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taras_olekseiTaras stepped into the hall, closing his door behind him.
He had showered and changed, and now had on the casual clothes he wore to work out, complete with a light jacket over his tank, to cover his shoulders and arms. That was better. Easier than having his tattoos on display, even if it was only Isaev's brother and his comrade.
Taras carried the bottle of cognac that he'd brought with him from Leningrad, Isaev's brand.
He felt the strange need to see Ilarion.
Taras crossed to Isaev's door and knocked briskly, then opened it and stepped inside, pausing to assess the situation.
The room was mostly as he'd left it. The Ukrainian sat in the corner, still clutching Lasha's vodka bottle, though it looked considerably less full than before. Taras frowned at that.
Ilarion and Andrusha sat next to each other, leaning close with chairs pushed together, like they had been talking.
Taras wasn't certain how long he'd been gone. A while.
He held up the bottle, as if it had only been a few minutes.
"Brought more cognac," he said.
He had showered and changed, and now had on the casual clothes he wore to work out, complete with a light jacket over his tank, to cover his shoulders and arms. That was better. Easier than having his tattoos on display, even if it was only Isaev's brother and his comrade.
Taras carried the bottle of cognac that he'd brought with him from Leningrad, Isaev's brand.
He felt the strange need to see Ilarion.
Taras crossed to Isaev's door and knocked briskly, then opened it and stepped inside, pausing to assess the situation.
The room was mostly as he'd left it. The Ukrainian sat in the corner, still clutching Lasha's vodka bottle, though it looked considerably less full than before. Taras frowned at that.
Ilarion and Andrusha sat next to each other, leaning close with chairs pushed together, like they had been talking.
Taras wasn't certain how long he'd been gone. A while.
He held up the bottle, as if it had only been a few minutes.
"Brought more cognac," he said.
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Date: 2008-09-17 08:37 am (UTC)He had never particularly noticed Khartov's eyes, beautiful or otherwise, except to note when Khartov was watching him. He supposed if he really thought about it, he could see -
His hand clenched, convulsively, and he grimaced.
"I talked to Barshai," he said, quickly.
Taras shook himself, looking around, trying to decide where to sit.
"He answered the phone."
He rejected the nearby chairs, and the chaise, finally deciding to just sit on the floor near Ilarion. Taras grabbed the bottle of cognac first, and sat it between them.
"He's not a bad guy, Barshai. You know, polite and shit. Doesn't hold a grudge."
Taras eased himself to the floor. Touching distance of Lasha, if he reached out, just a little.
"He said it was raining in Leningrad too," he added.
He felt something strange pang in his chest, and he looked at Isaev suddenly, searching.
Taras didn't know what he was looking for, and wasn't sure if he wanted to find it.
"I guess...he's used to you being around."