* * *
Several things happened at once; Mikhail lunged at Sally and Sally grabbed an object off the table. With nary a thought, she slammed the book hard, across his face and sent Mikhail sailing back into a bookcase. Then he fell to the ground and laid still, prone on the floor. Sally's chest heaved in exhaustion.
"Oh my god, did I kill him?!" She wondered in a moment of panic. She shook her head. No, he was alive. Though it looked like that hurt him a whole lot more than it should have. Throwing caution to the wind, Sally knelt down and shook his shoulder. Mikhail groaned.
"Oy, what the hell did you hit me with?!" He didn't sound like someone who just lunged at a person, he sounded like someone who was hurt and confused. Sally checked the book's spine.
"Uh, War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy."
"Yeah, that would do it." He groaned again as he propped his back up against the wall. He absently rubbed the side of his head. "Gavno, that HURT."
Sally, looked him over. He certainly did not seem like a healthy, robust individual. In point of fact, he looked pretty sickly, even if she hadn't heard Sonic's description of his ailments. Looking back, he probably posed little physical threat, and he probably knew it.
"Are you all right?" She asked, slowly dropping the book back on the desk.
"No." He said bluntly. "I'm a mess." He drew himself up, using a lot more effort then a healthy person would have. "Bozhemoi, I hate this. I hate being a second-class citizen, I hate being a refugee, and I hate being a virtual invalid!"
"You're not well, are you?" Sally asked, even though she already knew the answer.
"No, I'm not. Look at me! I used to work as a smithies assistant, now look at me! I can't even run for more than five minutes without feeling like I'm going to pass out. I'm always the first to get sick and the last to recover. If I can't stand the chill here, how am I ever going to survive the cold back home?"
Sally's insides clenched. This was too much. She had to sit down. Mikhail just opened a desk drawer and took something out. Sally barely registered his action until something small and sharp sailed past. She turned around just in time to a dart embed itself in a photo of her father on the wall.
"Ouch." She winced. She cleared her throat. "You really..." she choked on the next word, "Hate my father, don't you?"
"Whatever gave you that idea?" He growled sarcastically as he reached for another dart.
"We...he...I didn't know. If he knew what happened, he would've--"
"--supported everything the Tsar did." Mikhail cut in. "Don't pull that with me. King Max has a record of supporting whatever his underlings in the out-flung provinces does, as did his father before him, and HIS father before him!"
"You don't know that!" Sally snapped back.
"I do know that! You think I'm the only Mobian to ever get screwed by our beloved monarchy? Wrong. Everyone of your father's minions, whether their title be Tsar, Kaiser, Shah, Sultan, Rajah, Mikado, Emperor, or Duke, invariably answers to him. If they transgress, then it's his fault."
"That's not fair." Sally said, her voice small.
"Don't talk to me about not fair!" Mikhail yelled back. "If what you say is true, IF this goes on without Max's rubber stamp of approval, so what? So he kills by neglect instead of intent. Is that really any better?"
"Surely you don't think that life under Robotnik is any better." Sally said, not expecting an argument.
"Let's see. One enslaved my mother and my sister, the other killed my father and brother. One tyrant has flesh, the other has fur. One is big and fat, the other small and thin. One has a metal arm, the other, a metal heart. Those are the ONLY differences I've noticed thus far!"
"Your hardly being objective." Sally said, her voice gone cold.
"You ask for objectivity? Fine, how's this for you. Look at the word 'Kingdom.' The King comes first and the lands and people he rules come afterward, almost as an afterthought. Now let's look at the word 'Republic.' " He drew the word out, almost as if he were tasting a forbidden food. "The word for people is at the center of the word, it's very core, as it should be! See the difference?"
Sally paused before answering. "I know what you're trying to say and I understand where you're coming from."
"Do you? How would you know?! When did you ever know hunger, fear, of wonder where your next meal might come from?! You never--" He broke down then and there. He dissolved into unashamed sobbing as he cried out in Russian. Sally knelt down next to him and gently rubbed his back, wondering what god she must've offended to be put in this situation.
" 'e told you, didn't 'e?" A voice from behind asked. Sally nodded, never taking her eyes of Mikhail.
"Yes, Olivia. He did." Sally shook her head. "I had no idea..."
"And that, may be the most tragic thing about this whole bloody business." As they helped Mikhail to his feet, Sally tapped him on the shoulder.
"Mikhail, I'm so sorry." She said, one of the most heartfelt apologies she ever made. Mikhail mumbled something to Sally. "What did he say?" She asked Olivia.
" 'e said, 'call me Misha.' "
* * *
Several things happened at once; Mikhail lunged at Sally and Sally grabbed an object off the table. With nary a thought, she slammed the book hard, across his face and sent Mikhail sailing back into a bookcase. Then he fell to the ground and laid still, prone on the floor. Sally's chest heaved in exhaustion.
"Oh my god, did I kill him?!" She wondered in a moment of panic. She shook her head. No, he was alive. Though it looked like that hurt him a whole lot more than it should have. Throwing caution to the wind, Sally knelt down and shook his shoulder. Mikhail groaned.
"Oy, what the hell did you hit me with?!" He didn't sound like someone who just lunged at a person, he sounded like someone who was hurt and confused. Sally checked the book's spine.
"Uh, War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy."
"Yeah, that would do it." He groaned again as he propped his back up against the wall. He absently rubbed the side of his head. "Gavno, that HURT."
Sally, looked him over. He certainly did not seem like a healthy, robust individual. In point of fact, he looked pretty sickly, even if she hadn't heard Sonic's description of his ailments. Looking back, he probably posed little physical threat, and he probably knew it.
"Are you all right?" She asked, slowly dropping the book back on the desk.
"No." He said bluntly. "I'm a mess." He drew himself up, using a lot more effort then a healthy person would have. "Bozhemoi, I hate this. I hate being a second-class citizen, I hate being a refugee, and I hate being a virtual invalid!"
"You're not well, are you?" Sally asked, even though she already knew the answer.
"No, I'm not. Look at me! I used to work as a smithies assistant, now look at me! I can't even run for more than five minutes without feeling like I'm going to pass out. I'm always the first to get sick and the last to recover. If I can't stand the chill here, how am I ever going to survive the cold back home?"
Sally's insides clenched. This was too much. She had to sit down. Mikhail just opened a desk drawer and took something out. Sally barely registered his action until something small and sharp sailed past. She turned around just in time to a dart embed itself in a photo of her father on the wall.
"Ouch." She winced. She cleared her throat. "You really..." she choked on the next word, "Hate my father, don't you?"
"Whatever gave you that idea?" He growled sarcastically as he reached for another dart.
"We...he...I didn't know. If he knew what happened, he would've--"
"--supported everything the Tsar did." Mikhail cut in. "Don't pull that with me. King Max has a record of supporting whatever his underlings in the out-flung provinces does, as did his father before him, and HIS father before him!"
"You don't know that!" Sally snapped back.
"I do know that! You think I'm the only Mobian to ever get screwed by our beloved monarchy? Wrong. Everyone of your father's minions, whether their title be Tsar, Kaiser, Shah, Sultan, Rajah, Mikado, Emperor, or Duke, invariably answers to him. If they transgress, then it's his fault."
"That's not fair." Sally said, her voice small.
"Don't talk to me about not fair!" Mikhail yelled back. "If what you say is true, IF this goes on without Max's rubber stamp of approval, so what? So he kills by neglect instead of intent. Is that really any better?"
"Surely you don't think that life under Robotnik is any better." Sally said, not expecting an argument.
"Let's see. One enslaved my mother and my sister, the other killed my father and brother. One tyrant has flesh, the other has fur. One is big and fat, the other small and thin. One has a metal arm, the other, a metal heart. Those are the ONLY differences I've noticed thus far!"
"Your hardly being objective." Sally said, her voice gone cold.
"You ask for objectivity? Fine, how's this for you. Look at the word 'Kingdom.' The King comes first and the lands and people he rules come afterward, almost as an afterthought. Now let's look at the word 'Republic.' " He drew the word out, almost as if he were tasting a forbidden food. "The word for people is at the center of the word, it's very core, as it should be! See the difference?"
Sally paused before answering. "I know what you're trying to say and I understand where you're coming from."
"Do you? How would you know?! When did you ever know hunger, fear, of wonder where your next meal might come from?! You never--" He broke down then and there. He dissolved into unashamed sobbing as he cried out in Russian. Sally knelt down next to him and gently rubbed his back, wondering what god she must've offended to be put in this situation.
" 'e told you, didn't 'e?" A voice from behind asked. Sally nodded, never taking her eyes of Mikhail.
"Yes, Olivia. He did." Sally shook her head. "I had no idea..."
"And that, may be the most tragic thing about this whole bloody business." As they helped Mikhail to his feet, Sally tapped him on the shoulder.
"Mikhail, I'm so sorry." She said, one of the most heartfelt apologies she ever made. Mikhail mumbled something to Sally. "What did he say?" She asked Olivia.
" 'e said, 'call me Misha.' "
* * *