought he was going to die, really die. He acted like he could see Peter at the gates already.

"I can tell. Jesus, I can almost smell your breath. She called me earlier today and she's got another job for us. She's paying half up front, plus there's the usual papers to go through- you know the deal. Don't come back until you get that payment, cah-piche?"

She rubbed her eyes, attempting to keep the car straight with her knees. "Yeah, fuck, fine, I'll see Fryface."

"Great. I already called up before, to let em' know. See you at home." Dutch replied, the sound of a cocktail shaker being heard in the background.

"Wait, wait- You were down at the dock all day?"

"Somebody has to clean up the mess." He stated, amused, before hanging up.

Revy groaned and shut the phone with a loud clack, Her eyes narrowing and a sharp breath left her lungs.

Despite the smell of pollution and cigarettes and gunfire and sometimes blood, Revy could smell the ocean. She liked to try to notice the exact moment when the air changed and she could smell the sea. Often the smog was too much and she couldn't taste the salt on her lips until she was almost right there. But it was seven in the late afternoon and Revy had got a hint of it. In her drunken state, she wanted to go into the water again. To get rid of the smell of sweat and bourbon about her, to float in something deep and dark.

Or, shoot something. Someone, preferably. Like whoever cut her off a few blocks ago and swerved into a hard right turn. She'd threw her head out of the window, a blast of expletives running out of her mouth. There was the thought of shooting his tires, bumper, or even taking a gamble for head; but that would mean a traffic jam, and she'd have to do a three point turn, which the few time she tried she always ended up on the sidewalk or in the doorway of a store. Whoever owned the vehicle seemed to recognize who she was and Revy spotted their head ducking down. The rusted minivan was about to fall apart and here it was, going forty miles down a tight street. The echo of the tires screeching hammered in her skull.

"I see you're getting better at this," Balalaika's words drifted up to the forefront of her mind. Yeah, she supposed so. Actions have consequences. Adults pay for things they do. People who don't watch what they say get thrown on the hoods of rental cars. One handed, at that. Balalaika's broad shoulders; Revy thought she snapped his neck.

Revy slowed down to take a left, sweaty hands gripping the wheel. The traffic light hung limply from the wire, an orange light flashing. The Plymouth turned smoothly onto the side street; even with the thirty-plus years under it's belt, it remained in decent condition, and still managed to soften the worst of the potholes in the road. Eda's car on the other hand, Revy could feel the twists of asphalt underneath her shoes and it was no small wonder that the floor didn't fall beneath their feet.

As soon as she entered into the Hotel Moscow district the atmosphere changed. No longer were their drug dealers loitering under street lights, no prostitutes on street corners with their thin camisoles and miniskirts, or even druggies sitting on the sidewalks, rocking themselves back and forth. The limited number of drug dealers there were in the area could only operate under permission from Balalaika, and if they didn't it was no surprise what happened to them.

Revy flicked the headlights on and reclined in her seat, scouring the darkened buildings. There were a few men about, walking in pairs. It was easy to tell which ones were Balalaika's men, they were tall and stoic, broad shouldered and ducking into stores to collect money.

A few minutes later she'd pulled into the small parking lot next to the headquarters, rolling the windows up and stepping outside of the car. Picking up her guns, she weighed the cool metal in both of her hands, fingers brushing the triggers. Revy pushed her cutlasses into her black holsters and shut the door. Rubbing her temples, she closed her eyes and the headache exploded in the front of her skull, curling around her eyes. "Well, shit."

Walking up to the building, she wiped her hair off her face, pushing it back, startled at the greasy texture. God, what a mess she must have appeared. There was a moisture underneath her armpits, the back of her knees and her face was flushed. The heat wasn't letting up and from what Rock had told her from the weather reports, it wasn't letting up soon. She could almost miss the temperature of Japan.

Air conditioning blasted into her face, a mercy to her sunburn and sweat. Of course the Russians would have such things in every room. They were always wore the dress shirts to the top button; dark suit jackets. Severe faces, like they were at a perpetual funeral. The men in what could be considered the lobby for the multi-level building walked towards her, hands in front of them, eyes scanning her like something to be jettisoned if necessary.

Raising her hands, Revy rotated her torso to show off her twin guns, her lips pressing together. Her head pounded again. A hammer right against her temple. "How many times have I been here?"

"There will always be a weapons check, even if it is the Lagoon Company," The man replied, his accent thick. The lines around his mouth showed that he did smile, perhaps only smiled in the presence of their beloved Kapitan. When Revy saw her for the first time, she thought anything but. It was just a woman dragged from the wine-dark sea, bleeding out on the deck of their boat.

She fought to not roll her eyes. Balalaika, as Benny had muttered to her, was a complete goddess to them. Their hero, hair shining gold. A Valkyrie that dragged them out of Afghanistan.

"I'm here to pick up the stuff she's got for us, Dutch called earlier?"

The second man nodded to the other. "Alright, head up, but watch yourself, Two Hands."

Revy raised her eyebrows and nodded, vision blurring. She took her miserable body towards the nicely-sized staircase in the middle of the large room. The banister was a dark, carved wood. Her hand trailing it as she stepped up the stairs, her boots echoing up into the hallway she was leading herself to. Hotel Moscow's establishment itself was old, with the wood inside faded of it's original shine and the peeling linoleum in more neglected rooms.

Avoiding the top creaky step, Revy rounded the corner and towards the end of the hall, laid Balalaika's office. Revy clenched her fists, stifling a yawn. Her legs turned to jello for a second.

"Sis? I'm here about the.. paperwork," She hesitated for a moment, before slowly knocking on the door, bruised knuckles scraping against the oak. The typical door at the end of the hallway, reminiscent of the principal's office.

"Come in, Two Hands." Balalaika's clipped tone came muffled from the door.

The door clicked open, and Revy's head peeked in, the smell of a cigar floating through the threshold and into the hallway.

There Balalaika was, papers in both her hands, her head tilted at an angle, eyes scanning through the words. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she wrote something down on one of the pieces, before passing it off to the side and reading the next one.

Bookshelves lined the wall behind her, filled with dark green, red, and the occasional cracked leather spines of books. The office itself was simplistic, and dark. There was Balalaika's heavy desk, wide and the most imposing furniture in the room. Chang's office was similar to his, with his having a touch of more eastern influences. Entering it, Revy had a feeling creeping up her spine of being in trouble.

"Excuse the mess," the blonde gestured to the paperwork scattered across her desk, with a glass ashtray near the edge that desperately needed to be emptied. "I've been here all day, this is driving me crazy."

Revy strutted stiffly towards Balalaika, her knees feeling like they would give at any moment. Two feet from the desk she stopped, hands casually on her hips, leaning slightly to take in the desk and the seated woman before her. The blonde was so tall compared to her, that this was the only way for Revy to look down on her. So, she was a natural blonde. Her gaze fell down from the top of Balalaika's head, down her focused expression, and then followed the scar that started on one side of her face and trailed down her neck to her shoulder.

"Uh-" Shut it, Revy. Mentally banging her head against the wall, she couldn't comprehend why she couldn't push that confrontation out of her mind. ShutitRevyshutitRevy-Rock had not even mentioned it. "What's up?"

Balalaika shook her head, taking a moment for her cigar. Her thumb and pointer finger held the object to her lips, her long nails catching the twilight that shown in the windows. It was the same hand that she used to fling Rock with. "The men we set up in Japan haven't necessarily been doing their job correctly. I'm not here to babysit, or to teach them how to conduct business."

In all honestly, Revy didn't know how to talk to Balalaika anymore. Revy ran another hand through her hair, nails cutting into her scalp. Her brain felt like it was swimming; near drowning, doing the doggy-paddle to keep up. It was all she thought about anymore. Rock and Balalaika. Two people she'd never imagine meeting in her life.

Revy didn't know what to do with her hands. She shuffled her feet and removed her fingers from her hips, instead crossing them loosely, lowering her head as if to protect her throat. "Good luck with that, Sis. I'm here for that paperwork Dutch talked about-"

"Oh, that. Hold on, let's see." Balalaika wet her finger with a quick slide of her tongue. Flipping through the stacks, she gathered up three papers, and then stapled them carefully together.

Let's see. Revy's hand shot up to touch the strand of hair that escaped from her ponytail, swallowing. Her nigh-drunken haze sharpened to a hard focus, and there was a feeling for frustration for not seeing the simple fucking visage of Balalaika just licking her finger. The gentle shuffle of papers together, the press of fingers to the edge to line them up perfectly- then the bent wrist on the stapler, pressing it down to stab it's metal teeth. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Her hips swayed. It took a brief moment for Revy to steady herself. The carpet, much like the pew at the church, looked comforting. She wanted to pass out. She was fucking tired, exhausted, wanting to throw herself at the walls of her bedroom until she passed out, throwing clothes onto the floor, screaming into her bare mattress. Revy would hear Rock's door creaking open, his footsteps traveling through the short hallway; pausing for a second at her own door. Dutch and Benny knew better to let it ride out, if they tried to intervene she'd go into more a frenzy. The people she was closest to, seeing her vulnerability shining bright in the moonlight that managed to peek through her broken blinds.

A life like his. And Two-Hands... I have something to say to you. I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but it will only bring you disappointment if you hope to have a life like his. Life like his. Her stomach churned, and her head spun. Palms hit the desk, nails digging into the wood. The words came fast and furious, sputtering from her lips as if she got her teeth knocked out. "I can't have a life like Rock."

"Hm?" Balalaika cocked an eyebrow as she place the document across from her, towards Revy. She raised her chin slowly, eyes turning icy. It was a silent warning, a headsman walking up to the execution block with their weapon of choice, waiting for the first prisoner to be dragged out.

"I don't want to have a fucking life like Rock, I don't bit- I know it won't work, okay?" Revy began to sweat, her heavy lidded eyes snapped open and her pupils dilated, the pain in her nose ignored for once.

The blonde sat silent, eyes boring into Revy's a gaze that was at once unreadable and frightening. The cigar was placed in the ashtray, like it didn't even matter, her eyes not once leaving Revy's flushed, sunburnt face.

"Why would you say that? I can't stop- It won't leave my fucking brain, sis. I know I can't, I told that fucker, that son of a bitch, that it's not realistic? Me? Working in a fucking cubicle? What did you mean? What the fuck did you mean?!"

"Is this really a conversation we should be having now? How much did you drink today, I wonder. I've heard your tolerance is legendary," Balalaika hissed, eyes narrowing and her shoulders squaring. Her voice was restrained, but the cigar made her voice sound soft and smokey. A shiver ran up Revy's spine. If this continued, Balalaika would get out of that chair and hurt her, really, really hurt her, more than Rock. Rock had a car to cushion his fall. Revy had faded carpet that would give one hell of a rug burn.

Revy failed to return a clever retort, instead placing both hands on the desk, ducking her head down to her chest, taking in another breath. She was being seen again, Balalaika looking at her and seeing all those exposed nerves. She was getting too emotional; it was easy in front of Balalaika, a woman who had no false pretenses, who could see it as it was and didn't care how ugly it looked.

An expansion of quietness came between them, and Revy grew uncomfortable with the silence. She shut her eyes, unwilling to look Balalaika in the face, but was more unable to deal with the room's harsh lighting. Her arms brushed her guns, the shock of cold metal bringing her closer to earth.

"You've answered your own question, Revy, a life like his- what was his typical life, would it live to your expectations?" Balalaika stated coldly, supporting her head with her clasped hands, elbows on the table. "Go home. Send someone up tomorrow- preferably sober."

"I can take the paperwork, sis." Revy lifted her body up, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She unsteadily picked up the paper. It still had a touch of warmth to it, from the printer. Her legs strengthened themselves, just barely, enough to pull herself from the desk and stand awkwardly. Shakily, Revy rose her eyes from the document, sliding up the blonde's chest, to her tension-ridden shoulders, up her pale throat and lipsticked mouth; following the broken trail the burns lead. She locked her gaze with Balalaika, who had never removed her eyes from Revy's form.

Balalaika's manicured nails brushed the scar on her own neck, absentmindedly; as soon as she grazed her skin, her hand went back down to the desk. "This is the life you have, Revy. Do you know any other?"

"No, I fucking don't. How would... how the fuck would you know what his sort of life is like, anyway?" Her heart pounded in her chest. A phantom ache beated in the arm where Balalaika had her shot.

"We've all seen glimpses of it, have we not? It's not like I'm psychic, you know. I already told you I don't know what goes on in your head." Balalaika answered easily, throwing a chunk of hair over her shoulder. There was still a sweet venom to her voice.

"I belong here in this pisshole, same as you."

Balalaika's chest expanded with a deep inhale of breath. She suddenly looked tired under the harsh lighting. "Do you?"

Revy broke eye contact and stared down at the papers in her hands, tightening her grip and indenting the paper with her thumbs. Several pages. This wasn't going to be an easy job. But it heightened the chances of being able to kill multiple people; innocent or not. She didn't really care. Parting her chapped lips to say anything, she instead clamped it down again.

"I'll see you and the rest of the Company tomorrow, twelve sharp. I'd suggest you go to bed and sleep off as much as you can- not that you'd listen, Two Hands. You're not exactly the most obedient girl I have met." She reclined in her chair once again, popping her knuckles.

"Girl?" Revy took a backward step towards the door, dragging her feet on the ground, giving proof to Balalaika's point. Her face reddened more then it already was. The sunburn hid most of it, but it traveled down her cheeks, past where it ended.

The blonde had her cigar in hand again, looking it over. Ash dotted the burning end but it still sparked alive, and she took a short breath, smoke curling out of her mouth. "I have more than a few years under my belt then you, Two Hands. Good night, and don't bring this up again when you can hardly stand. If you value your own life."

"Night to you too." Revy, without a second glance, left the building.