VALENTINE'S FUN
Midnight suited him because midnight meant there were less eyes on him and his movements..
Alexandra Palace’s Victorian Theatre stood empty and abandoned, dust hanging in the air with the wood almost breaking into pieces by single touch. The place had not seen an audience in years. It would tonight.
Tolya did not sit waiting for Sveta in the seats. No, he had dragged the surprise onto the stage itself, under the faint spill of old working lights that shone lazily overhead. The Frenchman was tied to one of the old theatre chairs, wrists pulled tight behind him with a barbed wire, head hanging forward as blood dripped steadily from his nose onto the broken wooden floor. Tolya had not rushed. There had been a knife involved at one point, though not for killing. Just to see how clean his skin opened, how many cuts would the man have taken before passing out. The man had screamed beautifully the first time. Less beautifully the second. Now he mostly made sad noises, which Tolya found slightly disappointing.
He paced barefoot across the stage now, boots discarded somewhere in the dark, enjoying the wood mixed with blood beneath his feet. Every so often he would step close, tilt the man’s head to one side, studying the open cuts on his face like a collector admiring damage. When the Frenchman whimpered, Tolya would grin faintly, as if hoping he’d dare to beg for his life.
He was hoping for entertainment.
Tolya had arranged the balcony box with vodka and pickles like it was some absurd cultural outing. He liked contrast. Blood below, hospitality above. It made him laugh quietly to himself.
When he heard the distant noise of a door opening somewhere in the building, he didn’t rush. He stepped back into the shadows at the edge of the stage instead, waiting.It was Sveta’s little surprise, after all it was Valentine’s Day.
@svetavorshevsky
