For once those among the Konni ranks had some down time, most of them refused to leave base in case they were suddenly needed for something, others decided to explore the nearby town to satisfy their vices. Aleksandr decided to stay put, knowing if he had went into the town he might get into something problematic. So outside he sat with some others, the majority ranked lower than him, just the way he liked it.
Fingers delicately strum the strings of a battered guitar, one that was found and brought back by one of the younger recruits, thinking it'd be good for a moral boost. Eyes fall upon a familiar face making it's way towards them, a slight smirk forming on Aleksandr's lips as @sunsache approaches them.
He moves his fingers with intent as he continues to strum out chords, having a new found purpose with it. ❝ Dimitri, you should know this one. ❞ Upon playing the strings further, the other's realize it's Soldat he's playing. ❝ I'm a solider I haven't slept in five years... ❞ His voice trails off, gaze refusing to leave Dimitri, a silent way of saying that he wants him to continue the verse.
@warfared said: ❝ Books mean more to me than people anyway. ❞
A soft ❛ hmm ❜ passes through his lips as he gently taking the book from Mishka's hands and places it on the bed side table ( not before being nice enough to mark the page ). Aleksandr beckons Mishka to stand up, his movement a bit urgent. ❝ I want to show you something. ❞ If Mishka were to guess that Aleksandr wanted to give him a demo of how his latest creation worked, he'd be correct.
in times like these, she wishes to see people's faces even harder than usually. alek seems angry — no, mad — he slurs his words and spits as he speaks. most often than not, that would be a desired reaction — to set someone ablaze with fury, but not in the circumstances of her being held from above.
aleksandr's a skin-colored blur with a splotch of red that indicates one of her blows split his skin. good, he'll have a reminder of their little sparring session to admire later on. everywhere he's gonna see his reflection, he's gonna think of her. that's satisfying enough.
she would have tapped out. really.
if he just shut his damn muzzle.
he's trying to get a reaction out of her, that's for sure. he's trying to get anything but the blank stare only she can offer. she does not talk back, knows better, even if her skin is itchy and she has to bite her own tongue to stop herself from throwing insults.
aleksandr asks if she's done.
she's far from it.
mira's been there and done that — trapped underneath men and women larger and stronger than her. these were truly challenging, not to say her current opponent is not, but alek's losing focus, so she bucks up her hips while gritting her teeth, frees her hands and then holds onto his arm for dear life, rolling them yet again, ending up on top, taking a comfortable seat on the man's hips.
she spits, a mix of blood and saliva, but not in his face, no. the point has been proven nonetheless with no need for additional humiliation.
okay, maybe not. just a little sprinkle?
“good job,” she replies in his native language, face as expressionless as always. “you lost to a little civvie girl playing war with big soldiers.”
Aggravation seeps through his veins, for now, she's gotten the better of him. Various methods of escape play through his mind, running the many options along with their pros and their cons. Or should he let her have this? No, he's not going to allow her room to gain anything. What he will give her is a reminder. Aleksandr is in no mood to give her the space to gain some pride. He takes a moment, reminding himself of just who he is ( who he sees himself as ).
He wishes she tapped out.
Heavy breath, with how she's positioned above him she could feel the rapid pace of the rise and fall of his chest. There is something in his eyes that's foreign, a look that's never been displayed before ( at least not to her ), a look reserved for moments that would be considered more intimate than this. He raises his knees, pushing them against Mira's back to bring her closer. Slowly but surely he raises his arms up, his hands cupping her face providing a delicate touch that she's never felt from him before. He gently guides her face closer to his, noses barely brushing against each other. He wonders if she's pondered this before.
She should've tapped out sooner.
He delivers his final blow. Dominant hand bangs against her skull as he shoves Mira off of him, but with his other hand he still held her cheek, fingers laced in her hair, Aleksandr doesn't allow her head to hit the concrete floor. He'll offer her a small bit of kindness.
@exspetz said: ❝ Clean yourself up. You're getting blood all over the place. ❞
Aleksandr's breath hitches as he hears his commander's voice coming from behind him. He isn't one to get nervous, but something is rising in his chest and he can't tell if it's simply because Yuri is his superior or if it stems from the fact that Aleksandr holds some admiration for him. Instead of turning his whole body around to face him, he just turns his head.
❝ Everything went smoothly today. ❞ Words fall from his lips with ease but it doesn't remove the feeling that they felt forced, it's not what he wanted to say, but he doesn't think he could speak the words he craved to. He was a boy who forced himself into the position of a man without entirely understanding what that meant for him. In this moment, that showed on his face. ❝ Should my report be given to you directly or should I pass it off to Oleg first? ❞
mishka raises his eyes from his book as the door's opened with abruptness, watching it slam against the wall, handle bouncing against a small dent in the wall behind it. he shifts so he's sitting against the wall to make more room for the other, setting his book aside on the pillow.
his eyes glance down at the cigarette pack first, then his attention is redirected when fingers are fixed against his jaw, and he turns his head to face aleksandr, unable to stop himself from staring into the other's eyes until the cigarette between his lips is lit.
" might, " mishka replies with a small shrug, his voice a low rasp. speaking to his brothers-in-arms is easier than it would be otherwise. it won't be too hard to keep quiet in america when he already doesn't speak much at all.
" they are a pmc . . . probably used to seeing more global weapon handling, " he adds, crossing one leg over the other as he takes a drag of his cigarette. " still put in the effort to learn, though. ivan and nolan will be in charge. might get my ass beat if i don't do everything by the book, " he snorts.
He listens intently as Mishka speaks, holding onto every word as if it were his last. Fingers lace around his cigarette as he inhales, letting the smoke blow out his nose as he removes it from his lip, tapping it twice he lets the ash hit the floor. They already had a new recruit lined up to take Mishka's room once he left. A replacement, he wonders how fast Oleg would have another in his spot if something were to ever happen to him.
Aleksandr brushes the thought from his head as he leans forward, placing his left hand on his knee. He takes a look around the room, soaking in the small details of decor Mishka had chosen for his space. Tomorrow it'd be gone, and another one would be claiming his bed, his sheets, his pillow as his own. Even if Mishka does come back, nothing will be the same. Would he come back a hero to their cause or would he be caught?
❝ But given the circumstances I don't think they'd be too happy to have a Russian in their midst, might make them uneasy, they already don't trust civilians who have nothing to do with our cause. ❞ He's right, and he knows he's right, at this point it's not even about knowing it, it's about the concern he holds in his chest for Mishka and how unfamiliar it is to him. ❝ What's your plan if Ivan or Nolan, maybe even both get caught? ❞ For Aleksandr the answer is easy, eliminate the threat if it came to saving his own neck. But if it came down to it, does Mishka have it in him to do what needs to be done? Or would something happen once he's there that prevents him from carrying out his duty?
He does not speak as he enters @warfared sleeping quarters. But he does throw the door open aggressively, offering more force than usual. Empty gaze falls upon Mishka as he stands in the door frame. For a moment, Aleksandr considers leaving, the two weren't close, yet a final interaction that was more than just watching his comrade be escorted off of the base, a brief moment of eye contact followed with a nod that silently meant ❛ good luck ❜. He brushes off the feeling of awkwardness with ease as he steps into the room, sitting down on the bed beside Mishka.
He doesn't look at him as he fingers his pocket, pulling out a pack of Belomorkanal cigarettes. Digits flip open the pack, removing two. Aleksandr doesn't ask Mishka if he wants one, instead he just pushes the butt of it into his lips, then places one between his own. He takes out his lighter, flicking it quickly to light his, yet instead of passing it to Miska or allowing him to take out his own, Aleksandr instead gently brushes his index finger and thumb against the other's jaw, beckoning him to turn his head. He then presses the tip of his cigarette against Mishka's to light it. A grand gesture from the boy who represented Novokuznetsk.
❝ You think the American scum have better beds in their base? ❞ He'll lead the conversation in their native tongue, thinking that Mishka would enjoy being able to speak Russian before having to hide the language. ❝ And did you learn how the American's reload? I've heard stories about how they found spies just based on that alone. ❞ His eyebrow raises slightly after the question leaves him. He can't help but wonder what would happen if Mishka got caught, and if it did how soon would it happen.
Her sudden sense of bravado had impressed him, even threw him off the slightest bit. He feels as skin above his eyebrow breaks and warm liquid begins to drip down sunken sockets. He's had enough. His right hand grips @prosopagn0sis wrists tightly, she had knocked him down, his back grinding against the concrete floor. Aggressively he flips them onto their sides, then rotates them once more so Mira was on her back while he hovered over her. His grip on her wrists tightened as he pressed his lower half down on her thighs to prevent further movement.
❝ Have you proven your point yet? ❞ Russian seeps off his tongue, always refusing to speak English no matter how hard anyone pried. Heavy and hot breath brushes against Mira's face, his eyes glaring into her own. His own seemed darker than usual, possibly suggesting that he was nearing the brink of something, mentally he danced around the edge of a frenzy, but he'll contain himself for now.
Aleksandr does not let go of her, no matter how hard she tried to worm out of his grasp. Maybe she should've opted to carry something on her, he would've preferred it if she had an underhanded tactic hidden in her sleeves. It always made things more fun.
just how exactly did Aleksandr Volkov find himself underneath Vladimir Makarov's command?
THE POD WAS UNUSUALLY QUIET. Word had gotten out among the inmates that they might have a chance to be plucked out of the cuckoo’s nest. Most would never make it out the prison walls alive, and they accepted that, yet others refused to swallow the pill, this new opportunity that would only allow a select few out had ruffled some feathers. Aleksandr had heard about it, but it wasn’t something that grabbed hold of his interest and choked it. He had other things to worry about, he had been planning this for weeks, nothing was getting in the way of it. The bruises had faded, cuts had healed, he had given himself enough time to recover before he carried it out.
A week prior he had been caught off guard in the showers, something about how he had to earn the cross tattoo on his chest properly. His body was slammed onto the concrete floor, heavy boots repeatedly stomped on his back, arms, legs… how fast he recovered was surprising.
The cross had a handful of meanings, yet the reason why he had it inked into his chest was the fact that it conveyed that he had accepted his crimes and that he wasn’t afraid to face God. The other inmates didn’t like that. Being relatively new to the pod had its issues, many thinking he had to earn his right to respect, to basic decency, Aleksandr believed it should’ve been handed to him on a silver platter. But he was finally going to take the steps he needed to for his peers to ( FEAR ) respect him.
With contraband in his pocket Aleksandr steps out of his cell. His footsteps were heavy as he made his way down the steps and into the common area. That is when he notices the man in military clothing, watching his every move from the gallery that the guards would linger. They never really bothered to step into the pod, only when a body dropped without a pulse. The violence in the air was ready to fall out, but for a moment… still, it stood.
The man’s gaze never left Aleksandr, he knew what the boy was going to do, and through eye contact alone he gave him confirmation to carry it out. A sick grin crept onto Aleksandr’s features once he realized that his act had been approved of. His right hand was buried in his pocket, fingers grasping the hilt tightly. His target had his back turned to him, his body hunched over the table while he played Spades, Mikhail. Digits from Aleksandr’s left hand gripped Mikhail’s hair as his head was pulled back, ❝ Payback’s a bitch. ❞
His voice is stern, loud enough to echo throughout the room, but it lacked emotion. This one has potential, but was he willing to bend the knee to be shaped? The knife wasn’t enough to take down Mikhail, just a flesh wound. With the blade still stuck in his chest he rose from his seat, towering over Aleksandr, a side sweep to his legs, he fell to the ground but wouldn’t stay down long. With adrenaline rushing through his veins, the same way forbidden ambrosia would rush through his father’s, Aleksandr rose up, a wobble in his leg, his breath heavy. Once more he looked to the military man, searching for approval in his glare. He’s still got it. Good. He doesn’t raise the knife again, instead opting to pounce on him, understanding that it’d take underhanded tactics to get the result he wanted. He wishes his teeth were filed down as they sink into the flesh of Mikhail’s neck. Rip, tear, bite.
A guttural groan escapes Mikhail’s lips as his nails dig into Aleksandr’s shoulders in an attempt to pry the smaller Russian off his figure. A soft grunt makes its way through the clamped teeth, usually Aleksandr would find the act pleasurable, but given the circumstances he couldn’t show his satisfaction. Rotten boy from Novokuznetsk, troubled boy, how he misses how the babushkas would whisper sullied words whenever he passed by. Aleksandr refuses to let up on Mikhail even as his knees buckle, taking both of them to the ground, he couldn’t stop, he had an audience. He was in a frenzy, only to be set free from its grasp when Mikhail’s lackeys yanked him off of his shaking body. Coughs sputtered out, blood seeping from his neck. Even while he was beaten to a pulp, laughter still spewed from Aleksandr’s cracked and bloody lips, he had won.
This is what he lived for, this is what he would die for. For a moment, he thinks of when he was walking amongst his comrades, how he had killed beside them, he missed it, but not what they were fighting for. The fight was finally broken up, guards pulling and prying the prisoners off of Aleksandr. He was off to solitary, nothing new for him. He is jerked off the concrete floor, one guard taking his right arm while the other took his left. He submits to them, it won’t last long but he allows himself to slip into that space, he needs to rest. Once more he looks for the military man in the gallery, Aleksandr gawks at him, a sly smile on his features, the man’s gaze is cold, but he knows what has to be done. Under Aleksandr’s watch, the man exits the gallery.
Aleksandr’s calm demeanor is quickly replaced by confusion once he realizes that he is not being led to solitary. Head spins around, sweat filled strands of hair sticking to his forehead as he is brought to another room. But the boy does not panic as he is thrown into a metal chair and his wrists are cuffed and bound to the table. Before him sits the military man from the gallery. As his eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the room Aleksandr soaks up every detail of the man. Late forties, maybe even early fifties. Wrinkles dotted his brow line, his eyes sunken in, he’s seen things. Then he notices the patches on his uniform, he’s with Konni. Aleksandr’s interest has increased. The silence fills the room, but there’s tension present. Their eyes locked together, neither of them daring to blink. So Aleksandr steps up and breaks the silence. ❝ Who the fuck are you supposed to be? ❞ The man before him let’s out a snort, clearly taken a back by the boy’s boldness, but at the same time he wasn’t, it was expected, after all he just watched him kill a man. ❝ Gorbachev, Oleg. ❞ How fancy, introducing himself with his last name first.
❝ How much did I cost? ❞ Aleksandr asked, straight to the point. He had a general idea of what was going on, why else would Oleg be here? Impatiently, he waits for an answer, yet he had hoped he was worth a large sum, something to stroke his ego. A rough chuckle comes from Oleg as he digs into his chest pocket for something, a pack of cigarettes and a zippo lighter. He brings one to his lips, motioning the pack in front of Aleksandr’s face, a silent offer for one. The boy nods yes and leans forward as Oleg places one into his teeth, lighting it for him then lights his own. Smoke exits Aleksandr’s nose, growing more testy the longer he waits for Oleg to answer. ❝ That is something I’ll keep to myself for now… ❞ He states, his voice gruff. Oleg takes a drag before ashing it onto the floor. ❝ But if you prove to be not worth what I paid, well, you’ll be taken care of accordingly. ❞
❝ Is that a threat or a promise? ❞
❝ A promise. ❞
A glint of amusement appears in Aleksandr’s eyes, how quick his life was taking a turn. His right eyebrow raises, a sign of interest and curiosity. ❝ And what did you buy me out for? Into pale young boys? I’ll say I’m flattered but I’m not really into men. Maybe if you put a wig on. ❞ A snort filled with levity emits from him as Oleg stares him down. ❝ Your file never mentioned that you’re a comedian. ❞ In other circumstances Oleg might’ve laughed at his comment, but he didn’t find it appropriate at the moment. ❝ No. I’ve been tasked with finding suitable men to shape into the perfect soldier, by any means necessary. And I must say, your file intrigued me and that performance of yours in the pod. ❞ Was it really a performance? ❝ Are you going to give me the opportunity for an encore? ❞ Aleksandr’s voice rings through his throat, a bit of playfulness in his tone. ❝ That’s what I’m hoping. ❞
He’ll get to go back to what he loves doing, he’s been given a second chance. Aleksandr’s heart beats in his chest, faster than horses on a track, his thoughts going a mile a minute. Already playing out many scenarios, almost like a movie without an ending. A smile is threatening to form on his face as he begins to speak, ❝ And who’s my new commander, Oleg? ❞
Also forgot to mention the three scars on Alek’s right eye are from a fight he got into with a guy who’s nicknamed Bear due to his size. Alek won the fight which no one expected, also hence the username bearstruck
