Date: 2009-09-03 10:28 pm (UTC)
"Da, he does. Maybe they will."

Taras doubted it.

He folded his arms, and looked at Lasha for a long moment.

There were several men among Cheslav's boys who fought. None of them were of Andrusha's caliber. In Taras' opinion, neither was Khartov, though he usually did fairly well for himself.

Taras used to enjoy going to the fights, cheering his comrades on. They shared a rough camaraderie that was absent from his life now.

Those times were over. He was not one of his father's men anymore. He was a MENT. An Isaev. And he had left behind that criminal brotherhood and found a more intimate and refined friendship instead.

It was like having a fillet mignon after only knowing brisket.

Taras eyed Ilarion for a few moments.

He had the feeling Lasha wanted him to do it.

"I'm not sure I could control myself, anyway. When I get mad..."

He shook his head, dismissively.

"I just don't think it would be a good idea."
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