.
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

#extradirty
h

PR's Tumblrdome
d e v o n
sheepfilms
todays bird

No title available
Game of Thrones Daily
NASA
Not today Justin

No title available

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

Love Begins
will byers stan first human second

Janaina Medeiros
Stranger Things
dirt enthusiast

Kaledo Art
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
seen from Germany
seen from Canada

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Australia

seen from Romania

seen from Malaysia
seen from Paraguay

seen from Italy

seen from Malaysia
seen from Philippines

seen from Netherlands

seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia

seen from Greenland

seen from Germany

seen from Australia

seen from Germany
seen from Brazil

seen from South Korea
@maxim--dmitriev
.
Reunion || Ivanna&&Max
Ivanna didn’t move when he walked past taking a moment to check her rising temper. Finally with a short exhale she followed her brother to the bar. Her gaze drifted over him, noting every detail. He looked almost just as he had before New Years. There was a subtle lose in weight, but not enough to indicate four months of malnourished conditions. Either he was well fed, or he’d had time to regain his strength. There were no visible wounds, and his hair and shave were made. Setting her jaw, a less than amicable expression on her face she snatched the glass from his hand slamming it down on the counter. “How long?” She demanded, speaking slowly to keep her tone down and to get the point across that she wasn’t having any pleasantness before he gave her a straight answer.
Now she was creating a scene. Sure, Maxim wanted to be noticed but not like this. So his cordial facade dissipated with the thud of the thick glass on the counter top. She didn’t want to play house? Fine by him.
“A month or so.”
Maxim paused for a moment, remember back to the time that Ivanna had left him in the lurch. How he went through the entire city looking for her. The stress and the worry. Did she go through the same thing? By the looks of things she did. But the Russian shrugged it off, took the glass from her hand and emptied what little hadn’t been sloshed over the rim.
No, that was different entirely. At least Max had the decency to call someone about what happened to him. If they wanted to tell Ivanna it was well within their power to do so. She disappeared entirely. Without a word. Maxim tapped the empty glass on the bar, gesturing for another. Fuck her. Who was she to judge him?
Reunion || Ivanna&&Max
The Russian recollected before she finally let go of her older brother, exhaling softly, the relief she felt possibly one of the best feelings she’d experienced in a while. To hell with unimportant she needed to know the how, not just that but all the details before she could move past what had happened. To make sure it never happened again. “No, I want to talk about it now. We can leave or find a quiet corner to talk.” She stated, though pausing when a thought occurred to her. “You are free, and you show up here. You didn’t think to call me right away…? How long have you been free?”
“Ivanna,” Maxim tried not to sound exasperated. Tried not to sound annoyed or impatient or anything but glad. So he walked by her. She’d follow. Or at least he hoped she’d follow. “I’ve been stuck in a room for lord knows how long, then restricted to a bed after that. I’m not trying to be difficult but I believe I’ve earned it.” Maxim stopped at the bar and was immediately recognized by the tender behind it. His usual glass was placed in front of him before it was filled with the familiar clear liquor. “Thank you, Roza.” The Russian knew the scowl that would be all across his sisters face. He knew how close to being clocked right in the jaw he was. But at this point it was a moot point. Max wanted a drink. So a drink would be had. “Tell me, where is Lily? How is my niece doing?”
Reunion || Ivanna&&Max
With a worsening headache, it was time to head home. Finishing the last of her wine she sought out the hostess saying goodbye, congratulating her once more as well. On her out she stopped in her tracks having run into the last person she expected to see there, the only person she wanted to see for months now. Ivanna couldn’t help but gape, staring stunned. As she began to recover emotions flooded her, she inhaled the breath however catching tears welling up in her eyes. She felt incredibly drained in that moment, everything she’s been holding in to keep her strength all this time now leaving her letting her realize how exhausted she truly was. All those emotions playing out on her face, a change from her usual stoic demeanor. When she threw her arms around him in a hug, she grasped at him too tightly, it took everything she had not to crumble and dissolve into tears. “Maxim!” She was finally able to gasp out. “How..? I-”
Everyone who was anyone would have an eye on the party. It’s what Launceston did; crime and parties. So, under the ever watchful gaze of the city, what better place to resurface? What better place to return to the scene? Maxim made his way through the media scrum. He would have rather arrived at the service entrance but that would’ve defeated the purpose of his visit. So he pushed through the various arriving and departing guests. He ignored as best as he could the flash photography. He refused to ball his hands into fists as he brushed shoulders with the public. Appearances had to be kept. But that facade was pushed to its very limits when he felt slender arms wrap around his body and pull him in to a tight embrace.
Well, if only briefly.
If only till he realised who’s golden hair was in his face. Then his body relaxed. His arms returned the embrace as his lips pressed against the top of the blonde head. “Hello Vanya.” the Russian’s voice was barely audible over the dull hum of the music that played throughout the club. But the warmth and fondness was crystal clear. “Sorry to have worried you, sister.” Maxim would hold her as long as she held onto him. He owed her that much at the very least.
“The how isn’t important. Not right now.” Once she had let go, Max took his by her hand. “You’re not leaving are you? You should stay. If only to keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t just up and disappear on you once more.”
Spotted — A late Maxim Dmitriev attending the Grand Reopening of Istra.
Lazarus Shit - Self
He had lost count of the days.
Days? More like weeks. Months maybe? Fuck it. All that mattered was he was out. Even if he was tossed out in some residential area he didn't fully recognise like a piece of refuse; the Russian was out.
Out.
Maxim inhaled the cool nights air deep into his lungs, eyes closed and a satisfied smile forming across his lips. Deep, deep, deep. His arms outstretched and palms open. Sure, he was beaten and bruised and bloody. Sure he must've looked a sight. And smelled even worse. But in this very moment all he felt was joy.
Even if it was only that single moment.
As soon as his eyes reopened and his arms returned to his sides and his face lost it's elation he knew what had to be done. What must be done. Cogs turned within the confines of his mind as he moved down the dark street. Plans were formulated only to dissipate just as rapidly.
His pace quickened.
Those fucking Italians. Were they this stupid? Was he this underestimated? Relief was replaced with anger. Joy poisoned by wroth. He knew he should focus more on finding his way back to safety. That there would be a time to direct his anger. A time when it would be more productive. Max knew all of this. He simply couldn't help himself.
His pace quickened even more.
How the fuck was he going to get home. They had dumped him in God Knows Where Avenue, right next to Where The Hell Am I? Lane. It was just identical house after identical house. Street lamp after street lamp. Stupid fucking tree after stupid fucking tree.
Max was running now.
Those fucking Italians. That fucking host that winked at him. That fucking girl that sung. That fucking man that sold him. Those fucking guards. That fucking woman in the middle of the street. Those fucking trigger men that took him.
Fuck them all. Fuck this city.
The Russian stopped, finally out of breath. The air felt like glass escaping his chest. The weight felt like it shifted. It hadn't been lifted - no. It had simply moved. Moved enough that he was able to think with a little more clarity. Max stood straight once more, pulse still racing. He had to get back. Back to Brenton. Back to his residence. His hands reached up and touched his face. Scratched at the blood. Tugged on the coarse hair that was his beard.
Clean yourself first.
He found a hose easily enough. The Russian scrubbed his face. Slicked back his hair. Tried to clean the beard.
Good enough.
A phonecall was next. It took a few tries but he was finally able to procure use of a mobile phone. The number he immediately dialled was his sisters. It made sense to call her. Yet, he only let it ring once before backing out. No -- he would not let her see him like this. Maxim dialled once more.
"Яков . Это Максим . Мне нужно , чтобы ты за мной ."
Remains (Flashback) || Freja & Maxim
Freja, despite stupid decisions in the past, was not a stupid girl. She knew what Maxim was there for, she knew what was being passed from hand to hand. She knew that the pimps that shared the apartments would pocket for their own pleasure, their own habits. Just like bags of cocaine passed from hand to hand, the girls had endured the same. After all, why would their pimp need to pay for them? Why would they not receive free trials of their goods? The thoughts were disgusting, but that was the reality of the situation.
And so, dread filled her stomach as Maxim looked down at her. Her first thought wasn’t that he wanted her to get up to go take care of her client. Her first thought, as it almost was, was that he wanted to use her. Her eyes turned back up to him at the sound of his voice. She watched them soften when he looked at her. It was an unsettling look. It didn’t fit his face. It didn’t fit him. No matter whether or not he liked this aspect of his job, he was a criminal. He was part of the machine that made profits, and forced girls like herself into being a part of it. But, she didn’t question him. She didn’t voice her anger. It was washed over with fear, pushed down deep inside of her, to a part of her she no longer remembered. She’d once been a fiery spirit, full of life.
"Yes Sir.." She mumbled, moving to get up. Her body ached. She pushed herself over on her knees, using her hand to push herself up off the ground. She wanted five minutes, five minutes to just clean herself up before going with him, but she knew she wasn’t going to get that. Her attitude shifted just slightly at the conclusion of his command. They were going to visit her client. She swallowed. He was going to visit the man? Why?
She bit her lip, pulling the bills from her side. “He..he paid Sir. I just haven’t made it inside..” She stammered, thinking he was concerned with the money, not her. That was until he started walking away. She turned, following after him. She reached up, wiping the blood with her sleeve as she hurried after him. Apparently he was going to visit them for something else. Did he mean her cheek? Did he care? She didn’t think so, but she’d been wrong before. He looked pissed though, and that stopped her from saying anything else, not wanting to be on the receiving end of that anger.
Of course he cared.
It may not be in the manner she thought. It may not be in a manner that anyone thought. But he did care. This was a slight. A slight against the organization he represented. A slight against him. The others; the pimps and the guards and the other girls, they may not care. They might not have the personal pride that Maxim did.
Did not mean he didn't care.
The Russian had to make sure people knew. Make sure they knew that they weren't a dwindling force. The Vorshevsky Outfit was damaged with the unfortunate deaths of its head. Maxim turned back to watch the little blonde follow him to the large, dark SUV that the dealer and his man had arrived at the apartment building in. The blatant cut and bruising on her face was evidence of it. Of the damage to their reputation. His reputation. Did people think that they would allow this to happen now that Aleksandr wasn't here? Did people truly believe they were that weak? That he was this weak? His grip on the top of the open door tightened while he motioned for her to slide in with his free hand.
No. Maxim would make sure it was clear. The Vorshevsky Bratva was still to be feared.
Maxim closed the door, walked around the rear of the vehicle and climbed in the opposite side. "Tell him the address." the dealer told the woman once his door was closed. Artyom had already pulled out onto the street by the time he was told the location of the John. It wouldn't take long to arrive. Not if she walked back to the Russian-controlled complex from his. That suited Maxim just fine. Meant the anger that percolated in his gut wouldn't have dissipated before their arrival.
It also meant he wouldn't have to pass the time with idle small talk with the woman seated beside him.
They sat in silence the entire way.
---
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Artyom had one of the palms pressed up against the spyhole of the door as he rapped the balled fist that was his other hand against the wooden surface. Maxim stood a pace behind and half of one to the left. Freja right out of the road, standing off to the side. The dealer gave the blonde one last look; asking for a final conformation that this was indeed the address of the man that left her in her current state.
Considering what he had planned, she had better be sure.
Maxim Dmitriev - 2017 Launceston Awards Best Villain nominee.
Moodboard - Maxim Dmitriev.
Zinny is Awesome! | Maxim + His Host
But it was the waiting that he detested most. How long had it been now? Days. Fucking days. Maxim had watched the sun rise three times and fall twice through the little window. He supposed they did it in order to instill some sort of fear in the Russian. Making him wait that is. He supposed they did it in order to terrorize him. Even the slightest crack in the ice would be enough. But it wasn't fear that would break him. It wasn't terror. It was anger. It had been slowly eating away at him. Slowly eroding the once pristine demeanor that he had prided himself. The cracks were starting to form. The cracks were starting to show. And that's when the door cracked open.
----
About fucking time they did something.
It had been hours since Maxim had been dragged out into a room and displayed like he was a new car on The Price is Right. Now, they were being separated from each other. Dragged out of their cages only to disappear through the door. Probably being delivered to whomever had the gumption to actually bid on them. He wasn't sure what was worse; being brought or having no one place money on ones life. At least he was going to find out how one side of that coin fared. Whichever side that was.
The hood was familiar. As were the binds around his wrist. A bump in the road caused him to jerk forward and once again cause the binds to dig into his skin and flesh. Skin which was already worn thin. Flesh which was already heavily bruised. It only served to remind him just how dire his current situation was. So with little more than a grunt of displeasure, Maxim straightened himself back upright. He wouldn't show even the smallest fault. He wouldn't show even the most minuscule chink in his proverbial armour. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Maxim was standing back on solid ground before he had the hood removed. Nothing about his immediate surroundings was familiar but he must have still been in Launceston. They didn't have him in the back of that van for that long. That notion didn't bode very well. There was a trade-off of escorts. None of them were familiar either. Yet another foreboding aspect of an already dreadful evening. If he didn't recognize anyone it could only mean he was purchased by one of the opposing factions. And since Maxim was almost certain this wasn't Ainsberg, the glow of downtown Anderson Island illuminating the night sky far too clearly to be across a bridge, that meant it was either Italian or French. Neither option was appealing.
The guards didn't say anything. They obviously had their orders. Orders which they followed to a fucking T. Maxim was led inside the old apartment building. What he thought was tattered outside was even more so inside. Graffiti lined the walls. Liquids formed small puddles on the floor. And every now and then, the harsh neon glow would flicker. God. Maxim had worked so hard to avoid places like this. Now he was going to die in one?
Fuck that.
He was tossed into a room once his hands were cut loose from their binds. A mostly unfurnished room. There was a chair. That was nice of them. A window as well. And a view? They were spoiling him now. Maxim rubbed his wrists as he approached the window. Maybe... Just maybe... Of course his luck wasn't about to change. Maxim grabbed hold of the wrought iron bars that criss-crossed the inside of the window. It wasn't everyday the Russian came across a room intended on keeping someone inside of it. A damn cell. Perfect! Maxim's shoulders visibly dropped as he let go of the bars and sat in the lone chair. There was nothing else for it. He'd have to wait.
But it was the waiting that he detested most. How long had it been now? Days. Fucking days. He supposed they did it in order to instill some sort of fear in the Russian. Maxim had watched the sun rise three times and fall twice through the little window. He supposed they did it in order to instill some sort of fear in the Russian. Making him wait that is. He supposed they did it in order to terrorize him. Even the slightest crack in the ice would be enough. But it wasn't fear that would break him. It wasn't terror. It was anger. It had been slowly eating away at him. Slowly eroding the once pristine demeanor that he had prided himself. The cracks were starting to form. The cracks were starting to show. And that's when the door cracked open.
“Tu scendi dalle stelle,O Re del Cielo,e vieni in una grotta,al freddo al gelo.O Bambino mio DivinoIo ti vedo qui a tremar,O Dio BeatoAhi, quanto ti costòl’avermi amato!”
Gracie sang, laying against the floor of the cage, her voice cracking. She was scared. But no matter how much sorrow built up every second she remained in such a degrading position, she couldn’t find it in herself to cry. So, in her last ditch effort, she thought back on a Christmas carol that always made her happy. Despite the good intentions, the song was doing the bare minimum in helping to ease her tension.
He'd be lying if he said there wasn't some fear within him. That he was frightened. This was foreign. He wasn't a victim. Some times the perpetrator. Never the victim though. So he wasn't entirely sure how to go about this whole situation. And that shaky foundation frightened him. But that was buried beneath the swirling maelstrom of rage.
Maxim was fucking pissed.
And it was clear to see. Some of the fellow occupants -- or 'lots' as their ever gracious host referred to them as -- were sobbing. Some of them were more silent then the others. Then there were those who mouthed off, only to be answered by the crackling of electricity as their guards ignited their prods. Prods that the Russian had already felt. Prods that the Russian would rather avoid from here on out. Maxim, however, was still. Not calm. Far from calm. But he was still. Cold blue eyes looked over the guards before falling on the other lots. Some faces he recognized. Others were complete strangers. None he could rely on.
And then someone started singing.
Normally, Max wouldn't let such a small thing affect him. She happened to have a nice and sweet voice. Hell, Max would've normally been appreciative of it. But this was far from normal. And if these were to be his last few moments of peace before meeting an early and excruciating end, he didn't want them tainted by what the Russian surmised as Italian.
"Please," Maxim spoke without breaking away from staring at one of the guardsmen. "Stop. Just... stop."
Ain't that some New Year Fuckery.
Goddammit. Some people needed to learn common fucking courtesy. Parking your vehicle in the middle of the street? Not very courteous at all.
"What should we do?" his driver asked as the dark Range Rover came to a halt just behind the white van. Maxim sighed as he looked about the interior. This thing was fucking big. He knew he should've just gone with a nice car. So much easier to drive than this behemoth.
The courteous thing for the two Russians to do would be get out and help the poor woman, who was struggling with a tire. The courteous thing for the duo to do would be to help get the woman back on her way. But that meant getting out into the cold Launceston night. That meant possibly ruining their suits. That meant rewarding her ignorance.
And fuck that.
She threw the tire into the back of the van before staring back at the SUV, a hand raised in order block the headlights from blinding her completely. She looked stressed. Despite the cold, Maxim saw a light sheen of sweat across her forehead. Poor girl. Fuck. The Russian was far too soft.
"Go see what she needs. We're on a schedule and cannot be late."
Artyom slipped out of the vehicle and went to see the woman. She looked thankful at least. A little less stressed. A little more relaxed. There. There was their good deed for the day. Helping this poor damsel in distress. Maxim pulled out his phone from his jacket, eyes only briefly lifting up to look in the rearview mirror when headlights shone on behind him.
Looks like they weren't the only ones using the shortcut tonight. No matter. Artyom would have her moving in no time. Then they could all be on their way to whatever the fuck they were doing. Good.
Maxim looked down at his phone once more. They could still make it to Katarina's party. They weren't that late. As long as he made an appearance, that's all that mattered. Maxim was just slipping the phone into his pocket when someone was knocking on his window.
Now what did this one want? Couldn't he see the reason why they were stopped? Why talk to him? Go help the van. Maxim pressed the button, winding the darkly tinted window down.
"Yes?" Maxim asked, looking at the man. He was clearly unimpressed but at least the Russian was trying to put on a polite face. Even if it was a failure.
"Do you know what's going on here?" The nameless man asked. Max turned back to the van, watching as Artyom dragged the spare tire around to the front. "Looks like the woman has a flat." There was a small laugh from the side before the man spoke again. "So you've got no clue what's going on here then?"
Happy fucking New Year.
Maxim closed his eyes as soon as he heard the man's words. For someone who prided himself on seeing the big picture he fell right into this. Fuck. He'd been to careless. He'd grown too fat and slow and soft here. Fuck. There was an anger churning within. Within his chest and his gut. It made him grit his teeth. It left a foul taste in his mouth. But that was the only physical sign. The only physical reaction the otherwise stoic Russian couldn't stop.
Fuck.
Max turned to face the man once more before opening his eyes after a few brief moments of reflection only to be greeted with the barrel of a pistol. But not just one. Two more gentlemen were on either side. Each of them hold identical weapons.
"Get out of the goddamn car, you Commie fuck!"
The Russian simply stared. From one face to the other, to the other then back to the first. He committed the faces to memory. Their hair and eye colour. Their heights and approximate weights. If he got the opportunity, Maxim would repay them in kind.
"I said," the man was obviously becoming more agitated. He reached in through the window and opened the door from the inside. There was a clang of metal echoing down the single-lane street. It caught his attention. The woman had dropped the tire iron on the brick street underfoot, right beside an unconscious Artyom before approaching the SUV. Maxim was sure he spied a crimson red staining the old road. Out cold. Possibly dead. Maxim stared at the woman. It was a little harder to see her face but he committed what little he could to his memory banks. The rough hand grabbing at his jacket ripped his attention back to the man with the gun who had by this point opened the vehicle door. "Get the fuck out!"
The way the man stood suggested he was used to handling firearms. The way the skin over his knuckles lost all colour suggested he was gripping the weapon far too tightly. Definitely angry. Maxim couldn't risk angering him further. He'd probably shoot. Max would rather keep his suit in one piece. So he climbed out of the SUV and was immediate slammed face-first into the hood.
Hands patted him down, removing his phone, wallet and the silver band he wore around the index finger of his right hand. Cable ties bound his arms at the wrist behind him and a loose black back cloth bag was pulled down over his head before he was thrown into what he assumed was the back of the van.
They worked quick and efficient. Maxim was impressed. Or he would've been if he wasn't the one being worked over. He felt the van rumble as the engine roared into life.
2017, huh? Off to a great start.
Remains || Freja & Maxim
The left side of Freja’s cheek was split open. It had happened quickly, a sudden blow. It was her own fault, she supposed, she’d resisted a “customers” requests—rather, commands. He’d hit her, hard. She’d fallen backwards, smacking her cheek on the rather sharp edge of the night table, knocking the lamp over. It seemed to be that way a lot. That the people she was told to sleep with were crueler even than the Russians. She was fairly obedient with the Russians, they didn’t need to beat her to get her to obey, but the clients liked the power. They liked the control. They liked the twenty-minutes they got to let their egos go overboard, and the frustrations they could take out on her.
She wasn’t a person. Not for those minutes she slept with them. She was a source of pleasure, a means of getting off, something to vent out anger on. As always, she’d memorized his face. He was a rough looking man from the start, big calloused hands, a construction worker, she believed, and he’d been making up for a lack of size elsewhere. Apparently his wife was a whore, as he’d shouted at her for it when he fucked her. Freja wasn’t too interested in his story. She just wanted to get back to the apartment and go to sleep.
Finally, he’d finished. She’d made the trek back to the apartments, her blonde hair covering the cut on her cheek, though blood had matted her locks. She hurried, heading for the bathroom when she slammed into Maxim. She fell back, her eyes wide, petrified.
"I’m so sorry..I’m..I’m sorry.." She stammered, flinching away, terrified he’d beat her as well. She reached up, wiping the blood from her cut, scooting backwards some. She mentally told herself it wasn’t much longer. It couldn’t be. How much money did she still owe them? Well..she didn’t owe them, Alexei did. But how much did Alexei still owe them? She knew it was stupid to use this as a source of comfort. Even if she somehow managed to pay back everything Alexei had managed to lose, they’d come up with other debts, debts of her own: clothes, her flight to the States, living expenses. it would never end. No matter how much remained of her debt, there would always be something remaining.
She swallowed, feeling sick, but she didn’t dare say anything else as she looked away from the man.
Maxim didn't enjoy this particular revenue stream. At least with drugs it was a personal decision. They decided to put this poison into their bodies. It was their decision to come to him looking for a fix. The consequences were on them. But this? Tricking young girls into coming to America, only to be forced into a life sometimes far worse than the one they were escaping from? It didn't sit well with him. This took responsibility from the victims on put it squarely on Vorshevsky shoulders. On his shoulders.
Hah. Maxim couldn't help but laugh quietly to himself as he watched one of his men give the package to another Russian. One of the pimps. A gangster with a conscious? Ludicrous. He knew just what the Vorshevsky outfit was before being approached to work for it. And he still accepted their offer. He couldn't dismiss it now. Couldn't turn away from it or deny it because it made him feel like shit. Maxim had benefited from human trafficking as much as any other prominent member of the family. Grisly business, yes. But one he simply had to accept. If only to keep himself from cross the 'delusional hypocrite' he was walking along.
"Same next week." Maxim told the pimp, who was busy going through the drugs that he had just provided him. The way the pimp held it, that look in his eye as he counted the small bags of white powder. Maxim could tell a fiend by now. The Russian had seen too many to not be able to distinguish one. He knew that once he and his company left that the pimp would pocket a few of the bags to fuel his own habit. And it honestly disgusted him. So he left. Left the apartment. Left the complex. He had to. Before he did something he knew he would probably regret later on. He was in such a rush, blinded by his own disgust, that he didn't see the little thing he collided with.
He would've usually carried on without a word. Without a second glance. But he was looking for an excuse. Something or someone to vent his frustration upon. Maxim looked at the girl, cold blue eyes softening somewhat when he saw the crimson of blood staining otherwise porcelain skin. She was clearly one of the workers. She had clearly been working. And one of her tricks had clearly been too rough with her. If Maxim couldn't do what he wanted to the pimp, her client would just have to do.
"Get up, girl." Clearly he wasn't asking. But he wasn't making a move to help her either. Artyom, the man with Maxim, sighed as he stopped moving towards their car. He already knew what Max wanted. "You're coming with me. We're going to visit the one who did this to you."
When you say it that way, I definitely got the best gifts possible this year. Emphasis on ‘gifts’. As nice as it is that you think I did it, I didn’t. But, when you figure it out, let me know - I’m dying to congratulate them, and fucking hit them for taking that pleasure from me. Aleksandr deserved it. Боже, они чертовски заслужил это.
Careful, Elena. Do not speak ill of the dead. It's... tacky.
When I do eventually find those responsible I will be sure to pass on your congratulations. With your... debt paid will you now be moving on? It will be such a shame to see both you and your sister leave us. You will give Myra my best wishes, won't you?