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taras_olekseiTaras sat in the leather wing chair in Ilarion's office, paging through a file, waiting.
It was still dark outside, and the MVD building was quiet, save for the distant odd knocks of the radiators.
Taras had found he liked arriving early, unlocking the door, being in the office before anyone else got there. He stalked through building like a burglar, navigating dark halls lit only by the predawn glow that outlined each window he passed.
Isaev seemed to prefer coming into work early as well. The first time Isaev had arrived to find Taras already there he'd seemed almost startled, but had invited Taras into his office to review current files over hot tea.
Now, it had become Taras' habit to skip his office and go straight to Isaev's, leaving the overhead lights alone but turning on the desk lamp to illuminate the room in soft and subtle radiance.
It made the room a small inviting beacon in the dark building. Ilarion's office was always warmer than his, anyway, and had a better view.
He rubbed his jaw idly as he read. The livid black and purple bruises that had graced his jaw all week had finally faded to dull browns and yellows.
Their most current case was a homicide that had all the earmarks of a professional hit. Double tap to the back of the head, execution style. No witnesses, little evidence. The shooter had even picked up the spent bullet casings.
Taras nodded in to himself absently, in approval.
He tossed the file aside. The case wasn't worth their time, in his opinion. Isaev would probably concur.
There was a special section in the file room for cold cases. Taras had amused himself on a slow afternoon by looking up a few of his old hits, the ones he remembered well enough to pinpoint. All unsolved, all with brief, vague notes from the investigating officers, as if they hadn't been bothered to put much effort in, either.
Taras had stood there in front of the file cabinet, laughing quietly until Anya had come upon him and asked if everything was all right. He had told her that she smelled nice, and she had found something else to do.
He picked up the next file, pausing to glance out the window. It was still mostly dark, but Isaev would be arriving shortly, he knew.
It was still dark outside, and the MVD building was quiet, save for the distant odd knocks of the radiators.
Taras had found he liked arriving early, unlocking the door, being in the office before anyone else got there. He stalked through building like a burglar, navigating dark halls lit only by the predawn glow that outlined each window he passed.
Isaev seemed to prefer coming into work early as well. The first time Isaev had arrived to find Taras already there he'd seemed almost startled, but had invited Taras into his office to review current files over hot tea.
Now, it had become Taras' habit to skip his office and go straight to Isaev's, leaving the overhead lights alone but turning on the desk lamp to illuminate the room in soft and subtle radiance.
It made the room a small inviting beacon in the dark building. Ilarion's office was always warmer than his, anyway, and had a better view.
He rubbed his jaw idly as he read. The livid black and purple bruises that had graced his jaw all week had finally faded to dull browns and yellows.
Their most current case was a homicide that had all the earmarks of a professional hit. Double tap to the back of the head, execution style. No witnesses, little evidence. The shooter had even picked up the spent bullet casings.
Taras nodded in to himself absently, in approval.
He tossed the file aside. The case wasn't worth their time, in his opinion. Isaev would probably concur.
There was a special section in the file room for cold cases. Taras had amused himself on a slow afternoon by looking up a few of his old hits, the ones he remembered well enough to pinpoint. All unsolved, all with brief, vague notes from the investigating officers, as if they hadn't been bothered to put much effort in, either.
Taras had stood there in front of the file cabinet, laughing quietly until Anya had come upon him and asked if everything was all right. He had told her that she smelled nice, and she had found something else to do.
He picked up the next file, pausing to glance out the window. It was still mostly dark, but Isaev would be arriving shortly, he knew.
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no subject
Date: 2008-02-29 01:29 am (UTC)"Depends," he said.
He wasn't entirely sure what Taras intended to suggest, nor what part defined "action", and what kind of cut he might desire.
He studied Oleksei, his focused, gritty demeanor and demanding gaze.
"You look good when you're covetous," he remarked, after a moment. "It suits you."
Ilarion tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, lips blooming into a jagged smile.
"But your brand of comeliness is lost on women, comrade."
He sighed, letting the pen tap lightly on the padded leather of the desk blotter.
"Do you really think good citizen Anya will trust you? Allow you, a tattooed criminal she fears in her bones, to do what she wouldn't even allow a boyfriend to do?"
Lasha's eyes narrowed, dryly.
"Unless you were simply planning to rape her."
He didn't let the statement linger, but centered his gaze on Taras' once more.
"She needs an excuse to let a dangerous criminal touch her. She needs justification, someone to tell her it's all right, and take the decision out of her hands."
Lasha's lip curved.
"I can do that, comrade. I'm a very important man, after all."
Then he paused, steepling his fingers slowly.
"...What did you have in mind?"