Author's Note : Recently realized that I haven't checked on my other stories' reviews, and I'm not getting the carbon copy email I usually get for this site. So my dumbass went to go check on them…
Yes, I used to be idealistic and hoped the best about the reviews I get. Once. I've learned better. So much better. I have yet again not been remotely surprised by the stupidity on offer.
If you have a complaint about any of my stories, base it off the story I wrote. Not imaginary shit. Please. I don't get this when you complain of shit that isn't in there and are so offended by not things I wrote. The hell am I supposed to do with that? And if you're going to 'give advice'… maybe ensure it's correct before you start yelling at me. Google. Google is your friend. Just look it up first, you'll keep yourself from looking like an idiot when it turns out your corner of your culture isn't a different city's version of that same culture… or that you're utterly wrong and just outed yourself as foolishly uninformed.
You, individually, are a local expert where you live. You are not the expert of all things saddled under the same broad label that includes where you live, especially when that label spans part of or an entire continent, unless you specifically do that for a career.
More… this story centric, like… shockingly accurate question this time.
How Kawahira/Checkerface learned Sonya could do this with tarot cards in the first place? We've touched on that very lightly but didn't fully cover it, so not surprised this is a question. We'll get there soon, it hasn't been 'revealed' in depth yet. There's a (somewhat misleading, but Mists) hint already to be found, but nothing more than that.
Russian Roulette : Muzzle Flash
Chapter 2
(Monday the 13th of March, 1972. Sonya's Condo, Mafia Land.)
Sonya pinned Ganauche with a narrow look, he pointedly stepped aside and waved both hands to indicate her sister yawning sleepily behind him. Tatiana in fact ran into his hands while blindly following the scent of breakfast, turning her from just a sleepy Sun into a bewildered and not happy one. "What the hell?"
"Sorry, babe. Your sister is… suspicious."
"She's always suspicious, why is this a sudden new thing in need of rapid and broad indication of my entire sexy self?" Complained the redhead, not against sudden 'in the way' hug right then and there in the hallway to make up for his bullshit.
"Because I believe you said she said that I have to be here with you or not at all? Now I'm past 'post-surgery' recovery?" The Lightning Guardian was equally not against a sudden Sunny hug, wrapping the nurse in both arms immediately. "Um… mine?"
"Aww… you're adorable. But no, you're mine." Tatiana cooed sickeningly sweetly from safely in his arms, then reached up and pinched his cheek under his still there eyepatch. "Now feed me, bitch."
The thief exchanged a look with Vasilyev over the Italian hitwoman fetched breakfast pastries, which all seemed okay. Natalina had no fear snagging three on her way right back out the door, and Reborn had murdered thirteen fuckers immediately upon returning to the island for 'attempting stupidity against my future lady love' this weekend… so…
Sure, whatever.
"You can't come with me today," she continued in Russian for the Wolfpack Cloud, a little dryly, "this fucked up island won't let you sit in on it even if you can't understand English yet. So while Bjǫrn and I argue over what contract I even want to do, or all of them because fuck I'm bored, you can stay here with the dog or see what there's around to see yourself. Just… be aware if you're going out."
"Kid doesn't speak English yet, babe." Tatiana reported as she sank into a chair to help herself to the pastries, as her Mafioso busied himself with getting them coffee from the intimidating machine Cesare got mainly for her but Natalina too. "So… I forget, did you learn Russian?"
"Da." Ganauche answered behind her, with a bit of an accent still. "More or… less? I can keep up. Can't talk well. Rusty."
Nice to know. "…Alek has a bit of my Flames to him, both Cloud and Storm. It'll help if you figure out if you can just hang around my dog instead in a pinch."
Vasilyev roughly rubbed his face, apparently three scraps off the edge of a single Danish was more than enough for him to eat in the morning. "That… I guess, works for me."
Sonya pointedly poked his sugary jelly filled pastry with a fingertip on an unbitten edge. "Whatever is good enough, and one more bite. Otherwise…"
He chomped a bite right through the middle jam spot, then threw the entire thing across the room to splatter against the rubbish bin. Which was set against the wall separating the kitchen area from one of the many bathrooms Sonya had this place built with.
He instantly regretted it, she knew he did, more for all the excessive amount of sugar now in his mouth than for the mess. He honestly looked more traumatized about that in this second than he had all morning, so progress.
Her sister eyed the copper-haired brat pointedly and with irritation. "One of us has to clean that up now."
"That would be, I believe, me. Given the deal we have." She shot back equally as quickly. "Or Alek will lick it up. Either or."
"Eww. That better be scrubbed clean by the time I get back from work."
Ganauche set a cup of coffee, as black as Tatiana's evil heart, in front of her and looked at Sonya strangely while his fiancée eagerly drowned her early morning sorrows into it. "Can I… even ask?"
"…about?"
"The Dead One." He clarified immediately and with an anticipatory wince. "From what Viper told us when Timoteo hired them and basically every non-Italian Mist he could get his hands on to clear out the Iron Fort at least, the Ancient One ripped the Dead One out of… whatever the hell that was. Presumably, to offer to you."
She stared at him in exasperation and irritation. "You know, knowing that ahead of time would not have been admis. Instead of being surprised by it in the moment."
"Yes, okay! Yes, someone should've let you know." Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, the Vongola Lightning Guardian eventually could only shove his other back there too and grimace in her face. "No one wanted to bet on what you'd do or not do. And, at the very least, everyone I asked during the whole shitshow just wanted every damn second to get rid of the Dead One's stupid bullshit first. Before you might flatly refuse, or whatever you'd pick to do!"
"…I reacted poorly." Sonya admitted bitterly and with some hateful spite he didn't deserve right now, since it was all her own damn fault. "I chucked a hammer at Checkerface's head for the interference. At first. Before I could take a second to think about it. The Ancient Asshole then modified his offer, a bone the Dead One tied itself to a month. Willing to do limbs per five years if I argued. I will get the fucker, Ganauche. It will just take me seventeen more years to get the last damn bit. Sorry."
Her feud could've been over in months. Nope, now seventeen years and whatever deaths between then and now were all on her own damn head. Because she had jumped to conclusions, shot first, and was an overly combative impulsive bitch on a 'righteous crusade'.
Exactly as her cards had warned her not to do.
She was now always going to hate the Knight of Swords. Dumb fucking asshole.
Her deck hadn't been calling her a slut twice, apparently the first shot was good enough for it.
Tarot cards, only fucking useful in hindsight.
"Lady, little sister. We know now." Ganauche hastened, stupidly, to assure her. Ripping both hands forward again as it to physically stop her or something. "That's… fantastic new. It'll be over. Maybe eventually, but no one told you it'd be coming up so kind of our fault there. Seventeen years to get in our own licks and actually fucking defend ourselves is… at least there's a time limit. What did it cost you?"
She kept her damn mouth shut and glowered.
"…Nya. Please. Tell me it's not that bad." Tatiana put her mug on the table with a quiet little clink. "Please."
"It will die. It will not bother Shamal his entire life. Or any other Mist. That has to be good enough." Flatly refused the thief pointedly and with irritation she could not help. "I am sorry, alright? Skull and I have to help, now. We cannot… we have to. Blindly, because that is not utterly fucking stupid."
The Sun tilted her head back and rapidly blinked, pressing her lips together firmly to keep her bottom one from trembling. "Fuck."
"There are five others. Maybe six." Sonya continued tiredly, not able to keep up the bitter hatred because she made her sister cry and now she felt even more sorry about her fucked up temper. "That Ancient Asshole needs us to be willing, apparently not just grudgingly there. So… possibly, I have not just fucked myself and Skull over."
Or Viper. She would bet good money, all her money, that the miserly fuck had only agreed first to get all the information out of Checkerface possible. Betting on the rest of them to drag their heels and not comply. Which she was happily pissed off with.
On one hand, fuck that Mist for not letting her know.
On the other hand, double fuck that non-Ancient Mist for playing along with Checkerface's 'cover' to prove her skill with tarot cards to her on both ends.
"…I'll let Timoteo know." Ganauche half-offered and half-stated, waiting for her to shrug first before even taking a step to the phone hooked to the wall. "Babe?"
"I'm going to work, I'm with Doctor Chitundu this morning." Refused Tatiana firmly with a wet sniff, pointedly keeping her head tilted back. "After that, though. I'm taking a half day and I'll do Lando's therapy here instead. Fuck."
Vasilyev poked two fingers into the part of her thigh right over her kneecap, and Sonya blinked at the kid's now lavender gaze. "Angry?"
"…no."
What did Skull say about his triggers…? "Excited?"
He couldn't flatly refuse that after a moment to think about it. He could only shrug in the end, looking highly confused and uncertain.
"Congratulations, I guess." Offered the thief flatly and firmly squishing any trace of pity or sorrow out of her tone, knowing without needing to ask her rage had been what triggered him. At least, in a way his Flames remembered being 'excited' by. "You've survived to become Inverted, maybe. A real shitty thing to congratulate you about, but there it is. You've survived Discordance. Somehow. Theoretically."
"I'm going to go pet your dog." Vasilyev informed her flatly right back. "At least your dog isn't insulting."
"There's no real data on injuries to one's fucking willpower, dumbass. If we can use it, we can hurt it."
"You're still the bitch here." Shot back the brat moodily and with irritation, but no real spite to him anymore.
Which wasn't just strange to her, the Wolfpack Cloud was equally disturbed by himself and what he seemed to find lacking all of a sudden. It left him flat footed just long enough for Sonya to grab the least sugared pastry from the platter of them and stick it in a paper napkin to slap in his hand.
"If you're going back to using your Flames, you will be eating more."
He glowered, torching it all in a flash of purple Flames, and stomping off like a damn teenager. It at least got Lando's lazy ass up for the day, the Mafioso's limp making his movements a bit obvious even behind closed doors.
…well, Colonello wasn't going to throw a damn fit at his little mentee not surviving a soul-deep injury. Moronic, overly affectionate, dumbass Rain he was.
Sonya told him not to get attached, Lal's idiot went and got his idiotic ass attached. Attached enough to pout when Skull and Sonya took the brat home with them.
At least that wasn't going to end in a screaming match with overly emotional bullshit she did not have the energy for. Just that one, out of the five or six other emotional bullshit situations still pending on her.
"I am going to go plan on stealing shit around the world. Anything else anyone wants to slap me with right this fucking second?"
"I'm good." Ganauche, the moron, immediately dismissed while hanging around the phone in mild irritation.
"Can we have an afternoon nap before you go?" Tatiana asked plaintively, rubbing at a slightly reddened blue eye as she looked back down at her finally. "Please?"
"…sure."
(ooo000ooo)
(Monday the 13th of March, 1972 continued. Verde's Home, Moneglia, Province of Genoa, Liguria, Italian Republic.)
Verde could not help the double-take, or the momentary pause of actual speechless surprise. "I… was not aware you were blind."
"Mist." Talbot, presumably, dismissed shortly and very bluntly. As if by rote. "Only when I feel like it. Really would prefer just a damn phone call, boy. After a hard day's work, mustering the will to read your chicken scratch is not relaxing."
…preferably, he would be excused for strictly abiding by the traditional formalities of sounding out another expert in their field via letter exchanges. As he had not been aware this individual was… possibly without eyes of his own until this very meeting.
The blindfolded elderly man immediately responded when he took a belated step backwards to invite him inside instead of keeping him on the doorstep. The Lightning had to tentatively assume if there was anything wrong with the Mist's eyes, or not, this was merely the way he wished to present himself.
The weight of the box in his hands reminded him of the need that had this supposedly ageless and sightless crafts master calling upon his residence. "Adrik! Sir, I am uncertain how much time you have set aside-"
"A month." It was a bitter if strangely wry confession from the Mist standing exactly just far enough inside Verde could shut his front door behind him. "Intentionally, but… ach. I hate leaving work undone. What exactly is your contribution to this piece to be? I know it's somewhere in the order, but it wasn't in my section."
"The gemstones. We have an array of natural formed and mechanically created versions to select from available, depending on what you find fit to include in your work."
"…well, perfect." He sounded satisfied, not that he knew how far to trust what this individual presented himself as.
Blindness would explain the… strange color palate. Perhaps not the mohawk shock of white hair that flopped over his otherwise bare scalp to feather against his black silk blindfold, but the clothing choices on display.
"We can get that sorted today, then crack on to work." Talbot 'looked' down, humming thoughtfully at whatever his form of vision showed to him in the laboratories below. "Because to be frank here, boy… it has been entirely too long since there was something for me to learn. Refreshing to finally have something to learn."
Although repeatedly warned not to make his own recovery process harder, Adrik still took the stairs down three at a time. He very nearly face planted into the landing area at the base of the stairs upon his first good look at Verde's… 'guest', which the Lightning filed away to lecture him about later. "What the fuck?"
"Laugh all you like." Invited the elderly Mist ruefully but with no care and a dismissive wave. "It's the first 'mischief' I've gotten out of a friend of mine in entirely too long. He likes to think I can't see what I can, and I know full well what that crotchety old misfit dressed me like. I'll wear it proudly if that's what it takes to keep him going."
Lifting his head after a moment, Talbot then cocked his head to the side and… presumably squinted at the Russian in a blind variant of 'visible' confusion.
"…the hell did you do to yourself, boy?"
"Got a new lung." Adrik reported with amusement, entirely too interested in the wildly mismatched outfit this Mist had boldly invited them to find their own amusement in. "You realize… the plaid on your pants is hot pink and acidic green, right?"
"Also fairly certain it just doesn't go with this faux mink fur vest, dyed in a rainbow of colors." Sniffed their guest grumpily with an oddly fond pat to his be-furred chest. "This the same 'got a new lung' that goes with 'got a new eye' a lovely lady Sun might've happened to have done?"
"Yep. You're looking at test patient number one. Replacement lung."
"Ah… lovely work, there. Almost can't tell there was a Cloud involved, and I know there was." Admitted the ageless metalsmith calling on them to put the gemstones into the Vongola order for Tatiana's wedding, which Verde had not forgotten… but this was highly distracting.
"Adrik, can you fetch me Peter? Our gem cutter, sir."
"The reason I'm visiting in person rather than just sending it on by courier or inviting you to my workshop instead," Talbot admitted bluntly and to the point as the recovering medical patient sauntered for the door to do as asked, taking only five steps needed to remove himself from possibly being 'in the way', "I'd like to trade my metallurgy knowledge for your crystal compositions. Don't bloody damn need your how, keep it to yourself for all I care. But from the sounds of it, you now know the damn why of it."
"Indeed, a well explored science we have fine tuned to an only acceptably reliable degree. It is cut and facets now Peter has expanded into, and while I do keep up with his progress in his research to know what seems to work reliably well and what has not…"
"Need to check with your patron first to be allowed the trade?"
Verde nodded slowly, finished with recalculating his opinion on this individual and his aims to be obliging to such academic trading. Their interests had crossed suitably well, he was still dubious of Checkerface's offer but it seemed to be honestly true that this Mist had information he desired.
"Correct. The information I received was collected empirically, and while I refined the results to their base components utilizing the chemical breakdown of glassy mineral formations, the raw information was not mine. You will not be refused the trade, I am certain. The metallurgy information you hold is a lynchpin in several ongoing projects at the nonce, I would just… prefer not to 'piss' her off in not at least checking for reasonable requirements to do so."
"I was Mafia too, once upon a lifetime." He waved his assurance off absently with a single bat of his wrinkled hand and a heavy sigh. "Entirely too long ago, mind you. I still remember the hardships in getting information out of other Famiglias about this or that. Exactly why I left. Empirically… bah. I don't even want to think of the price tag that it took."
"A jewel thief." Corrected the Lightning with politeness, curiously inspecting the wooden box in his hands but refraining from opening it to see what a 'blind' metalsmith could produce. "Presumably, the only reason the study was even started. The one arranging it did not require the resources, as the 'price tag' did not matter to one that could steal the gemstones instead of need to purchase the lot slated for destruction. Would you prefer if I call for permission immediately or after we complete your work here, sir?"
"…a thief?" Echoed the elderly craftsman in bemusement and deepening wrinkles of his brow around the black band across his eye sockets. "A thief is who you will be calling?"
"Shockingly," Verde deadpanned with wry amusement, "indeed you are correct. She is the current 'World's Greatest Thief', Nightshade. If done with haste, we may receive an answer today rather than the next opportunity her Lackey has to speak with and relay her opinion."
"Well, I'll be damned. A thief." Talbot tilted his blind visage to one side, scratching at his scalp on the left side of his shock white mohawk before barking a laugh. "That's… new. I expected another professional murderer, mind you. It was always murder, with Mafia types. Hitmen, assassins, killers of other flavors, but originally murderers nonetheless."
"Cloud thief."
"Bullshit."
"I have neither bovines nor their excrement in my laboratories or within my living area."
"…hilarious. A real knee-slapper you are, boy."
The Lightning Arcobaleno waited, a little longer than he preferred, for Adrik to come back from down the lane to where Peter had returned to for the luncheon hour in his own dwelling. "Adrik, would you assure Master Talbot on Sonya's vocation and primary Flame type?"
"Thief and Cloud."
"…what the blazes?"
"Why is this a question?" Peter inquired hesitantly from firmly behind his wife's former fellow gang member, warily eyeballing the colorful elderly metalsmith.
"What the hell happened to the world?" Mused Talbot instead of addressing the Sunny Rain gem cutter's question. "Turn your back for three or four decades every five or so, nothing changes all that much. Not that much. Now nothing makes sense anymore… it hasn't even been all that long since I went back to my forge for a generation or two."
"If I may be so bold," Verde offered as flatly as he could, "presumably? Time."
He obtained a finger shake in his face from his vastly elder guest. "That's your idea of a joke, boy? Good Lord Above, find a glass of water. I'm parched just listening to you. At least this month's not going to be boring."
(Friday the 17th of March, 1972. The Arcobaleno Manse, far outside of Farindola, Province of Pescara, Abruzzo, Italian Republic.)
The week's take of information was slapped to the dining room table, where it instantly disappeared again. Didn't matter where they were, the moment the 'Rain' woman slapped compiled information into a surface it just went away. Supposedly straight to Viper, so she could get paid for it all.
Colonello scowled slightly but got on with hanging up the keys to Lal Mirch's jeep on the hook for them and shutting the door. "This… all we're doing?"
"Very sorry, Colonello." She shot back instantly and with bitterness, heading straight for the fridge. Hopefully for dinner, not straight for the beer. "I'm still in the middle of the information gathering phase. Literally no one is talking of anything I want to hear where I can hear it. Don't even know where the fuck to start in on this mess."
"That's a fine word for it. I've been with you the whole last week, Lal. What are we looking for?" It wasn't the first time he asked, being 'home' had the former military officer actually considering about answering this time. "I'm totally fine just hanging around in the background and keeping an eye out for you but knowing what the hell we're even doing would be nice."
"And if I knew that, Colonello, I'd tell you." Pausing to take a nip out of the white wine bottle, hopefully just to check it was decent to cook with, Lal thunked it down on the counter and fetched out the onions next. "That's the fucking damn problem."
Sweet, French Onion soup. "So walk me through it. I'd ask your Tutor, but… weird she's gone right now."
"Sonya has her own fucking life." Snapped back the woman shortly without twitching as she drew out a knife from the block they were kept in. "And you know what, if you're not fine with-"
"Don't put words in my mouth, Lal."
"You shouldn't have done this."
"Are we finally getting around to the 'you've been lying to me' conversation?" Colonello asked patiently, utterly unbothered by the seething look she shot him over a shoulder as he fetched her the pot to dump the onions in once she got them cut up. "Because if so… I'm game for that too."
Lal stabbed the chopping block with the chef's knife, point first. Then she turned to him, arms crossed under her chest and already scowling. "Yes, Colonello. I suppose I am. Welcome to my current fucking hell hole. Hope you enjoy your fucking stay, because you can't ever leave."
He rolled his eyes at her bitchy dramatics, grabbing a can of beef stock with one hand and getting the can opener out of the implements drawer with his other. "Real funny, Lal. We've had worse digs for training missions, worse assignments than 'at your own pace' in deployments, and… well, more instruction for sure but less 'because this is for your best' not just 'for our best' as decided by old grumpy warhorses."
"It didn't have to be 'us'."
"Not according to your Tutor." Colonello countered blithely, wrenching the tin can open for when it was needed and putting that on the counter to sit until then. "I was maybe a half-step behind you. Without you… it was just a matter of time until I ended up right where you were."
"I heard what she said, but what you forget here is that she's Mafia." Snapped his fellow Rain bitterly, still not continuing with the onions. "The moment she realized what you were-"
"She told me to go back, that I 'didn't' have to stick my neck in that noose too. That I could live out the rest of my life without doing this." Pausing to enjoy the mild grimace that crossed her face at getting caught out in another of these fucking lies, he wagged the two bay leaves in her face next. "No, Lal. I'm not that upset that she took Vasilyev with her. She's who he was here to get help from, and telling me not to get attached? It wasn't the first time she's been trying to cover my ass for me. You've got a really good friend in your corner, you're not making me think badly of her now."
"A professional thief. Mafia Donna."
"The nerd of history nerds, yes."
"She's killed people, Colonello."
"She's also who you shove your kids on if you can't help them anymore." He countered brightly this time, already prepared for that detail too because the 'thief' lady prepared him for the gritty nasty details. Properly, like a damn decent instructor would for novices or dumbasses without a clue. "And hell, she does it. Doesn't matter what, she'll damn well try."
Lal slid down the cabinetry to sit her ass on the floor, so… that bad. "Lethally enforced work contracts, since she's been fucking twelve."
"…what?"
"The Tutorship contract Luce 'bought' my silence with. It's a lethally enforced work contract with Sonya. If she doesn't do it, or fails, she dies. Flat out, bottom line. I've been to that 'other workstation' of hers, it's a damn trip."
They had, a lot, of seating choices all around them. Colonello was never a snooty type to turn his nose up at a bit of floor or ground when and where it was good to sit and rest, though. There wasn't anything to do for dinner until Lal finished slicing up the onions to set to cook down, so he joined her on the floor. "Well, just don't fail then."
She shot him an ugly, flat look.
"Since she's been twelve," he repeated instead, setting an elbow on an upraised knee as he made himself comfortable, "she's what now? Twenty-something? Hasn't killed her yet."
"Like that makes it any better, you fucking happy-go-lucky idiot."
"…I haven't been happy for a long while now, Lal. Not since the command structure we had back in COMSUBIN gave you the boot for no clear damn reason." Colonello rubbed a thumbnail through his hair over his bandana with a mild frown, still twisting the stems of the bay leaves between a thumb and forefinger of his other hand. "Then, mind you, the same officer of mine that got booted so unfairly started lying to me when it was clear there was something wrong with this whole… everything you were hunting into. That we all knew you were trying to pry into. You've gotten into a really bad habit of lying these days, Lal. I don't like it."
"Yeah, sorry. Turns out, I can set myself on fire. With 'willpower'. Surprise, fucker." Lal in fact did light herself on fire, burning blue Flames off the tips of two of her right fingers with a scowl for all of three seconds. "And oh yeah, on top of that I'm going to be eaten by the fucking Mafia shortly. Because I can't make a damn living in this country any other way without being 'poached' to do that instead. At gunpoint, if I want. I got a stay of execution on a technicality, and if I don't get shit nailed down fast enough it'll happen in the end anyway when Sonya's no longer the murderous threat lurking in my back pocket."
He heaved a tired sigh at her, and himself. "Yeah, no. I got this part. For fuck's sake, Lal. I didn't even know until Sonya kicked me in the balls for scaring the shit out of her that this was even a possibility. I got the 'you dumbass' wakeup call, loud and clear. And you know what? No. I'm not sorry I'm here now."
"…I can't forget she's Mafia."
"Your Tutor?"
"No, the Easter Bunny." She snapped, less bitterly sour right this second than she had been all last week. "Yes her, idiot. There's a gulf of difference between 'mildly interested only because her brother's friendly with random Rain woman' and 'invested because or else'. The amount of money, effort, and time spent on me since I 'got' a Mafia Home Tutor as ham handed blackmail payment… it's not as if they didn't do it before Sonya got hired as my Tutor. The Cloud siblings were hauling me out of my own damn ignorance for 'everyone' from the fucking start."
"Galling." Colonello guessed pretty accurately, knowing he was right when she hunched both shoulders up around her ears. "Nice of them, though."
"No. Sonya was covering their asses, Skull was being nice. You have to pass along the Vindice Laws when you find a Flame user who doesn't know. He told me to follow his lead and she'll get you squared up right… which they did. Didn't exactly stop at that. Next bullshit 'weekend', they tag-teamed the basics. Flames means you run hotter than human average, you can melt metal in your hand because somehow you're fucking immune to even the side effects of your own Flames, getting blackmailed generally means two parties agree to bury a topic but you failed to do that so you might want to get that nailed down before you get that bribe for letting yourself be blackmailed…"
"So… generally the point in where you started lying to me?" Because it took him a few weeks of simple calls and a few missed face-to-face meetings to catch on.
He assumed she finally found something and didn't want it to get away from her, after two years of seemingly nothing. Not expecting her to lie to him to begin with, it took him entirely too long to catch on. Then she pointedly was not letting him catch up.
Which, yes. Colonello understood why. Now.
He hadn't at the time, and as her Tutor pointed out to them both… the stress of trying to figure out what the hell to even do had been pushing him right into the same damn spot she had started out in.
If Lal hadn't wanted him feeding information back to COMSUBIN, he would've been good with just knowing that. He would've also gotten himself booted as fast, because if she wasn't trusting in it anymore he sure as shit wouldn't be.
If he didn't know what the fuck was going on and she did, then whatever call she made was probably the smarter one. Why no one wanted to accept that logic was beyond him, but it made sense to him and that was the important bit.
"The part I find the most fucked up about Sonya being my 'Mafia' Home Tutor… she said it was so I could trust her." Rounding off the whole shortened and brief story with a heavily disgusted sigh, the Rain woman palmed her forehead with one hand and glowered sightlessly across the room of the 'Arcobaleno Manse'. "About a decade of contracts under her, Sonya's not the type to fail and has been proving it for years. But no, it's lethally enforced so whomever wants to hire her or needs her expertise knows that if she doesn't do the best job possible she's fucking dead. Not because she's professional, or out of the goodness of her heart or whatever other bullshit metric. Not because she's got the experience already from her time in Moscow, either. No, if not… that's it. She's dead. You will get your money's worth, or else."
Colonello thought about it first, ticking the two dried leaves in his hand back and forth idly. "I kind of get why. Also… kind of gives this whole thing going on more sense. You can't stop lying, because-"
"I'm literally fucked without Sonya's help. Two years of work on my own, not a fucking clue what happened. Three months of being her Tutee, I know why and talked to the people who usually do it to learn that isn't how it goes in the Mafia. They know better to be that showy, I now know better to know who I'm looking for, I know what for and why if not who. That's all I need now, who. Her connections, her insider information, her fucking fortune made from stealing shit from other people to give whomever's that much of a fuck to order it. I don't even have to fucking ask, anything she deems I can use that she's got? Got dumped on my head already. Because that's what a Tutor is. If you're fucked and in a corner but with maybe one last bit of leverage, someone can hire a Tutor to get you dug out and back on your feet using their reputation and resources. Usually something hired for kids, occasionally the odd adult that needs a swift career change, generally not something widely available to just anyone off the street."
Lal reached up behind her head, frowned, then tilted her gaze up to land on Viper sitting on the table already more than halfway through slicing up the three medium sized onions. With the chopping block floating in midair, and the onion peels drifting off as they were removed to the kitchen bin.
"Hey, Viper. Thanks for adding in another onion, if you're joining us tonight."
"Her Tutor imposed requirements. Mou, I am to provide her with a hard realistic number of value for her to judge her work's worth… and in exchange I can obtain the information early before I must pay for it." Droned the 'miserly fuck' that was Skull de Mort's best friend ever, ignoring the knife stabbed into the chopping block entirely as they somehow made the produce fall apart in neat rows as soon as they peeled themselves. "So yes, you will occasionally have to bear with me as an occasional guest every now and again."
"You live here too, fucker." Lal shot back with mild irritation, just annoyed as the pot sitting on the stovetop got filled with onion slices to cook down and the knob clicked to the side suddenly to turn it on. "You've got a standing invite, just let me know to make more for you too."
The Mist not quite sitting cross legged on the kitchen table, more like a few centimeters off it but the pooling cloak made it hard to tell, regarded her quietly for several seconds. "I appreciate your strides in correcting your ignorance, with all due haste and appreciation for the value given already, so I'm throwing you a bone. Mou… Lal, a Tutor is nominally a grace given to children. Orphaned, at risk to be murdered for political reasons not their own fault and unable to defy it, mafia children with no viable options of their own. You may not find their limitations comfortable… but no one will care."
"Her problem's more finding it equally as reassuring, not all that disturbing." Colonello clarified helpfully, mildly pleased with there being something other than business that brought the Mist by. "That's what she's tripping up over."
"Well… even more progress." Sly insinuated Viper the Esper wickedly. "Mou, quite gratifying."
"Yeah, fuck you both."
"In the world you once lived within, just professionalism may have been enough. In this world, as you clearly already know, it is not. We are professional backstabbers, double crossers, and trade on the values of Violence and Blood. It is not enough that we are all professionals, mou… for that is the exact problem with why you should never trust in us. We will professionally gain your trust, lead you to a back alley, then slit your throat. If that is the job we have been hired to do, we shall do so."
"Skull trusts you." She shot back heatedly, hauling herself up off the floor in one smooth movement to check on the onions.
Despite there literally not being enough time for the pot to get hot enough to risk burning anything or for the onions to even start cooking down.
"Mou, Skull trusts in me to swindle him." Viper corrected pleasantly, idly brushing absolutely nothing off the front of their indigo… tunic-dress thing. "He finds it amusing to try to weasel out of it, but always approaches anything I involve myself in with more than enough money to lose to me or an idea of equivalent value to offer instead. I enjoy someone finding amusement in my vices, who is willing and more than able to afford it."
His fellow Rain fetched a wooden spoon, more to point in the Mist's direction than stir anything yet. "Sonya trusts Reborn."
"They are both professionals, they trust in one another about as far as they can throw the other." Countered the miser pointedly and with biting amusement. "Which is, as I've found out, why that is actually going anywhere. She can toss him clear over the mountain range if she wishes, much as she could with this entire manse, and has no need of a hitman's favor to wish to obtain it herself. He's not unaware of that, mou, and finds it bewilderingly different and very interesting…"
Colonello was just going to keep his mouth shut, here. The woman he was chasing had no damn issues tossing him down a flight of stairs and jumping the whole thing to land boots first in his gut. Which… she hadn't so much as punched him in the arm for being a 'idiot' for a while now.
Not since Sonya took him to a gun range to see if he could stop already fired bullets or not, and Skull took her to a dojo to see about her very gentle but violent looking physical correction habits. At the same time.
Equally as likely, that was another issue he really should spend a week or so of effort to wiggle out of Lal's tight lips.
He didn't really want to put it off, but she didn't really like owning up to mistakes or faults. Took a bit of time to let her process it first before she's willing to talk about it, and then she'd be bluntly accepting instead of harsh and bitter while owning up to it.
Besides, he also had so much progress in this single month alone than the years before Sonya kicked him in the balls so hard he still saw stars despite his maybe overly cautious precautions. Skull had been totally laughing at him the entire time he did the whole 'yes, Dying Will Flames are a thing and yes you are one of us too' spiel for Lal, but big brothers got that right when some random fuck terrified their little sister that badly.
Even if he hadn't intended to.
Colonello was just happy he thought maybe to protect that before Lal couldn't try to 'convince him' not to one last time. Or finally put him in traction to avoid it entirely as she had been desperately trying to convince him it was fine and he didn't have to. Which had been lies, and that kind of annoyed him more than convinced him of shit all while filing the paperwork to separate from COMSUBIN.
Lalia Murgia hadn't ever before targeted that when they had been working together, but Lal Mirch had with a gun packing live ammunition not too long ago too. Just… just in case, which…
Wrong woman he needed to defend himself against, but the right reasons it was needed.
…it was a little funny. Skull's little sister had kicked him in the balls for scaring her, and she had been as shocked as him when her shin connected and broke his groin protection clean in two. Then adorably flustered and panicky in her very stilted self-contained way while Colonello wheezily said his own damn prayers and just hoped she hadn't emasculated him entirely on her kitchen floor.
Reborn was still an utter dick, though. So was Cesare, for that matter. Not that funny, assholes.
"Viper, I don't want to hear about my Tutor's love life from you. Thanks. I'll cook you dinner, just shut up."
"Pity." Mused the Mist, turning to study Colonello instead of Lal's back.
"Before you go there, or even start." He offered with a smirk and a bastardized salute for the speculative attention. "Sonya deemed me part of Lal's influence. Therefore, I'm under her for instruction too."
"…annoying, mou."
"Anything you'd like me to snipe has to go through Lal first, then Sonya, then maybe. I don't have to take someone's word for it that someone needs to be dead." Colonello continued as he got up off the floor too before his ass went numb. "Anymore. So if you want me to take them out, you're going to have to pony up a dossier on the reason why I should want someone dead. Which I will be checking into first, yes. And if I find it isn't at least a decent reason or the price isn't good, or Lal doesn't, or Sonya doesn't, I'll snipe you instead."
Viper smirked back in his face, turning into so much indigo mist in the next second to seep away.
Lal turned her head, glacially slowly, to pin him with a hard look out of one red-brown eye.
"It's no longer 'snipe this soldier on the other side of the field because he's being a good soldier but a pain in our ass by being one', Lal." He could only shrug, putting the bay leaves he had been playing with down with the extra opened can of beef stock next to the one he opened before. "It's going to be 'because this slimy criminal asshole killed or hurt someone that shouldn't have been harmed, we need him or her gone before it happens again'. Honestly… I like this better. As long as I've got the option to say no? I'm going to snipe the fucks that deserve to suddenly develop a hole right through their damn skulls."
She sighed in disgust, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling. "You are a God damn dumbass, idiot."
"You have the next 'no' in this chain of command, beyond just what I'm comfortable with." He reminded her without care she didn't seem all that impressed by. "And yes, I will be contributing. I need to eat too, babe."
She bounced the wooden spoon off his head to clatter off and eventually land in the sink. Colonello couldn't help the bark of surprised laughter because it still didn't hurt beyond a mild sting where his bandana didn't quite cover his forehead entirely, but she hadn't punched him in the face or kicked him in the ass like he still semi-expected.
He immediately left her to it like her glare told him to, likely to be tagged in to make the soup once the onions were done caramelizing so he should get his shit squared away first.
See?
Things were almost back to normal, and that was pretty damn sweet. Lal would stress and worry all she secretly liked to over who and where, and Colonello would still put the fucker in the ground in the end. Same damn shit, different day.
…and no more regulations against dating within your chain of command or outside your rank. He might even get a date by the end of the year when they had most of everything squared away.
Bonus.
(Tuesday the 21st of March, 1972. Mafia Land.)
Reborn tisked in reproval as he folded the paper, satisfied with how that death was reported and assumed to be 'accidental'.
Real accidental, yes.
Accidental in that the explosive happy moron hadn't checked the dynamite being handed to him one last time, generally something amateurs did more than professionals. Hence, the amateur was now dead by his own bomb instead of causing a city-wide blackout in Milan. Such a pity.
The hitman was Italian, thank you. He was not particularly happy some avant-garde obsessed militant businessman was trying to turn their homeland into a war-torn fascist state.
The world did not need another Nazi Germany, and Italia's citizens did not wish to be it. His countrymen and women were being very clear, no not even homegrown terrorism would force them to be.
Yet morons will be morons, the moment said morons crossed into Mafia matters they crossed into Reborn's crosshairs. The Pesca Famiglia were up to their necks with their own anti-fascist weeding out and needed someone to track down who ordered the explosives smuggled in to be certain it would not be used in their territory. The hitman obliged his countrymen while they had their hands full trying to keep the peace.
He checked the front page he usually skipped over first, and again the headlines were full of 'Nightshade stole AGAIN'. Yes, Sonya was still bewildering people by stealing things only just checked on or watched twenty-four seven. The lovely if antisocial twit of a thief.
Nightshade's calling card was now that heat-distortion of her flower left on whatever held her target and sudden blackouts. She was not shy of using either, before or after getting her mark.
'Law enforcement' still had no idea where these 'tips' were coming from but suspected her using an accomplice, the clueless morons. Obviously the idiots suddenly coming out with all these highly identifiable 'priceless antiques', such valuable and easily tracked if sold objects, were attempting to set up 'Nightshade' to be caught by hiring her to steal all this shit in the first place. Not 'afraid' their valuables were being targeted, setting themselves up and then calling in the 'tips' when they knew the details.
By hiring her through intermediaries or third parties to 'test' their security got Nightshade to show up, which Bjǫrn either couldn't flatly refuse or his patron decided was fair enough of a job if she was being paid.
For the reputation boost, for the reward money, to deny her the 'title', whatever reason they wanted… Sonya would oblige them a chance.
All comers were equally as good, was apparently her decision on this. All comers right after one another.
They all lost the money they hired her with and the item they were suddenly 'so concerned' over at the same time, as the thief embarrassed the hell out of her detractors exactly as asked. No matter how stupid a requirement asked of her to do at the same time, and she'd ring a damn bell if need be.
No one said she couldn't flick a coin to ring it, after all. Didn't matter how many detectives you stuck in a brightly lit room to watch it, if she flicked a coin through an open window and it hit… then the bell rang. Said coin now had both sides scarred with her flower calling card, just to be that extra bit galling.
The papers had thoughtfully provided photos to admire both the slightly cracked open window and the coin she hit the bell with. On the long table she hit it on, which looked seven or so meters long given perspective by one of those unhappy officers standing nearby.
Oh how embarrassing… for them. Reborn just found it adorably petty and hilarious. They went 'on record' claiming this bit of 'arrogance' would be Nightshade's undoing in the press statements the day before… so sorry there, fuckers.
Try again.
There would be a year or two of this shit even with how fast she was binging through it all, hopefully she had a warehouse or something in mind for all the junk she was being ordered to steal. More her Lackey's worry than hers, though.
Maybe less than a year given the money she was obviously costing everyone without two brain cells to rub together to be cautious of such a notorious thief or wait for someone else to try it first, just to see what didn't work. He got the same damn treatment when Viper slapped him with 'the World's Greatest' title as Shamal gave his godmother, though his gauntlet was less… showy. Sonya obviously didn't remotely mind the challenges being thrown in her face, and was malicious enough to do all of it anyway.
Against whatever forces were being mounted against her.
If you challenge a Cloud, odds are they'd do it. Especially if it might piss someone off.
A Storm-Cloud?
Exactly to demand, one after another in an exhausting seeming row across the damn world, especially if it would embarrass someone. She was likely having the time of her life, if not pissed off and equally enjoying the chaos she was sowing in her wake at the same time.
Five years too late, idiots. If anyone had wanted to prevent the thief from becoming so good, the time to act had been before she got good enough to steal from NASA and get away with it. Before the news of her heists eclipsed even her brother's stunt shows when they happened to cross each other in the same country.
Unfolding his long frame, Reborn folded the paper to slap down on Natalina's table on his way past.
"…it had just BEEN A QUESTION, ASSHOLE!" Bit out the hitwoman venomously at his back after a startled moment of hesitation, and she swallowed her bite of lunch she damn near choked on. "I don't OFTEN work with thieves!"
She still shouldn't have been asking other hitmen that question, instead of the thief she now looked to for leadership.
Obviously, Sonya was a damn fine thief. Now Natalina had all the proof she needed to see for herself.
About two weeks of headlines and proof. A couple gaps in the news coverage for transit times, but still nine headlines twittering about what Nightshade stole next.
Reborn didn't get why she was getting so short with him, he was just helping her out a bit. As she asked. He just shot her a smirk on his way out of the restaurant she adored but he could give a miss to easily.
With any luck, good or bad, the thief was still in the middle of what she found fit to work on this month. Meaning he had an opportunity to get something already rolling before she got back, maybe.
At any other time, he'd be annoyed that their 'high-profiles' meant the hitman's every move was avidly tracked like this. Reborn very publicly hitched himself to Sonya's ass and didn't get bitch slapped for it, well before she took a hammer to everyone's expectations and biases with such glee. While she was off forcefully proving overly opinionated assholes wrong about her level of skill, Mafia Land could only look at him and Fon for their reactions.
It also let him know where the other man just so happened to be rather often, so right now it was more useful than annoying.
The airheaded assassin was pretending utter surprise at everyone else's reactions who just had to show him Sonya's work, accepting and equally discarding newspapers shoved on him to try getting a reaction out of him in the same second. With a 'you did not know? Yes, she is a skilled thief' comment to each that did not differ in tone or showcase any irritation at the many repeats.
Annoyingly, it was slightly better than what the hitman could offer for the gossips. He didn't 'have' the history with her to be smug over knowing her before she became Nightshade, just getting in before she did the last two weeks to showcase herself had to be good enough. What he could do was scoff in the face of the morons thinking it was just a level of talent that had impressed him, and not the woman herself.
…but yes, nine heists in two weeks was impressive. Reborn didn't know how long ahead of time Sonya knew she'd be here or there to do these jobs, or what she could get before the night itself. Or what Bjǫrn was getting nailed down for her while she was running around here or there with dog and child attached.
All he could do was judge it in the aftermath. He was fairly certain he worked out on which job Alek helped her with too, hopefully she'd answer if he was correct or not.
As per Reborn's bipolar luck, Fon was indeed on the island today. With Bjǫrn, annoyingly.
The Lackey was entirely too experienced and an island resident to continue talking even when he only suspected they might be being eavesdropped on, and the Lightning-Storm pinned his gaze on the hitman as he waltzed up to them in front of an apartment complex's main gated entrance way with mild annoyance. "Can I assist you, sir?"
"I'm here for him not you, Lackey."
"…one moment. Allow me to discharge the last of my duties here." The paperwork in his hand and a set of keys was transferred over wordlessly, because if anything Bjǫrn was a professional Lackey. "Again…"
"A delay will not harm anything." Fon allowed for politely as he sorted things away on his person. Keys to a pocket and the papers to a sleeve. "Appreciated."
The Lightning-Storm shot Reborn a skeptical look one last time, sighed through his nose, and regarded the assassin with resignation. "Should I…?"
"I do not believe that will assist in anything."
He was not sold, not remotely, at the polite disavowal in his face. "I better not regret this, gentlemen. Please try to murder one another outside my spheres of responsibility, if you can."
"It would be a pity." Mused the airheaded Storm thoughtfully as he studied the apartment building he was, hopefully, moving into instead of occupying a room at Sonya's. "But I also believe we both would prefer plausible deniability, just in case."
"Well, yes." Reborn agreed a little bitterly, hating he had to even once with this man. "That's why I'm starting this in public."
Bjǫrn shot them both a narrow, suspicious look before turning on his heel to go get on with his own work today.
The Mafioso turned back to the assassin the moment he wasn't visible in the street traffic. "I'd really like to punch you in the face, now."
Sonya's 'battle happy dork' paused, then thought about it. "Is accidental death by my hands acceptable to rid ourselves of you?"
"Damned if I know." He shot back dismissively with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Try if you'd like."
"…I find this offer quite agreeable."
"Well, lovely for you." Purred the hitman darkly at the entirely obvious comment. "I'll leave Leon on the sidelines if you keep your Flames to yourself."
Fon tilted his head to the side, red eyes already gleaming suspiciously brightly. "Actually… I would not mind a contest of ranged abilities."
"Leon has done nothing to you to deserve that abuse."
"…aa. Yes. My apologies to your… lizard. Gun." It didn't leave him on the backfoot for long, but the assassin still seemed a bit thrown by the sudden reminder Reborn's partner was also his favored weapon. "Does that harm… her?"
"Me and my Flames, no. You and yours? Rather not find out because I'm pissed off." He dismissed flatly and with more than a bit of impatience. "Now, where can I punch you in the face? I'm assuming you know what is safe enough from your own excess around here…"
Fon thought about it again, looking around at the still busy street some steps away and the bare minimal stretches of greenery to count as a 'garden space' provided here. "I… believe we may be best suited to going somewhere no one will mind mass property damage."
"The old port?"
"Perhaps for the best, yes."
(Friday the 24th of March, 1972. A hotel room, House of Amstel, Amsterdam, North Holland, Kingdom of the Netherlands.)
Ravil Vasilyev Olegovich petted the dog, again. Absently, and much to Alek's utter indifference, but just… because he could and the fur was right there in reach. "No."
"You can keep coming with me, I guess." Bazanova assured him first and foremost, per what had become the usual whenever she asked anything that leading. "But I travel. A lot. Skull does too. You can try him next, if you'd like."
"No."
She carefully lowered the ceiling back into place, hiding how she got back in. Then let herself fall from the high awkward looking perch on a standing wardrobe to land quietly on the floorboards on the balls of her feet and with bent knees. The weight of the tile she carefully sawed out of the solid ceiling sealed off most of the cracks in the paint, and the water applied kept the tiny chips still in place even now without her holding them there.
It'd be found shortly enough, but not tonight or maybe not until halfway through next week. Apparently.
Her 'thief tools' were still up there, nothing she had on now suggested she was missing an entire suitcase that got shipped to where they ended up at. Nothing indicated that this wasn't the outfit she 'left' the hotel room in either. She was dressed to sleep now, not in her day clothes.
Given the typical schedule they've had the last two weeks, he'd spend an hour or so walking Alek around randomly… or be the one walked around randomly, while she got it back well after they checked out later in the morning. So presumably she could get it and ship it off, because he barely saw that suitcase. Then they'd go somewhere else and do it all over again.
He sat in a hotel room, a random new one either two or three cities away depending on population density. She went off to steal something, but never brought anything back with her so he had no idea what she was stealing for seven to nine hours… once a full day.
Not unless she read him a newspaper article for him to know where they were and what might be going on. Other than that… he could go outside and wander changing streets aimlessly. No one knew shit all about him where she was taking him, but he also didn't speak the local languages either.
There wasn't much of a point.
The dog shifted a paw to keep his 'bone' made of tough and dried leather positioned as he wanted it, still gnawing on it in contentment.
A moment more of contemplation and the blonde haired grey eyed woman padded over to the bed he was occupying with her dog. Pointlessly, because he didn't really sleep all that much anymore. "If you'd rather-"
"No." She made the same damn offer every damn day, and frankly he was beyond tired of hearing it. Her castle was nice enough, there were just too many people there. "I'd rather not."
This time she actually continued instead of letting his refusal stand. "How about Colonello, then?"
"…is that even an option? I can't speak his language."
"Does that matter? Spend the summer there, however long you want. The rest of your life, even. Skull and I own a 'seventh' of it between us. But. The more you freak Colonello out by doing nothing, the more Tranquility he's going to try to smother you in. He can't control that yet."
"What about the lady you said was also there?"
"Lal… probably won't care. I think." Allowed the other Cloud thoughtfully. "Not so long as you sit there while she goes around looking for shit. Vasilyev… I have a lot of pull where I am now. I couldn't give you it before, but I can now."
"Didn't help me before." He snapped at her.
Maybe unfairly. His parents were still dead.
Sonya Bazanova shrugged a single shoulder, without an expression. "No, it didn't."
"Is that it?"
"Did I do it? Should I also answer for it?"
Vasilyev pushed himself upright, staring at her hard. "What if I say yes?"
She summoned another of her magic weapons, a battered golden ax. Then she offered it to him hilt first. "If it makes you feel better, have at."
He glared instead. He tried that, it didn't help. He tried it so much there was no longer a Wolfpack Gang left… aside him. And yes, he was keeping the name. It was his now.
Two, three months ago he would've taken the ax and thrown it at her head. Because it was offered.
Right now… he didn't want to. Vasilyev could, but it wasn't nearly as satisfying to chuck things through walls. Not anymore.
It used to be casual destruction was like itching a particularly stubborn dry patch of skin. Only in certain parts, on things that weren't important or out of place. Otherwise it grated like biting down wrong and smashing his teeth off each other. Surprising and shockingly painful.
The ax disappeared after a few seconds of him not taking it, leaving her empty handed.
"They'd be pleased to see you're still so hung up on their asses, even with them all stone dead." Bazanova informed him bluntly instead, turning to climb into her bed for at least a couple hours. "Spite those dumbass fuckers, Vasilyev. Move on, live happily on your own damn terms. Take your time to do it, ensure it'd piss them off to do whatever you want to do. But live. For your parents, if no one else."
"…how?"
"The fuck if I'd know. You're not me. My situation will not help you figure out yours, what to do about it or how to live in spite of it. The only one able to answer that question is you. Can you?"
"I'm sick and tired of moving every other day." He offered blindly, blinking a few times when she clicked off the side table lamp between the beds and left them in the dark again. "I… hate it. I don't like this."
"Alright. Then I'll get you back somewhere you won't have to leave for a different place every day."
"How do you do this?"
"Why can't I?" She shot back, shifting around in the dark.
Alek huffed hard, poking Vasilyev in the arm with a wet nose just a second before licking his chops clean. A second more to sniff just to check, then he returned to gnawing on his toy without care. On his bed, not hers.
He was going to get himself a cat. Dogs were smelly, slobbery things that took up entirely too much room. He wanted a damn cat, not just feeding the strays wherever he was. Alek was not a fan of him sharing his food with stray cats and stared at him sadly for doing it at all.
Frankly, that her dog was so sad was half the damn reason the Wolfpack Cloud kept doing it.
She hadn't been able to help. Too far away to be a credible threat to enforce his safety, without any influence to pull on with vory regardless, and basically all but exiled when she saw him for the last time in Moscow. Vor Arseniy hadn't the reach or pull, and by the time he became the Zolotov Pahkan that whole… it had become a bit more than unbearable.
Vasilyev still didn't forgive her for not being able to help him. Childishly, maybe. Sonya didn't mind, or at least didn't see the point to object to his opinion of her. Just sighed and shoved something else at him to try eating to see if he could stomach more of that instead.