r a p t u r o u s

sometimes you gaze past the horizon, into the abyss, and find it staring back into you. sometimes you find it asking, who are you? why were you put on this earth? who gave you the right to take up oxygen, take up space? and the worst thing is, you wont' be able to answer. ( nikolai ciora / 26 / art dealer/sculptor )

[cioras]

BIRDIE ―

“i knew it.” an educated guess as it were, only half contributed to with her own research. it did help to know what she was looking for, but she’d also been fine with letting nik lead the way. it was easy to trust, especially those who weren’t out to hurt. she hopped out of the car and took in the vista, dilapidated church waiting for something to happen to it. “a classic!” she clapped her hands together, taking it as the beginning of an adventure. why not, if they drove all the way out here it didn’t have to be an easy find. “now—what if this is just the first clue.” as if she was taking nancy drew notes, hoping to get to the bottom of some mystery. in reality, she was fine with just seeing a finished cole, museums would pay for that.

the church looked run down even from a distance, crumbling at the edges, the door boarded up with plywood boards. abandon all hope ye who enter here. oh the beauty of modern ingenuity. if only the front door were the only way to gain access to a building. “his home church is going to need a back door.”

“It could be, I suppose.” Nikolai knew Birdie was there for the excitement, and he wanted to provide that -- what kind of friend would he be, if he dragged her out to simply collect a dusty old painting? Yet he didn’t want to linger, staring up at the ivy-covered stained-glass windows, anticipation and apprehension pooling in his stomach. It looked all too similar to that fateful ruin, tucked away in a forest; in fact, the only missing detail was the trees, the partially-collapsed roof full of roosting birds. “A strange kind of treasure hunt, if it isn’t here.” Like The Revival, the painting that had been occupying most of his mind. 

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Nikolai hoped Birdie hadn’t noticed how they were shaking. There wasn’t time for his weakness; he began to walk over, scanning the building for alternate entrances. “We could try the vestry, the doors are usually small enough to go unnoticed. Or we could shove you in there --” he pointed to a tiny hole in one of the windows, shooting her a sly grin. “I think you’d fit.”

[cioras]

BIRDIE ―

@cioras​

they never broke the law. morally upstanding friends on a daytrip to see some sights had no need to. even if her boss was sending questioning texts to the best of his ability. some abandoned church, in an abandoned dutch settlement, in upstate new york. a few hours in the car chattering away. she never knew if nik needed the help, or wanted the company, but she decided not to ask too many questions. only the good kind, like if they could stop at the gas station for coffee. and what on earth they were on the hunt for. it certainly sounded like trespassing from how he pitched it to her—but that wasn’t really the case. in if a law broke in a forest and nobody was around to hear it, did it really break? she decided no and didn’t ask for a second opinion.

“so this is going to be something super puritan right?” the fields aroudn them didn’t exactly indicate high society. or that it’d been touched in the last few hundred years. she wondered if the church would even need anything in the way of breaking, it might just be open for entry. “we’re not stumbling on a lost thomas cole are we?”

Before Ljublic, Nikolai had loved abandoned churches. The ivy-covered stained glass, dressed altars left to wrack and ruin, crumbling pulpits and rusted lecterns -- they all said something unexplainable about the transience of human spirituality. How quickly faith could be lost, how long its scars could remain. But he had lost his faith; rather, it had been ripped from him, replaced by something more practical. Pragmatism: never going anywhere without at least a knife, never rushing into a situation before he had some kind of backup plan. Fear, too, fear that meant as much as he could rationalise it into being perfectly safe, he still invited Birdie along to the abandoned church.

“Actually, yes.” He opened the door, getting out the car with a bitten-down wince. The way his back twinged was a lasting souvenir of Ljublic’s treatment. “This was his home church, and the trail of a completed version of The Good Shepherd stops here, hanging above the collection box.”

[cioras]

SEBASTIAN ―

The blade was extension of Sebastian. Once flicked open, it activated its own nervous system, attaching itself to his own, feeling beneath itself how Nikolai’s pulse quickened. It would take one slice into a singular pressure point to see how a broken artery revealed a spray of blood, coating his black walls, turning it to the canvas behind them for color. Sharp enough to make its mark on the slimmest hint of stubble on an otherwise clean shaven stretch of skin. He could bleed out on the floor in seconds, but that wasn’t of value. There was more value in lengthening his mortal sentence than snuffing it out for one comment.

“What about living when, by all rights, you should have died?” he repeated verbatim, a mirror image of a newly implanted memory, only now highlighted with a serum of sarcasm, releasing him back to the wildness that was life. The knife stayed in his hand, even removed from the throat, could always find its way back to somewhere more useful like a wrist or an eye or a multitude of places that didn’t end in eternal blackness.

“You have the weekend to prepare. Don’t allow yourself to be distracted by your sentimental trauma, will you? You won’t be able to ask the same question as before if you do.”

Nikolai’s first instinct was to struggle; it was the same instinct he felt when Ljublic pressed a knife to his neck, the instinct he was unable to act on, the knife nuzzled so close that one wrong move would spill his blood at Sebastian’s feet. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, panic flooding his system, the room was still closing, the scars on his back aching from the memory -- Ljublic’s words, echoing in his head as he prepared the tomb. Dies Irae. Day of Judgement; he certainly felt like Sebastian was judging him, scraping through his soul and finding it lacking.

The irony of Sebastian’s words wasn’t lost, even on Nikolai’s panicked mind; he would’ve laughed, if he’d been able to bring in a steady breath. Once the knife was released, he almost stumbled, another jolt of pain burning through his back from the sudden movement.

His fate was sealed. It had been sealed the moment he walked into the room, yet he couldn’t have avoided it; Nikolai straightened, brushing nonexistent dirt off his suit in an effort to regain control.

“I’ll meet you at the airport, then.” He said, steadfastly ignoring the last comment.

[cioras]

BIRDIE ―

birdiedrke​:

“you won’t.” she shrugged, as if there were no other answer to the events that he brought forward. they just didn’t fit, not in the grand scheme of what they had yet to accomplish. she couldn’t be pressed for specifics, it was just a general feeling. “it’s not fair to me.” she knew the sentence was selfish, that the world did not spin for her. but it was fun to joke that it did, that there was any outcome in which they got their way was pure luck. but every so often they did get their way.

“the good part about brainwashing is you just have to figure out the code word.” the scenario he pushed towards was lively if a little cliche. she was pretty sure she remembered the movie well enough, except for that one part. “then that’s a happy ending.” which was less lively than all the scenarios that he had put forward, but maybe there was something to that—even if she didn’t personally understand it. “don’t you want to be happy.”

Birdie’s certainty was almost amusing; if there was anything Nikolai had gathered from six years of art dealing, it was that life was more unpredictable than anyone gave it credit for. But there was a kernel of uncomfortable truth in her words. They’d been touched by events that set them apart, sent them down different paths to even other people in the same professions. Somehow, he got the feeling those events would never relinquish them. “Ah, of course. I forgot that the world would stop spinning rather than inconvenience you.” He gave her a wry smile, though the implication was clear: my death would only be an inconvenience to you.

“Ah, but it’s hardly that simple. Even if you figure out the code word, you still have to deal with all the people they hurt while they were brainwashed.” A simple scenario, but even then there was rarely a happy ending. Her question hit home in a way Nikolai wasn’t expecting, a soft breath released before he answered: “I want to be successful.” Because honestly, he didn’t even know if he could be happy anymore.

[cioras]

headcanon list

BASICS ―

full name: nikolai darius ciora

birthday: 10 march

age: 26

zodiac sign: aries

religion: eastern orthodox christian

religious level (1-10): 5; more than he’d like

birthplace: sighisoara, romania

current residence: new york, usa

height: 6′ 0

hair colour: dark brown

eye colour: brown

sexuality: demisexual

love/romantic preference: panromantic

relationship status: single 

languages known: romanian, russian, english, french, arabic and spanish

DETAILS ―

car: 1965 shelby cobra

phone: iphone x

music genres: classical piano, movie scores, darker indie, (secretly) paranormal/true crime podcasts

wardrobe: suits, turtlenecks, patterned shirts, snake-themed jewellery

estimated net worth: it’s a secret 

ransom value: the rapture of the virgin mary

BLOODLINES AND CONNECTIONS ―

galina ciora ― mother (suffering from dementia)

ioana ciora ― mama (muse)

peter ljublic ― past tormentor, responsible for his trauma

alexander vanderbilt ― previous client

birdie drake ― colleague probably the closest friend he has

mitya morozov ― colleague & friend

tomas de visser ― friend & pastry provider

ashton ryder ― detective buddy!

sebastian steele ― client and current tormentor

LEVELS ―

drinking: 3; he can hold his liquor but he doesn’t seek alcohol out

swearing: a 2 in english but a 6 in romanian

smoking status: 4; occasional but becoming more frequent

drugs: 4; maybe a few too many painkillers here and there, but he ‘has it under control’

cooking proficiency: 6

intelligence: 9

emotional/social intelligence: 7; good enough to schmooze and charm people, 

creativity: 7

temper: 4; only a few things push him over the edge

[cioras]

SEBASTIAN ―

There was very little movement to Sebastian in response to the dare. Perfectly in place like a polaroid photo, a single frame of time with only the smoke slithering through the air from his held cigarette. No one could blame Nikolai if he thought that they were simply not heard, except for one.

“Success means nothing if it can be accomplished by anyone, Ciora. After all, anyone can breathe, but to manage it after being assumed dead is mildly more impressive.–In your experience, wouldn’t you agree?”

Eyes of a hawk, watchful and commanding, lying into the other as he gave in, agreeing to terms that were not up for negotiation. There was no nod, no smile, not even a blink to indicate that there was found common ground, just silence given back with another drag from the cigarette. It was only when he attempted to part from the scene, a turn to leave eventually taken in, that the viper appeared.

Sebastian’s hand to the wrist, pinning it to the base of the spine. Free arm swinging around, mid-motion flicking open his switchblade to have the metal gleaming at Nikolai’s throat, all from behind. Trained, knowing exactly where the jugular was, practically stroking it.

“What is your answer? Is there nostalgia? Or is it trauma?”

Somehow the tension of waiting for a response was worse than whatever Sebastian would inevitably say. With nothing for Nikolai to focus on, his mind began to drift, back through the years -- four years, yet the wound was as raw as yesterday. The panic was still visceral, twisting his stomach with a vague, sloshing nausea.

It was all he could do to keep his voice steady, swallowing before he responded: “What about walking after you were told you wouldn’t be able to?” Another rough swallow, fighting the lump in his throat; he began to move towards the door, desperate for an escape. “What about living when, by all rights, you should have died?” What about killing your killer, the truth he clung onto to quell his doubts.

There was to be no escape, though; Nikolai yelped in pain, the twisting of his arm forcing him to turn, sending a bolt of agony dancing up his spine. He knew a knife at his throat when he felt it, heart jackknifing in his chest as he tried to stop panicking -- but nothing was working, his breath wouldn’t slow down, the room was closing, collapsing -- 

He wasn’t able to think of a lie, fingers fumbling to reach his own knife without alerting Sebastian. All Nikolai was able to choke out was both.

[cioras]

BIRDIE ―

“you shouldn’t.” then, believing everything from a single source was a method of destruction. the truth, whatever it happened to be, was always from multiple sources. she knew without harsh thought, that there was some truth to her, to mitya, to nikolai; and in the middle was the truth. whatever it was this time around.

“you’re not going to die tomorrow.” neither was she. to call it fate would be too poetic, but she hardly believed in random chances, that people died in freak accidents, that there was no motive for things. nikolai wouldn’t die tomorrow, because there was something too grand about having escaped a serial killer, life was bigger for those sorts of people. who escape the obvious. she knew, she was one of them. “because that wouldn’t be a very good ending.” for either of them, though her own demise was much quicker to gloss over. “he’s got to be the good guy. it’s in the last name, all american. nazi puncher all the way.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t.” Nikolai knew Mitya could be trusted, he’d proven that in Russia, but everyone could be blinded by love. By fate. The three of them were bound, forger, broker, dealer, on the fringes of the law; only Nikolai was the one who refused to cross over.

“I could. Car crash, brain haemorrhage, previously unknown and undetectable heart condition...” All of those scenarios had one thing in common: they were random. no Ljublic, no traps laid, no painting that still flashed behind his closed eyes. They were quick, too, not the slow torture of a month trapped, half-starving in someone else’s sarcophagus. “It would be a better ending.” Than the one Ljublic had planned for him, at least. Birdie could think what she wanted; if you believed in destiny, her future was probably bright and exciting. “I guess he has to have a brainwashed assassin best friend, then? It’s only true to form.”

[cioras]

BIRDIE ―

“new york suits me better.” she pursed her lips for a moment, the kind of tell that was supposed to be left behind in vegas. the pinprick annoyance that mitya always caused when he was brought up. she had yet to label why a single person could cause such a situation to feel more important than it was, to lend gravity to their words on presence alone. it didn’t matter. mitya wasn’t in new york—yet. “don’t let him sell you lies!“ though that always seemed to be her trade, or rather omissions of truth in some greater harper drake service.

“ and don’t talk like you’re already dead.” she wasn’t one for history books, they had the disappointing habit of only remembering a handful of the same guys over and over again it was nice for work, only a few people to mimic in a pinch—but she had to think there were more interesting stories out there. the difference of who made it into textbooks was arbitrary, some rule of fate that she had no hand in. “unlike poor cassius, went down in a fighter plane over the ocean, never to been known again. “

“I suppose.” Nikolai’s lips quirked upwards at the sight of her face, knowing what she didn’t know -- yet. And already anticipating her reaction. “I’m not saying I believe everything he says.” He thinks your his soulmate, he almost added, catching himself at the last minute. That trainwreck would be a most entertaining one to watch unfold.

Nikolai sighed; the night was beginning to wear on him, not nearly enough champagne downed to make standing for so long bearable. There was a bench nearby, of course, but that would mean admitting defeat, so he just straightened a little and tried to subtly stretch his aching back. “I could die tomorrow, you know. You could, too. What would you want to be remembered for?” A legacy you’d built for yourself, or the thing that tore it down? Yet he wasn’t allowed to be melancholy and melodramatic for long, grinning at Birdie’s story. “No, the government will drag him out one day, bring him back as a Nazi-punching super-soldier. Or maybe he’s the brainwashed assassin?”

[cioras]

SEBASTIAN ―

“Fear breeds desperation,” he informed, a fact that was not for debate by his standards as Sebastian kept a hold on his vision. “Weakness breeds fear.” A calculating look given, as if sinking fangs of venom beyond the scalp, crashing through the skull, digging its way into the brain. “Are you weaker or stronger than you were, Ciora?–If a knife was held to your throat right now, would your desperation be triggered?”

He did not need his approval to what would happen either way: Sebastian would be joining in the trip, and there was nothing that would defeat that. Inside his breast pocket, a silver case was clicked open by the thumbnail of the same hand that held it, popping it apart against the hinge. Cigarette between two fingers, match struck shortly afterwards. “You’ve built your reputation on difficulty,” he reminded him as smoke invaded the air that was limited around Nicholas. “Don’t allow the graveyard to offer its services by burying that. It would be devastating for your business.”

Nikolai’s jaw clenched, wanting to tell Sebastian he was wrong, fear didn’t come from weakness. But the words wouldn’t come; he knew some part of him believed it, hated himself for the way the room felt like it was spinning, bearing down on him, closing in and closing in and closing in -- 

Between breaths, between blinks, he could’ve sworn he heard Ljublic’s laughter in the blackness of his closed eyes. Then, back to reality. “Try me,” he said, almost regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth, but remembering the knife in his jacket, Remembering the adrenaline of Marrakesh, the person he used to be -- yet that person was gone, leaving a hollow, pain-ridden shell behind. He blinked away the smoke, swallowing, trying to claw back some kind of control. “I’ve built my reputation on success, not difficulty.” The difficulty helped, he guessed, but Nikolai refused to give Sebastian any more ground. “I said I’ll do it.” Then tacked on more awkwardly, desperate for an escape: “I should be going.”

[cioras]

DERYL ―

“I don’t know man. Rich people scare me. They can get away with anything and they don’t even care to pretend that laws apply to them. You have to be careful when asking questions regarding things like this.”  Deryl paused to listen to him. “Was he kidnapped in a situation where there would need to be a distraction?” He pulled out his notepad and began jotting things down, kidnapping - distraction. “How many people have gone missing, do you know? I know its more than one but I don’t know the scene enough to know how much I am missing of this.”

“That might be true, but they’re also lazy. They wouldn’t deign to send a hitman after you if they could silence you with a cease-and-desist notice.” All the same, Nikolai knew Deryl was right; there was poison bubbling under the surface of the world, and its guardians were capable of everything. “Yes, but they already had a distraction. A robbery. Probably unconnected, but even if that painting was the distraction, it still doesn’t make sense--” he broke off, trying to place the sequence of events in his mind. “I don’t know. Perhaps, but I wasn’t concentrating on them until this one; it’s too high-profile to miss. It’s got to be the painting --” 

[cioras]

SEBASTIAN ―

“Tell me, which side are you imagining?” he questioned, a glint of a smirk dancing across his lips. Sebastian had seen the full spectrum of humanity. There was no side that was left unexposed to him. “Or is there only one that’s worthy of keeping you up at night, now?” Perhaps Nicholas wasn’t consciously interested in the hunt, but hunting was interested in him.

There was no denying it, no matter how he wanted to push the discomfort to the sidelines of the scene. It was unnerving to face such a /scarring/ moment in one’s past, but he would either sink or swim. If Sebastian’s theory was proven to be correct, he would have to learn to swim if he wanted to avoid drowning. “Consider it insurance,” he answered, meaning in murky waters like most things that came from his tongue. “Your track record doesn’t apply in these circumstances, particularly when you seem too distracted to even guarantee the results.”

“The side that allows desperate people to do desperate things.” That smirk, a flicker of a smile etched into Nikolai’s memory, making his stomach drop. Sebastian could kill him right there, could trap him like Ljublic had, and no-one would know. He wondered if anyone would care. “I’ve had a knife at my throat enough times to know it.”

That, at least, was the truth -- people did reckless things when they were scared, things they would never be able to do otherwise. There was a little of a threat there, even as Nikolai took a step back: he felt like a wounded animal, exhausted from the hunt, but he still had claws. There was still a knife in his pocket, and he’d bring his gun to Romania. “Alright, you’re coming.” A curt concession, trying to conceal how the thought sent a new burst of panic spiralling through his chest. “I know where the graveyard is. It’s quite hard to reach.” Another feeble excuse, one he realised too late only exposed another of his weaknesses.

[cioras]

BIRDIE ―

“we disagree about everything! that’s not special.” of course, it was. the event that changed her life could not be simply brushed under the rug in the way she liked to think, but she still valiantly tried. “violeta and cassius.” she tried to brush past most of what of he gestured to, even if she were ever to discuss such things, it wasn’t going to happen here in the middle of this party. poldark’s gallery didn’t deserve her personal life spilled out to make it interesting. “well i’ll tell you what, neither of those make very good nicknames either. so i guess we’re just going to have to stick with nik. sorry to disappoint the history books.”

“Is it not?” Of course, ‘insignificant’ events often led to uprooting and moving to a different state. She could brush it away all she liked, Nikolai knew how life-changing events could eat away at your awareness, a constant, pulsing reminder. “Cassius Jones does have a ring to it,” he conceded, “But more of a Second World War veteran ring.” Nicknames didn’t matter; a reputation was more than enough. “If only the history books would remember me.” Perhaps they would -- but it would always be for the wrong thing, for ljublic, for the month of torture that set his life on a new trajectory. 

[cioras]

ASHTON ―

“Hm? Well I just thought it’ll make our night easier and shorter that way,” plus, more paper work for the police, less paper work for him, even Ashton needed to submit reports, “but I’m all ears for another idea.” He knew Nikolai had another idea, intrigued by the extra agency he might want to get involved with. Of course, the first level of action should be to prevent the painting from even leaving its spot in the first place. These tires were an added measure and insurance. Ashton got caught off guard by the bluntness with his words, a spark of confusion showed on his face for a brief second as his brows furrowed. “I-”  he stopped himself before his instinctive thoughts said the wrong thing, turning back to the last inflated tired. A shank of a knife undid it all. “As long as I fulfilled those orders, it doesn’t really matter, does it? If I die, it’ll just be a lesson learnt.” Theoretically he knew not a lot could kill him, but maybe.. just maybe there was. And they were just waiting for it to happen. “It’s not that bad, really,” Ashton continued, bringing back the small lopsided grin, “I’m not dead yet, am I?” He exhaled as he stood up, pressing onto the tire with his foot, “I’d say that’s all in a day’s work. Think now we can figure out who?”

“What would the police do with the painting? I assume they’d return it to the Poldark estate.” It would be of no use to Nikolai back in the hands of its owner -- but it would be no use to Poldark, either, if that really was him. Perhaps he could persuade his old customer to part with it. “I’m not averse to calling them, but that would mean a lot of unnecessary questioning.” Better the robbery was never allowed to escalate that far in the first place. “It should matter,” he muttered quietly; something about the way Ashton dismissed his own death sat uncomfortably in Nikolai’s stomach. Perhaps Ashton was a muse, but it still felt wrong. “Life’s precious. It sounds cliche, but -- it’s true. Your life isn’t disposable. It’s more than a lesson learnt.” Coming from the mouth of someone who’d stared death in the face, drank from its cup, he said it with a sudden conviction. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” Sighing, he slid his knife back into his jacket, giving the tyre a half-hearted nudge. “But you could be dead. Though I guess anyone could drop dead at any moment.” He shrugged, turning his attention back to the task at hand. “I suppose it’s just a waiting game now -- unless you want to see if we can catch them in the act.”

[cioras]

BIRDIE ―

“nothing!” she poked at him, more a retaliation for having been reminded of its existence at all than any animosity. she would have been good natured regardless, but among such company it was easy to remind herself that nik didn’t mean anything by it. “ that’s my whole point.” besides, she didn’t take anything that didn’t belong to her, unless they were suddenly trafficking in ideas. she always thought of herself as more grounded. “i’m trying to expand my references here! help me out.” so what if a pet name was a security answer, she wasn’t looking for his passwords. “pretty sure he was indiana because of a pet. so—what was your snake called?”

“I think Mitya would disagree with you.” Nikolai batted her hand away gently, his soft grin only for his friend to see. Despite Las Vegas, Birdie was a marvel -- not that he’d ever tell her, it would inflate her ego even more. Her paintings were good enough that they’d almost slipped past him, worrying enough that he’d had to track down their source. “And for your information, I don’t have a criminal record because I stay on the right side of the law. Aside from a touch of trespassing.” Never on inhabited properties, only on ruins no-one cared about except for the fact that they were owned. He sighed, resigned to the nickname-finding process. “Well, mine was called Violeta, but my mamă had a ball python called Cassius.”

[cioras]

DERYL ―

“I didn’t say he was a nice guy, but he does pay my bills and I get to travel a lot because of it. I’m sorry if thats insensitive to your situation though. I didn’t mean any disrespect to you.” Deryl looked for any sign of softening in the man’s face, he wasn’t sure if the buttons that were being pushed would end up shutting him out of this lead. “Any information you have, I would be grateful. I want to help get to the bottom of this and get out before anything bad happens to me. I hear thats a common thing in these scenes. Ask too many questions and you just disappear. I’m not about that. I mean I don’t have a lot to live for or anything but maybe I will some day and I’m not looking to die for someone else’s story, you know?”

Nikolai sighed, deciding to let the matter drop. If he ever met Count Xander, it might be a different story, but he better things to expend energy on than pointlessly laying into a research assistant. “Calm down, this isn’t the mafia we’re talking about. As long as you’re careful, you won’t have to die for someone else’s story.” At worst, he’d probably receive a cease and desist notice, or perhaps get told to leave DIA territory alone. “Well, the thing I noticed -- Answer me this. If you’re kidnapping a man, how would you create a distraction?” He trailed off, talking more to himself, sounding his own uncertainties out. “It doesn’t make sense...”

[cioras]

ASHTON ―

“Ah-” Ashton finally understood the contrast there, “so you’re saying running head first into artefacts and carrying them with your bare hands out of live threatening situations isn’t how artefact hunting works?” He made his pitch, and Nikolai seemed maybe interested, and whatever happens happens. “Just something to think about,” he flashed a grin, leaving it at that. He wasn’t going to push it as something he desperately wanted, a side job if it helps, at the same time gather intel on his end of things so they can’t say he was just dicking around and punish him. “They won’t make it out with the painting though, the police would probably catch flat tires.” Ashton was more than happy to hand work over to the police, keeping his cover more covert and simply working behind the scenes. He didn’t need to play hero from the front. He heard him go around the other side of the vehicle as the question passed through. Ashton yanked the knife out hearing the loud hiss, “mm, not exactly, it was a lot of figuring things out.” Unless teaching involved inflicting pain and near death experiences until it was drilled into him to be truth. He came over to the other wise to join Nikolai, “they just give me orders, and I just have to fulfill them.”

“Certainly not the running headfirst bit.” Nikolai’s grin was rueful, remembering a few incidents where life-threatening situations were involved. “Occasionally there is the need to -- well. Grab the artefact and run.” And occasionally, the job just went wrong. Moscow, for example. No point revisiting that memory, though, especially when it came with a familiar twinge of pain. “Well, I’ll consider it.” Who knew, perhaps they’d make a good team; they were certainly working efficiently now. “Who said anything about getting the police involved?” The question was posed casually, though it belied what Nikolai had been considering. That the painting would fetch much more at auction if it had a story of daring recovery attached, and just so happened to have fallen into his hands. The same hands that had just finished ripping into another tyre. “That strikes me as an unreliable strategy.” He was beginning to infer that the DIA didn’t particularly care for its operatives, only for the furthering of its own agenda. “What happens if -- hypothetically -- you die fulfilling those orders? It would be a waste of an obviously capable agent.” Then again, perhaps -- there was a reason. There must be a reason they’d shove an agent into the fine arts world. 

[cioras]

SEBASTIAN ―

“Being desperate and opportunistic are not the same,” he informed conversationally, “and neither are required to put an end to a life. Remarkably, they sound like excuses, or are you unwilling to admit that Ljublic was able to baptize you?”

He watched as though he was perched from a lofty height, looking down on him, a God that was presenting judgment with a glint in the eye as if Hell was the preferred destination. Why wait, though, for death to take over to meet such a place? What a waste of time that would be.

“Selflessness doesn’t suit you, Ciora.” Sebastian knew why he was not welcome, and it was precisely why he demanded it. “I expect you to be familiar with the burial spot when we land. It would be a shame to have his memory be the reason you fail in your own trade.”

The offhand way Sebastian spoke told Nikolai he was looking at someone who had killed before. Someone who had thought it sport. “Evidently you haven’t seen the same side to humanity that I have.” It was an effort to keep his voice steady, to keep himself rooted to the spot when everything in him was telling him to run, run before the walls got tight enough to crush him. “I don’t see myself hunting other people to fulfill some kind of ritual. He failed.”

Had he? If he had, Nikolai wouldn’t have been so afraid facing Sebastian, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress the way his breath began to quicken. If he had, Nikolai wouldn’t even be in America, wouldn’t feel the phantom pain in his back turn to real, jolting agony from just a small movement. “It’s not selflessness, Mr. Steele. It’s how I work. You haven’t minded before, so why take an interest now?” Of course, because it was the best way to rattle him. Because Sebastian knew full well, Nikolai’s pride wouldn’t allow him to turn it down.