Author's Note : I probably had something to put here… but I forgot. I'll tell you all next time if I remember.
Edited (5/1/2017) - Minor corrections.
Edit (3/23/2018) - Final formatting and minor corrections.
Edited (9/11/2018) - Minor corrections.
Russian Roulette : Reloaded
Chapter 49
(Monday the 28th of April, 1969 continued. Istanbul, Republic of Turkey.)
"It's kind of hard, you know. With a voice like this." The muscular George, probably wasn't his name but Skull was going to call him George anyways, mused in his jarringly high natural tenor. "I look like a tough guy, I can intimidate just about anyone by standing a little too close… but the moment I open my mouth…"
"I can imagine man… but the Great Skull still maintains that you sound completely awesome." Absently patting the decently drunk man on the shoulder a few times, the stuntman picked up his own shot of whiskey to pretend-drink. "However, there are ways to change where you speak from your natural vocal range. Not by much, but you get yourself a decent voice coach and shift that a few octaves deeper you'll be less awesome but possibly keep that intimidation factor even when you speak."
Skull had to mouth the few fingers of straight whisky, but as it wasn't Skull his Flames still boiled most the alcohol off before he swallowed under the suspicious eye of George's rat-faced fellow.
Tatiana had so many ideas to use from their younger sister's continuing discoveries, especially working around the fact that five or six out of seven types didn't have Storm Flames for different possibilities. Swallowing burning hot whisky-flavored liquid was a little hard, but then generally swallowing fifty proof or more liquor was anyways for him.
His Flame-induced heat can't harm himself, indeed. Unexpectedly awesome Chinese Triad skill to boil suspicious water and cooking off alcohol before swallowing for the win.
Woo, criminals. Sarcasm fully intended.
"Or," Skull continued, after setting down the tumbler he was drinking out of for another refill, "you could go into show business yourself. I mean, I know you seem to not like your voice, but it is pretty awesomely jarring. Make it your own, instead of a thing to be ashamed of. Radio personas aren't seen. Or, if you can do it, you'd have a decently good career in comedies playing a role as an unexpectedly competent but awesomely voiced thug-typed muscle man. But you'd be making money for it, making it work for you."
George was a depressive drunk, so he was pretty sure no decision would be reached right now. The point of the conversation was that the little niggling ideas he had just planted in the man's head would be highly distracting for him until he decided on what to do with it.
That just left him with George's pointy sharp featured partner.
Risky to go drinking with two possible criminal types?
Undoubtedly. Especially on his lonesome, without even asking some of Sonya's old circus friends like Jaq or even Crina to join them.
However, 'Skull' was supposed to be reckless and overconfident to a jarring degree. More so than most criminals would want to deal with for longer than a few hours or so, and especially not someone they would want to scout out for long or contemplating recruiting.
It made him uncomfortable to be here more or less alone and put himself out like this in a situation he knew wasn't safe, but he had always intended to use this method to throw off any unwanted criminal attention he ended up with.
Having foster parents like his and two criminal sisters that worried after him on top of a good friend who was a bit more than crooked their-self meant the Cloud was very damn well prepared with his 'persona' for the inevitable attention his undying skills earned him.
Mr. Rat-face wasn't going to be the one to upset his picked lifestyle or career, or his name wasn't Cherep Bazanov.
"So… you've been kind of quiet." Also kind of charry about his own drinking, merely matching the stuntman for every other glass. "Anything you'd like to ask the Great Skull?"
Squinting at him, and a not so stealthy side glance at the bottle of whisky they were sharing, the man gave a crooked smirk as he set his own tumbler down for a refill. "I was wondering how you survived that spill earlier. It looked nasty."
Equally crooked teeth. Not that it had any bearings on the conversation, but the Cloud gave it a moment of attention anyways.
"Erm… heh, so long as it remains between us… I think I could tell you." Slinging an arm over both George's and his less awesome partner, Skull brought them both in close. "It's… stage illusions. The ramp looks to be higher than the stands because the stands are built low. So, while it was painful… not really life threatening."
"…seriously?"
"I know… I want to do it all without the stage tricks, but my circus master is way too cautious about it all." Putting a mournful tone in his voice even if he wasn't really feeling that was too easy, just thinking about having to replace poor Betsy did the job. "Maybe he has a point about it."
Putting his right arm over George's shoulder had made it twinge really painfully, so the wince was completely natural as he let the twosome go.
"…meh, still think I could do it." Skull picked up the half-empty bottle and poured three times for each of the empty tumblers on the table they were seated at. "Do me a favor and keep that under your hats… not that we're wearing any."
Reckless, a bit stupidly overconfident, and arrogant comments right there. He was pretty proud of also mismatching it to his slightly exaggerated painful movements.
George absently clicked his filled glass against the stuntman's, his rat-faced partner sourly following suite in the next second.
"And on that note, I probably need to start heading back. I've got to salvage what I can of my bike and probably a visit to the hospital tomorrow to look forward to." Actually swallowing his next mouthful of liquor without altering it, the Cloud slammed his tumbler upside down on the table. "George, I'll leave you the bottle just because you are that awesome."
George blinked at him blearily a few times. "George? …my name is Mikko."
"Even better." Slapping the man on the shoulder on his way out, the stuntman left the bar and spent a tense few minutes waiting for someone to jump him on his way back to the circus.
When nothing like that happened, Skull breathed out a relieved sigh.
Close, but no cigar he thought as he wandered only slightly unstably on his way out of the township.
Might not be a great idea to immediately contact either of his sisters or his foster parents. He kind of wanted to in order to reassure them his plans for his life, not to mention his backup plans, were working as intended.
Maybe Master Liam would agree to give him a bit longer on the mid-summer break, in order to replace his bike or just for the 'recovery' illusion he now had to put up.
…damn it, what was he going to replace Betsy with?
(Tuesday the 29th of April, 1969. Saint Julian's Hospital, Mafia Land.)
"You either have the biggest set of balls I've ever seen or have no idea what you just risked." Adrik informed Verde in a deadpan tone of voice. "I can't quite figure which one applies."
Verde flicked his glasses up absently, turning a page in the report he was reading. "I have no idea what you are going on about."
"…you realize those red rose tattoos the girls have mean they've murdered before, right?" The Russian continued in a bemused tone. "I know Sonya's being very… accommodating, but she's kind of forced to be so since you took a bullet for her. If she was even a touch less duty-bound, I think she might have killed you for that arrogance. Or at least break your hand for it."
The scientist looked up sharply. "Who has she killed?"
"We don't ask those kinds of questions, man."
"I still don't see how you think I have either erred or overstepped myself." Verde picked up the topic a few moments later, after a moment to mentally adjust his views of the women he was living with to include the description of 'murderesses' instead of just 'criminals'. "Negotiations for future services is a generally accepted feature of discussing future business transactions."
Adrik shifted a little painfully on his medical bed, sliding down a little likely to take more pressure off the healing incisions in his abs. "'Negotiations'? Is that what they're calling it today…"
"If you have nothing constructive to offer with that criticism-"
"Okay. Let me try to put this into perspective for you. Criminals tend to negotiate with the number of bones they're going to be breaking and causing blunt force trauma, a bit more often with how many of your teeth they'd like to pull or break." His tone was completely flat, which didn't help the newfound Lightning much. "I'd highly advise you to avoid Sonya the very moment she's no longer responsible for your continued health."
"She does not seem-"
"-the type to hold a grudge? You're entirely wrong in that, she's turned getting her revenge into a skill set. Utterly disinterested right up until she has the perfect moment to get back at whoever. Until then, she'll remember. When we were kids, she had this thing about those talking shit about her siblings." The Russian's tone was very certain, and given Verde now knew how long this group of Russians had known another it was more than likely he knew what he was talking about. "We had mandatory combat-classes, and each week at least one or two of us had broken fingers from her. It was fucking creepy, because her expression never changed from her usual blandly bored one even when breaking someone."
There was a pause.
"Like seriously creepy. Serial killer grade creepy. As bored as she normally is, breaking a bunch of snot-nosed brats' finger bones without so much as a smirk or flinch."
"At least you will admit it."
Adrik barked out a laugh, groaned as the action pulled on his stitching and the drain put into the incision to drain away the remains of his infection, and pretty much folded over from the pain. "Yeah… no, we were a bunch of fucking pricks way back when. Her, me, just about everyone else from our neighborhood I could name. Of course, you don't stay that way for long when those you wrong can get even the next time we had combat classes. We learned to respect each other real damn fast."
"You are in an oddly reminiscent mood." Considering he had never heard such a thing out of the man before in their months of acquaintance, it did deserve comment.
"They got me on the good drugs… and seeing the sisters together again? Reminds me of a lot of things."
Putting a finger into the loose papers in his hands, the scientist took a moment to study the other man's slightly feverish complexion. "And having your finger bones broken is one of such things?"
"Not mine, precisely." Carefully positioning himself, the Russian equally as judiciously shrugged the shoulder furthest away from his healing surgery wounds. "I never said they were good memories. Some of them are, but… well. We didn't exactly have pleasant childhoods."
Verde set aside the report he was no longer reading, as it was his own copy of Sonya's Lightning Flame research he had already read through a few times before.
Since young Bjǫrn had returned to his usual tasks under the reticent Mist Viper, he had been receiving instructions directly from the Russian Storm-Cloud. However, the woman in question had a finite amount of patience and some work of her own to complete on her plans for the coming month and so he often got exiled to the recovering Adrik's bedside.
Besides, a rambling drug-fueled discourse over a way the criminals raised their next generations might be more interesting that recovering information he already knew. "How so?"
The Russian might've been drugged up, but he wasn't delirious. His question earned a suspicious side-eye, not an in-depth answer. "Did you really expect us to have good ones?"
"I am not unaware of the statistical probability of what type of early years most criminal-"
"See, that's bullshit." Adrik interrupted sardonically. "You think that abuse or living off the streets was why we turned to crime to support ourselves? What of those Ivy League lawyers and politicians that turn to in-trading and blackmail? What excuse do they have?"
When he remained silent pondering that point, the man continued.
"Tatiana, Sonya, and I were raised for this life like some people raise kids to become athletes or artists or to take over the family farm. It wasn't fuzzy Hallmark shit, but probably better than most orphans and a portion of the lower-class brats in even first world countries have it."
Verde blinked that sharp rebuke. "That is not what the under-"
"Most civilians like to think criminals are ill-educated thugs who just continue some habit of violence acts from childhood to our adult lives. And frankly, it's convenient to let those who would never need our services to look down on us. Makes them underestimate the conmen and overlook those of us that need to operate under their radar." Holding up a finger before he could speak the rest of this thought after being interrupted so rudely, the Russian posed a few more questions. "Did you ever suspect that Dying Will Flames exist before you popped? That your lab partner was a thief before this? You didn't expect a college student to be a full-fledged criminal, did you?"
"Well… no."
"We are about as diverse as any other multinational group or world-wide organization you could name. Just… a little more vicious than most."
"I have everything but the paper diploma for a master's degree in Foreign Affairs." Sonya interjected blandly from the doorway, leaning against the jam and crossing her arms under her chest. "Tatiana legally qualifies as a nurse in about thirty countries, and in two years will be a fully qualified doctor."
"Not quite ill-educated thugs, are we?" Adrik gave a careful shrug, beckoning his fellow Russian thief further into his recovery room. "What's going on, boss lady?"
"Are you really going to call me that? I thought it was Galina's title for Tats."
"It is, but since you pretty much outright own my ass right for now?"
Sonya huffed dismissively at him, then glanced at Verde. "I need to steal your Lightning. If I am to leave this weekend, he must be able to protect himself while you are still shaky."
"…how are you going to do that?"
"I would be interested in that as well." The scientist spoke up for himself, not sure what to do with the information just dumped on him as well as the Russians talking over his head when he was present.
The lithe blond woman gave him an utterly pleasant little smile. "I am going to punch you through a few walls."
Adrik mouthed 'I told you so' while she wasn't looking at him, switching to a likely faked mien of concern when she turned back to the bedridden Russian. "Won't that kill him? I thought you wanted him alive?"
"He is a Lightning. As long as he can Harden even a fraction of himself as he did when you saw his Flames pop for the first time, then he will be fine." Turning back to the man being discussed, Sonya lost the pleasant smile for a more serious look. "While the method we have been teaching you will result in a similar end result eventually… you are annoying enough I feel you might require some control of your ability sooner rather than later."
"…you'll forgive me if I am still dubious over the prospect of surviving an assault you make upon my person."
She merely shrugged. "We will work up to it. Adrik, I am leaving Sunday."
"Erm…" Adrik looked down at himself, and the drain that was lodged in the incision made during his surgery. Due to the need for the drain, the surgery wound would not be healed in time for the end of the weekend. "…Sonya?"
"Tats has the day off after I go. If worse comes to worse, I am leaving her with enough money to bribe Viper into helping out." She glanced at him, then back to the other Russian. "Not enough for questions, however."
(ooo000ooo)
(Tuesday the 29th of April, 1969 continued. Mafia Land.)
Sonya lit her cigarette with a curious new trick she had wondered about.
…because why know how to breath fire if she wasn't going to use it?
She could use her knife juggling skills to whip around her axes and hammers, and her acrobatic skills in both her spars and set-up for her heists. Hadn't had a chance to try bullshitting someone as she had led others into Crina's grips, but she tended to avoid talking to people unless she couldn't anyways.
Blowing a concentrated stream of burning hot air over the tip of her cigarette still lit it, tiny flecks of red Flame licking the sharp exhale showing how she conjuring the heat. It wasn't quite the same as lighting one with a swipe of a fingertip, but the trick wasn't that different in execution.
Merely a bit of added air to extend her range.
Now she knew how to breathe fire using her Storm Flames and just about anything as an accelerant. Maybe even just water…
That was a curious thought, what did her Storm Flames do to pure H2O?
"This is not a place that seems conducive to the experimentation you have suggested." Verde observed dryly, gingerly seating himself in the chair across the café table across from her. "Expressly not the initial proposition you started with."
It was a little strange to have the French Lightning scientist in the spot an Italian Sun hitman normally occupied. Sonya took a second to ponder over the weird vibe she was getting from this slightly different situation than normal. "That is for another time. As I said, we will work up to that. Give me your hand."
"Why?"
She just stared until the man with a hand stretched out to take his left.
"…I may have heard that you used to break fingers some time ago."
"Years ago, yes." She admitted to it blandly, suspecting that Adrik had been the one to tell him about that once-habit of hers. "I have upgraded to amputations or merely crushing all the bones in the hand if truly irritated."
Verde's expression was completely deadpan as he firmly kept his hands to himself. "That is not reassuring."
"It was not supposed to be. Now give me your damn hand."
Visibly steeling himself for a moment, the scientist slowly complied.
Sonya gripped his left by the wrist as soon as it was far enough, then jabbed the lit end of her cigarette into his middle finger knuckle joint. Tightening her grip and placing her thumb over the corresponding finger to hold everything in place when the man swore viciously and tried to jerk his hand back.
It took another two seconds before Verde recalled his Flames were an option and desperately summoned his flickering green energy to where she was burning him. Letting go before she could find out what happened when unfocused Lightning Flames hit another not the user, the thief leaned back in her chair while the man cradled his injured digits close to his chest.
If she was that curious, she'd ask Galina what happened when that occurred.
"Mon Dieu," the man muttered under his breath, examining the ash-flecked blister now rising on his knuckle before looking back at her, "what was that for?"
"You have until I finish my cigarette then we will try that again." Flicking the squashed end of her smoke to knock the rest of the ash off, Sonya replaced it back between her lips. "Tats has volunteered to heal you tonight and tomorrow. Today you risk only burns and maybe a few superficial cuts. Tomorrow, broken bones and amputation. The day after, we will head out to the abandoned sector to do a bit of demolition work using my fist and your body."
Verde's left hand twitched, and he firmly shoved the injured limb under the café table. "In what aim?"
"I refined my initial combat-skill, my strength, through repeating the same actions that resulted in me cracking a fully-grown man's arm and a brick wall at the same time at eight." She admitted blandly, taking a moment to blow smoke and wondering if the nicotine would affect her this time. "Your combat-woken ability was to withstand damage completely as far as Adrik was able to witness. You had no bruises, cuts, or broken bones directly after the incident with an exploding chemistry laboratory throwing a large chunk of flaming debris at you. Some superficial burns on your clothing, but not your skin. Withstanding a cigarette burn should be trivial to you."
"Practical applications… now? I've barely managed to light your gemstones with green lights."
"Verde, take a moment to appreciate what is going to happen." Crooking a finger to get the slightly wary waitress to finally come over to take the man's order for a drink, the thief took another long drag then flicked off the accumulated ash. "I am a known entity here. I have a reputation, mostly unearned but still one that will cause most residents here to ensure they do not cross me. Adrik does not. You do not. When I leave, the only thing that will protect you from unwanted attention is my lingering connection to you and the other Russians. Unless you hole up in the condo, any number of criminals will try to either con or mug you for anything of worth."
Sonya paused for another long pull on her cigarette.
"If they do not just outright murder you for looking at them strange."
Verde glanced at the waitress bringing him a glass of ice water and a lager of beer from his home country, then back at her as her usual tea order was placed before the Russian thief. "Then why leave at all?"
"I have things to be doing. Actually, I am already delinquent in some of my duties just remaining here as it is."
"More important than instructing me in these Dying Will Flames or ensuring your fellow Russians are unbothered?"
"Yes." More specifically, a promise to her sister and being able to take Shamal for a few weeks was more important to her than he was. Taking a moment to sip at her tea, she idly watched the man press a chip of ice to the burn mark she gave him. "Tats has her own way of discouraging unwanted attention, Adrik knows how to manage himself in a place like this. I am sparing an entire week for your care and instruction, which is out of my usual habits already. The last one I taught personally was a Mist in de-Construction several years ago. Usually, I hand those I find a selection of tips and facts and allow them to find their own ways."
Sonya held up her half-finished cigarette between them.
"Pain is a very good motivator. I will stop burning you when you can resist it." She gave him a slightly smoky smirk. "Then we will move on to Hardening yourself from knife wounds, hopefully near the end of the day. If you can get good enough fast enough, maybe we will see if you can resist my Storm Flames."
Ironically, it seemed as if the bait of letting him actually try something with one of her Flame types seemed more motivating than the prospect of her giving him cigarette burns or knife stabs.
Go figure.
(ooo000ooo)
(Tuesday the 29th of April, 1969 continued. A cargo plane.)
"You ever notice something odd happening when you get mad?"
"I swear to God, if this is another pick-up line… I don't care if we're in a plane, I will shoot you."
"No need for that, I'm still sore from the tank treads." Grillo sheepishly laughed and coughed awkwardly, almost knocking one of the larger parts of his stripped sniper rifle into the middle of the cargo plane the COMSUBIN forces were taking to return to Italy.
Lalia ran her own gun oil-soaked rag over the inner parts of her pistol's trigger mechanisms, trying to ignore the sniper that somehow got the seat next to her.
"Seriously though." The blond man tried again, policing the leftover rubber rounds he had left after the war game. He had more than she did, but then again with a sniper's rifle power they were more likely lethal than her own weapon. "It's like if you get mad, you soak up all the stress around yourself."
No, she had never notice something like that. Why the hell would she?
"…erm, Lal?"
She ignored him and the twitch of irritation at the unwanted nickname as she reassembled the finicky parts back into the grip. A bit of a feat to do so in the back of a plane, shoulder to shoulder with either slumbering soldiers or others maintaining their own weaponry.
"Lieutenant Commander?"
After damn near three months of only being addressed as 'Lal', hearing her rank out of his mouth was jarring. "What?"
"Has that always happened around you?"
"How would I know it was odd if it always happens around me?" Not that she was taking this conversation seriously, but he seemed to be honestly interested in her answer. "But no, can't say I've ever noticed anything like that."
Leaning in a little, like they weren't the only two awake in a circle ten men deep so any conversation they had would be mostly unheard anyways, Grillo lowered his voice in an even more unneeded security measure she didn't appreciate. "Everyone around us is asleep."
Of course, they were. "It's the middle of the night, moron."
"Yeah, but didn't the Chief Marshal want to consult the rookies about how well they did and what they wanted to improve on while we flew back to base?"
Lalia jerked her head up as she realized the sniper had a point. The man in question was knocked out two soldiers down from her, and she personally had spoken to the man about what he intended to do just before they boarded.
…but again, it was the middle of the night and the man had been working hard to keep the three hundred plus troops all aimed in the same general direction. A debrief could be done the moment everyone returning from the exercise had enough rest and had stowed their issued equipment.
Also… if any of that was true, then why the hell was he unaffected?
"They all fell like dominos the moment after I flirted with you. It's been happening like clockwork, I rile you up and everyone around either gets sleepy or calm."
"Coincidence. We just finished a field excursion and very few of us got any real rest last night. They're entitled to some sleep." Dismissed the commissioned officer, re-holstering her service piece and finally stretching out her legs. "Besides, we're COMSUBIN, we are at least competent if not numerous. Everyone should at least know what they're to do when setting out for a march."
The sniper heaved a sigh, corralling the parts to his rifle so her movements didn't knock them away from him. "I take it you don't believe me."
Settling in for a nap of her own for the last hour they had in the air, she gave him a sardonic glare. "You will need more than just flukes to convince me."
"Well… I certainly don't mind keeping it up. You're a beautiful woman, Lal. It's no hardship to flirt with you any day."
After a three-week long excursion in a coastal region with a rough sea voyage, weeks of hard marching, and a night raid to top it all off Lalia did not feel especially pretty or feminine. She did feel pretty grimy, actually.
Not able to control the flush turning her face beat red at the shameless flattery, she pulled one of the spare rubber bullets out of her cargo pants pocket and loaded it into the breach of her newly serviced gun.
"…um."
"Run, asshole." Lalia pulled back the hammer, aiming for the man's ass as he scrambled to gather up his rifle's parts and put some space between them without stepping on anyone. "And DON'T SAY THAT TO MY FACE, IDIOT!"
She got slightly distracted when she noticed no one had woken up from her yelling.
(Wednesday the 30th of April, 1969. Flame Office, Zolotov Headquarters, Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)
"I heard from Tatiana." Galina informed Adrik rather tartly over the phone. "You could have called from the hospital, not wait until you were released."
"Yeah, sorry Lina." He didn't sound very sorry, which just made the Lightning even more upset with him. "But why the hell did you send Sonya after me?"
"She owed me a favor."
"…so, I don't owe her for that? Thank God."
"From what I've heard, you still owe her a load of money. But no, you owe me that favor." She ruthlessly shot down any kind of relief he was feeling. "Do you realize what I've taken on to free her up to fetch your ass?"
"…she has an actual job back there?"
"Adrik, did you read any of the letters the boss lady and I have sent you?" If he hadn't, she was going to find out if electrocuting someone without Flames was possible with hers.
"Half of it is in code! Like I can decipher it in a reasonable amount of time without the in-jokes and code words you had to be there for in order for them to make sense. Then I had to burn them, so… they went mostly unread at that part. I'm generally working off the bits I learned from the boss lady and the information Sonya's taught Verde so far." After that flimsy excuse was interrupted with a warning beep for the thirty second warning on his pay phone connection, the man sighed. "Look, Lina. I'll pay you back after Sonya's gotten her pound of flesh out of me. She's headed off for parts unknown and… I'm kind of stuck with the French Lightning I was involved with before everything went to hell."
"You deserve it." New Flame users were either spastic paranoid idiots or way too enthusiastic, let the asshole feel her pain. "Call me again from the boss lady's apartment, so I can chew you out properly."
"Yes ma'am."
"Try not to spend so long away again."
"Should I be calling you boss lady?"
"Adrik, fuck off." Galina hung up on him before he could be a smart-ass again, looking up to Gedeon's form standing smack dab in the middle of the office. "Sonya went to go pick up one of our clansmen that got into a bit of trouble, for your information."
"She had to?"
"There was a Lightning involved. She is the most experience we have with dealing with foreign Flame users." Picking her way through the reams of new information sent in by the various Flame training leaders was a bit of busy work she could do while bullshitting her possibly not soon-to-be Pahkan.
As long as Sonya had it her way, anyways.
The Sun wasn't fucking off himself, she was finally appreciating how annoying the Storm-Cloud must have found the man. "When will she be back?"
Galina looked up with a tight smile. "When she's finished. I think there was something about another syndicate from Italy she had to deal with, then she would be heading back for at least the rest of the summer before anything else is scheduled."
Sonya intended to not be around for the opening of their Flame users' criminal school so that next scheduled item would be the concert she made some noise of the last time she risked checking in with her.
"These new Triad people are asking for our Expert, not for some random clansmen." Raking a hand through his hair, the man glanced from her to the Mist Usov flatly ignoring him to Scruffy trying not to pay him much mind. "If she's not here, then what the hell are we going to do?"
"Tell them she's busy." Sonya would likely murder him if she was dragged back into another nightmare of a headache like a matching job. "We do have other Flame users that could be called 'experts'."
"Mikhail is a possibility." Piped up the Mist mischievously. His smirk growing at her ill-concealed wince at the mention of the Storm. "Irinei is another. He's been a Rain almost as long as Galina's been a Lightning."
Which really didn't say much, Galina was of the opinion she and Tatiana had managed more with their Flames that either even put together.
"Both of them have contributed a fair bit to this." She offered evenly to the Sun.
Frankly both Usov and Andrei had as well, but both of them were under the age of fifteen and did not cut very imposing figures for dealing with other criminal groups. Ditto for herself, she couldn't carry off the Storm-Cloud's air of dangerous irritation herself and women were generally less respected starting off than men were.
Actually, since it was Sonya they wanted, maybe their oriental fellows were more progressive when it came to female criminals?
Was it only because of the Storm-Cloud's connections she was sought after, in spite of her gender?
"Fuck, I might as well do it."
Galina's head snapped up and she pinned the vor with a pointed glare. "You do that, and I will call as many countries and hotels as I must to track Sonya down so she can yell at you. You rarely interact with the rest of us."
That had the Sun snapping his head down to glare back at her. "Excuse you?"
"You're like a little rich boy dabbling in a trade he only knows the basics of." This was probably going to get her in trouble, but no one else would say this to his face. "You wouldn't let a two-bit crook claim to be a vor get away with it, why the hell would you claim to be an expert on Dying Will Flames of the Sky?"
"Because I am at least one, and the only vor."
"Sonya would trust Scruffy to be an expert over you, he's actually been over all the information at least once." Snapped back the Lightning sardonically, planting her hands on the desk as she stood up and ignoring the other Sun as he slowly rounded the couch to hide himself. "You're a terrible example of a Flame using vor, even if you are the only one we have. At best, you're a part-time Sun. Dig out Mikhail to bullshit an expert, or break out Dmitriy, if you can't negotiate your way out of it. Which I doubt."
Usov whistled lowly, not even bothering to pretend an intent interest in his half of the office work she had bribed him to handle when the Sun shot him a glare.
"Sonya's not here, stop kissing her ass."
"No, she's not. But, you could stop fucking up her work for once." Galina's head snapped to the side, but as she had half-expected to be hit the slap it didn't hurt thanks to her Flames. "Beating women, now?"
"Hey!" Scruffy snapped, standing ramrod straight and almost vaulting the couch he had been hiding behind. "Hands to yourself, asshole."
"Shut up." Gedeon snarled back without turning from the Lightning who was neither cowed or in pain. "And you, watch your mouth."
"Or you'll what? Hit me again? I'm a Lightning." Not to mention Usov looked decidedly less amused at what was going on, if he tried it again he likely wouldn't connect with her. "Just because I'm being honest about why you're not tasked with helping out here you feel the need to shut me up however you can? Real brave of you."
"Or you won't be here when Sonya gets back." The Sun vor corrected heatedly. "If you have nothing to-"
"Why have this office if you won't bother to listen or take our advice? Or even learn what you were tasked to do?" Galina interrupted, being validated in her belief in the Mist's probable actions when the next backhand missed by a good foot. "You keep this shit up, don't be surprise if Sonya gives up on you entirely."
"Miss Galina…"
"Shut up, Scruffy."
Gedeon was more focused on her previous comment than his fellow Sun. "The hell do you mean by that."
"Kazimir, Zaryna? Either name ring a bell? Fadei? Flame users that were cut loose, even if we really could use older experience Flame users. You're about that level for us, just above Irinei, a Flame user but not a useful one." She gestured to the teenaged boy who led a good sixth of their efforts sitting in the office. "Sonya makes use of anything she can get her hands on as long as they can be useful, why do you think she doesn't make use of you?"
"Maybe that's because I have other shit to do."
"Keep telling yourself that." Galina seated herself as the Sun stormed out of the office, a sinking feeling in her guts that no matter what she did now would derail this next disaster.
The other Triad group's Flame users were frighteningly competent with their Flames, especially paired next to the still raw bulk of the trainees the Zolotovs had. More along Sonya's and Tatiana's levels than even Galina's.
If these other groups seeking gem matching services were anything like the Wo Hop To Triad, then they'd figure out Gedeon was only a middling amateur quickly. She had the feeling the clan was about to get a little embarrassed on the international stage.
The Storm-Cloud would not be amused when she returned. Especially not if she learned through her contacts in China about this.
Likely part of the reason she was getting fed up with lingering within the clan. The Lightning was getting fed up dealing with the impending second fuck-up, and while the blonde probably could solve this in a few short hours… constantly keeping things on track wasn't easy on her.
Especially not for a woman in a thieves' clan.
A light touch on her face had her snapping back to reality to pin Scruffy with a glare, but the Sun merely huffed and kept prodding her cheek with his Flames to try healing any damage her Flames didn't shield her from. "You should be more careful, Miss Galina."
"At least I can tell Sonya honestly I tried."
"You should probably avoid him for a while." Usov chipped in blandly.
Reminded of the teenager in the room and having satisfied himself that her Flames had worked as rumored and she was actually fine, the older man turned and shook a finger in the Mist's face. "Do not hit a women. If you can't deal with one without violence, avoid them."
Galina huffed sharply at his back. "I did ask for it."
"I don't care if you begged for it on bended knee, a man shouldn't hit a woman."
She gave him a flat look, which turned into a glare when his irritated expression didn't change. "He would've hit anyone that talked back to him in such a way, male or female. Only, if I had been a man, he would've done more than just slap me."
"And that makes it better, I'm sure." Coughing a little sheepishly after that snarky little quip with a quick glance at the closed office door, the Sun shuffled back to his project abandoned on the floor. "Definitely not in Kansas anymore."
Frowning in a puzzled manner, Galina rummaged around the bottom desk drawer for her master list on which semi or precious stones did what for which Flame. "…Kansas?"
"An American state? You know, what Dorothy said to Toto after the tornado and touching down on the other side of the rainbow?" At her continued blank look, the thin as a rail Sun huffed a completely disgusted sigh. "The Wizard of Oz? It's a book they turned into a movie, one of the first colored ones. Haven't you ever seen it?"
"Did they translate it into Russian?" She would count the grimace as her point. "Then no."
"…I'm going to find a copy, somewhere." Scruffy promised stridently, picking up his own collection of notes made from her amended lists. "Then I'll make you watch it."
"I am unsure if this is a conversation I want in on or not." Usov interjected idly, sprawling out again on the opposite end of the couch from the Sun user. "It sounds interesting… but I have little idea what it is about."
"It's a book, people." Peter protested, sounding equal parts exasperated and annoyed. "Reading will not kill you."
"Or so you think." Chipped in Galina absently, paging through her notes for a Lightning mineral that was preferably colorless. "We're in Soviet Russia."
"…oh."
"It might have escaped the censors here, it might not have. But even still, finding a copy of any movie translated to Russian might be a bit more difficult than you expect. Although there is the Thaw to think about." Privately, she still rather doubted any film made outside of the Union would be translated and released within it even now. "You should ask Bjǫrn instead, he will likely have more luck."
There was… barite, monazite, spessarite, rhodochrosite, and rhodonite. Galina considered the results of those five Lightning minerals, and their colors.
If she wanted a powdered blush she could also use to help reinforce her face if someone else ever wanted to try smacking her, she needed a reddish mineral.
…rhodochrosite it was. It was cheaper.
Marking down a clean sheet of paper with her choice, the Lightning locked her notes back up. "Peter, I have an errand to run."
Since he wasn't allowed unrestricted access to the Flame-stone research efforts, her comment meant his studies this evening was over with. To his credit, the man didn't sulk or sigh over her announcement.
Then again, the man was a lot older than those she was used to dealing with. One would hope he was equally more mature.
She accepted his notes, which were a confusing mass jumble of chemical notations and random Cyrillic words interspersing his English.
Learning another language via Mist Flames tended to jumble the target's grasp on their native one. At least in small ways here or there. Galina figured that was enough of a drawback as it was, doing more than just one might end up having a person babble in a horrible mishmash of tongues.
More motivation to limit whoever got the Mist-therapy languages crammed into their heads.
"I have to go pick a few things up from the inner city. Is there anything you need?"
Without Sonya, he was kind of limited in who he could turn to for aid. Especially since he was only here on her say so, and only knew some of the other Suns well enough to ask them for help.
"…um…"
"Either write a list or grab your things and come along."
(ooo000ooo)
(Wednesday the 30th of April, 1969. continued Cerrito Crime Family Headquarters, San Jose, California, United States of America.)
Stalking up the neo-Romanesque steps, Renato tried not to roll his shoulders to get his shirt to stop sticking to his back.
The movement would ruin the line of his suit and look entirely unprofessional, so he merely stuck to reaching up and adjusting his fedora providing him some shade instead.
This was a recommendation Timoteo Vongola had sent him on, for one of the split-off branches of a minor player in the Vongola Alliance. They'd been embarrassed somehow and entreated their parent syndicate for aid with it. However, with a lack of any evidence for who did whatever it was they were so pissed off with… eventually Nono was asked for some help.
Hence why the Italian native was paying a south California American mob syndicate a little visit. A little far outside Vongola's nominal reach, and in decidedly hostile territory, Nono decided to rely on the more… 'dangerous' of solo troubleshooters he knew of.
His orders were to find out whoever it was that had the skills to do something like this, then report back to Timoteo about it. Depending on what was found, either that person would be invited to join Tyr's still budding Varia Assassination Squad or… if whoever it was proved stubborn, kill them.
Looking and acting like the hitman he was wasn't normally an issue for him, Renato prided himself on his professionalism after all. Very few things could make him regret dressing as the Mafioso he was, but extreme heat was pretty much it… and suffering through Shamal's messy attempts at 'art'.
While Italia was hot and humid, it wasn't as scorching as California was. This close to the Pacific Ocean at least put enough salt in the air that made him slightly more comfortable. The Sun just wasn't used to heat this dry when the wind blew in from the east.
"Sigñor… Sinclair?" Asked a straw-blonde maid waiting on the top of the steps, fidgeting a little with her apron as she continued in slightly clumsy Italian. "Don Cerrito is ready for you."
Not entirely surprising that he was expected, Timoteo would've passed on he was sending someone, but by name… interesting. "Lead on then, señorita."
Pretty little thing, for all she was highly unnerved to be the one to greet him. She hadn't wanted to be, but none of the other servants in the manor spoke Italian.
From what little else Renato could get out of her mind about it, that was part security and just part local preference. Most around spoke Spanish if they spoke another language than America's version of English, and since Italian and Spanish had a few differences it just made any 'business' talk that much more secure if ever overheard.
The hitman still found that rather lazy, but supposed if it worked for them…
One entrance hall, a courtyard, two more hallways, a staircase, and yet another hallway later Renato was a bit cooled off if more annoyed at the obvious security he had been just led through.
Waste of time, considering someone had evaded their security once before if the reason he was there at all was considered.
Pointless posturing is stupid, the Mafioso mused bitterly to himself as his guide knocked on a door.
Oh, there was a reason. The obvious one was to impress on him that they did have some, and that obviously it was working as intended with how many side-eyed by visibly armed men he got following the timid blonde maid through the manor. Another to show the outsider that this incident he was being contracted to look into was a one-off, and that they weren't some haphazard collection of criminals that could barely work in the same direction.
However, given Renato was there at all, obviously their security wasn't quite up to par. At the moment all the excessive showmanship was doing was wasting time.
He'd probably appreciate the spectacle more if he wasn't in a sour mood not even a pretty door-greeter could get him out of. As his ill-humor wasn't her fault, he did dredge up a small smile for the now no longer unnerved girl as she bowed herself out once someone more well-appointed than the grunts downstairs answered the door.
That man waited only long enough for the pretty maid to get decently far down the corridor before addressing the Italian Sun. "You are the expert?"
"Renato Sinclair," he drawled out blandly, while a pretty face would get some of his dwindling consideration some exiled fop or native boy was exempt, "Sun Flame user, hitman, and current outside troubleshooter for the Vongola Famiglia. Oh, and the Giglio Nero."
There was a long moment of silence, within which he tried really hard not to roll his eyes. He didn't need a mind-reading trick to tell the other man was skeptical and wary, and the internal monologue as he attempted to stare down the hitman was only enlightening in respects to how much familiarity this mob syndicate had with Dying Will Flame users.
As in, not much. Nearly had a Lighting, but the real reason they were so upset at whoever embarrassed them in front of their fellow mobsters was due to someone stealing their 'found' Lightning.
Quaint.
Renato really was in the outskirts of civilized crime now, wasn't he?
The things he did for Nono… and for Shamal.
"…Boss Cerrito would like it if you gave up your weapon for the meeting, Mister Sinclair." Insisted the young man stubbornly, with a look to match.
Did they really think he wasn't as dangerous without a gun?
Sun Flames didn't always mean healer, as a matter of fact he excelled in using Sun Flames to kill with untraceably. However, the hitman merely pulled his favored M1911 pistol and his reserved moonstone inlayed backup Beretta M1934 to hand over.
He supposed being allowed to keep them up to this point was a mark of respectful consideration, not even Timoteo had let the hitman keep his guns on him within the Iron Fort in their initial meetings.
Might have been more his Guardians, but even so things had been a lot more intimidating on that first audience with the Sky than these people could ever hope to match.
"I do expect them back in the same condition."
"Of course."
Renato idly wondered about how things had changed for him since he had entreated to Vongola's Ninth Sky for a breach of conduct on Mafia Land as his weapons were first inspected and then handed off to someone further in.
A lone freelance hitman might not ever get into the famiglias he now dealt with, but he was acquiring a rather decent reputation overall he rather liked.
"Follow me." The short order regained the hitman's wandering attention as yet more posturing had been going on, and he followed the thoroughly ineffectual 'threat' that was his newest guide to his temporary employer.
This office was smaller than Don Vongola's, actually smaller than any number of the rooms the Iron Fort could boast of. Understandable in a way since they were relatively 'new', even if they had ties back in their home country. Dark brown and tan tones told him the man that owned it probably had little to no taste, or it wasn't him that decorated.
Joseph Cerrito was a man in his late fifties, had wavy brown hair that was greying at the temples, and enough of a presence to suggest why he was the Don and not any of the younger men arrayed in his office to provide security for this meeting.
Renato was… not impressed.
He had did a little background research on the man before ever stepping on American soil, and the American was uncomfortably close to violating Omertà. Through no initial fault of his own but trying to sue a magazine for daring to suggest he was the boss of a syndicate hadn't exactly caused it all to blow over.
Why he didn't just have whoever was that foolish killed instead of trying a legal route was beyond the Sun. It would've distracted attention from his crimes, instead of involving an entire FBI task force investigating into his prior and current actions.
Too much attention now for a clean murder, and it would just work as confirmation that everything he was accused of was correct.
Having spent the time they were using to try impressing on him the importance of the man in the office and what he was called in for to woolgather instead, the hitman decided enough was enough. "Don Cerrito, I presume?"
"I take it you know why you were sent to us." Cerrito started smoothly, ignoring or at least overlooking the Sun's disinclination to be intimidated. "I want whoever it was found and buried six feet under."
"I understand that." Not that it would happen if things worked out in a certain way. Really depending on who and what kind of person had done it all. Tyr was very keen on someone that could bypass the security even a moderately minor syndicate had to make them complain so much. "What do I have to work with?"
Renato would like to get this over within a month, he had a standing date with a particular Russian of his acquaintance and a Mist brat they both looked after. He didn't intend to be late for it, teasing Sonya about her time-keeping habits was too amusing to pass up.
The Don gestured to a set of files sitting on his desk, which one of his mooks swept up to do the actual handing over.
He didn't get anything else too interesting out of the man's head, other than some bitter thoughts his way for needing outside expertise. Flame users were not what this syndicate was used to dealing with, and with the sheer lack of any trail to follow they suspected someone with Flames was involved.
However, a stray thought had Renato immediately cracking open the file to see the pictures for himself.
…there was no detail on where the pictures were taken, but the craters in the walls and floor captured on the Polaroid images of some sparse hallway were very indicative of a Cloud user's rampage.
"I can tell you right away it was a Flame user." Not Mist, interestingly.
It had been the prevalent assumption about the situation back in Italia, since Mists were generally thought of being the stealthier of the available types. That didn't mean none of the others were, but that they had more to work with when it came to clandestine actions.
"A Cloud… which makes this more interesting."
A little more surprised beyond his ability to hide it, the head of the Cerrito Crime Family leaned back in his office chair and raised an eyebrow at the hitman. "Oh? You can tell that just by glancing through a few pages?"
"I know a Cloud. The last time she was pissed off she left behind craters much like these."
Storm Flames caused less obvious craters, but the damage Disintegration left behind was distinctively both soft and charred in its own way. A Lightning with sufficient leverage could've mimicked the same residue of their passing, but the hallway in the image was cramped and indicative of utilitarian use normally kept clear of any obstructions. No blown light bulbs or transistors, either.
A Rain wouldn't even have to leave behind any damage if they didn't want to, as well as Mists, which meant that unless the circumstances were even more unusual than he thought they were ruled out as well.
With a tight timeframe, and limited things to work with, the only one that would've left behind such craters were either Clouds or Suns. No scorching, or necrosis, or weirdly hyper behavior indicative of leaking Sun Flames reported on those knocked out disqualified his own Flame type.
Broken bones, though. One dead body, with a curiously deep wound to the temple that was the cause of death. Which just lent more credence to the Cloud theory.
Nothing else would put craters into concrete walls without the noise of a gun of a sufficient caliber to account for the damages, and to do enough damage to penetrate the thick skull of a human required more than a bit of elbow grease.
"I'm going to need more than this." Before anyone could protest or complain, or worse yet question him, Renato carried on. "Clouds are very much creatures of habit. So either one took exception to whatever you were doing, was somehow linked to it and objected, or just decided this is their territory and hasn't accounted for your syndicate yet. But since young Clouds starting to establish themselves are rather noticeable… odds are it's a foreign one that objected to something."
A stealthy Cloud… Renato wondered how unusual or normal Sonya was compared to her fellow native Russians. She couldn't be the only Cloud that could keep their cool if need be, Visconti was equally as self-possessed if he could manage it.
One was and one wasn't linked to a Sky, which meant it had to be within the range of behaviors a Cloud user could exhibit.
However, it was very likely they were now looking at Soviet Russia and her criminal syndicates for the culprit. Most others treated their Clouds like the tanks and natural-born fighters their Flames encouraged them to be, and right on up until he had met a thief Cloud from the Soviet Union the Soft Flame Sun user had pretty much figured the same thing.
The hitman wondered what Sonya would do if asked to check into anything. He really had no other Soviet Union contacts, but the thief might not want to rat out someone she knew. While he didn't know every Italian criminal of his home country and didn't expect her to know every Russian criminal from her motherland, she was his best bet in somehow completing this contract.
The thief had been sticking to a semi-predictable schedule lately. If he was quick about it, he might end up getting the opportunity to talk to her about any other far-ranging Russian Clouds. It possibly would only be useful to get her side of what it was like being a Hard Flame Cloud user that traveled any distance from her 'home' territory, but it would be progress nonetheless.
More than likely, they were looking for a middle-to-late aged local Cloud. An import, rather than someone established here for any length of time. One that had evaded any local scrutiny, so borderline civilian more likely. Either once was part of the mafia and retired or left for their own reasons.
America wasn't a bad place to retire to, he supposed. Lots of wide-open space to get lost within, and with only sketchy nets thrown by disjointed syndicates to avoid.
Not his preference, but a decent one.
The older Clouds seemed to be able to keep their heads down if it suited them, more so than the younger types Renato had the unlucky fortune to witness the behavior of in Vongola territory.
Worst case scenario, it was another free-ranging Cloud like Sonya he was looking for that had already skipped town a long while ago. He had never expressly looked for a Cloud that was as territory-less as her, but he also never had much of a reason to either.
Now a lot more interested in this job, since it was looking like it would take some real skill to do instead of being completely routine and obvious, the Sun user tucked the files under one arm and looked squarely at the Don he was temporarily working for. "This will take some time. Finding a Cloud that doesn't want to be found will be tricky. Especially if you want to survive the encounter. I'll reach back to a few of my own contacts, see if they can't chase down the target on their own ends."
"I had my doubts about needing an outside set of eyes, but I can see why you came recommended by Don Bergamaschi. A few seconds, and you can already narrow down the type of person we are looking for?"
"Flame users can be very distinctive, if they feel they have no reason to be circumspect." Renato offered idly, his mood restored at the tricky and probably frustrating task set out before him. He didn't get interesting hits often, and even with the bare amount of information he had to go on now meant this would be very satisfying to close out. "This one seemed to not care and given how little other evidence was left behind they had a good reason to be that dismissive."
"Oh?" The question was soft, reminding the hitman this wasn't a man he knew well and probably took his words the wrong way. Admittedly, that did sound rather condescending on second thought.
"They probably already left town. Whoever it was, I'd lay good odds that it wasn't a local." Unless they were incredibly stupid about it, but the complete lack of anything else noted right away counteracted that assumption. "But… I love a good chase. If there's anything to find, I'll find it."
Renato had a month to do it all in, or a month to get the footwork covered and the locals ruled out. Rather tight deadline, but he didn't intend to miss a trip into the Soviet Union and a good look at what environment produced a woman like his favorite Russian.
"Now… what, exactly, were you doing that a Cloud objected to happening?"
