(no subject)
10/25/04 09:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyHey babies! Wazdaup?
I feel good now! I got inspiration in the tub, my new friend Whit gave me a great idea to break the awful SV Bebes logjam. Ah, so happy! Well, that and the promise of chocolate cake on the horizon...
So please to be perusing the previous parts, standing over there and singing sad songs of filial love.Or something like it.
Now on to the show!
Fire Bird And The Gray Wolf
The first step of their journey took them across the river by ferry, and Kirill discovered that you can be immune to illness, most pain and impervious to blades or firearms, and still spend a great deal of time hanging over the railing of a boat and throwing the contents of your gut into the water. He was certain every meal that had ever passed his lips now churned behind them in the wake of the ferry.
Kirill hung over the rail and thought about his latest torment. Alexei. His very breath set his teeth on edge. Alexei seemed to delight in smoking his foul cigars nearby, twisting his stomach even more. Alexei grated on his nerves beyond belief.
He was too cheerful, too full of good fellowship, thrilled beyond measure to be leaving the countryside, Kirill supposed. He found it nearly impossible to believe there could be another human being more hateful then Boris Mikhailov Voronkov but there he was, smoke trailing behind him in a noxious wake, ignoring Kirill’s existence and in general behaving as if he were the only living thing on the boat. Kirill’s eyes narrowed as he watched Alexei walk towards the front of the ferry. Bastard.
At least he had the memory of taking leave of Boris Voronkov to cheer him up.
Uncle had put on quite the show for Prince Felix and his men, throwing himself on Kirill’s shoulder and swearing to all the saint’s how his heart would break without him, how difficult his life would be without the soothing presence of his beloved nephew and of that at least Kirill was certain, all the chores he performed for him would now have to be done by many men, many men who would wish to be paid for their labors. Money was not something that easily left his Uncle’s hand; he’d rather part with his heart’s blood than needlessly spend a cent. Kirill wondered again how grateful the Prince was for Boris’ help. He could only imagine Felix planned to be extremely grateful.
When the party mounted horses or entered the coach with the Prince, Boris had turned to him and said with his sharp toothed smile,” I sent a gift for you along with Prince Felix. You’re to have it when you get to the palace at St.Petersburg. A little reminder of home, to keep you safe and warm in the cold uncaring heart of the city.” He pressed Kirill’s hand and patted his shoulder, in a show of paternal love that made his lip curl.
“I left you a little gift too,” he’d replied. “It’s in your room…on your bed.” It pleased him to remember how pale Boris had gone at his smile. He’d nodded and spun on his heel, and marched back to the house without another word or look of farewell, his black coat flapping in the breeze and making him look momentarily like a huge black crow.
The sight had made him chuckle, and then he’d noticed Alexei watching him, and he assumed he’d been observing the entire time. The officer’s eyes crinkled in amusement before he’d turned his horse and ridden ahead of the carriage. Still his head turned Kirill’s way every so often, watching him.
And he continued to do so. Every waking moment he felt his eyes on him. It was maddening, this constant scrutiny. He felt like a specimen in a killing jar, waiting for the pin to skewer him.
He pulled back from the rail, and mercifully his gut actually seemed to settle. He wiped his mouth and sighed. He needed water…he pushed the thought about in his mind, testing his body’s response to the idea of something entering his stomach. When he got no further complaint, he moved along the rail, until he met up with the rest of the party again.
He saw the Prince, the Archduke and Alexei before they saw him.
Felix leaned against the rail and smiled at the men in front of him.
Dmitri smirked and spun a ring on his finger, eyes only for Felix. Alexei smiled absently, but he was alert to all movement around them, his eyes flicking from left to right, spotting Kirill and dismissing him before moving on.
Felix leaned back against the railing a bit more, and the wind whipped his hair about and brushed his cheeks red. His high collared coat flapped around him and he leaned back yet again, the wind pulling at his collar now. Dmitri frowned slightly and took a single step forward and Felix laughed and looked toward Alexei who smiled and drew on his cigar, letting a long plume of smoke curl out of his mouth.
Kirill watched and took note of the men’s behavior and reactions. It was instructive, to say the least. Felix played with Dmitri as one dangled string for a cat, Dmitri looked ready to pounce, nervous and high strung—completely at odds with the sullen fellow he seemed at his Uncle’s dacha.
Felix pushed backwards—farther and farther until his body was a bow against the rail and only the small of his back and the toes of his boots were in contact with the ship, his arms were spread wide and he smiled at the heavens like a saint in ecstasy—and laughing, pushed back again.
Dmitri cursed and leaped forward, buried his fist in the heavy wool fabric of Felix’s coat and yanked him down to his feet.
“You bastard,” he hissed and Felix covered his shaking hand with his own, gripping until his knuckles turned white, smiling into Dmitri’s furious eyes, without a word. Alexei laughed aloud, and taking a final draw off his cigar, flung it out into the river.
Kirill watched this strange performance, this show that had the air of being repeated often, and was fascinated. Unexpectedly a ripping pain flashed through his eyes, and he gasped aloud and squeezed his eyes closed at the sudden pain.
When he opened them again, he felt a wave of dizziness, and he saw—Dmitri, clothes dissolved away, nude, hard…and flesh dissolved and he saw muscle, which dissolved away—he saw bones, and through Dmitri’s bones the bones of the ship, and then—
Everything was normal once more, and Alexei was looking at him.
“Don’t worry little pet, it’s a silly game they play, but Dmitri always wins,” he chuckled.
Dmitri smiled and pulled Felix’s hand inside his coat, and rubbed it against him. Kirill watched and felt himself rise, knowing what Dmitri was doing.
Alexei clamped a hand on his shoulder, startling him. “Later, I wish to speak to you.” Seeing Kirill’s eyes darken, he added, “Your…Uncle left something for you, with me.”
Kirill nodded and walked away. The laughter he heard behind him was something he knew he’d have to endure for now—he was certain he would hear it often.
TBC...dance my little puppets! Moo- ha-ha!
I feel good now! I got inspiration in the tub, my new friend Whit gave me a great idea to break the awful SV Bebes logjam. Ah, so happy! Well, that and the promise of chocolate cake on the horizon...
So please to be perusing the previous parts, standing over there and singing sad songs of filial love.Or something like it.
Now on to the show!
Fire Bird And The Gray Wolf
The first step of their journey took them across the river by ferry, and Kirill discovered that you can be immune to illness, most pain and impervious to blades or firearms, and still spend a great deal of time hanging over the railing of a boat and throwing the contents of your gut into the water. He was certain every meal that had ever passed his lips now churned behind them in the wake of the ferry.
Kirill hung over the rail and thought about his latest torment. Alexei. His very breath set his teeth on edge. Alexei seemed to delight in smoking his foul cigars nearby, twisting his stomach even more. Alexei grated on his nerves beyond belief.
He was too cheerful, too full of good fellowship, thrilled beyond measure to be leaving the countryside, Kirill supposed. He found it nearly impossible to believe there could be another human being more hateful then Boris Mikhailov Voronkov but there he was, smoke trailing behind him in a noxious wake, ignoring Kirill’s existence and in general behaving as if he were the only living thing on the boat. Kirill’s eyes narrowed as he watched Alexei walk towards the front of the ferry. Bastard.
At least he had the memory of taking leave of Boris Voronkov to cheer him up.
Uncle had put on quite the show for Prince Felix and his men, throwing himself on Kirill’s shoulder and swearing to all the saint’s how his heart would break without him, how difficult his life would be without the soothing presence of his beloved nephew and of that at least Kirill was certain, all the chores he performed for him would now have to be done by many men, many men who would wish to be paid for their labors. Money was not something that easily left his Uncle’s hand; he’d rather part with his heart’s blood than needlessly spend a cent. Kirill wondered again how grateful the Prince was for Boris’ help. He could only imagine Felix planned to be extremely grateful.
When the party mounted horses or entered the coach with the Prince, Boris had turned to him and said with his sharp toothed smile,” I sent a gift for you along with Prince Felix. You’re to have it when you get to the palace at St.Petersburg. A little reminder of home, to keep you safe and warm in the cold uncaring heart of the city.” He pressed Kirill’s hand and patted his shoulder, in a show of paternal love that made his lip curl.
“I left you a little gift too,” he’d replied. “It’s in your room…on your bed.” It pleased him to remember how pale Boris had gone at his smile. He’d nodded and spun on his heel, and marched back to the house without another word or look of farewell, his black coat flapping in the breeze and making him look momentarily like a huge black crow.
The sight had made him chuckle, and then he’d noticed Alexei watching him, and he assumed he’d been observing the entire time. The officer’s eyes crinkled in amusement before he’d turned his horse and ridden ahead of the carriage. Still his head turned Kirill’s way every so often, watching him.
And he continued to do so. Every waking moment he felt his eyes on him. It was maddening, this constant scrutiny. He felt like a specimen in a killing jar, waiting for the pin to skewer him.
He pulled back from the rail, and mercifully his gut actually seemed to settle. He wiped his mouth and sighed. He needed water…he pushed the thought about in his mind, testing his body’s response to the idea of something entering his stomach. When he got no further complaint, he moved along the rail, until he met up with the rest of the party again.
He saw the Prince, the Archduke and Alexei before they saw him.
Felix leaned against the rail and smiled at the men in front of him.
Dmitri smirked and spun a ring on his finger, eyes only for Felix. Alexei smiled absently, but he was alert to all movement around them, his eyes flicking from left to right, spotting Kirill and dismissing him before moving on.
Felix leaned back against the railing a bit more, and the wind whipped his hair about and brushed his cheeks red. His high collared coat flapped around him and he leaned back yet again, the wind pulling at his collar now. Dmitri frowned slightly and took a single step forward and Felix laughed and looked toward Alexei who smiled and drew on his cigar, letting a long plume of smoke curl out of his mouth.
Kirill watched and took note of the men’s behavior and reactions. It was instructive, to say the least. Felix played with Dmitri as one dangled string for a cat, Dmitri looked ready to pounce, nervous and high strung—completely at odds with the sullen fellow he seemed at his Uncle’s dacha.
Felix pushed backwards—farther and farther until his body was a bow against the rail and only the small of his back and the toes of his boots were in contact with the ship, his arms were spread wide and he smiled at the heavens like a saint in ecstasy—and laughing, pushed back again.
Dmitri cursed and leaped forward, buried his fist in the heavy wool fabric of Felix’s coat and yanked him down to his feet.
“You bastard,” he hissed and Felix covered his shaking hand with his own, gripping until his knuckles turned white, smiling into Dmitri’s furious eyes, without a word. Alexei laughed aloud, and taking a final draw off his cigar, flung it out into the river.
Kirill watched this strange performance, this show that had the air of being repeated often, and was fascinated. Unexpectedly a ripping pain flashed through his eyes, and he gasped aloud and squeezed his eyes closed at the sudden pain.
When he opened them again, he felt a wave of dizziness, and he saw—Dmitri, clothes dissolved away, nude, hard…and flesh dissolved and he saw muscle, which dissolved away—he saw bones, and through Dmitri’s bones the bones of the ship, and then—
Everything was normal once more, and Alexei was looking at him.
“Don’t worry little pet, it’s a silly game they play, but Dmitri always wins,” he chuckled.
Dmitri smiled and pulled Felix’s hand inside his coat, and rubbed it against him. Kirill watched and felt himself rise, knowing what Dmitri was doing.
Alexei clamped a hand on his shoulder, startling him. “Later, I wish to speak to you.” Seeing Kirill’s eyes darken, he added, “Your…Uncle left something for you, with me.”
Kirill nodded and walked away. The laughter he heard behind him was something he knew he’d have to endure for now—he was certain he would hear it often.
TBC...dance my little puppets! Moo- ha-ha!
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(no subject)
10/26/04 05:36 am (UTC)(no subject)
10/26/04 06:40 am (UTC)heh. Sorry.