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@redxperil-blog
“ —- SIT STILL, and let me look at it. You’re gonna bleed all over my couch. Stop.”
ilya huffed a sigh, all but glaring at her. “i am not moving,” he said, quietly but emphatically. “it will be fine soon, do not trouble yourself.” he was a little bit annoyed that the other man had caught him so off-guard and wounded him in the first place, but liv’s shaking hands didn’t help as he watched her cleaning his wound.
whcwashe:
she nearly jumps out of her skin when the door opens, hand clutching her chest for a moment as she pauses to catch her breath. “ — jesus christ.” she couldn’t fault him, really, it was his own apartment. but she hadn’t expected to see him back IN it, at least not now. “magic –” she’s quick to wrinkle her nose, eyeing the gun for a moment before she manages to relax. “ –not magic, john taught me how to pick a lock. it was easy …” easy enough, anyway. letting out a sigh, she scratched at the back of her head for a moment, mustering a momentary smile – albeit a somewhat awkward one. “sorry, i — i didn’t think – i didn’t know if you were coming back, i was just … looking for something.” not that he’d have left anything behind that would’ve given her any indication as to where he was, but … well. it had gotten quiet, without him around. “ …. your beard is – ah, nice …”
ilya raises an eyebrow at her. “magic,” sure. though it could definitely have been magic, it was john’s progeny after all, at least in a sort. he couldn’t tell if it was better or worse that she had picked the lock. “good to know i need better security,” but there was no heat behind the words, no anger, and there was even a bit of a smirk on his face. he drops his heavy bag down with a thud, holstering his gun. nostrils flare only a bit. “you feel safe here. even when i am not present.” it was endearing, honestly. a hand reaches up reflexively and scratches at it, not realising it had gotten so thick. he had been in quite the cold climate, and to go around in such weather without a beard was seen as suspicious, so he had grown it out. “to be honest, i hate it. i couldn’t cut it until i came home,” the word feels empty in his mouth, “glad to see you are still here.” he meant it.
ilya didn’t even know how long had gone past since he’d set foot in this door. there was no such thing as ‘home’ for him, but he had not been in this space for what felt like years. everything smelled of must, and he must have forgotten something in the fridge because there was a stench that permeated everything. there was also....someone there. something there. the gun was out before he took another breath. it would have been easy to clear the room, but he recognises something, it flicks a switch in his head, and there it i. “livyushka,” he says, “how did you get in here?”
@whcwashe .
Red Army Choir - Dark Eyes (Очи чёрные)
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whcwashe:
Shoulders deflate in relief as she quickly sighed. “You know, I actually thought you were going to say no for a minute …”
“i have nowhere to be.” he wasn’t going to smile, but he nearly did. life had gotten slow, solo had been gone for some time, and the russian was getting restless. at least liv gave him something to protect.
whcwashe:
“ — don’t leave. Please just – don’t leave me here.”
“....very well. I will stay.”
F e e l i n g s, for all my life I’ll feel it I’m thankful that I met you, You’ll always be my friend
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“I just thought I should say, I cannot understand a word you are saying.” It was mostly a lie, but hey, any excuse not to listen.
ilya just looked at her. “i think you’re lying.” he’d said it, it was out there now, and he wasn’t about to take it back. He’d heard how dangerous she could be, but teenager or not, ilya didn’t think that would provoke an outburst. “you can understand me, you just don’t want to iisten.”
@catalinawine
“.....”
he wasn’t sure why he had suddenly ended up in this position, he’d taken all the precautions to keep it up on the jack, and yet the only one around was this child. ilya was stuck underneath a car. he felt useless. “Girl,” he called, “girl come here.”
@thickcrskiin
“what is that smell?” he asked, nose wrinkling as he could no longer ignore it. ilya glared in the direction of the smell, hoping he could glare it into ceasing its stench.
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ilya took a seat across from her, as it was one of the only seats open in the shop. taking a sip of his tea, he paid her little mind, eyes focused on the suspicious looking gentlemen across the room. “ignore me,” he said from behind the cup, eyes glazing over to make him look like he wasn’t actually staring at the suspicious gentleman at the head of their suspicious table.
starter call why not
Semi-hiatus notice!
I love all of you, thank you so much for putting up with my gobshyte of an Irish werewolf, Satan, and my grumpy Russian.
I’m travelling to Berlin TOMORROW (AUGUST 9TH), and I’ll be OUT OF THE COUNTRY until AUGUST 26TH. I’ll probably still get on now and then, but I know I’ll be very spotty because I’m doing a lot–including a 2-day trip to Florence! You can find me here and at @aygerinos and @redxperil primarily, but all three of these accounts are going on semi-hiatus! So don’t expect me to be around a lot from now til the end of the month <3. I’ll get on when I can, but slow replies will be even slower!!
“Yeah, yeah I’ve got a first aid kit,” she assured with a quick nod. Her brows raised in surprise, not quite at the bluntness but at the idea of being small – and a little at the blunt response. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts.
“Well, I help. So, there’s at least someone. As for how, I’m not that small.” Sure, it wasn’t easy to drag him to the car, but it hadn’t bee a large distance either. “Right, well I’ll grab the kit, just wait here.” With that she disappeared into the nearest room bathroom to grab the kit from underneath the sink.
“You need help with it? Or you want to do it yourself?”
even in this state, he realised that he had offended her. people weren’t used to russian directness, especially not in this area of the united states. “thank you,” he said, pausing. ilya wanted to apologise, but he wasn’t sure how--his thoughts were still fuzzy right now.
“i, ah--” a pause, “i am sorry. i did not mean small in negative way.” she was off getting the first aid kit, and he was taking stock of his injuries. when she returned, he took the kit from her hands and nodded his thanks. “thank you. for helping me.” it wasn’t as begrudging a thanks as it sounded like. “it is...rare.”
ilya realised she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so he gently took off his jacket and put the kit in front of her. “please,” there was no good way to say that he would allow her to help, “do not bandage anything that is not bleeding, i do not want to waste your supplies.”
perhaps he should be more mindful of ilya and of how strange the meeting could be if happening without the context jace had from a life before. standing in line, he is hesitant and unsure if there’s any hope for a future he remembers. maybe it would be better to simple forget. but as he steps forward and orders his drink alongside ilya’s he sees it, the familiar frayed edges. some part of him is grateful it still exists and with careful hands he pulls the photograph out as he waits.
jace no longer has the memory of when it was taken or what they were doing but he remembers the feelings attached. ilya is smiling in the picture and jace–he looks happy–can’t help but run his fingers lightly over the cracking glossed surface. it’d be easier to burn it, to erase the last few memories and let go. but–
blue eyes settle on the back of ilya, his chest growing taut slowly the longer he looks. some things were worth fighting for, jace recalls ajani telling him once. the great lion towered over him, standing at the foot of a grave that was only a stand in for a body that would never return from the underworld. the sense of loss he saw in such a proud creature was something he never wanted to feel in his life.
“two black teas.”
he’s drawn from his thoughts and snaps his head up, fumbling with the photograph and carefully returning it to his wallet. “yes,” jace says with a smile, grabbing the two drinks, “thank you so much.” it isn’t difficult to make them out of habit, the way he remembers on lazy sunday mornings. walking back he carefully sets ilya’s tea in front of him before returning to where he was before, seated patiently and pulling his wallet slowly back out with a note of reluctance.
“you don’t trust me. i know. but–” his gaze drops again to that fraying edge and he chews his lip, brows narrowing. “i lost everything to save this world, to save you. i’ve watched a friend mourn a love he was never brave enough to admit. i can’t–” a pause and he lets out a breath, pulling the photograph free once more and letting his wallet drop to the table.
“here. look at it, keep it, burn it, it’s yours. i could never read your handwriting on the back anyways. it’s the only thing i have left.”
he is left alone with his thoughts, and with the tendrils of conversation waiting to be said, already having been said. ilya does not know what to think, his entire mind is on edge now, as jace continues to say he knows him, he knows all about him, and that he had some memory of a life with him that had never been. he doesn't understand how it could be so, and he fears it's some ploy, a rival agency sending an operative to plant seeds of doubt in his mind, to slowly drive him mad and finally be rid of the red peril.
if that were true, why would they choose this way? why would they send a man when he had given no outward indication of his attractions to the same sex? would they think he would be repulsed, and therefore maddened faster? too many questions began the marching feet again, the edges of his vision turning a soft pink, threatening to redden and ruin this little corner of idyllic peace he'd had before the magician had shown up.
before he has a chance to continue thinking, he is drawn out of his thoughts, the marching ebbing ever so slightly as he smells the tea. ilya is cautious when he brings it to his lips and takes a sip--exactly how he took it, down to the last grain of sugar. it felt like more than a lucky guess. he wasn't sure if that unsettled him more or calmed him, there were so many warring emotions right now it was hard to separate them. in ilya's mind, in the public, that was a threat, so he tried to calm himself.
he wasn't given the chance.
this picture jace holds in front of his face...it's...them. ilya snatches it from the other man's hand, bringing it closer, examining it for signs of photo editing. there are none. this picture is as genuine as the clothes on his body, as the tea in his stomach. but how? his mouth goes dry, brows furrow as he looks over the edge of the photograph, capturing jace's eyes. he cannot even think of how to begin the multitude of questions that arise with the existence of this picture.
"...how? where did you--what is this?" the anger comes a bit too hot when he speaks, he slams the picture down next to the magician's tea a bit too hard. "who are you." there's an accusatory tone that lashes out in those words. how dare you, who are you really, what do you want from me? he wants to know all theese answers and more. eyes close as he takes in a shuddering breath, regulating his breathing, his hand still covering the photograph as he tries to make sense of this.
"it is...yours. this holds no value for me," he breathes, barely above a whisper, "what do you want?" ilya’s hand moves from the photo and he sees the handwriting--his, or some incredible facsimile, “my luchik. central park, july...” it was in russian, “no one can read cyrillic cursive, not even russians,” he says, and a feeling of deja vu shudders down his spine as he once agains locks eyes with the magician, more than unsettled.
“explain.”
oh he waits for it, the coming wrath and brimstone boiling up like so many times before in ilya’s veins. part of him expects to feel bruises on his body, a firm reminder of where he belongs. only the coming tide doesn’t rise up and overwhelm him, no instead there’s a silent calm and the lingering taste of coffee on his breathe. admitting the truth, however simple, was a gamble. what can he say, he’s not in the mood for a fight at the moment and though the words are difficult to push free it seems to have the desired effect.
lashes flutter as he blinks, fatigue and relief coating him like a worn jacket. it’s easy to put on a good face when the mask he’s wearing is real. a slight smirk toys at his lips and he finishes his coffee before rising, the empty cup left on the clean white linen cloth. “why peril,” he begins, nimble fingers slowly loosening his tie, “that sounds like you missed me too.” either way, he steps closer, raises a brow, and feels the smile curl at the edges with silent satisfaction.
“don’t worry,” solo says, flagging down a taxi easy enough, “i won’t tell anyone.”
it would be easy to lose it, right here, in public, cause a chaos that sent the patrons screaming and, most probably, the police to the quiet establishment. ilya would not give him the satisfaction of getting to him, that and he knew that solo truly didn’t want a fight, not now, not when the fatigue was making him be honest of all things. to say that solo is surprised is an understatement and ilya knows that. he tries to ignore it.
it doesn’t work because, of course, solo cannot keep his mouth shut. as the taxi comes to a stop, ilya grabs his wrist, tight, “i am not fool enough to beat you in public. neither of us needs that problem.” once inside, however, his hand happens to fall on napoleon’s knee, and he leaves it there. it is good to see him, and the anger that has steadily ebbed away fades into something else, something that he’s already planning the second they get in the door.
