#kozach

[thxgrxmrexpxr]

"Do not look at me like that." @kozach says firmly. "Did not stutter, did I?"

He turns his wheelchair to face HUNK.

"No training today. Go out, and mingle with the populace. Those are your orders."

No training. No training. No. Training.

The words repeat inside his head several times over, although the outward signs only convey his default state. Which, arguably, is always seemingly annoyed. Tilting his head to one side, he stares at Alexander. Clearly, buying some time in the feeble hopes it was meant to simply be some attempted joke.

He's been sent on errands by past employers. Some, of course, were more nefarious than others. But it's obvious that isn't what the man intends. Which only seems to grat on the merc more.

"I require further instruction." He finally says. Through gritted teeth, naturally.

"What is the purpose of this assignment?"

[sseizonsha]

@kozach || (continued from here.) Two weeks of sitting in on interdepartmental video calls and meetings from an Airbnb in Poland wouldn't have normally met his criteria for R&R, but the view of Kraków's Main Square from his balcony had certainly helped. After sifting through the bureaucratic bullshit procedures and ensuring the department heads all red tape had been struck and handled, Leon filed his report and delivered it to his CIA contact--postmarked special clearance only. He was surprised to receive new orders: heal up and stay awhile, you've earned it. Not that he would've been much use on field anyway, what with the concussion, more cracked ribs than he could name, and a distal radius fracture. Leon hadn't anticipated the ruptured eardrum or accompanying vertigo, but it was a small price to pay for bragging rights that he'd operated an BMP-3. Apparently something about an American handling Soviet armaments still left a sour taste in the DOJ's mouth. Leon spent the time well, striking a rather easy balance between the sunny, Spring-time countryside and visiting Poland's darker pockets of history. Between the snapshots crocus bloom and Jazz on the Odra festival, he window-shopped in half a dozen Eastern Markets, sampled salted sheep's milk cheese and gorged himself on playtski with applesauce or sour cream.

All that time off, and he still had one last obligation to fulfill. With one final week before he returned to duty, Leon spent the last of his medical leave calling in favors to purposefully drop himself into the aftermath of a war zone. Considering the USGov allowed him to go AWOL on the eve of an impending joint-occupation, it hadn't been all that difficult to pull a, You owe me one.

You'd think after saving the guy's life, making good on a promise to visit--with souvenirs--and paying for his dinner, Alexander Kozachenko would be happier to see him.

Then again, maybe he should've been grateful "Buddy" hadn't shot him on sight, promise of drinks or not.

"Teaching's a thankless job," he offered back coolly, taking a scalding sip of spiked coffee between bites of pie. "Consider it a gift." Leon leaned down, pulling a small, brightly colored bag out from beneath the table and setting it within Alexander's reach. Within it, two small boxes wrapped in simple, brown paper awaited. "As are these."

[griefkill]

the familiar smell of iron fills her nostrils as she makes her way through the building , and she's certain the cracking sounds ringing in her ears are that of breaking bone . naive perhaps , to continue down this path , but if danger were to present itself , she has the means to defend herself . there is a pause as her flashlight reveals the source of such terror . a lifeless body is on the ground , the figure above wielding the weapon that caused such a scene .

when he turns toward her , clearly irritated by the light , she lowers the beam slightly , just enough to illuminate the blood that drips down his neck . her own gaze darkens , but she is not struck with fear , not yet . he also seems unphased by what he's done . something is off about all of this . was this a means of self defense , or simply a crime of passion ? elena keeps her distance , her free hand hovering at her side should she need to reach for one of her knives . ❛ did he hurt you ? ❜ she asks quietly , gaze peering toward the body on the ground . ❛ i can help with that , if you need . ❜

@kozach / x

[thisshallpass]

“dorohyy partnere u zlochyni,

the children remain well. andriy continues to pester me for war stories, and i tell him each time i will tell him when he is older. caught maksym with alcohol today and confiscated it, told him never to bring something like that to class again. asked me if he was in trouble for drinking vodka, told him he was in trouble for drinking bad vodka.

the last of the orphaned children has been adopted now. seventeen, promises he will stop missing class now, told him to tell parents teacher is very strict and knows nasty american spies if they do not keep up on homework.

you have not visited for a while. i know you are busy, but i also know american beer is trash, so make some time soon, yeah?

∟alexander”

He gets the mail as two pictures on his phone while at a gas station restaurant in Nebraska. He doesn't mind having his mail opened for him. The worst he usually got in paper were the latest supermarket deals.

They really need to exchange phone numbers or something. This is a little ridiculous.

At least, he'd think that if he didn't enjoy the snail mail. They'd been writing each other for years. Now? Fourteen of them. Longer than some people have been married and longer than a lot of people in his profession stay alive and employed.

Leon takes a pen from his pocket, and a paper out of a yellow paper pad in his jeans. He'd send a postmark from Nebraska to the ESR, why not?

When I was in school there was this kid who sold martinis out of his locker. Mixed them there too. Did get the chance to buy one before they shut him down. Teachers thought it was more funny than anything, saying "hey he makes more than us" and "shame we can't get some". Good to hear you're good though, and the kids are good. I'm still not a spy, but hey if it works it works. Things are tough over here, but we manage. Hell, if we survived Reagan we can survive a bunch of instability caused by mismanagement as usual. My partner's good- I told you about her, Helena. She's more anxious these days though. Thought about sending her over to you so she can experience teaching or something. That'll chill her nerves out. Hey when you have no money, any beer's good beer. But I'll make an effort. Supposed to be on that side of the world soon anyways. When are you gonna get a phone? - Leon