who: @nikborisov
where: the library
when: afternoon
Fire was a tricky thing. It seemed simple at first, only requiring two things: Fuel and a catalyst, but when not put into a controlled environment, it was chaos. Boris typically steered clear of such a thing, considering how volatile fire could be, he preferred to use other means to get his point across. It was far easier to use a knife or a gun to instill fear in someone, and without the added worry of unnecessary casualties.
He’d heard the name Borisov whispered through the voices of those whose English was just as abysmal as their Italian. At an early age he’d learned that knowing more than one language was always going to be an asset and set out to learn as many as his brain could manage. Years he’d spent living with the Montagues, Italian, Russian, English, and all manner of languages falling on his tongue, and still not one of them had thought to learn his native tongue. It was their loss, and his gain, he supposed.
It lead him here, to a man he’d heard talked about in the whispers of the streets both in Verona and outside. Of a man whose love affair with fire was something to be revered...and feared, and Boris couldn’t help but put two and two together in his mind. He didn’t have any evidence that Borisov was responsible, but he’d learned to listen to whispers over the years, and when interpreted correctly they were rarely wrong.
Boris had followed a man with Borisov’s description to the library, and stationed himself outside as he walked inside, amused despite himself. In all the places he’d expected to find the fire-lover, it hadn’t been a library, the irony of so many flammable objects in the man’s hands made a low chuckle leave Boris as he settled on the bench nearby with his own book. If he had to wait outside all day, he would, and when the man finally emerged, Boris couldn’t help but call out playfully as he passed, “Find anything interesting?”
