A/N: Yay! Ocelot cameo! Thanks again to Shadowstar, thanks for your encouragement! It's much needed and much appreciated! Shadow-Ocelot is deserving of a shout-out as well, congrats on your latest chapter! My, my! All these Shadows! Wow, this fic is certainly gathering its own momentum! 0.0 There's some French in this chapter, and some more Latin, but not too much! Translations are provided, as usual. And, er, there's some Volgin lovin'… don't say I didn't warn you!
Disclaimer: If I owned Metal Gear Solid, would I be writing mediocre fan fiction? Just think about it. Lenusya belongs to me, though.
Song inspiration comes from "Want" by Disturbed.
"Quivering now, shivering now, withering.
Your mind won't let you say that you're
wondering now, pondering now, hungering.
Won't let you say that you're
questioning, wavering, weakening.
Your mind won't let you say that you're
hearkening, listening, heeding me now.
Won't let you say that you want."
My Pretty Jungle Flower
Chapter 3
It was soon after that second meeting that I started to believe that my precarious position in the Groznyj Grad hierarchy was becoming most tenuous. As it seemed Colonel Volgin had indeed lost interest in me, the soldiers who had previously regarded me with guarded apprehensiveness, now leered at me in the corridors, every now and again a bold one would stop my way, refuse to let me past until I 'asked nicely'. They tried their luck at every opportunity, each one certain that my brief period of protection had come to an end. Ironically, it was at this time that I felt most confident. On arriving, I rarely opened my mouth unless it was necessary, but now I actually sought to converse with the soldiers that accosted me. It was my way of defending myself. There's nothing that a predatory male finds quite so off-putting as a woman who could match him, or even surpass him with wit. The most interesting of the characters that I struck up some sort of rapport with was a young Major, scarcely nineteen years of age and completely dauntless. Ocelot, they called him. We called him "Spurs".
Our first encounter was in the mess hall, where I was serving the evening meal. I'd never seen him in there before. I later discovered that did not spend all of his time in Groznyj Grad, and frequently went AWOL. He was a Major. He could do as he pleased. He strode into our humble mess hall, heels and spurs clicking on the floor, with an arrogant but confident swagger that made me imagine he had just tied his horse up outside. What struck me most about him was his physical similarity to the Colonel. Close-cropped blonde hair, the sharp, Aryan features and that fierce glint in his eye that stopped most men dead. I watched him approach our small counter. He watched everyone else in the room except me.
"What's on the menu tonight?" he inquired, his face still turned from me, as he locked eyes with every wary solider in there. "Menu?" I thought to myself. Sweet, deluded soul.
"Stew, sir." I said simply, inclining my head slightly so that I was not talking to the back of his neck. I heard him make a noise of disgust in his throat, before he finally swung around and showed me that boyish, petulant face of his.
"I hate stew." he said, screwing his features up childishly. He may have sought to be like the Colonel, but was still a boy at heart. He had large boots to fill. I held back my amusement and placed my palms down on the counter, leaning forward a bit. I realised afterward how patronising my voice was, and how brassy I was to think I could get away with it.
"Well, Major, what would you prefer? Stale bread? Or perhaps rotten rat meat?" I asked of him, arching a single eyebrow scathingly. Much too scathingly. I almost forgot how dicey my position was there. Had he chosen to swing a fist in my direction, no one, least of all me, would have taken umbrage. But he didn't. He merely fixed me with a steely gaze. A gaze that I had seen before in his commanding officer. Most compelling of all, I watched as the corners of his mouth curved into an impressive replica of Colonel Volgin's sneer.
"So, you're the flavour of the month?" He pointed an accusing gloved finger at me, and added a capricious "huh" after a moment. It was neither approving nor condemning, merely blithely passive. The truth was, I didn't know whether I was or not. So I said nothing, simply blinked and waited for him to continue. He might have told me something of interest.
"The Colonel said you were gutsy…" he went on, scrutinising my expression for any hint that I may give away my present state of mind. "I'd say you were loudmouthed, myself…" He scowled, but I couldn't help smiling. He really did brighten up my day, even though his intentions were undoubtedly to do the exact opposite. He reminded me of my little brother Mishka, when he used to walk around in my father's old army boots, falling over after every two steps. Then my smile faded slightly. When I thought about it, if Mishka were still alive, he'd be about Ocelot's age. The Major was only a child. Caught up in the quarrels of men that he had not caused. It made me recall the bitter lamentations of my grandfather as he recited that English poem to us in our youth.
"My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori." (1)
I didn't understand the words then, but they started to make frightening sense now. I was jolted back into reality when the Major banged his fist on the metallic counter.
"Hey! What's your problem?"
------
The thought stayed with me for most of the evening, and as it did, I was faced with a certain curiosity with regards to this youngster. I say youngster, though he was not so much younger than myself. I knew there was only one place that I could get the information I desired, since the ground troops refused to so much as look in my direction. I sought to ask directly from the Colonel himself. It was not easy. I had to force my way past four pairs of armed guards posted between my room and the Colonel's. They threatened to shoot me, lock me up in the cells, but I knew not one of them would attempt to enforce any such threat. When I finally reached the familiar mahogany door, I was being followed by eight guards each brandishing their gun and fruitlessly imploring me to turn back. I threw open the door, only to have a guard run into the room before me.
"Colonel, sir! We tried to stop her…" He made his flustered excuse, already trembling. The Colonel, as it happened, was standing with his back to us looking out the window. He delayed several moments before he turned around to the small assembled group.
"Leave us." he boomed, and in a flurry of green uniforms and automatic weapons, they were all gone. It all happened so quickly, that I was left stupidly looking behind me at the closed door. My attention was soon reclaimed by the recognizable groan of rubber as he clenched his fists. As I turned to look at him, I forgot everything that I came here to ask him, and infuriatingly, I was left completely wordless before him again. In the silence, I noticed there was music playing. Music! In Groznyj Grad! It came from an antique-looking gramophone that sat on the coffee table. The sweet, despondent tones of Edith Piaf filled the room with the positive lyrics of "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien".
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he began. His voice had an odd, almost weary quality to it. "It was stolen by a Nazi soldier from the French town of Beauvais, discovered when the Soviet Army liberated the Auschwitz concentration camp in April 1945… given to me by my father." He concluded, looking to his feet as he spoke of his father. "I like to think I have an eye for exquisite things." I didn't know how to respond, but in a way I was touched by the story, and how proud he was of this trinket. "I'm glad you've come to see me, Lenusya. What can I do for you?" He took a few steps towards me, allowing the suggestion to drip from his words as I stood bemused. Why wasn't he angry at my intrusion? I had formulated every angle of my apology (none of which I could remember at this moment) before I arrived, and now found it completely unnecessary. Yet, as he took another step towards me, I finally regained my lucidity, straightened up and continued with what I came there to ask.
"Colonel Volgin…"
"Yevgeny."
"Yevgeny…" I took a moment to inhale raggedly. "Tell me about Ocelot?"
The minute I asked the question, his expression changed. An unbecoming look of confusion and perplexity mixed with… something else. I hesitated to think it was jealousy, but secretly hoped it was. He grunted and rediscovered his indifferent countenance.
"Ocelot?" His stupefaction was well disguised, but evident. "What about him?" This time, it was I who took a step forward, turning beseeching eyes on him. He, in turn, broke into a smile, approaching me anew. He drew up in front of me, pinched my cheek gently between his thumb and index finger, before he lifted his hand over my head. I flinched, oblivious as to his intentions. He showed me the small, paper hat that the kitchen staff wore, and that I had neglected to remove in my hurry to see him. My cheeks flushed cerise, but we both smiled as he discarded the ugly cap in a nearby waste paper basket. Surprisingly, the basket was already half filled with scrunched up paper balls, normally the telltale sign of a frustrated artist. Several had missed the basket entirely and lay in erratic positions around the perimeter. I lost all interest in Major Ocelot, although Colonel Volgin didn't intend for my question to go unanswered.
"In June 1944, a small GRU detail was sent to a field hospital in Normandy under orders to find a baby, the son of a great military hero. I was one of the soldiers within that detail, a young Major, in fact." It seemed he had just realised the irony. "Needless to say, there was only one newborn amongst the injured." He paused, looked to the ceiling and folded his arms, as if lost in reminiscence. "Torn from his mother's very entrails on the battle field, he howled like the devil in spite of himself. So, we took him back to the Motherland, where he was raised by the GRU, and he fell into the Spetsnaz ranks…"
Spetsnaz, GRU, great military heroes. None of this made any sense to me. At that moment, I realised that I cared little about Ocelot. I had been fooling myself into thinking that I did, in order to justify an audience with the Colonel, because the reality of my desire was truly shameful. In a daring move, I moved forward and grasped his hand with intrepid fingertips. It was enough to stop him in mid sentence. Clearly, he had failed to anticipate such a brave action. So had I, frankly, but I didn't care. I wanted him to hear me.
"Colonel Volgin…"
"Yevgeny, please…" he soothed.
"Yevgeny…" I smiled briefly, squeezing his hand slightly. "I have a confession to make." His lips twitched into an amused smile.
"Please, my dear Lenusya, vent your soul!" he exclaimed, using my own grip against me to draw me closer. And willingly, I went, with a vixen flick of my hair.
"I didn't come here to ask about Ocelot. I'm not even convinced I care much about him." I swallowed a breath, finding it nigh on impossible to hold his heated gaze. Now that we were sharing space, warmth, even breath, my head was feeling increasingly light. I swayed against him, raising the flats of my hands to his chest to steady myself. I became aware again of the music in the room. "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" had melted into the sombre lull of "Tu Es Partout".
"Des fois je rêve que je suis dans tes bras," (2)
"Really?" He positively purred, moving forward slowly, nudging the tip of my shoes with his boots and obliging me to step backwards. Another two steps brought me back against the wall with the entirety of his weight against me.
"Et qu'à l'oreille tu me parles tout bas," (3)
Until now, I had only ever sensed his power, felt his potency. Yet now, the charge that lay within him sprang to life, sending tongues of flicking blue energy coursing through his limbs and into mine. It cracked and snapped before my eyes, heated my body through and weakened my knees. I felt, but did not hear a scream of wonderful anxiety escape my lips.
"Tu dis des choses qui font fermer les yeux," (4)
"I'm glad you've come to see me, Lenusya…" he said again, prolonging my exquisite torture a moment longer before he released me. Through heavily lidded eyes, I could see his sneer clearly as his lips descended upon mine.
"Et moi, je trouve ça marveilleux." (5)
What a sinfully long night that was…
(1) "Sweet and fitting it is to die for one's country."
(2) "Sometimes I dream that I'm in your arms,"
(3) "And you speak softly in my ear,"
(4) "You tell me things that make my eyes close,"
(5) "And I find that marvellous."
Notes: Grah. I think I lost the muse there, somewhere at the end. It's not easy to portray Volgin as some sort of Sex God! It's certainly turning into a challenge. Edith Piaf is in there half jokingly, for a touch of overblown sentiment!
