Alexei, play Despacito

IN SOVIET RUSSIA... this joke finishes you. Filipp Sokolov. 38. Driver. Tracksuit mobster. Agent Jack Templeton, MI6; Interpol.

[janevogeti-deactivated20240929]

friendlylocalrussian‌:

Filipp slumped lower in his seat, covering his mouth with his hand to hide the grin at how unsettled Patrick was getting. This was how the best MI6 interrogators probably got their start in life. He only wished Patrick was unsettled enough to start talking. What are the Flores after was a very bald question. Patrick would probably answer with something that involved the unhelpful word “carat”. The spymasters had taught Jack how to listen and change his appearance with the twitch of a jaw, but not how to extract information. Oh, they spent a year teaching him an obsolete Russian dialect but not how to tweeze out information from the human jitterbug opposite him.

Sighing, Filipp all but gave up. “Just making idle conversation here, Father,” he admitted. “A ‘get to know your coworker’ kind of thing. Bring Your Daughter To Work Day for the permanently single.” His grimace communicated exactly what he thought of Patrick’s lifelong voluntary celibacy. “It makes sense, seeing as you’ll be our good friend on the ground in Rome. Hope you’re looking forward to the hotel’s hospitality.”

Patrick shoots Filipp a look of skepticism. He’s certain there’s a hidden agenda to his line of questioning. Granted, he has no idea what it is or what it could be, but he imagines pressing him for it could prove dangerous. He says nothing of it. Instead, he simply shrug his shoulders and plants both feet back down on the floor. He’s helping the Englishman because Sebastían asked him to. It didn’t need to be any more complicated than that.

“Alright, then,” he exhales, gesturing in Filipp’s direction. “What do you think? About the wish fulfillment?” He reminds him. “Are you secretly a Frollo man?”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Filipp let out a surprised laugh, full of the contempt of someone who was still young and blessed with above-average good looks. “Sorry, Father, but I don’t need to stalk girls to get... action. As you Americans call it.”

He’d always seen himself more in that blond soldier anyway.

“But as we know, Mr. Makarovich doesn’t pay me to make theories. I get paid to ask how your business at the Continental Hotel is going. The collar must be useful in getting you in anywhere.”

[rivkalashnik]

friendlylocalrussian‌:

Minder duty was a new low for Filipp. Not that Aleksei gave personal attention to the loose ends of the organisation, but Rivkele was property under lien. Wouldn’t do to get dents on it. It was therefore with great regret that he lowered his watered down tequila (it was his secret and the bartender’s) and heaved a sigh. God, he hated the sound of it. It made him feel like a kindly old uncle.

“Maybe you should put your money away,” he said. Maybe he should have stuck to his original plan of keeping an eye on her movements from the building across the street. All this Boy Scout behaviour was giving him toothache. “Didn’t know you had hundred bucks to part with on…” He gestured vaguely at the rapidly escalating violence around the table from hell. “Of course, in this case, giving it to me’s the same as handing it straight to Mr. Makarovich.”

She blames the poor lighting at the club for not immediately recognizing Filipp whatever-his-surname-is, and an uncomfortable twinge at the back of her neck runs down her spine, having been called out. It’s like getting caught misbehaving by a teacher. A teacher roughly the same age as you, who also works directly with the principal-from-hell. And to make matters even more annoying, he’s not even wrong. She knows she has maybe $175 in U.S. currency in her bank account, total, and only a small portion of that in cash. Which is technically meant for food (and vodka, now). But that non-withstanding, she’s certainly she could rack up enough cash to cover the hundred over at the poker tables… though that’s the whole point of being over here and not over there…what a drag. 

“I mean, ah, you don’t have to have a hundred bucks in your pocket, exactly, if you choose the right guy to bet on…” she drawls reluctantly, drilling her fingers on the bar. “What the hell, I could just tell you to put it on my tab with the Englishman, right?” Not like she was ever going to get it all paid off anyway. She glanced around behind him apprehensively, hoping not to see the Mr. Makarovich in question. 

[friendlylocalrussian]

A sucker with a sense of bravado. Filipp almost felt bad that Rivkele wasn’t ever going to get her happy ending. “No offence,” he said, draining his glass in a way that would have been impressive if it was pure tequila, “but you’re in this shithole because you don’t find the right guy to bet on.”

Unless of course she did.

Later, Filipp could blame it as being under the influence (of water). He’d have to worry about it only if things went belly-up. God willing it wouldn’t.

“How about you don’t waste time on a losing bet,” suggested Filipp, slipping off the bar stool. His sneakers hit the floor with a thud that was absorbed by the sound of the casino riot. “There’s a better way to make fifteen thousand dollars to shave off your debt with. When there’s a loud and annoying spectacle on the floor—“ This time, he nodded at the table with some fondness— “people with too many poker chips in their pockets are distracted.”

[gcorgie]

>_friendlylocalrussian‌:

“Uh.”

Maybe Filipp had miscalculated in his knee-jerk need to avoid the problem. Geneva—hell, even Berlin—was too far. He’d been hoping to lie low in Tottenham for a while, or maybe skulk in the suburbs. His hopping on a plane to a Brexit-unfriendly country was going to piss of…

Makarovich?

Oh, you colossal idiot.

Jack took a deep, quick breath, steadying himself by reaching across the table to put a stalling hand over Georgina’s phone. “Hold on a second.” God, her phone was hot as a torch. Or maybe it was his palm getting clammy. “Slow down. Pulling me out completely is not good.”

Yes, it is.

You want out. You’ve wanted out for years.

“Makarovich would never okay a leave of absence. And we can’t afford me taking my eyes off him.” Think of the dead man in the river. He didn’t need to remind Georgina of all people. Look at what the Floreses did to his son. “Can you get me out of London with an option to return? A story I can sell to the king of scum. Uh, like the Continental Hotel is on fire. Or Armoury’s trying to headhunt me. Fuck.” His glibness was falling apart like a piñata dunked in a river. “You’re a Company woman, Georgie. Can’t you arrange for a heart attack? That’ll take care of Featherstonhaugh nice and easy.”

Maybe this was her fault. Maybe the whole situation would have been avoided had she been more attentive, done more recon. Or maybe, she was of the habit of overreacting at the slightest threat. An edge she had lost after losing too many friends.

Normally she would have dug her heels in and made her word final. Though her stubbornness  may just be the reason they’re here in the first place. “But leaving you in a compromising position is?” She rebukes. Again she slumps back into her seat.

It’s now clear to her that she miscalculated just how under Makarovich’s thumb he was. She would’ve suggested another extremity he could’ve been on his knees for that would have awarded him the luxury of weekend vacations but, decides to bite her tongue.

“I can get you to Surrey, on what “official” business is your call but that’s the closest and relatively safest satellite location,” she says sliding her phone back off the table. “Unfortunately collateral dead men isn’t really my style,”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Surrey. If they put him in a safe house there, Jack didn’t picture himself being able to walk about, go grocery shopping. In a way, that was good. Less of a chance he’d run into his own parents in the tomato aisle. Parents who thought he was on mission in Scotland or whatever they’d been told.

To Jack, Surrey was sounding like a very good idea.

If he was thinking only about himself.

“Georgie,” he began slowly, raising his head to look her in the eye. “This is going to sound completely mental, but.” Did he even need to say anything more? She’d been in this line of work too long, just like him. “If you remove me now, even for a day, we’ll be throwing away years of progress. Years.” His fingers twitched, like the jerky legs of a dying spider, as he thought of what he was suggesting. What they’d been so close to giving up. “Be honest with me, Georgina Ya Wen King. What would you do if the roles were reversed?”

[gcorgie]

>_friendlylocalrussian‌:

As Georgina rapidly cycled through the checklist of things that could go wrong, plastic surgery began to seem like a good idea. Jack already had a face that blended in with an army of Slavic criminals. That was actually pretty insulting.

“Getting out of town is doable,” he said, trying to sneak a peek at what action her two phones were getting. He was all-too-desperate for news of the outside world. Interpol, his family, her family, who’d won the latest Great British Bake-Off. What Harry and Meghan were upto, even.

“The words ‘I’m under orders from Mr. Makarovich’ have become my passport to anyplace.” Giving Violet a wide berth for the time being was also a smart idea. He didn’t think his strait-laced colleague would appreciate the details of that encounter. “You got any suggestions for places to hide out, Georgie? I could do the legwork on someone you’ve wanted to keep an eye on. The further away from Ooty’s London, the better.”

She perks up at the word doable. Though rushing into anything was deadly, she felt panic quickly encroaching. Asking him to move for the time being would never be a rash decision, within minutes of this very conversation she could have a safe house ready and waiting for him.

“That’s good, flexibility is good,” she says before unlocking her phone once more. With the frenetic energy of teenager she tapped away at the digital keys of her work phone. Their chief often left Georgina unanswered, so she was ditching the chain of command in lieu of a prompt and dependable response.

It was almost like every major city was a hotspot, that and the fact that sending to Timbuktu would only raise more red flags. Not that following the blood diamond trail wouldn’t be helpful. “ I don’t need you chasing ghosts.” She says curtly, eyes not lifting from the screen. “I can get you in Geneva— Berlin? Hell I could even get you on U.S. soil if need be, but the best I can do besides desk jockeying is humint work, boring but obstinate.” she says placing the phone between the both of them, motioning for him to take a look for himself.

[friendlylocalrussian]

“Uh.”

Maybe Filipp had miscalculated in his knee-jerk need to avoid the problem. Geneva—hell, even Berlin—was too far. He’d been hoping to lie low in Tottenham for a while, or maybe skulk in the suburbs. His hopping on a plane to a Brexit-unfriendly country was going to piss of...

Makarovich?

Oh, you colossal idiot.

Jack took a deep, quick breath, steadying himself by reaching across the table to put a stalling hand over Georgina’s phone. “Hold on a second.” God, her phone was hot as a torch. Or maybe it was his palm getting clammy. “Slow down. Pulling me out completely is not good.”

Yes, it is.

You want out. You’ve wanted out for years.

“Makarovich would never okay a leave of absence. And we can’t afford me taking my eyes off him.” Think of the dead man in the river. He didn’t need to remind Georgina of all people. Look at what the Floreses did to his son. “Can you get me out of London with an option to return? A story I can sell to the king of scum. Uh, like the Continental Hotel is on fire. Or Armoury’s trying to headhunt me. Fuck.” His glibness was falling apart like a piñata dunked in a river. “You’re a Company woman, Georgie. Can’t you arrange for a heart attack? That’ll take care of Featherstonhaugh nice and easy.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Sneak || Filipp & Violet

[thelaundress]

friendlylocalrussian·:

“No kidding,” said Filipp, trailing off in amazement at the sight that had just casually waltzed past them. “Did you—” He pointed weakly at the rapidly disappearing man, unable to put together the right words that wasn’t uncontrollable laughter. “You saw that, right? Guy just decides to ditch his clothes and stroll down from the hotel in a shower gown?”

Please, he prayed to God and all the angels up there, let that not be his contact. He’d crack a rib from trying to keep a straight face from doing business with someone who was getting his balls tickled by a nice breeze during the whole process. He was incredibly glad for the protective layer of his tracksuit over everything else he wore. “Or maybe he’s got the right idea. No such thing as too little clothes.”

“Good, so you did see it too. I was afraid I hallucinated it.” Violet had kept her composure initially, but was finding not dissolving in a fit of laughter increasingly difficult. Filipp, judging by his expression and tone of voice, was in the same predicament. “Even for criminals,” she remarked, turning to face him and refusing to look as the man disrobed to enter the pool.  “…this is really a bit much.” Although perhaps he had counted on being alone at this time of night, only to realize it was too late to turn back on encountering the two of them. She snorted at his next statement, giving Filipp a once-over. “In that case, you’re quite overdressed, aren’t you?”

[friendlylocalrussian]

“That’s stereotyping,” protested Filipp. A subject he was passionate about since you couldn’t wear sneakers in the EU without someone thinking that you huffed paint thinner in your free time. “Regular people come here too. Possibly. It’s on Hotel Trivago, isn’t it? I mean, look at you. Respectable lady, businessman, Italian tourist. Not everyone here who’s half-naked is on the wrong side of the law.”

And he was incredibly wary of heading for the natatorium with the man’s robes still puddled outside the doors.

Even less if Violet was there to catch him at it.

Taking a drag from the rapidly dwindling cigarette, he said around a grin, “Come on, V. What are you still doing out here? My charming company, or Peeping Tom—which one’s kept you from heading back to your room?”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Let’s Go To The Mall || Eleanor & Filipp

[ohkennedyc]

Filipp had no idea. It was like he’d forgotten every movie he’d ever watched. What was he supposed to say—Donnie Brasco? Eastern Promises, for some local flavour. He glanced into the mirror again to make sure that Eleanor was still breathing. His boss—name any of them—would be a little upset otherwise.

“Fever Pitch,” was what he settled on. “Man watches a lot of football. Sports movie.” Old movie, so he could be forgiven for not remembering much. “There’s some comic book thing playing in the theatre. And also that war movie, but you need to pass for eighteen to watch that one.”

She felt his eyes watching her through the rear-view mirror. Checking to see if I haven’t jumped out the window yet, eh Filya? But she didn’t bother, because then he might feel the need to say why he was actually looking at her - the coke - and she preferred to think he was just looking.

“Sounds boring, but you would like a sports movie.” Eleanor didn’t know if she actuall thought that of him or if it was just the easiest thing to say. At the jib about passing for eighteen, she did possibly the most childish thing she could think of and kicked the back of his chair. “Don’t be rude. I don’t like comic book movies, they bore me. So I guess we can see the war one if you really want to.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Filipp didn’t mention that calling him boring was just as rude. Boring was good. Boring meant he was doing his job right. Being dismissed as boring by a girl almost half his was almost as bad being called a boomer.

He kept his face straight and eyes on the road as she gave the back of the driver’s seat a hearty kick. A good sign that she was still alive.

”Upto you, Miss Makarovich,” he told the windshield. He was just the driver. War movies—about a distant war he had no hand in—had no power over him. He flicked on the indicator, turning left for the nearest cinema. “You’re the boss.”

[janevogeti-deactivated20240929]

friendlylocalrussian‌:

Filipp tried to look interested through the spiel about the dead saint—in fairness, cool story—but he wasn’t here for the book club discussion. He was here to find out why Patrick knew so much about criminals. To that end, it was maybe not productive to accidentally-on-purpose kick Patrick under the table but whoops. His foot had slipped.

“I’m more interested in the kind of bad rap we’re talking about here,” said Filipp, acting like he hadn’t noticed. “Sure in real life we got the diddlers and the inquisitiors and the guys who think gays should burn in hell—“ His tone of voice left little doubt which side he stood on. He was Russian, do the math. “Petty things, basically. But in the books, they’re trying to burn hunchbacks and steal the Grail and… it’s so large scale, you know? Why do you think that is, Father?” He was smiling as he looked Patrick directly in the eye. “You think that’s some kind of wish fulfilment scenario?”

Filipp’s foot makes contact with Patrick’s shin and he jumps higher than he thought he ever could, from the sitting position. Clearly, he isn’t as relaxed as he’s pretending to be. He makes an attempt to play it off, crossing his left leg over the right, and he prays to God– for the first time in a while– the other doesn’t notice. It was an accident, he thinks to himself. Get it the fuck together. He laces his fingers together and rests them on his knee.

Patrick is used to abstract questions, being a priest and all. He’s lost count of how many times he’s talked his way around answering questions like what does it all mean and why us, but again, he hadn’t pegged Filipp as the kind of person to care about their answers. Two strikes for Father Grace, apparently.

“Why do I think fictional crimes are grander than real ones?” Patrick asks, confused. “There will always be evil people, Filipp. Whether they’re real or not. If you’re leading up to a point here, I’d rather you just make it.” So you can get out of here. “Besides, the Hunchback ends up the hero of that story, doesn’t he?”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Filipp slumped lower in his seat, covering his mouth with his hand to hide the grin at how unsettled Patrick was getting. This was how the best MI6 interrogators probably got their start in life. He only wished Patrick was unsettled enough to start talking. What are the Flores after was a very bald question. Patrick would probably answer with something that involved the unhelpful word “carat”. The spymasters had taught Jack how to listen and change his appearance with the twitch of a jaw, but not how to extract information. Oh, they spent a year teaching him an obsolete Russian dialect but not how to tweeze out information from the human jitterbug opposite him.

Sighing, Filipp all but gave up. “Just making idle conversation here, Father,” he admitted. “A ‘get to know your coworker’ kind of thing. Bring Your Daughter To Work Day for the permanently single.” His grimace communicated exactly what he thought of Patrick’s lifelong voluntary celibacy. “It makes sense, seeing as you’ll be our good friend on the ground in Rome. Hope you’re looking forward to the hotel’s hospitality.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Sneak || Filipp & Violet

[thelaundress]

friendlylocalrussian‌:

The grin was purely involuntary and all genuineness accidental. Filipp nearly coughed on a mouthful of smoke.

“You shouldn’t call me Filya so much,” he said, ashing the cigarette into a nearby plant. “People will get the wrong idea.”

Like maybe he had something to do with the scar that blemished the otherwise picture-perfect landscape of Violet’s midriff. The very thought made him wince. Bullets left marks of a good kind; motherhood, not so much.

“They may think we’re friends who skulk together after midnight. On purpose, even.”

Violet couldn’t help but laugh. “Fair enough, Mr. Sokolov.” Forgot this happened, he had called out as he had left her home. This encounter was proving to be more cordial (if not for the ogling) but less entertaining than their last, perhaps because of their sobriety.

Just then, a burly man in a bathrobe appeared, walking briskly past the two of them without so much as a glance in their directions

“Well,” Violet remarked, arching an eyebrow. “It looks like I’m not the only one who wanted some late night exercise.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

“No kidding,” said Filipp, trailing off in amazement at the sight that had just casually waltzed past them. “Did you—” He pointed weakly at the rapidly disappearing man, unable to put together the right words that wasn’t uncontrollable laughter. “You saw that, right? Guy just decides to ditch his clothes and stroll down from the hotel in a shower gown?”

Please, he prayed to God and all the angels up there, let that not be his contact. He’d crack a rib from trying to keep a straight face from doing business with someone who was getting his balls tickled by a nice breeze during the whole process. He was incredibly glad for the protective layer of his tracksuit over everything else he wore. “Or maybe he’s got the right idea. No such thing as too little clothes.”

[rivkalashnik]

location: high roller (berlin, germany)

After a demanding text to her burner phone, a thick manila envelope in hand, and one flight back to the continent from the States, and Riv’s found herself over in Germany. Unfortunately, she’d rather be literally anywhere else. Not that she hated a short break from the sharp stench of cleaning supplies– and international flights still gave out fun little pillows and blankets in economy, after all– but of course, the mob would make her hand off some surely-sketchy documents in a place called the High Roller. The fuckers. 

As soon as she’s handed off the envelope to its intended recipient, her eyes instinctively dart over in the direction of the shadowy poker tables. “Bitch, don’t do it,” she murmurs to herself. Good thing that three of the club’s patrons seem to be having some kind of knife fight blocking the way between her and the cards– well two patrons with knives, and one in there wailing away with seemingly just their fists. Perfect. As long as they keep it up, she won’t be tempted to wander over. Instead, she heads over to the bar, because getting drunk as hell before her flight home in a few hours is clearly the best alternative solution. 

After ordering three shots of vodka in a coarse mix of Ukrainian and German, she bangs on the countertop to get the attention of the person next to her. Not hard enough that they’ll wanna punch her in the face, obviously, but loud enough that it gets their attention over the music and general noise of the club. “Hey, you. Wanna put money on who’ll win?” The offer falls from her lips before she can over-think it, only half-joking as she jerks her neck to nod towards the ongoing knife fight, her tight red curls flying. “Hundred bucks on the guy in the plum, eh?” 

[friendlylocalrussian]

Minder duty was a new low for Filipp. Not that Aleksei gave personal attention to the loose ends of the organisation, but Rivkele was property under lien. Wouldn’t do to get dents on it. It was therefore with great regret that he lowered his watered down tequila (it was his secret and the bartender’s) and heaved a sigh. God, he hated the sound of it. It made him feel like a kindly old uncle.

“Maybe you should put your money away,” he said. Maybe he should have stuck to his original plan of keeping an eye on her movements from the building across the street. All this Boy Scout behaviour was giving him toothache. “Didn’t know you had hundred bucks to part with on...” He gestured vaguely at the rapidly escalating violence around the table from hell. “Of course, in this case, giving it to me’s the same as handing it straight to Mr. Makarovich.”

[gcorgie]

>_friendlylocalrussian‌:

Georgina’s faux-apologetic tone made Jack let out such a loud laugh that even the barista looked around. Somewhat sheepishly, he slunk to a table near the back of the café. It broke their line of sight of the laundromat but better some petty larceny than being recognised by a passer-by. Come in for a peppermint mocha, leave with a WTF expression on their face.

Her prompting made the encounter with Ooty Featherstonhaugh flashed past his eyes like a Kodak reel. Tone it down for Georgina, avoid a disaster, or tell the full story?

“I’m not going to discuss how Zenit Saint Petersburg is doing with that idiot, forget Pushkin,” he began, attempting the easy question first. “Of course, he went to Harrow and Oxford, so we’re talking about an idiot who’s really well-versed in Pushkin. But for the idea of tapping him to turn on his wife… it’s too slippery. He’s like a wet codfish. He looked devoted to that woman. All yes, dear and very well, dear.”

He wondered, briefly, if Georgina enjoyed Monty Python. What she did when she wasn’t chasing monsters.

“And I’m not saying I’ve ‘been made’ or whatever you Americans say.” Hands flat on the table, he leaned forward in his seat, trying to impress it as deeply as possible. “Everything’s fine, Georgie. I’m still in the clear. But, and this is a very small but here, I went to the same school as Ooty. Alumnus meets, overlapping years, the club of posh public school gits who also go to Oxford. Given a chance, he’s going to remember.” There it was, that uneasiness pulsing through Jack’s veins like sludge. “But it’s too early to pull me out. I’ve got fuck-all nothing on Makarovich or the Triumvirate. You have to keep an eye on Ooty, Georgie. He is not going to be the reason this operation goes up in flames.”

For someone who’s entire life hinged on not blowing his cover, he was suspiciously good at being paid attention in a crowd. Though can’t hide the gracious smile that creeps upon her face at the sheer boisterousness of his laugh. She follows him to their hidden corner, promptly setting a timer on her phone in an effort to combat a potential laundry heist. 

She listens intently as she would on a real meeting. Though if it were, there’s no way she would have chosen the most conspicuous location of inside a coffee shop…she would have at least done it outside.  She bites her lip and nods. “Okay I trust your judgement, both about his analytical capabilities and devotion to his wife,” The point was dead for now but that didn’t mean she’d stop pushing for an in with the armoury.

“Spotted, compromised, exposed—” she interrupted with a patriotic raise of her finger before leaning further back into her seat maintaining the distance between them. She lets the silence rest uneasy in the air for a beat, eyes training on his features as if the right answer was written across his forehead. “Plastic surgery,” she says staunchly, hoping to slice through the mounting tension with an ill-timed joke. 

“But you do see this catch 22, right?” She peers down at her phone (personal phone, not to be confused with work phone one or work phone two) to check the timer, mere minutes have passed. “For both your safety, and that of the mission I should have you at least lay low— get out of the city,” She says this with the most sincerity she can muster. She knows all too well the pitfalls of their line of work. “But I know that you’re right and I hate to say it,” she sighs “Keep your distance and I’ll see what I can do,” Step one, phone the legal hackers and gather as much intelligence they possibly can.

[friendlylocalrussian]

As Georgina rapidly cycled through the checklist of things that could go wrong, plastic surgery began to seem like a good idea. Jack already had a face that blended in with an army of Slavic criminals. That was actually pretty insulting.

“Getting out of town is doable,” he said, trying to sneak a peek at what action her two phones were getting. He was all-too-desperate for news of the outside world. Interpol, his family, her family, who’d won the latest Great British Bake-Off. What Harry and Meghan were upto, even.

“The words ‘I’m under orders from Mr. Makarovich’ have become my passport to anyplace.” Giving Violet a wide berth for the time being was also a smart idea. He didn’t think his strait-laced colleague would appreciate the details of that encounter. “You got any suggestions for places to hide out, Georgie? I could do the legwork on someone you’ve wanted to keep an eye on. The further away from Ooty’s London, the better.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

gcorgie‌:

“I can have that arranged,” she jokes as they jovially start down the sidewalk. “I’m sorry to hear you feel that way, if only there was a competent HR team you could report me to and potentially get your life back on track…oh well, doesn’t hurt to dream,” She says lackadaisically, imagining a perfect corporate world.

They enter the coffee shop across from the laundromat and Georgie thanks him for his noble gesture with a polite nod before slipping inside. As they wait she listens in pleasant surprise to his anecdote. “Wait, wait, wait— he didn’t recognize you did he?” Even the slightest hiccup would send her into crisis mode. “Well…are you gonna?it could be an opportunity for another angle, he may know things as her closest confidant,” she says before glancing back out the window at her laundry. “Not to go all handler on you, it was a good bit I promise, but how are things in that regard? You haven’t garnered any suspicion I hope,”

Georgina’s faux-apologetic tone made Jack let out such a loud laugh that even the barista looked around. Somewhat sheepishly, he slunk to a table near the back of the café. It broke their line of sight of the laundromat but better some petty larceny than being recognised by a passer-by. Come in for a peppermint mocha, leave with a WTF expression on their face.

Her prompting made the encounter with Ooty Featherstonhaugh flashed past his eyes like a Kodak reel. Tone it down for Georgina, avoid a disaster, or tell the full story?

“I’m not going to discuss how Zenit Saint Petersburg is doing with that idiot, forget Pushkin,” he began, attempting the easy question first. “Of course, he went to Harrow and Oxford, so we’re talking about an idiot who’s really well-versed in Pushkin. But for the idea of tapping him to turn on his wife... it’s too slippery. He’s like a wet codfish. He looked devoted to that woman. All yes, dear and very well, dear.”

He wondered, briefly, if Georgina enjoyed Monty Python. What she did when she wasn’t chasing monsters.

“And I’m not saying I’ve ‘been made’ or whatever you Americans say.” Hands flat on the table, he leaned forward in his seat, trying to impress it as deeply as possible. “Everything’s fine, Georgie. I’m still in the clear. But, and this is a very small but here, I went to the same school as Ooty. Alumnus meets, overlapping years, the club of posh public school gits who also go to Oxford. Given a chance, he’s going to remember.” There it was, that uneasiness pulsing through Jack’s veins like sludge. “But it’s too early to pull me out. I’ve got fuck-all nothing on Makarovich or the Triumvirate. You have to keep an eye on Ooty, Georgie. He is not going to be the reason this operation goes up in flames.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Let’s Go To The Mall || Eleanor & Filipp

[friendlylocalrussian]

nelliemak‌:

Sometimes she wondered if she was actually as good at hiding it as she thought, or if maybe he just didn’t care. She knew her father would care, even though that was quite hypocritical of him, but one didn’t say thinks like that to Aleksei Makarovich, not even his daughter. So it was best for everyone if they all pretended not to know.

It was working, her fear and sadness replaced by a familiar chemical buoyancy. How lovely to watch the shadows of passing cars and buildings dance across the roof of the car. Eleanor almost forgot to pay attention to the answer to her questions. He took too long a pause before finishing, and she knew he was searching for a good lie.

(She did not want to think about how often he lied to her, about how often any of them lied. It would only hurt her more.)

“Hmmm, maybe. I don’t know.” Nellie paused, chewing on her bottom lip. Did she want to see a movie? It could be almost normal maybe, a quiet dark theater and two hours spent in someone else’s head. She might pick something scary, if just to grab his arm when she was inevitably frightened. “What’s your favorite movie?”

Filipp had no idea. It was like he’d forgotten every movie he’d ever watched. What was he supposed to say—Donnie Brasco? Eastern Promises, for some local flavour. He glanced into the mirror again to make sure that Eleanor was still breathing. His boss—name any of them—would be a little upset otherwise.

“Fever Pitch,” was what he settled on. “Man watches a lot of football. Sports movie.” Old movie, so he could be forgiven for not remembering much. “There’s some comic book thing playing in the theatre. And also that war movie, but you need to pass for eighteen to watch that one.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

talicolsett‌:

            Hardheaded neutrality keeps her from knocking some sense into him, or more specifically knocking the cocky little smile off his face, she keeps her cool, Well practiced patience she sets atop her features, a mask only she is aware of.  Fingers twitch, they itch in the way that says she’s been fighting for years, that she’s breaking habits now, delicate hands slip out from under his, a retreat taken only slightly, the same effect as a step back.  “ I’ve been here a long time, kid. ”

          She does however, refuse to be the one to pull away from the Russian bastard, it would be a show of weakness, and if they smell that on her, they’ll be swarming the waters.   “ Home is home, so stop trying to drag your bullshit over my carpet. ”    a word can only be said so many times before it starts to sound like gibberish but Tal thinks she might be the only person in the world more stubborn than Flipp’s boss. 

Filipp unhooked the sunglasses completely, tucking them away into the collar of his tracksuit jacket. All the better to unleash the full force of that smile on Taliesin.

“Respect where it’s due, ma’am,” he said, watching her draw herself up, “we’re not so apart in years. But I like to live young. Feel young. Sad to hear you seeing yourself as a crone. Baba Yaga’s always looking for some company.”

He felt bad for doing this, he really did. Aleksei’s obsession with scoring a win over the goddamn transporter was exhausting. Roping factions into a war against the only bloodfree place in their world was going to end badly. But Filipp had his orders. And maybe if Aleksei slipped up or went too far, this would be their chance to get him. Think of the greater good, he reminded himself as he regarded Taliesin. All the humour was gone from his face now.

“You know what they say about home, Miss Colsett,” he said quietly. “Once you lose it, you can build a new one anywhere.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Sneak || Filipp & Violet

[friendlylocalrussian]

thelaundress‌:

“How considerate you are, Filya,” Violet replied, dryly. Truthfully, she didn’t think her lungs were ever up to it (was anyone’s?) — she had smoked in her teens and early twenties, gave it up when she got pregnant, and now found the smell absolutely repulsive. It was a fact of life whilst dealing with the Russians, though. She shrugged. “The gym’s nice and empty. It’s a good time to work out without some bloke salivating over my sports bra.” She gave him a pointed look. “Fancy running into you here.”

The grin was purely involuntary and all genuineness accidental. Filipp nearly coughed on a mouthful of smoke.

“You shouldn’t call me Filya so much,” he said, ashing the cigarette into a nearby plant. “People will get the wrong idea.”

Like maybe he had something to do with the scar that blemished the otherwise picture-perfect landscape of Violet’s midriff. The very thought made him wince. Bullets left marks of a good kind; motherhood, not so much.

“They may think we’re friends who skulk together after midnight. On purpose, even.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Incorrect Quotes

→ Send me “Incorrect Quotes” for a snippet of shitpost dialogue between my muse and yours

Really Good Ones That @fatherpatrick Suggested:

filipp: the only time you seem honest is when you’re insulting someone aleksei: the only honest things i can say to you are insults 

&

filipp: i was arrested for being way too handsome aleksei: the charges were immediately dropped due to no supporting evidence

[friendlylocalrussian]

gcorgie‌:

There’s a joke to be made about her multitude of girlfriends and how they weren’t shuttled about on a certain someone’s Lolita Express. But ultimately the guise of a straight and narrow, loveless, Georgie aligned far better with the leadership role. So she simply rolls her eyes to illustrate the point— ok Jack, you can shut up now.

She occasionally thought about how different it would be if Jack knew her from her early C.I.A days. Where she was still perpetuating the recklessly fun agent with little regard for the system, and a desire for school yard popularity in the work place. In all honesty, they probably wouldn’t have gotten along. I’m supposed to be funny one.

“It’s a shame this outing can’t be written off as a company expense, I’d tell you to go wild if that was the case.” That’s not to say she wasn’t given a very fancy expense card but it was no black Amex. “I’m assuming that means you’re one to walk with a flask?” She asks and watches as he stuffs his articles into his bag then offered him a parental two thumbs up when he held it up for her to see. 

Fancy purse on one shoulder and nondescript, black, ‘why-yes-I-do-work-for-the-government-thanks-for-asking’ duffel bag on the other, she replies to his quip “Or alternative art thieves with black turtlenecks escaping the scene on Mopeds, heard that too is a fruitful career,” 

With that she begins for the door, stepping out into a bleary grey day. Neither cold nor hot, a perfectly middling, dull day that only promised rain. She takes a moment to look up at the fast moving clouds above before looking back at Jack. “So, tell me something interesting— unrelated to work or not,” 

“Always wanted to ride a moped,” admitted Jack, as they strolled out of the laundromat. He bumped Georgina’s shoulder as they went, saying, “You know, to cancel out being the kind of person who carries around a hip flask. Because that’s who this job has turned me into. Who you’ve turned me into,” he added more pointedly. “As my handler, you’re fully to blame.”

There was a coffee shop across the street—perfect for keeping an eye out for potential laundry thieves—and Jack gallantly held the door open for Georgina. “So the other day, I run into someone I know from school.” He tried to make it sound like the light-hearted anecdote that she’d asked. “Fellow we called Ooty. Ooty Featherstonhaugh. Turns out he’s married to Armoury’s favourite middleman. Even asked me if I’d like to discuss Pushkin sometime.”

[friendlylocalrussian]

Sneak || Filipp & Violet

[friendlylocalrussian]

thelaundress‌:

Violet, unimpressed, got bored and had the urge to leave as he took his time ogling her. But that would leave the question of what he was lurking around here for. Granted, he had seemed genuinely surprised to see her, so she doubted it had anything to do with her. “So you aren’t considering going to the gym,” she said, innocently. “What are you doing?”

Skulking mostly. For criminals. Other criminals. The irony didn’t escape Filipp. He shrugged, lowering the obnoxiousness a notch. He even stood up straighter like a real person.

“Post-dinner stroll,” he told Violet. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought this’d be a quiet place for a smoke.” Cigarettes were the single-most irritating habit he’d picked up, after the affinity for tracksuits like a common gopnik. Patting down his pockets, he came up with a pack of B&H. He stuck one between his lips and lit up, exhaling upwards. “I’d offer you but your lungs might not be up for it just yet.” Despite his best intentions, his eyes still flicked sideways with diagnostic interest at the... bronchial area. “What’s up, V? Bit late for a work-out, isn’t it?”