(( This Roleplay is written between two separate players, though we play on the same IP. It is a work in progress.))
Kirill: Pulling the cigarette from his lips, he let the cheap tobacco smoke rest in his lungs for a long, slow absorption of nicotine, the smoke, laced with traces of substances not naturally manufactured into the cigarettes swirled in his lungs as he held the breath, before slowly letting the white tendrils escape through his lips with a quiet groan, before the breath rushed from his chest in a sigh of pleasure, a thin trail of smoke rising from the tip of the burning cigarette, steely gaze locked intently on his target, the woman he had followed, even to his own death. He could think of far worse things to die for. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he placed the filter between his lips again, flicking it lightly with his tongue to let the ash slowly drift to the concrete at his feet.
She had always been a good shot. He knew this. He had trained her himself. Markus had insisted. He had always been the better warrior between the two of them. They both had known it. It was why he was alive right then... or, as alive as he could be considered. He shook his head from his spot on the street corner, watching as the pair traded bullets, and he knit his brows, clearly bothered with how the woman had allowed a human to pin her down with something as petty as gunfire. He flicked his knife from his leather trench, watching intently as the short, four-inch blade spun from the ring on the grip, whipping around his finger before he flicked it from the finger, tossing it lightly into the air and catching it in a reverse grip, blade pointed to his elbow.
He stepped from the sidewalk, his form a dark blur as he flashed across the street. The gangster turned, hoisting his pistol for the man's face. He could see it in the dark eyes, the next move. He was steps ahead, the endgame already in his mind, the checkmate certain. The bullet exploded from the barrel, flashing past his face as he moved only enough from his path to move around the projectile, the air whipping against his cheek as he dove into the man, burying the short blade into his throat. Blood erupted from his neck, and the human fell to the street, thrashing in his last moments of life, eyes wide as he grasped at his throat, the rattle of death loud as he slowly sank into the stillness of death, his blood flowing over the concrete and into the street.
Kirill turned, his eyes intense as he watched the girl lean from behind her cover, the short blade lifted to his lips as he moved his tongue over the short shard of hard steel, the crimson coating his muscle before he pulled it into his mouth again with a low groan of satisfaction.
Reanna: The putrid stench of the Quarantine zone still lingered on her skin as she wiped the back of her hand across her brow, trying to keep the blood and sweat from her eyes. From the moment she had pulled herself out of the sewers, she had been moving non-stop. It was a nightly ordeal, and it wasn’t as if Juliet had been around to give her another direction. Not that she blamed the woman. It wasn’t her fault that the Russian holed herself up in the sewers instead of going to the apartment for any time longer than needed to take a shower and change. She did her best to avoid contact with the new ‘family.’
Dipping her hand into the pocket of her leather jacket, she pulled out a black pack of cigarettes and flipped open the deep purple lid to slap one out into her hand. “Perfect,” she sighed in Russian, green eyes focused on the fact that she only had a few left. With a sigh, she pulled out her lighter as she walked, the flame illuminating the dark as she glanced through the shadows. It sent a chill down her spine, those memories threatening to come to life. With a quiet growl, she shoved the pack back into the confines of her jacket as she placed the filter between her red painted lips. Tipping her head back after an inhalation, she slowly released the white smoke into the air, her eyes closing for a second.
It was no secret that Reanna was a loner. Ever since Juliet had pulled her from her Alleyway Death, she had done what she could to stay away from everyone. It had been much the same when her parents had died. She holed up in herself and refused to let anyone in on her destructive path. With a sigh, she pulled the cigarette free of her full lips to flick the glowing ash on the ground. Maybe one day she’d let them have insight to who she really was – until then, she’d do what she could to stay away.
After all, there really was no sense in trying to find another family. They’d just die on her, too. Gritting her teeth together, she shook the thought from her mind and took one last pull from the cigarette. “Let it go,” she muttered to herself as she flicked the cigarette away from her. She had one last thing to do tonight – one last outing. She could taste it on her tongue, the pull of the blood causing her fangs to elongate. The human was near. With a slow, almost feline grin, the woman leaped over the wall she had been standing behind, only to land in a crouch in front of the male.
“My, my.” She purred in Russian as she straightened, holding her hand out for him. Before he could protest, she pulled him in, her fangs sinking into his throat. The second his blood touched her tongue, a low moan vibrated from deep within, and she pushed him back against the wall. When she was finished taking her fill, she slowly pulled back and traced her tongue over the mark as her lips pressed to his ear. “That was not so bad, was it? Now go.” She purred, before releasing the dazed human to carry on about his evening. With a gentle sigh, she trailed her tongue over her lower lip as she wiped her palms on her jeans.
“I saw that,” a voice spoke from behind her, though she didn’t understand the language. Turning quickly, the Russian pulled her gun from the holster strapped to her thigh and narrowed her eyes. She knew instantly what she faced, and she didn’t even blink as she lifted the gun, the bark of the bullet leaving the muzzle slashing through the silent night. As it pieced the gangster’s flesh, she leaped over the wall and pressed her back to it, just as a stream of bullets followed suit. Shaking her head, the woman turned around the edge of her blockade and fired another round with perfect precision – before remembering.
With a slow, deadly grin, she lifted her hand and cast her blinding spell, causing the gangster to stumble around for a moment. It was all she needed for the kill. Just as she jumped out from behind her security, the man’s gun went off, the bullet slicing through her shoulder and burning a hole in her jacket. Before she had a chance to return fire, another figure had leaped into the path. She could only stand there, gun drawn and pointed steadily as she watched the newcomer take the kill that was meant for her.
As he turned to face her, the anger she had felt disappeared into shock, her lips parting though no sound emerged for a few long, dangerous seconds. “Kirill?” she finally choked, the pain in her shoulder forgotten as stared at him over the gun. She was either afraid to drop it, or was in too much shock to move. No matter what she did, she couldn’t tell her muscles to work with her mind. Slowly, though, the cold began to dissipate and she finally lowered her arm to her side.
She didn’t speak as she hooked the gun back into its holster against her toned thigh, the black of the steel blending in almost perfectly with the black denim of her jeans. Her thick dark hair had fallen like a curtain between them, concealing her troubled gaze as she fought to find the cool indifference she had been wearing as a mask. When she was certain her features were schooled, the Russian straightened her spine and lifted her gaze to his, hand dipping back into her jacket for another cigarette.
“I thought you were dead,” she spoke calmly, her accent thick with emotion as she fished for her lighter. Once again, the flame blazed to life, this time, bringing that all too familiar face into view as she placed the cigarette between her lips, her back pressing the wall behind her. She wasn’t sure what to believe yet – either this was another trick of her mind and he was haunting her like Markus did – or he was real, and he was back. She wasn’t sure which one she wanted it to be more.
Kirill: He shook his head slowly, cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his lips as he flicked the short combat blade into the scabbard strapped to his shoulder, the blade’s grip passing just inside the breast of his coat beneath the cigarettes that rested in his pocket. He took a slow inhale, then, the glowing ember at its end flaring to life as he sucked in the smoke, the tendrils wrapping their deadly fingers around his lungs, his entire form tingling with the pleasure that feeling brought him, the taste of laced tobacco blending with the blood that lingered on his tongue. “Da, Kirill.” He spoke gruffly, his voice as harsh and his tone that ever quiet grumble that made him sound perpetually annoyed.
Once he let the words slide from his tongue, he exhaled. Slow, creeping wisps of white smoke rolled between his lips, dancing over his teeth as he gave another quiet sigh. “Vy byli neakkuratno.” He scolded, his hand moving to his hip to unclip the PDA from the holster on his belt. It was one of three of the small, rectangular devices. The middle of the trio, in fact, and he tapped the small gadget to life, the screen flashing a dark red, a black wolf’s head with the letter K to the left of its face, and I to its right, taking the entirety of the screen as it powered on. A scant second passed before his fingers worked over the screen with a fascinating speed, the machine’s quick processor able to keep up with the unnatural demands of his actions.
He turned the display to her, then. The flash of irritation on his face was less than pleasing as he held it out to her, displaying her assumed name, the bank account she had opened with the alias and the money transfer she had made from her brother’s account for the airline ticket that had brought her there. He tipped the device to the side, the screen swiped along with the tilt, moving to a folder filled with hundreds of police reports, her name plastered all over them, photos of the people she had interacted with in her journey to the city they found themselves in, many of them in separate reports altogether, mysteriously executed in a myriad of ways.
He opened a particular one, letting her look it over in its entirety. Even the parts that had been blacked out in the publication of the report, the gruesome and violent details of how the corpse had been found. Dozens of photographs of the man the report had identified as Jamie Raes through DNA testing only, displayed what appeared to be a meat grinder in a beef processing plant, bloody, stringy meat and mangled skin hung from the end of the grinder, clumps of hair clung to the mess as several officers appeared to be taking the various photos, and in more than a handful, could be seen vomiting in the backgrounds. Nothing remained to identify the man physically. The only suspect was one Evilyn Raes, his wife of two years.
A single photograph of the woman suspected was pasted to the left of the report that named her as the prime suspect in the man’s murder. She was beautiful, in a very classic way, her high cheekbones and pale face was painted lightly with a blush, her lips were a bloody crimson with a small beauty mark just shy of her upper lip, her blonde hair framing her thin face in tight, golden ringlets. Pale, green eyes glowered angrily at the camera. Clearly, she was a woman of a higher class, not accustomed to having her mug shot taken. He tipped the phone again, and showed her the picture of where he had seen her on the street, just a day prior. He showed her just how different she had really appeared, so thin but so beautiful.
Her change was not hidden very well. She was intensely beautiful, her lines so sharp and beautiful. His hand passed over the PDA and pulled the files away, bringing it back to its home screen as he clipped the machine to his hip once again, settling between the two that hadn’t moved. “Vashi shagi byli legko prosledit' . Musor vy derzhali kompaniyu s bylo legko nayti , i legche ... delo.” The last word was punctuated by the click of the PDA snapping into place. That deep, steel-grey gaze that was as sharp as a raptor’s stare, as piercing as a predator’s sight, looked into her face as his features continued to seat themselves in a hard, relentlessly serious expression.
“Ya byl prosto vne dosyagayemosti. Ya mog by byt' tam, i ya byl slishkom medlennym.” He grumbled, flexing his fingers as he took another slow drag from the cigarette and flicking it away from her face, the ash dancing slowly to the asphalt at their feet. His gaze looked over her features, and the worry, the hard, harsh mask that he had worn for his entire life outside of her company slowly cracked, before it melted away, and he gave her a small, private smile. He had missed her sorely, and he knew she wouldn’t believe it without an immense amount of proof to back it up. She had always been such a suspicious girl.
He tipped his head back, letting his exhale come slow, smooth, billowing smoke into the air above her head before he looked back own to her. “Ya skuchal po tebe, Isk.” He moved into her, then, his hand lifting to lightly grip her jaw. As he tipped her head back, his lips met hers in a hard, savage embrace. All of the pain he had felt with each time he had shown up too late, all the years of fruitless searches and cold trails, all the painful longing and desperate interrogation… all of the pain and suffering that he had been given, and had given out, it all poured into that embrace.
His lips roughly pushed against hers, his hand moving along her jaw to slide around the back of her neck, holding her close. He loved her. He had always loved her, and he let that emotion flood through his touch as much as his limited understanding of his power would allow. He had always wanted her, since he had first understood what an attraction to a girl had been. They had grown together, a powerful longing between them that had never faded, never let up. He had always wanted her, and had always respected her brother too much to take what he wanted.
His frustration with the delicate balance he had always walked poured into her, the flood of his emotion spilling into her mind through the newfound power he had little consciousness of using. She could see his own journey over the past years, she could feel the frustration and rage he had felt at having to turn her away time and time again in their past, the prime of their youth that should have been spent together as they had pleased, and instead was spent at arm’s length, as the cautious friends frightened of bringing her brother between them, then the cold resentment that had come over them for it.
His passion poured into that embrace, his hand slowly sliding from the back of her neck to rest on her collar bone as he pulled away from that kiss, his lips unstained from her expensive lipstick, her figure still perfectly intact, even if the embrace had misplaced her hair in several instances. His hand moved to drop to her forearm, holding it lightly, fully expecting her wrath. He had lost her years ago, and he was a fool to expect a single kiss to change a single thing. He had, at the least, planted the seeds for a future. “Ya skuchal po tebe.”
Reanna: Handling the cigarette with care, the brunette arched a brow as he turned to face her. It had been years since she had seen him last, and even with the change in him, she would know him anywhere. It seemed death had treated him kindly, his steel grey eyes blazing with an unbidden fury that had once just lurked beneath the surface. The hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette between her fingers twitched, her fingers curling into her palm as she took a deep, unneeded breath of air. The stench of death was over-whelming, but it did nothing to conceal the all too familiar fragrance of the male stalking towards her. He had always carried the scent of the forest with him, but now – it was laced with blood.
Shoving her clenched fist into the pocket of her jacket, she gave a hiss of pain and rolled her shot shoulder, the scent of her blood filling the air between them. “Chto vy khotite , Kirill?” the Russian spoke, their native tongue flowing easily from her tongue. For a brief moment, she felt relief. There was someone that could understand her, and she wouldn’t have to suffer another moment with difficulty expressing her thoughts. However, the moment –that- thought entered her mind, she immediately shook it away. He wouldn’t be staying – if he did, she’d leave. Gritting her teeth, she focused on him as he stalked towards her, strong fingers undoing the clasp of his PDA.
Arching a brow, she watched him as he began to flip through her files, anger and disbelief circling through her mind as she narrowed her eyes dangerously. “You have been stalking me?” she demanded, her back pushing from the wall to stand straighter, cigarette’s glowing ember tip waving in front of his face as she motioned to the screen of the device he held securely. “Did you ever think I did not want you? You had no right! You killed all those people…” she shook her head, her free hand scratching over her cheekbone as she focused on the bloodied image of what was left of her ex-boyfriend.
She couldn’t say she was particularly upset he was gone, but the mannerism in which he had been killed? Shaking her head roughly, she tried to get the image from her thoughts, but it was burned there, forever imprinted in her mind. Lifting her hands, she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and took a deep breath, holding the smoke from the still burning cigarette in her lungs before slowly releasing it. “You had no right, Kirill. I have no need for you, and I have not for a long time.” She hissed as she flicked her cigarette out, the butt landing with his as she lifted her gaze to his.
For a moment, she was suspended in time. She had expected to see that harsh anger still written clearly, but instead, his expression had shifted. It had become softer, the look he gave when he was going in for the kill. She had seen him use that smile on many women before, and it sent a feeling of pure rage through her chest. She was nothing to him then, she wasn’t about to change that fact now. She barely heard the first whispered words, being too focused on the way his body curled. She could tell he was about to strike, and she braced herself for whatever was to come. However, the kiss wasn’t what she expected at all.
The second his lips touched hers, she froze, her entire form turning to ice, even as heat melted it’s way to her core. He had never touched her before, at least, not like this. It was everything she had wanted when she was a child, and now that she had it – it sickened her. It confused her. She could feel the emotions rushing through her mind, overpowering her thoughts with his. She was drowning in him, her muscles refusing to work. Everything he had felt through the years – how could she tell if he was being honest or if it was a trick of the mind? He had always been a charming Devil, and she didn’t think death had exactly cured him of that.
Once she could think again on her own, pushing her way through the tidal wave of images and feelings, she growled dangerously low in her throat. Ripping her lips from his, she curled her hand into a fist as her other slammed strong against his chest. When he staggered back a step, she swung, the impact of her fist to his jaw sending a loud, echoing crack into the night. “Do not touch me,” she hissed, her odd colored green eyes sparking with a thousand, conflicted emotions – all centering around rage. “I am not yours to miss, Kirill.”
Kirill: As his head snapped back, his steel grey eyes sharpened in an instant. Blood flew from between his lips, lips that twisted into a wicked, pleased smile as his chin dropped, his predator’s gaze alight with the adrenaline of the thrill as he felt the pain bloom through his jaw. His brain was a concoction of drunken pleasure and a tingling pain that mingled together as one, a perfect brew that only she could have possibly given him.
The light in his eyes flared as he closed his fist, the leather of his fingerless gloves creaking in the cold. His head turned, blood spouting from between his lips as he chuckled, running the back of that clenched fist over his crimson lips, wiping them clean. “Ty vsegda byl tot, kotoryy ya khotel. Eto nikogda ne izmenilos', i , otkrovenno govorya , ona nikogda ne budet.” He clenched his fingers tighter, then, the knuckles white as they trembled in the small circles cut into the leather for each one, his eyes watching her face intently.
“I, yesli vy pomnite, ya vsegda byl luchshim boytsom.” He threw his fist forward, then, his arm twisting in its approach, driving the knuckle like a screw straight up and into her chin. He heard her teeth snap together as the haymaker landed with her face, the strength of his blow more than enough to lift her from her feet and throw her back into the brick wall of the building.
When her head cracked against the brick, his forearm jammed against her throat, holding her against the brick with tremendous strength against her long, slender, fragile neck. His free hand lifted, placing the cigarette between his lips for a quick pull before he exhaled, letting the sweet scent of the aromatic tobacco dance across her cheek as he leaned to whisper into her ear.
“YA byl vlyublen v glaza, tak kak pervyy raz ty smotrel na menya , Isk. Vse ostal'nyye byli zapolnitelya , dubler dlya vas. YA ne mogu soschitat',devushki, kotoryye imeyut sprashivat', kto Iskra yest', tak mnogo raz ya kriknul svoim imenem. Vy presledovat' moikh mechtakh , ty svodish' menya s uma. YA ne pozvolyu vy chistite menya v storonu tak legko. YA budu "borot'sya" dlya vas.”
He twisted his arm into her throat, feeling her windpipe near closing beneath the force of his weight against her neck. His lips moved to her jaw as he gave a muted, savage rumble of his throat. He took a slow, deep breath, taking in her scent with a subdued tremor that went down his spine, his heavy, toned form pushing her thin frame against the harsh wall.
He pulled the cigarette from its perch, placing it gently between her full, painted lips to allow her the sweet pleasure of the splendid, unique blend of tobacco and his special, personal touch. To let her feel that perfect mix of pleasure and pain, the way that she made him feel. She could see it in his eyes, he was certain. The passion, the fire that burned there, even behind the cold iron wall his gaze had always been.
As the cigarette clung to the thick red liner that coated her lips, his knife hissed in the air as he pulled it from his belt, placing the blade so that it touched against the soft, flawless skin of her throat, just above the grip that his forearm held against her. “Tak chto zhe vy skazat', chto my sdelat' eto vossoyedineniye veselo?”
Russian Translations in Order:
Vy byli neakkuratno
You have been sloppy.
Vashi shagi byli legko prosledit' . Musor vy derzhali kompaniyu s bylo legko nayti , i legche ... delo.
Your footsteps were easy to trace. The trash you kept company with were easy to find, and easier to... deal with.
YA byl prosto vne dosyagayemosti. YA mog by byt' tam, i ya byl slishkom medlennym .
I was just out of reach. I could have been there, and I was too slow.
YA skuchal po tebe, Isk.
I missed you, Isk.
----
Ty vsegda byl tot, kotoryy ya khotel. Eto nikogda ne izmenilos', i , otkrovenno govorya , ona nikogda ne budet.
You've always been the one I wanted. That never changed, and, to be frank, it never will.
I, yesli vy pomnite, ya vsegda byl luchshim boytsom.
And, if you remember, I was always the better fighter.
YA byl vlyublen v glaza, tak kak pervyy raz ty smotrel na menya , Isk. Vse ostal'nyye byli zapolnitelya , dubler dlya vas. YA ne mogu soschitat',devushki, kotoryye imeyut sprashivat', kto Iskra yest', tak mnogo raz ya kriknul svoim imenem. Vy presledovat' moikh mechtakh , ty svodish' menya s uma. YA ne pozvolyu vy chistite menya v storonu tak legko. YA budu "borot'sya" dlya vas.
I've been in love with your eyes, since the first time you looked at me, Isk. Everyone else was a placeholder, a stand-in for you. I couldn't begin to count the girls that have to ask who Iskra is, so many times I've shouted your name. You haunt my dreams, you drive me mad. I will not let you brush me aside so easily. I will "fight" for you.
Tak chto zhe vy skazat', chto my sdelat' eto vossoyedineniye veselo?
So what do you say we make this reunion fun?
