taras_oleksei (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
taras_oleksei) wrote2008-06-09 01:42 pm
taras_oleksei) wrote2008-06-09 01:42 pm
Interrogation
"I don't get it," Taras said.
He was frowning as they walked, using the time to think. He actually lagged behind Isaev a little.
Ilarion never hurried anywhere, though today he strode down the hall, bootheels ringing with a clarity of purpose. Only Taras wasn't clear.
They passed a window. Outside, it was still foggy, a thick white mist that enclosed the MVD building like mountains of snow, insulating and isolating, as if they were in some remote place up north, not in civilized Leningrad. Taras didn't like not being able to see across the street.
He looked away, turning back to Isaev.
"This guy is under suspicion of..."
A secretary approached, clutching a stack of files to her chest. She stepped aside to let them pass, squeezing so close to the wall it seemed like she was afraid they would knock her aside. She murmured something as they walked by.
Taras glanced behind them, to make sure she was out of earshot, though he wasn't sure why.
"...muzhelostvo. And some other political shit."
Their destination loomed. The doors to the interrogation rooms were simple, marked with numbers, but nothing else. Almost benign.
Taras stopped at the first door, then imposed himself physically between it and Ilarion, putting his hand on the frame to block Isaev's entry. Ilarion looked at him as if he had finally noticed Taras was there. His eyes were narrow, slivers of ice. Taras stared back.
"This isn't a violent crime, Isaev. So what gives?"
He was frowning as they walked, using the time to think. He actually lagged behind Isaev a little.
Ilarion never hurried anywhere, though today he strode down the hall, bootheels ringing with a clarity of purpose. Only Taras wasn't clear.
They passed a window. Outside, it was still foggy, a thick white mist that enclosed the MVD building like mountains of snow, insulating and isolating, as if they were in some remote place up north, not in civilized Leningrad. Taras didn't like not being able to see across the street.
He looked away, turning back to Isaev.
"This guy is under suspicion of..."
A secretary approached, clutching a stack of files to her chest. She stepped aside to let them pass, squeezing so close to the wall it seemed like she was afraid they would knock her aside. She murmured something as they walked by.
Taras glanced behind them, to make sure she was out of earshot, though he wasn't sure why.
"...muzhelostvo. And some other political shit."
Their destination loomed. The doors to the interrogation rooms were simple, marked with numbers, but nothing else. Almost benign.
Taras stopped at the first door, then imposed himself physically between it and Ilarion, putting his hand on the frame to block Isaev's entry. Ilarion looked at him as if he had finally noticed Taras was there. His eyes were narrow, slivers of ice. Taras stared back.
"This isn't a violent crime, Isaev. So what gives?"
no subject
Ilarion's gaze leveled out, implacable and luminous with low slanted light as a windswept steppe.
"You do," he said.
He was conscious of Oleksei's dark skull, angled at odds with his own bright head, and their equal and opposite stances, like antagonistic bookends.
No. More like alter egos. There was nothing hostile in their impasse. Only a quizzical intensity, the transient stalemate of two men, equally made, though minted in different metals entirely.
Oleksei was well-suited to this post, thought Ilarion, idly, as a foil, and a counterpart. Isaev could not help but give recognizance to a man who did not fear the lash of his tongue or the crack of his knuckles as he flexed his fingers to hold a silver pen.
Beside Oleksei, he was the opposite of shadow. It may have been the only place he ever saw that category.
"I gave you a hand up, when you wanted blood unpunished. When you wanted to slake lusts you couldn't speak to your own kind. I ask you no questions, Taras."
Lasha's lips settled like snow.
"When I need a hand, I expect yours."