Learning the ropes, poor Russian.

Music berated the senses, the entire room nothing but the laughter of soldiers, celebrating. "They are not shy about their celebrations I see." Luka tipped his head examining the display before him, bemusement dancing behind his eyes as another vodka was placed in front of him, and another vodka was ignored. The newly acquired captain hadn't drank in thirteen years. the smell was still enough to cause a slim lipped mouth to water, but not enough to persuade staunch resolve into capitulating. It was an event some years back in a time no one spoke of, in a place no one wanted to be. A woman he'd lost to a few extra drinks and a few bucks. She walked out. Things better left not reminisced about in this sort of slum. Still, the ever torpid Chris Redfield continued his religious routine of stacking up the pile in front of him because he didn't 'drink alone.' So, before the blond communist soldier, sat a tall mound of shot glasses all being piled into a pyramid replica of the 'Halls of Montezuma,' and before the captain were a growing pile of similar glittering glasses, all emptied into his gullet, the burn long gone. "They should be proud, they are very good." Luka's eyes were resting on the team of reckless agents, all of which appeared to be under the table by now in terms of inhibitions apart from their singularly sober comrade, acting just as intoxicated without the liquor. A few hours ago one would have though they were machines, emotionless killers, trained perfectly, incapable of failure. They were an interesting group, as complicated together as their commander was alone. A man who had demanded despite not liking him; they get drunk together, in not so many words. It made not have been obvious to some but he made it evident after his first three rounds in just as many minutes, demanding Luka's presence in silently observing like the gargoyle he was, hunched over their steep tower of drinks.

"Yeah Alpha team party hardy." Sarcasm laced all of Chris' baritone words, looming over his unsteady stack of sticky diamond glasses, overturned on the table top, ignoring his troop's behavior. The captain was already ordering another, putting it on the top turret of the mountain, and throwing back his own with a splash, banging it down on the table top with a ponderous clank. "So commie... what did you think of the great alpha team now? Ready to take your albino ass home?"

The sun was bringing her face to the height of all that was holy, casting her arrows down upon the world, even in this tepid Hell hole. They were all hell holes, but there was a special circle for these creatures that Umbrella had uncovered for them. The gravel beneath the feet was more rubble than gravel, and the sky was cloudless, leaving sweat to accumulate on the brow, flesh pale by comparison to the natural tan of the other alpha members, all of which were use to the sweltering heat, where Luka,'s broad body had been only ever connected with the cold. The adventure was exhilerating, a tight lipped smile working over features molded by years of war yet sophisticated, enjoying the tones of his team mates cooing in his ear.

'Hot as a bitch out here boys, can't fuckin' breath.'

'Not at hot as my bitch back home.'

'Yeah right Alf, your bitch looks like a damn dog. Now Miranda, she's a hot bitch.'

'Walker, eye on the prize man.'

'All three of you need to quit griping. Besides Walker, your so called hot bitch left the bar last week with Alf.'

"WHAT!?'

"Heh.." There was a round of laughter as other things went on, Chris' occasion rumble of a laugh filling ear canals while Carl and Andy had it out over who was better in bed, followed by a soft tenor than never really joined in. Their conversation grew more sparse as they were faced with their objective, gun shots filling the air around them. Faced with Umbrella's Bioweapons was no joke, but these men were all exceptionally talented, their converation still prattled on in bits and pieces.

'You know that bar wench had a thing for you captain. Swear she was going to climb in your lap.'

'Are we living in the medieval ages Walker? She wasn't a wench.'

'Awww did I offend your social sensibilities Agent Nivans?'

Luka smiled casually, taking the first few shots without the reverberations ever registering in his arms that he was firing a weapon. He was a weapons expert, they were so numbing in his mind that every shot was just another part of well sculpted arms, bare to the sun. His weapon rose again, the standard issue of U.S. S.O.U.'s for the tactical reasoning for getting use to the feel of how their crew ran. He had his gun pointed but as his finger cradled the trigger and prepared to fire the sound of resonating rifle fire distracted him, booming through the air. It wasn't more than a few seconds that the zombie that was in front of him was taken down by the golden sniper. The bullet was so close that he could hear the whistling come close to him. Not to mention that he could feel the heat of the energy as the bullet pass his cheek. Another step to to the left at the wrong time, he would have been dead, but then the second bullet sounded behind his back, taking the creature behind him, teeth bared for feasting. He looked up to where Chris had directed the young sniper to go. He was astonished with the young man, the first mission with the Alpha Team and he was surprised with Piers' ability. Meeting eyes with the sniper scope that had already moved on and was tailing the other members of the crew. "Appreciate it Nivans."

'Don't appreciate it too much Lucky, I've got four other men to cover. Eyes forward pal.'

Carl falling over a table brought attention back from the memory, a raucous of laughter filling from a thousand voices over the music blaring to fill all corners of the room but their own. The water logged captain never turned his head, but Luka couldn't help but leave the attentions of the older man to his booze and entertain himself with the newest game that a drunken Alpha team had decided to begin. At first it was 'I've Never', a game where each person names something they have never done, and those who have done so before take a drink. Which led to ten rounds of Andy having to slug back just as many bourbons, so they switched to watching the game on T.V., where Walker again took the wrong bet and had to take a drink every time the opposing team (the Avalanche), scored a goal, rallying him six more. Finn and Carl were right behind him, and soon they were hunting for more games while their team mate dribbled over some waitress with an ass that filled out her skirt to the point of hanging out her poor choice in a white thong making the situation even more unbearable. He would have begun to question their intelligence soon considering how many drinks they'd already had, but that was until their sober Assistant Team Leader peeled his skin tight white shirt off his upper body, revealing tan skin and taut abdominal muscles, immediately stunned to silence. Piers was exactly as his team described him. He was the sun, stare too long, or fly too close and you were instantly burned. He was sharp as a tack, and backed every man in the field, as well as led them with all relayed orders and signaling. It was a complete contrast to this good humored man; frictionless body on display while tossing the white shift on the chair beside his S.O.U. jacket. Walker gave a nudge, more of an elbow in Carl's ribs; one that Luka couldn't help but notice, until Piers was laid back completely, laughing all the while Carl led a trail of salt up the contours of his muscles to his chest, a small ruby small squishy gummy was placed between pouted lips; preparing for a game he'd only ever seen his own men play with prostitutes and hookers. "Your partner... he is... not drunk?"

Chris didn't bother to look up completely, just begrudgingly cant his head, face leaned on one rough palm, meeting eyes with the tawny haired sniper who held the half lidded gaze, a smile curling those full lips as they stayed there with the buzz of the room all muted for those brief few seconds before Chris broke the stare; stifling a laugh as Carl poured tequila into his belly button. "Nivans? No... he doesn't drink, he's got no tolerance for it, put a single glass of whiskey in him and he'll start table dancing. Hates the taste." He scoffed watching Andy shove Carl out of the way as he took the first body shot, his tongue darting into Piers' naval and along the salt trail, intentionally slow, letting the saltiness mingle with the sweat on their sniper's body from their earlier mission; leaving a trail of saliva before stealing the gummi bear from his lips, exacting deep brown examining the scene of miscreants reapplying liquor and salt, Piers eating the first candy pressed to his lips and then replacing that with a green one. "He does that. Kid has a wild streak, what can I say." Chris was ignoring the rather lewd whistle that Andy made from pursed lips as Carl's mouth hovered over Piers' pillowy lips relinquishing the gummi bear before the uproar started for Finn to take a shot, the boy's face a motley of red; blush and nose bleed earning all the more laughter. Chris never truly looked away, keeping his eyes on the scene and making sure to lock eyes with his partner between every single body shot, running his tongue over his teeth as Piers ran his own tongue over the bear in his mouth and turned. "He parties with his team when they do a good job, makes sure no one leaves with anyone they shouldn't. You know... plays mommy."

"If I recall properly you say he has a woman waiting for him..."

Eyes narrowed shifting from his partner to watching Luka examining the scene as Piers laughed; sitting up and giving Finn a pat on the shoulder, shouting something over the music no one could understand because of how loud it played over their heads. He was consoling the younger man for being intimidated and giving him the small reassurances. The blond had been watching Piers all week, with that same exacting look; the sharp one that suggested he wanted more than just to observe him. Those icy azure eyes that seemed to take in all and absolutely nothing of his partner. He had been trying to read Piers since the day they met, which Chris had enjoyed because reading his partner was trying to read the entire dictionary all in one sitting and getting stuck on 'Addicting.'. He was both commander and soldier, and it was evidently confusing the Russian who had allowed himself a brief respite from acting the dutiful captain to let those marine eyes pool on the taut exposed muscles of his stomach. It made Chris snicker, maybe he should have been insulted the man was so openly eying his partner, but his partner was so openly advertising. For a while he was concerned that captain comrade Geevo was judging his partner's actions because he was appalled by them, even that would have been more worrisome, but instead they had come to what every member of Alpha team had eventually gone through. Everyone went through the shell shock over those pretty lips and the sculpted lean frame, and every one of them failed. There were reasons Chris let Piers get wild with Alpha team, and that was because of one very important thing, one thing that made the captain pleased just thinking about it and seeing those hazel eyes meet his own between every lick over his lips and the straying hands of their squad. Shaking his head the brunette earned himself a grin, ordering another round of clear death. That was his. "You've got more of a chance turning water into wine than getting in bed with him commie. She's got him wrapped around her pinky finger."

The ongoing mutters from the other men were almost hilarious. Everyone talked about the Russian like he was on some kind of soap opera joining their little marriage of skill to be something helpless even though just seconds before he took three walkers headed directly for Agent Walker, a failed attempt at a salute his only thanks. It annoyed him they were so sure of themselves hat he wasn't phased at all by the saving grace of Luka's assault rifle, but rather more amused. Ice blue eyes traveling to spot his remaining team mates while Carl began another conversation that made Finn horribly uncomfortable. The poor lad was the butt of every joke, whimpering something whiny at the captain who only grunted a response in the sounded like a gruff 'man up MacCulley.'

'Oh come on Finn, you're telling me you aren't buggering that chick, she was all over you!'

'Caaaappptainn.'

'Walker, stop making Finn shit himself, in this heat its going to reak.'

"Dis place smells of shit anyway."

'Hahaha, true that Rusky! Besides why talk about Finn's not girlfriend when we can talk about how General Valentine tried palming your ass last week cap?'

'Misunderstanding Walker, she wasn't palming my ass, she wanted to hold my gun.'

'Heh! Yeah! Speaking of guns, Nivans how's your girlfriend?'

'Slim and keening for it Walker. Keep heading east and I'll let her wear black at your funeral. There's thirteen your way.'

Blond sculpted brows knit together, drawing up again despite the sun to eye the sniper in his place, standing over them with his rifle pressed to his shoulder, popping off rounds toward the east. He never came off as the type. Without ever having spoken of a significant other, Piers still looked the part of a submissive, even if he wasn't at all relenting to these men or anyone else for that matter. He would have teased the subject, but he thought it better to keep his mouth shut in this case. He didn't want them to start their banter in his direction, there was no need to explain himself to these men. He mainly stayed to himself the last few days, observing those interactions between the team. Chris drank, Piers instructed, and the team developed together, but it was plainly clear who was the imposing force of the team. Piers was more than an A.T.L. for these men. It wasn't until they had started out on their mission that he started really listening in on their conversations, noting that even if it was Piers shouting out instructions, they were instructions that followed Chris' unspoken ones. They were truly a slick team, well oiled, and that made it harder to pinpoint just what it was he was looking for, but he already knew.

Another few B.O.W.s went down with the sound of gun fire from his own weapon. Luka could hear others firing all around the area he was in bullet reverb echoing off the walls of adobe and clay, windows blowing out when the occassional strayed bullet didn't find it's mark. The man held his gun out at the ready as he ventured down the seemingly deserted alley until he found a the source of the moaning noise he'd been tracking for a good five minutes. Feet silent, picked up and placed careful, one over the other while nearing the gored sight of Satan. A herd of mutilated zombies were gorging on a fresh corpse, judging from the pack it sustained, a full grown male its intestines littering the alley. As he moved in on them. He was out of Piers' sight. One by one, the head of the creatures rose from their kill; clamoring upright from their hunched over smorgasbord, then got up to come at him. One by one they went down with each shot he fired.

"Andy?" Finn hiccuped into his strawberry daiquiri, burping up into his fist, while Luka gave him a small distanced pat on the back. "Well... Andy has been part of Alpha for a realllllllllllllllllly looonnnnng time. Like... one year? or is it fiiivvvve... no I think it's definitely three or four years." Finn nodded happily before it made him dizzy and he burped again, chewing unhappily on whatever came back up into his mouth, feeling fleeting fingers removed from his spine as Luka's fine features twisted in disgust. "Sorrrrrrryyyy! 's jus' the buffflo wings, I promise!" Finn was shouting despite being so close, pointing at the plate of wings that Carl was still feasting on, that the blond couldn't help but step away from.

"I apologize Finn... but I wasn't asking about Mr. Walker. I was asking about-

"My girlfriend?" Nimble, dexterous dark gloved fingers slid onto Luka's shoulder blade, sending a shiver up his spine when he heard the forcible tenor behind his right shoulder. "Why so curious about her all of a sudden Lucky?" Even with his considerable height different, Piers managed to never look small. He was lithe, lean, and had an incredibly feminine way of holding his body; hip popped to the side with one hand cupping his hip as always. Yet despite all that he never seemed small, or girly. He was a force to be reckoned with and even with his massive size, broad chest and imposing structure, Luka managed to get goosebumps every time that exacting tenor voice was directed at him. It was no wonder at all his men were always cowering in front of him. Unless you earned it, Piers Nivans was a pitbull.

Luka came back out of the alley, fingers flying up to the com, "Clear from Park West."

There was a brief window of time to look around, watching as Finn set another explosive Carl his back up killing anything that moved while wires were set and charges rigged, the tiny form of a man simpering when he got a pat on the shoulder from his cover man. He wasn't meant for combat, but Finn was certainly a wiz when it came down to explosive devices. He was suppose to rig the entire town to blow, which should have been a huge issue, at least back in the Czech Republic it would have been, but Alpha team made it seem easy, Walker clearing out the next building to be rigged. His job was clearance, he was suppose to clean out the buildings. The idea was, you get rid of all the Bioweapons, you clear the houses check each one to make certain there are no survivors, and then blow the place to seal any evidence. It was an arduous process, but necessary and what they lived for. Looking around he began the second sweep, shooting lead into everything that lumbered like a B.O.W.

'Check the buildings,' came Chris's voice. 'They want the whole place cleaned up. And I don't want anyone left behind. You find a survivor call in on the eyes in the sky.'

'Covered captain.'

In the building next to him, he had seen things, motion stirred his peripherals, drawing him up each step to mount the threshold of the 'Bank of Nations.' Meaty muscled thigh tensed with each step, his uniform and three riggings on his right leg hugging almost too tight, just the way he liked them. Pushing through the teller's station, ice blue eyes scanned every whereabouts for bloodied foot prints or smears, the general tell tale signs of infected. There was never too careful. A corpse still fresh in its seat, slumped twitching in its place, sliding further down until it hit the floor, nudging the tip of his assault rifle to its head. One squeeze and brain matter and gore splattered meticulously clean boot tips, grunting. Something infected the banker... Pantyhose had runs in it, uncovered by a skirt that was shredded by massive claw marks and pleasing hips and revealed inner thighs ending with a missing leg. Whatever it was, was nearby. Luka raised his eyes from the mess, and carefully went in search of its companion. There weren't that many on the first floor and all were zombies or recently deceased. It was the second floor that had more.

Timberland boots with a heavy rubber sole thumped loudly as well on the glazed wooden floor above the wreck of the bank, checking over the mess of offices. Chris was walking around on this floor as well, he was signature soldier, guns always at the ready with his shot gun poised, never lowering for anyone. When they overlapped Chris never lowered his weapon, snorting as he gave Captain Gvorik a once over, he held his gun on him anyway, never lowering despite the other captain's 'courtesy' disarm, lowering his A.R.. "Take a knee... very slowly."

"Captain?" the Russian sputtered out, his gun immediately up.

"I was curious. I've never seen you with a woman agent Nivans."

Piers was pacing around the front of Luka in a sort of semi circle, like a wild cat watching its pray before settling again, resting his fingers on his hip and his shoulder tipped forward, the rifle compensation evident though he wasn't holding it. "Well you should look closer then Lucky." The nickname was almost a given, but Piers was the only one who used it, hazel eyes exacting as his cant his head from side to side, Luka's eyes roaming him like an artifact he'd discovered, undressing him with his eyes. Just the way the soldier maintained all composure even in a bar after having his shirt off for a crew full of drunk men. And he was flawless too, never once buckled under the scrutiny or appeared flustered. He really did have an on and off switch this one. "She doesn't share. Eyes forward Lucky."

"I apologize," eyes rose, locking on the ones that refused to give him space to breath, the two taking each other in. "I find it interesting you would say such a thing if you spend your free time undressing for your squad... Or that trick you did... with your mouth," he nodded at Alpha team, never straying their eyes from each other as they stared. He didn't know when Piers had replaced his clothing, but he could see it in his eyes that he hadn't been aware that Luka had been watching his team mates playing connect the dots between his naval to his mouth with their tongues. "Gummy bears... I've never seen a sober taken man do that."

"You should see what I do for her," no matter the statement, it rolled off his tongue easily, but sharp. There was plenty of trash thrown among the soldiers about their significant others, but Piers only ever brought it up when antagonized and it didn't go passed Luka that he never went into detail, just followed the swing of conversation when forced. But then Piers wasn't the kind of man to hand it out for free, that much was true. The Russian couldn't help his sudden interest in the other woman, in how if she existed why it was this one did his dance with the devil for his team, until he realized he was staring again. "You might want to find something else to stare at... captain, or at least stare a little more subtle. So long as you are in Alpha you are under captain Redfield's command, and I am A.T.L., that means so long as you are part of this unit you are under me. So do yourself a favor Lucky... get over it, rub one out in the bathroom if you need to, but keep your eyes off me unless you want me to show you how good of a shot I really am."

"NOW!" Chris rose his gun and unloaded the remaining rounds into the creature's head that was perched above; walking along the ceiling with it's long claws, the tongue close to wrapping the other man's neck. Once the man heard the thud, eyes wide at the captain's outburst but following his orders; turned to see what it was. A licker... Crafty things that could walk the wall and they had had a run in with their ilk in Russia before. He was too distracted here by these people, by Chris. His eyes widened and turned back to the man that shot it. He didn't trust captain Redfield, and after that display he didn't trust him all the more, seeing the blood shot red that stained the whites of his eyes. Drunk on a mission while firing inches over his head? Redfield was aggravated to say the least, they were glowering at one another until Luka was about to come forward with the accusation, when Chris cut him off. "And you came from the Russian organization... No wonder your boys have a 100% death rate." Chris walked off grumbling about the man's ignorance and the Russian looked at the licker, putting a few more rounds in its skull before following after.

"I would actually..."

Piers stopped midstride from walking away, turning on his heel and curling in a finger, beckoning him closer with narrowed golden flecks in his eyes, Luka with a egotistical smirk still in place as he leaned down, able to smell the clean that emanated from Piers' body compared to the drunkenness around him and suddenly taken by being so close. He was never so close to Piers, because the man was a pit viper and had a tendency to strike at anytime. The simile was so close in fact, but the tension that boiled between them made it all the more exhilarating having those lips beside his ear, breathing over his cheek. He was bating Luka, letting him take in his smell, his form, the urge to touch him before parting his lips, tongue teasing out and licking over his upper tier before the words washed over the Russian like water. "I. Never. Miss."

Who doesn't love a good tequila shot off that frictionless washboard stomach.