Andrei Baryshnikov

[maurawrites]

Evan Buckley in 4.04 ‘9-1-1, What’s Your Grievance?’

[housewifebuck]

[andrei-barysh]

laurent--stpierre​:

“I’m not going to pretend I remember what the fuck your name is.”

Evidently, the Russian knew him, though…

The Underground was sacred in its own fucked up kind of way, he supposed. Nobody dared lay a hand on another—yes, even when faced with a fucking Russian—outside of the ring. There were some people it was worth not pissing off unless absolutely necessary, however, and Queen Bitch was one of them. Lest she take their fun away. As it so happened, Hackney was his stomping ground these days, even if the venue for Fight Club was agreed as off-limits, and he was having a damn good time showing face often enough to remind them of it. Usually it was Rutherfords he set up to antagonise, but not this time. A Russian was a prize.

“Where’s the spare Vorshevsky? Thought you two were joined at the asshole.”

-

A snort of amusement escaped Andrei at the pompous Frenchman’s words before he rolled his eyes. “I’d be surprised if you even knew what your own name is.” His head was so far up his own ass, it wasn’t likely he could even breathe enough to allow oxygen to his brain.

Granted, Andrei was well aware that his own intelligence wasn’t exactly high, but he never owned up to having any to begin with so it never bothered him if anyone were to point it out. He hadn’t been part of the Russians for his intellect.

At the mention of Misha, Andrei felt a fury burn inside of him. One of the very few people he would protect and defend until the end, he hated that this scum even dared mention him, even in a demeaning way. “Ah, and that’s where you’re wrong. But then again, taking your breeding into account, I’m not surprised you don’t know what conjoined twins are. As for any Vorshevsky, even should I know where any of them are, I wouldn’t share that information with you.” His tone of voice sounded bored, but deep down he wanted to beat this man bloody with his bare hands. The world could do with one less arrogant asshole like him.

[andrei-barysh]

[andrei-barysh]

mishavorshevsky​:

Silence had never been a welcomed sound in his life. Too void and empty. A place where complicated thoughts warped in on themselves, the site of rabbit holes and long forgotten memories. There was once a time when Mikhail knew how to adequately fill the gap with books and idle conversation, now he intimately memorized every weapon in the house. Plucked them apart and studied their interior mechanisms; he could piece them back together with his eyes sewn shut.

Though he wouldn’t remark on it tonight, Andrei’s presence brought a significant reprieve for the youngest Vorshevsky. Spiraling became significantly more difficult with his closest friend’s voice filling the air, and for that alone, he was grateful.

“They are.” Who, exactly, was he attempting to convince here? “What bothers me is the fact that it even came to this.” The escalation of war felt inevitable, but so soon and with such drastic, ill-conceived measures… No doubt their allies hung by a thread. Tenuous and ready to snap beneath their feet.

Reassurance emanated from the other man, but Mikhail merely sighed and stared out over the expanse of London beneath them. “We need to minimize our losses.” I can’t lose you, too. “Just keep your head down for now. The French will take any excuse to snipe at your neck and the Italians are completely off-leash.” After the gruesome discovery of his two logistics operators in a shipping container, he suspected the Sovrani’s spidery assassin had traveled all the way from Launceston to toy with her food. Staying out of that web was crucial. “Don’t spare any trust to the Rutherfords, either.”

-

There were few people on this earth whom Andrei could say he knew so well he might arguably know them better than himself. He felt like Mikhail might be one of those precious few. Watching his friend now, he could tell there was something that bothered him, something other than the obvious stresses of the current situation that surrounded them.

“You’re right, it shouldn’t have gotten to this point,” he replied, sighing and shooting a slight smirk in his friend’s direction, “You’d think that the person to do something stupid would have been me. I guess the days of me going out there and doing stupid and reckless things are long gone.” Thanks to the man sitting there with him. If it hadn’t been for Mikhail, Andrei very well could have been the person to trigger the events taking place now. His best friend had always found a way to keep him in check. Then again, he’d always thought higher of Andrei than Andrei thought of himself.

As much as he didn’t want to hear it, Andrei nodded to Mikhail. “I know that the French will take any excuse to snipe at my neck. They’re much more likely to go for you than me. You know that I’ve got your back no matter what happens. All you have to do is say the word, and I’m there.” That was the truth of the matter. He would back his best friend, his brother really, until his last breath. “The French, the Italians, the Rutherfords... who the fuck else have we got to worry about?” He asked.

“You know, we’ll come out of this fine. I know we will. We always do.” Andrei believed in Mikhail. He believed that his friend could get the two of them, and their families, through this mess they were thrust into. No matter how messed up everything got, they’d always managed to make it through.

[andrei-barysh]

ayda--demir​:

The Turk was still on the fence when it came to the Russians. Her last run in with the French one that left a salty taste in her mouth. “A drink is fine.” A hand reaches down behind the bar for a glass placing it up on the counter. “What would you like? I still have a little to do before I lock up. It’s Andrei, right? I know we’ve never met, but I have heard about your club.” It piqued her interest, here and there, but never step inside. 

-

“Good,” Andrei settled, now that she hadn’t kicked him out of the bar. He considered his options before answering on what kind of drink he might want. “How’s your vodka options? Too cliché for me?” He didn’t care if it was a cliché response either way. “I’ll go for vodka.” He arched a brow at her, before nodding. “And yes, the name is Andrei. I’m afraid that I can’t say that I remember what your name is right off the bat. Between work, and family, I don’t take too much time to really pay attention to other women.” Andrei wasn’t about to apologize for that. His wife wouldn’t appreciate it if he did, and he really didn’t care to look at others anyway. “You’ll have to tell me your name so that I don’t seem like a complete ass.”

[andrei-barysh]

@mobscene-starters​ Date: June 23, 2023 Location: Wherever you want it to be.

Shit was fucked up. Andrei had been playing it safe since everything got all turned around. He had to. He had a wife to go home to, and a son he loved more than life itself. If there was ever a reason for him to be as careful as possible, it was his son. It always would be. Despite his caution, he knew that eventually the mess that was out in this world would catch up to him. He would find himself face to face with it, but he was in no rush to do so. He'd made a promise to his wife, and he was trying his hardest to keep his word.

His mind was thinking over the current events, and the things that had been happening as his gaze darted around to keep track of everything around him. It had been quiet for him, so far. He continued walking until his eyes landed on a face that came around the corner.

"Well, would you look at that..."

[maksimkurylenko]

''You? And fire?'' Maksim barked a laugh, tipping his head back. ''I think you'd have to be tortured to your last fucking breath before you let that happen here.'' However, that all seemed to die on his lips.

Maksim took another sip, eyes flickering with caution. He understood the gravity of the situation; the stakes were higher than ever. The French mobsters were fierce, and they would stop at nothing to gain control. The mere thought of them desecrating The Basement sent a surge of anger through Maksim's veins.

This was there's, they didn't have much. But they had this place.

"They're desperate," He said, voice tinged with a hint of steel. "We've been a thorn in their side for far too long. They think they need to de-thorn the rose, but I say we pull the whole thing out from the root. We can't afford to underestimate them."

Maksim scanned the room, assessing the group's drinking; the subtle movements of the staff. His instincts told him that trouble was brewing and he needed to be prepared. Haringey was on fire, Russians were being taken out left, right and centre and yet, something told him that they were waiting for the 'finale'.

That could be this place, enough of them all in one spot.

The familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through his body, heightening his senses. He'd honed his skills over the years, always trying to stay one step ahead of his enemies. And tonight would be no different. He'd try. Trying being the operative word. The French were not to be dismissed.

"We need to be ready, Andrei," Maksim said firmly. "Increase the security, double the street rats. We can't afford any weaknesses. This place, reputation, legacy, is at stake. We've shed blood to protect it before, and we gotta' keep doing that."

[andrei-barysh]

At the sound of Maksim's laughter, the corner's of Andrei's lips tipped up into a slight smile. A nonchalant shrug was given before Andrei replied, "You're not wrong about that. I will goddamned have to be ended before I see this place ruined." That was the truth of the matter. Misha had given him a chance at a new life, and Andrei would be damned if he would let anyone destroy it. Over his dead body.

With a deep breath, he nodded at the other man's words. "They are certainly acting desperate. Maybe it's my history, but I never underestimate them. It's just that I have a lot more to lose now than I did before." Andrei had a family, a wife and a son, that he had to think about now. He couldn't just go around being reckless because he knew that there was a chance that his actions might end up with dangerous consequences that the two people he loved most in this world would end up having to pay.

A serious expression overtook Andrei's face. The reality of the matter dimming any sense of lightheartedness that was left. "I've already increased security here..." His eyes surveyed the patrons, looking at all of the familiar faces who had likely come here for a safe place to unwind with the increasingly strained climate outside these doors. "You know I'd give my life for this place if I have to, but I have no intentions of dying any time soon. At least, not at the hands of some pathetic French bitch."

He took a deep breath and glanced back at Maksim, "Guess my days of being a good and somewhat respectable member of society are done, huh? I'm gonna be out here getting my hands bloody again before I know it, aren't I? And not just for fun..." The stakes were too high now. This wouldn't be something he would get to walk away from. Andrei had a feeling this would be a matter of life or death.

[andrei-barysh]

[moonchildsdreamsstuff]

My hearttttttttt 😍

[andrei-barysh]

ayda--demir​:

Where: Gizli Bahçe When: June 7, 2023 Who: @andrei-barysh​ Ayda was closing up the bar, she had sent her staff home for the night, and she had a few security with her, not wanting to chance it. The funeral went according to plan and it was hard for her to accept that Zeynep was really gone. She tossed the rag into the sink, her head looking up when the front door opened, a male walking in. He may not have one she had much interaction with, but she knew who he was. 

“Evening, anything I can do for you?” She asks. 

-

Andrei wasn’t sure why he’d wandered into this bar. He had his own business to run, and with everything in a bit of turmoil, he probably shouldn’t allow himself to be so open for potential trouble. At the same time, he had been curious how things were in this area, and in the end, he found himself needing a drink. The mood was palpable by simply walking down the street, and he felt a sense of discomfort, something he didn’t particularly like to feel.

Walking into the bar, his eyes landed on the female who spoke to him. “A drink? Is that a possibility right now? Or am I out of luck by arriving outside of business hours?”

[the-pretty-boys]

OLIVER STARK photographed by Wil Cohen (2023)

[bidisasterevankinard]

Look at him

Daddy 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

[heisokay]

Oliver Stark

[maksimkurylenko]

FOR: @andrei-barysh

WHEN: 10/05/2023

WHERE: The Basement.

Maksim descended down the narrow staircase into The Basement, air thick with the acrid scent of sweat. He knew what he was walking into; a meeting with a fellow Russian mobster, Andrei. Tensions high, the air charged with electricity as they locked eyes across the dimly lit room. It was as if the very atmosphere was suffused with the weight of the blood they had spilled for this cause.

And they'd spill more if needed.

The Basement, the name bridled with memories that would have most's stomach turning; there was no place like it. As soon as you walk through that unmarked door, the whole thing was completely unapologetic, just like the Russian Mob it's associated with. But that's what made it so damn appealing.

Primal force that seemed to emanate from his very being, as he tugged at the dark navy turle neck mixed with a suit jacket of the same color, smart casual the look he was going for on that particular evening, stealing a glance at the watch adorning his wrist. His piercing gaze stripped away any pretense or facade, just him.

His movements were purposeful and deliberate, each step echoing with a quiet menace that sent shivers down the spines of those in his path. It was as though he were a predator, stalking his prey with deadly precision, standing before the bar as a drink slid in front of him.

"Looks like you've been keeping the place in one piece, my friend," Maksim says with a wry smile as he claps his hand on his friend's shoulder.

Andrei, a loyalist, and owner of this bar who'd join in the fight against the French; Their past exploits echoed in the room, the shadows flickering in a slow, hypnotic dance at the memory of their past battles. The taste of iron on Maksim's tongue was as real as ever, a reminder of the blood he had shed to protect his family and their reputation. But he knew that Andrei had been through the same, that they had both spilled blood in the name of the cause.

Maksim takes a sip of his drink and leans in, his voice low as he says to his friend, ''Any of the French been here yet?,''

Stood there, a towering figure in the center of the room, it was impossible not to feel a sense of unease when others cast a side glance in his direction, but he paid little attention.

[andrei-barysh]

-

With the whisperings and the news that were spreading, Andrei felt as though his body were constantly taught with high alert. It was as if he were prepared to strike at any moment. A part of him, a part that he would likely not admit to his wife, begged for someone to appear and give him a reason to make them bloody. It had been far too long since he’d been able to let go of himself, lose himself in the thrill of a fight. Then there was the newer, logical, part of him that begged that nobody give him a reason to fight so that he didn’t have to look at the potential disappointment in his wife’s face when he came home bloody... or worse...

His old ways didn’t simply disappear because he’d been put in charge of The Basement. He’d managed to find a new life for himself without fighting, but that fight was still in him, always lingering in the shadows. He had promised not to seek out a fight, but things were feeling dangerous, and it made him wonder if the calmer days of his life were coming to a close.

At the sight of Maksim, Andrei smirked, that smirk growing into a smile at the friendly hand on his shoulder. “Seems like a fucking miracle that I’ve kept this place in one piece, right? You’d think I might have accidentally burned the shit to the ground, or something,” he teased back.

The quiet question, dimmed the temporary lightness to the beginning of their conversation. Keeping his voice low as he answered back, “If they know what’s good for them, they won’t bring their asses in here. I know they’re probably itching to get their hands dirty, but this isn’t the fucking place for that.” The people he had maintaining security of the place alone should have enough blood on their hands in their past to keep the French away from his business’ door. Andrei’s past was certainly well known enough, were they really so foolish as to try to piss him off in his own establishment?

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see if they’re that desperate to get at us that they show their faces here. You really think they would?” It was a genuine question for the opinion of his friend. Andrei was wondering if he shouldn’t beef up the security of this place while the threat was at a high.

[andrei-barysh]

mishavorshevsky​:

Tagged: @andrei-barysh​​​

Location: Mikhail’s home

War came with substantial bloodshed, with legions of casualties when sizable pillars crumbled to dust. Aurélie St. Clair was merely the latest in a long, unyielding line brought down by their own foundational cracks. Kosta’s men had simply been the ones left holding the proverbial slingshot when the dust settled. Not that it absolved their petulant decision making, and Mikhail would neither forget nor forgive the ire of his current position. Iza and Dmitri sent to another country, separated for their safety, while the gnawing anxiety of being unable to lay eyes on them remained.

Actions beget consequences. He’d known the feeling all his life, with pearly scars on his chest and a growing family burial plot to prove it. Under no circumstance would the arms dealer risk adding to that pile, certainly not at the expense of the two people he cherished most.

“I asked her to take him out of the country. It isn’t worth the risk.” An explanation was hardly required. Andrei would understand from one glance at the empty, joyless halls of his home–– they echoed only with silence now. Perhaps to convince himself, then, that his decision hadn’t been overbearing or imprudent in ways Misha didn’t recognize. “Amsterdam is better than being hunted like dogs.”

-

Things had certainly gotten dangerous for those close to him. As Andrei arrived to Mikhail’s home, one he had been more than familiar with, a second home of sorts, it became glaringly obvious how dangerous it had become for his best friend. This was a man he looked to as a brother, the one who knew him better than anyone, and who believed in him when no others did. This man knew every facet of Andrei’s personality, and perhaps was one of the very few who ever got to see a softer side of him.

Andrei’s gaze landed on the other man, and felt an ache in his own chest for Misha. If anyone understood the sacrifice of sending their family to flee, it would be Andrei. He had two people in his life whom he wanted to do the same, but who was he in the grand scheme of things? Nobody would come looking for him, or for his wife and child. If they did, there would be no holding him back as he went on a rampage of vengeance. Nobody needed, or wanted that. More than anything, he didn’t want to disappoint this very man who had set him on a much better path.

“I’m sure that they are much safer there...” Andrei agreed, “But the reasoning behind it won’t make the fact any easier.”

For a moment, he sat in silence, unable not to notice the difference of the home. It felt so strange not to hear others, like he had become accustomed to. “What can I do? Is there anything that I even can do to help?” Ideally, he wished there were a way to make things safe enough for Misha to have those he cared most for back.

[iconicbuck]

RIP Curls.