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roxyListen-- Do you hear the dulcet tones of the balalaika, the gentle sounds of the peasnts singing? Smell that crisp snowy air? What does it mean, my friend what does it all mean?
Well, when you're here at Casa Echoey, it means more Russian Clex! If it's happpening to you at home, well...*meaningful stare*
If you missed what went before they are gathered here, polishing their sabers.
Morning, and Kirill spent part of it in his room gathering whatever items his Uncle was willing to let him take along with him. It had been a …strange morning.
He’d had a most interesting breakfast, sitting in conversation with Boris and Prince Felix, and his ghost, Dmitri, a conversation conducted in whispers, as though there were some possible way for anyone to hear them, a conversation fully as insane as Kirill sometimes felt.
Prince Felix planned to assassinate Rasputin, spiritual advisor to the Tsarina, Aleksandra.
Kirill had been forced to bite his lip to keep from laughing at their audacity, their idiocy. How could they possibly hope to succeed? The plot was ludicrous, the plotters ridiculous. They must be mad, or perhaps simply incredibly stupid….
But Uncle threw in with them and it was impossible to imagine Boris Voronkov involved in a doomed plot, unless there was some other way he’d profit. There was always a way for Boris to profit, or nearly always. He had to have lost once, or he wouldn’t be living in his dacha so far away from court, and civilized society.
That was another tune Kirill heard endlessly, though what he’d done to earn this exile he thankfully never shared with him.
He had watched Uncle carefully and thought deeply about his own involvement in this brilliant plan, this farce he’d been pressed into participating in.
Kirill believed he might have a few ways this scheme could profit him. How grateful would the Tsarina be to be warned of a plot against her monk? Grateful enough that the informer might be granted land, a name? A way to get revenge on a devil?
Kirill pictured himself getting on his horse and riding away, just leaving--- Boris couldn’t stop him. Ah, but Boris would never pay then for what he’d done to him for all these years. And he lived for the time when Uncle would pay—he planned to make him scream so loud that God would hear the voice of Boris Voronkov and finally take notice of the monster he let loose an the land, a creature more a monster than he, because God granted Boris a soul and the possibility of salvation, and he spit on the gift.
He stopped and took a deep shaky breath and struggled to gain control.
Kirill strode across the yard, noticing idly that the servants scattered before him. That always cheered him somewhat. At least *they* were afraid of him.
He came to an abrupt stop as he reached the stables. Framed in the doorway of the stables was the officer from the night before. He stared, not sure what to do, reluctant to come closer for some reason.
The colonel came out of the doorway and leaned against the wall, making a great show of not blocking the entrance. He looked Kirill up and down, an arrogant smirk on his lips, and then dropped his eyes to the apple he held in his hand. He was peeling the fruit in a long thin continuous strip, so thin a strip it was almost translucent in the bright morning sun. Light flared off the edge of the blade and dazzled Kirill’s eyes. He blinked, and found he was standing closer to the officer, without being aware he had moved. He shivered, but the man took no notice of him. He seemed to be totally engrossed in his task. Not looking at Kirill, he spoke.
“The trick to this is a very, very sharp knife, and a slow and steady hand. Then you can peel it all in one…long…strip.” He stopped peeling and cut a sliver of flesh from the apple and licked it carefully from the blade.
“Would you care for a slice?” He prodded the fruit with the tip of the knife. He tilted his head slightly and grinned at Kirill’s red and scowling face.
“I just thought you might care for some. Don’t you like apples? Or would you prefer something else?”
Angered for no reason he could define, Kirill grabbed a brush from the table in the corner, and walked over to the stall his horse was in, wishing the man were standing in his way.
“So. We do that ourselves in the country, do we? One more reason why no in their right mind would wish to live here.”
Kirill whirled around. The man had managed to sneak up on him. It had been too many years since he’d allowed that to happen.
The colonel rested a hip against the wall of the stall opposite his, smiled at him in a most irritating manner and continued peeling his apple. Kirill stood unmoving, his head down. It was pounding in an unpleasant way, and fury made him grit his teeth. This man thought he was an idiot, a toy to play with--
The officer moved away from the wall and circled him, his long gray wool coat whispering against the wood and turned until his back was to the light coming through the stable door.
He was bald and not clean-shaven, there was no shadow, no stubble—yet his face was unlined, he was young, Kirill thought, maybe not very much older than he was. His boots creaked with each step he took, they were brand new, and shiny as though more for show than for the purpose they were intended for. So, a soldiers uniform, but not a soldier. A courtier than, a bootlicker. He pointedly turned his back on the Colonel and snorted.
A fancy whore, no more.
Suddenly there was warmth and pressure the length of his back and the scent of the man filled his nose—wool, and roses, and leather, lavender and something sweet and metallic under it all, a scent he caught when the officer breathed, and his arm lifted and curled across Kirill’s chest like a lover’s embrace.
The blade of the knife slid gently down his cheek and warm breath ghosted over his ear.
"Your Uncle wouldn’t care to hear that you were rude to Felix’s friends, my pet.”
Kirill froze inside. The words echoed horribly in his ear.
The knife withdrew, and the mouth against his ear was gone.
“You’ll want to play, little one. I know it. I sense we’ll have great fun together, you and I “
Kirill growled at him, and tried to push past him into yard, when the Colonel grasped his wrist to hold him there.
“Alexei. That is who I am. Say the name, little apple.”
Kirill snatched his arm out of his grip and the Colonel—Alexei strolled away. He heard laughter trailing back to him, and he desperately wished that the shit would offend his Uncle so that he could reduce him to a smoking pile of ash, or rip his limbs from his body and fling them high as the pines, or….
The brush creaked and splintered in his hand as his grip tightened. Despicable bastard whore. There’s another one whose blood he planned to be up to the elbows in when this stupid game played out.
The thought calmed him a bit, and he tossed the pieces of the brush to the ground. As he turned back to the stable, a sound caught his notice. It came from the stall the arrogant bastard had been lolling all over. The sound came again, and he opened the door, and his eyes widened.
“Ivan.”
Ivan lay inside, facedown in the straw, dressed still in his pants and his boots but his shirt cut to ribbons and a piece folded and shoved into his mouth, strips of the rest binding his hands behind him. He was crisscrossed with thin shallow cuts from his shoulders to his ribs, and thin trails of blood striped him and trailed sluggishly down his sides to drip into the straw. His eyes widened when he saw Kirill, and jerked closed when he smiled.
The little whimpering noises made Kirill laugh, a clear ringing bell of amusement that echoed to the rafters.
“Ivan, Ivan…you’ve been unfaithful to me, Ivan. That makes me sad.”
He stepped in and closed the stall door behind him.
more fun soon!
Well, when you're here at Casa Echoey, it means more Russian Clex! If it's happpening to you at home, well...*meaningful stare*
If you missed what went before they are gathered here, polishing their sabers.
Morning, and Kirill spent part of it in his room gathering whatever items his Uncle was willing to let him take along with him. It had been a …strange morning.
He’d had a most interesting breakfast, sitting in conversation with Boris and Prince Felix, and his ghost, Dmitri, a conversation conducted in whispers, as though there were some possible way for anyone to hear them, a conversation fully as insane as Kirill sometimes felt.
Prince Felix planned to assassinate Rasputin, spiritual advisor to the Tsarina, Aleksandra.
Kirill had been forced to bite his lip to keep from laughing at their audacity, their idiocy. How could they possibly hope to succeed? The plot was ludicrous, the plotters ridiculous. They must be mad, or perhaps simply incredibly stupid….
But Uncle threw in with them and it was impossible to imagine Boris Voronkov involved in a doomed plot, unless there was some other way he’d profit. There was always a way for Boris to profit, or nearly always. He had to have lost once, or he wouldn’t be living in his dacha so far away from court, and civilized society.
That was another tune Kirill heard endlessly, though what he’d done to earn this exile he thankfully never shared with him.
He had watched Uncle carefully and thought deeply about his own involvement in this brilliant plan, this farce he’d been pressed into participating in.
Kirill believed he might have a few ways this scheme could profit him. How grateful would the Tsarina be to be warned of a plot against her monk? Grateful enough that the informer might be granted land, a name? A way to get revenge on a devil?
Kirill pictured himself getting on his horse and riding away, just leaving--- Boris couldn’t stop him. Ah, but Boris would never pay then for what he’d done to him for all these years. And he lived for the time when Uncle would pay—he planned to make him scream so loud that God would hear the voice of Boris Voronkov and finally take notice of the monster he let loose an the land, a creature more a monster than he, because God granted Boris a soul and the possibility of salvation, and he spit on the gift.
He stopped and took a deep shaky breath and struggled to gain control.
Kirill strode across the yard, noticing idly that the servants scattered before him. That always cheered him somewhat. At least *they* were afraid of him.
He came to an abrupt stop as he reached the stables. Framed in the doorway of the stables was the officer from the night before. He stared, not sure what to do, reluctant to come closer for some reason.
The colonel came out of the doorway and leaned against the wall, making a great show of not blocking the entrance. He looked Kirill up and down, an arrogant smirk on his lips, and then dropped his eyes to the apple he held in his hand. He was peeling the fruit in a long thin continuous strip, so thin a strip it was almost translucent in the bright morning sun. Light flared off the edge of the blade and dazzled Kirill’s eyes. He blinked, and found he was standing closer to the officer, without being aware he had moved. He shivered, but the man took no notice of him. He seemed to be totally engrossed in his task. Not looking at Kirill, he spoke.
“The trick to this is a very, very sharp knife, and a slow and steady hand. Then you can peel it all in one…long…strip.” He stopped peeling and cut a sliver of flesh from the apple and licked it carefully from the blade.
“Would you care for a slice?” He prodded the fruit with the tip of the knife. He tilted his head slightly and grinned at Kirill’s red and scowling face.
“I just thought you might care for some. Don’t you like apples? Or would you prefer something else?”
Angered for no reason he could define, Kirill grabbed a brush from the table in the corner, and walked over to the stall his horse was in, wishing the man were standing in his way.
“So. We do that ourselves in the country, do we? One more reason why no in their right mind would wish to live here.”
Kirill whirled around. The man had managed to sneak up on him. It had been too many years since he’d allowed that to happen.
The colonel rested a hip against the wall of the stall opposite his, smiled at him in a most irritating manner and continued peeling his apple. Kirill stood unmoving, his head down. It was pounding in an unpleasant way, and fury made him grit his teeth. This man thought he was an idiot, a toy to play with--
The officer moved away from the wall and circled him, his long gray wool coat whispering against the wood and turned until his back was to the light coming through the stable door.
He was bald and not clean-shaven, there was no shadow, no stubble—yet his face was unlined, he was young, Kirill thought, maybe not very much older than he was. His boots creaked with each step he took, they were brand new, and shiny as though more for show than for the purpose they were intended for. So, a soldiers uniform, but not a soldier. A courtier than, a bootlicker. He pointedly turned his back on the Colonel and snorted.
A fancy whore, no more.
Suddenly there was warmth and pressure the length of his back and the scent of the man filled his nose—wool, and roses, and leather, lavender and something sweet and metallic under it all, a scent he caught when the officer breathed, and his arm lifted and curled across Kirill’s chest like a lover’s embrace.
The blade of the knife slid gently down his cheek and warm breath ghosted over his ear.
"Your Uncle wouldn’t care to hear that you were rude to Felix’s friends, my pet.”
Kirill froze inside. The words echoed horribly in his ear.
The knife withdrew, and the mouth against his ear was gone.
“You’ll want to play, little one. I know it. I sense we’ll have great fun together, you and I “
Kirill growled at him, and tried to push past him into yard, when the Colonel grasped his wrist to hold him there.
“Alexei. That is who I am. Say the name, little apple.”
Kirill snatched his arm out of his grip and the Colonel—Alexei strolled away. He heard laughter trailing back to him, and he desperately wished that the shit would offend his Uncle so that he could reduce him to a smoking pile of ash, or rip his limbs from his body and fling them high as the pines, or….
The brush creaked and splintered in his hand as his grip tightened. Despicable bastard whore. There’s another one whose blood he planned to be up to the elbows in when this stupid game played out.
The thought calmed him a bit, and he tossed the pieces of the brush to the ground. As he turned back to the stable, a sound caught his notice. It came from the stall the arrogant bastard had been lolling all over. The sound came again, and he opened the door, and his eyes widened.
“Ivan.”
Ivan lay inside, facedown in the straw, dressed still in his pants and his boots but his shirt cut to ribbons and a piece folded and shoved into his mouth, strips of the rest binding his hands behind him. He was crisscrossed with thin shallow cuts from his shoulders to his ribs, and thin trails of blood striped him and trailed sluggishly down his sides to drip into the straw. His eyes widened when he saw Kirill, and jerked closed when he smiled.
The little whimpering noises made Kirill laugh, a clear ringing bell of amusement that echoed to the rafters.
“Ivan, Ivan…you’ve been unfaithful to me, Ivan. That makes me sad.”
He stepped in and closed the stall door behind him.
more fun soon!
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(no subject)
10/18/04 02:42 pm (UTC)Poor Ivan!!
And Alexei *love that name* he's evol, too!!
Ack!!
*bounce*
More! More!
(no subject)
10/18/04 03:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/18/04 05:38 pm (UTC)It does!!
*screams*
*runs in a circle flailing*
(no subject)
10/18/04 06:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/18/04 08:43 pm (UTC)Do i...scare you?
BWAAAahahhha.
(no subject)
10/18/04 03:10 pm (UTC)All of your characters are very bad in this. I love the fact that Kirill hates Alexei, I'm hoping that changes at least a little.
(no subject)
10/18/04 03:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/19/04 08:37 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/19/04 12:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/19/04 02:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/18/04 03:50 pm (UTC)Also, Alexei! What wickedly dirty bastard!! I love how he's punked Kirill already! Poor boy didn't even know it had already happened.
I'm not sure where you are headed with Alexei and Kirill's relationship, but I have to say, I'm definitely intrigued.
Man, I cannot wait to see how you pull together the inhumanity of these aristocrats with the idea of Clark's lack of a soul and the (destined?) Clexy love. Go you!!
(no subject)
10/18/04 04:01 pm (UTC)Yay! *big obnoxious grin* That was fun to write.
Man, I cannot wait to see how you pull together the inhumanity of these aristocrats with the idea of Clark's lack of a soul and the (destined?) Clexy love.
*koff* you're not the only one....
(no subject)
10/18/04 06:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/18/04 06:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/18/04 10:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/18/04 11:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
10/25/04 02:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/25/04 02:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/9/04 12:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
11/9/04 12:45 am (UTC)Thank you so very much for your wonderful comment, it's inspiring!
(no subject)
11/9/04 11:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
4/6/05 06:42 am (UTC)*fans self*
(no subject)
4/6/05 02:54 pm (UTC)