A/N: God, I promise to get a better chapter up soon.
Edited: 4/3/2010 :D
FOR YOUR INFORMATIONN~ Nikolai's real name is Nikolas Nikolaievich. (Don't you just LOVE my creativity? :D) He is called Nikolai because there are was once an influx of Nikolases in the troop, and as a distinguishing 'mark,' he diverted from being called 'Nikolas' to being called 'Nikolai.' Mr. Rochefort continues to call him 'Mr. Nikolai' because he gets tongue tied trying to say Nikolai's surname. Hope that clears a little of this up. :)
This chapter has parts, okaay. :p I'll get to finishing part 2 later.
I promised to give a soundtrack for this. Here's a list of songs that inspired this story. Hopefully you won't guess what happens. :D You can listen to the songs to set the reading mood later on, but I call this chapter a bridge chapter, so no not really yet. :D
Not Meant to Be - Theory of A Deadman
Roses and Butterflies – Making April
So Close - Jon McLaughlin
Love Lives On – Mallary Hope
Come Back to Me – David Cook
Damned If I Do Ya – All Time Low
This Chapter is dedicated to Salysha. Cause she's cool like that~
Chapter II
Part One
I stayed that way for a while. I stared at the immaculately white ceiling, and couldn't help but feel relaxed. I breathed deeply for about five minutes, letting the gravity of the situation saturate further into my thick, thick skull. I pondered on what I was going to do tonight, walk around the giant place? Would I do it with Nikolai by my side? What if we caught someone, do we kill him or just put him out and then kill him?
I lay there a little while longer, then, realizing how long I had been in the tub, and that the water was no longer hot, I pulled the plug and dried myself off. I avoided looking in the mirror, still afraid of seeing myself match the walls, and the grotesque scars that were drizzled all over my body.
Picking up my underwear, I saw the most recent scar I got--one on my wrist, going all around, looking almost like a disgusting skin composite bracelet. Practically a branding.
I should have brought my other gloves.
I put on the rest of my clothes, and cleared the place of any of the minimal mess I had made. I smoothed my hair back, and tied it. The wisps that fell out would come out when the rest dried up.
Twisting the doorknob, I stepped back into my room. I saw that Nikolai had already invaded it, as he was sprawled out on my bed, watching Russian television from a TV set that I hadn't even noticed, since it was apparently inside a cabinet. It was a huge LCD TV, with a cinema style surround sound system. All the more, I realized, this place was becoming more and more of a hotel. I gave a sort of half grunt in appreciation.
I wanted to sprawl out under the sky in the garden--but then I realized that would be improper. But the way Nikolai seemed to be so free around here reminded me of a 15 year old in a hotel room, all to him or herself. He had already helped himself to a cup of tea, which Sebastian probably brought in while I was in the bathroom.
"Oy, Sergei," called Nikolai, pointing to a cloth bag on a hanger, which was draped over a plush chair by the balcony window. "Get dressed."
I looked at him questioningly. I furrowed my brow and crooked my head to the side. It was the universally acknowledged body language which translated into the simple word: What?
He rolled his eyes, and tried his best to get up into a vertical position while on my bed. "Dinner tonight is at 7 p.m., with Mr. Rochefort. We're gonna discuss some things with a security person, from whom we can hire people to boss around while we're here. But you gotta dress up." He said, still pointing to the cloth bag draped on the chair. "Its an Armani tuxedo. Yours is navy blue. Mine is black, still in my room. I'll put it on later."
He gave me a teasing look, telling me that I got a funnier looking suit, probably. Dammit.
Taking a look at the time on the TV, which told me it was nearly 7 already--ten to 7 to be precise. I picked it up, and went back into the bathroom. I locked the door, for good measure.
I zipped open the cloth bag, and lo and behold, an Armani soft suit. In a shade of navy blue that reminded me of my country. I felt thankful, slightly, and then realized it suited me perfectly.
I took out the pants that came with it, and set it on the counter of the bathroom. I found a crisp, gray dress shirt for it, with a stiff, starched collar, mother of pearl cufflinks and that sort of stuff. I had no tie, which (I think) meant that this was a not-so-formal occasion.
I slipped it on, and the rest followed. I smoothed out the creases that I accidentally made, and tucked the dress shirt better into the pants. I fixed the cuffs, and pulled the coat on easily, albeit reluctantly. I'd never really felt comfortable in dressy types of clothes. I found them to be overrated, and way too impractical. Hence, the fatigues, undershirts, and single pair of formal wear.
When I got out of the bathroom, Nikolai had already left, though leaving in his place a mess of chocolate wrappers. Sigh. I picked them up, and tossed them in the bin back in the bathroom. I walked out of the room, greeted again by the candy striped Dendrobium.
I followed the way back to the house's 'lobby,' as I will call it from now on, and followed the noise from there on. I found myself in a room I hadn't noticed when we arrived--it was close to the balcony we exited out into the back of the estate through earlier in the day. It was guarded by white double doors that were so huge, they touched the ceiling. The knob looked like a knob for an ordinary front door. I pushed down on the knob, and the heavy oak furnishing glided easily forward.
Sebastian greeted me with an easy smile. "Good evening, Mr. Dragunov," He said, ushering me to a seat across Nikolai. "This is the Dining Hall. Dinner will be served soon, and tonight, you and Mr. Nikolai shall meet with the head of security of Rochefort Enterprises, Mr. Hennigan. Mr. Rochefort wants you to tell him what you will need for your duty here."
I nodded. Okay, what would I need? Nothing much, really. Give me a gun and I'll shoot the bastard. Done. But these are Zaibatsu guys... they're real nasty. They could pull the rug from under your feet and you wouldn't notice until your naked butt hit the glass-bit covered floor.
Maybe an extra guy or two wouldn't be so bad. Besides, I'd get to rest. Then again, from what? Walking around a huge fenced field for nine hours? That's not so bad when you compare it to days on end patrolling a seemingly harmless Siberian Tundra.
I tried to ignore the Southern French accents floating around the air in the form of greetings and thanks. If anyone was trying to talk to me, I didn't know it and because of that ignored the speaker. Instead of opening my mouth to speak, as I was afraid of saying the wrong things to the stocky, aged men that were in the room with me, I nodded to anyone I came into eye contact with. There weren't that many. I heard whispers of mine and Nikolai's name. I don't think I found it offensive; I would feel the same way if there were additional odd looking men wearing my boss' clothes at a meeting.
I tried to focus on other things: I studied the room. I felt like I was in a black and white world; the floors were black and white diagonally patterned tiles, the walls a shade of gray that was, although muted, very luxurious, matching the rest of the house, vintage all-white furnishings that looked like they were pulled out from Bonaparte's time and placed in the hall. The table was decorated with baskets of summer fruit--strawberries, mangoes, pears, apples--odd, for this time of year.
I saw Mr. Rochefort sit down at the head of the table, and tap his glass with a fork.
Smiling, he said, "Dinner is served."
A handful of penguin-suited men carrying plates came in through a door I hadn't noticed earlier. They all had straight faces on as they served the food. Sebastian announced the mystery food when everyone had an individual plate of a bowl of soup.
"Instead of Hors d'œuvres, we are serving you a classic soup recently mastered by our chef. This is Potage Magali, a Mediterranean Tomato Soup with Rice. Enjoy." He turned and left, the penguin-men tailing him without a word.
The room was silent for a moment, save for the clink of spoons amongst other cutlery, and a momentary, synchronized swallow could be heard if one was silent and attentive enough. The peoples' lips curled into satisfied smiles. Following that, observations of the flavors that were the soup.
I picked up my spoon, and angled it slightly to pick up some of the steaming, fragrant soup. Holding it close to my mouth before I put it in my mouth, I inhaled its scent. Delightful. I placed the spoon in my mouth wordlessly, and the world was tentatively on hold.
It was delicious. Oh god, it was delicious.
It took all of my strength not to attack the bowl and drink it the way Japanese do theirs. My eyes lit up at the bold flavors that came into contact with my tastebuds: spicy, but not too much, sweet, but not manufactured sweetness, sour, but not painful. It tasted fresh, and I immediately set my spoon back in the liquid to spoon in some more. I put it in my mouth, and did the same thing again and again until my bowl was practically dry. Every spoonful is like tasting it for the first time--exciting and fulfilling. I wouldn't need a main course if I had a big bowl of this.
I sat back into my chair and relaxed. I could do that here, relax. I let my shoulders down a little, and rested my hands on my lap, on top of each other. I observed everyone else, engaged in buddy-buddy conversation. They were talking about their children and the latest stuff they were able to do with their security forces, when Mr. Rochefort called my attention.
"Mr. Dragunov, Mr. Nikolai, this is Mr. Hennigan, head of security at Rochefort Enterprises. Might you and Mr. Nikolai speak to him during tea this evening?" He said.
Nikolai nodded eagerly. "We would be pleased to discuss what we would need. Isn't that right, Mr. Dragunov?" He glared at me, expecting me to say something.
Nodding, I said, "Absolutely, Mr. Hennigan." My voice was small. I felt belittled, somewhat. All eyes were on me, suddenly. I knew what they were thinking—this was a strange zombie-man, in the clothes of our boss. What the fuck?
God, anything I'd do to get rid of that impression.
Thank god, the next course was served. Fish, in traditional order, of course. The penguins came out with plates again, and when they place the fresh dish before us, ever so subtley took away our used bowls. Sebastian appeared, explaining what we were to be served.
"Tonight, we present to you a delectable, melt in your mouth pan-seared filet of salmon, topped with a sugar-soy sauce glaze. Enjoy."
This was something I could get used to—it was light in flavor and extremely tender. The glaze was so simple, so crisp in flavor, that I suddenly had a strong resolve to not go back to eating 'normal' food. This was brilliance on a plate.
Of course, discussion and conversation ensued, while I took refuge in enjoying the food.
Cycle again, penguins appeared, took away the plates while our eyes were on the main course: "Côtes de Veau braisées aux Champignons." Sebastian announced proudly. "Veal steaks braised with Mushrooms and Cream. Enjoy." He left yet again, and in his wake a bunch of curious and not-so-hungry men.
I was first to pick up my fork and knife, and everyone followed suit after me. I cut a piece off of the tiny little cut of meat that I knew was going to leave me speechless yet again and placed it in my mouth. My prediction came true, and I was inspired to paint landscapes. It was delicious. It tasted like home, if home was tender, smoky baby cow meat drenched in butterfat.
Simply. Heaven. My eyes were practically rolled into the back of my head in response to the richness of the flavors. God, I was getting full. And I had eaten just about a cup and a half of food. Remember, I haven't eaten in about… 12 hours. And tiny portions of three things have managed to somehow satiate me.
"Sergei," Nikolai whispered across the table. "I think he's talking to you." He sort of chuckled softly to himself, and gestured with his forehead the man beside me.
I gave him a death stare and lifted by brow slightly. He would get it later. I turned my head to look at the man next to me—slightly aged, tough looking, and intensely staring at the scar on my wrist. I fixed my eyes on his and started shooting daggers. He looked away immediately, and went back to his veal.
I turned back to face Nikolai and he just laughed.
--
After the veal we were served a funky little salad of Lolo Rosa lettuce and alfalfa sprigs with coriander and Japanese vinaigrette. Plates were taken away, and we were given a plate of brie and goat cheese with grapes. I didn't touch the goat cheese. Finally, we were given the chef's masterpiece Napoleons, and I devoured mine quickly, hoping that each bite would somehow find its way to Bonaparte's soul.
Now I was back on the balcony, with Nikolai, Mr. Rochefort, and Mr. Hennigan.
"So," Mr. Hennigan began, skeptically. "You will need 10 armed gunmen, 5 aerial surveillance men, and eight dogs."
"Sounds like a plan." Said Nikolai. He gestured to me. I nodded soberly.
"If I may ask, what are you going to do with them all?" Mr. Hennigan asked, slightly doubtful of Nikolai's plan. I had absolutely no say. I didn't mind, actually. I'm more of a think-on-your-feet kind of guy.
"We're going to place two armed gunmen nearby each side of the perimeter of the estate, patrolling on foot. The extra two will be floating, patrolling the inner parts of the estate along with Dragunov and myself. The dogs will accompany the perimeter guard. The aerial surveillance men will patrol the perimeter, overhead the estate, et cetera, at intervals." Nikolai was trying to be convincing—I knew his plan was to have men around the perimeter so he could lounge around or spar with me. Kind of smart, actually—I approve.
"That sounds good," began Mr. Rochefort. "But for the meantime, as Mr. Hennigan gets these men ready, you will have to be the ones patrolling the grounds."
"Let me tell you, though, I have men knocking at my office door daily, asking for an assignment. This shouldn't be a problem. I'll have them sent over here three nights from now. I'll have to weed out the ones that are unready, but don't worry." Mr. Hennigan smiled as he stood up, extending his hand. Nikolai reached out to shake it firmly. So did I. I looked over the man, and then the estate, and then at Nikolai.
I opened my mouth to speak.
"Pleasure doing business, sir."
AAAAH I PROMISE TO GET TO THE ROMANCE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, KEHH. ITS KILLING ME, TOO.
Please r&r!