Lovushka-22
Posted: 17 Nov 2013, 07:58
It was a bitter cold for so early in the year, the easy breath of wind that groaned down the broad street sending the first of many dead leaves to come gliding along the sidewalk, skittering like a thousand tiny creatures aimlessly scratching at the hard surface the man stood on, still as stone. Even as the world around him hissed and growled, the sound of a car a block over rattling down the road as it struggled on its path through the sparsely populated midnight streets fought to invade his mind, but there, in the solace of his thought, the world stood still.
He remained absolutely motionless, as if he were carved entirely from marble, his flesh icy to the touch in the cool wind. What he had just seen had horrified him to the end of his wits. He had been too late. That… that –thing- had bitten her, had changed her into some… creature. Whatever she was, she was no longer human, that much was easy to tell. Even dirty, greasy, and coated with weeks of grime and emaciated to the point of an almost skeletal gauntness, she was still so stunningly beautiful. It had stirred his heart to see her that way.
What had honestly been the telling point to the new change in her hadn’t been that beauty. She had always been breathtaking, each and every time his eyes had ever fallen on her. No. It had been in her eyes. Those tired, strained eyes. Something had lurked in them that had never been there before, and he knew, in that moment, what needed to be done if he was going to continue to be at her side. He lifted a shaking hand to his coat, trembling fingers sliding into the breast pocket of the leather trench.
When they pulled away, they gripped the black filter of a cigarette, the unlit end quivering violently as flakes of the dried tobacco drifted to the asphalt at his feet. He turned his wrist, zippo falling from the loop in his cuff that held the trinket, releasing it into his open palm. With a flick of his forefinger, the zippo snapped open and a gout of flame leapt from its mouth, shooting a nice, neat inch and a half from its muzzle to the tip of the cigarette. With a long, slow inhale, he breathed the ember at its end to life, giving it a healthy glow before he snapped the zippo shut.
The trembling in his fingers slowed as he held that breath, the tobacco clinging to his lungs as he felt the cocaine take its course through his chest, a soothing tingle spread through his form as he steeled himself. The first thing he needed to do was to hunt one of these things down for himself. Pushing the zippo back into the loop of leather just inside the sleeve of his coat, he took another long pull from the cigarette and pulled it from between his lips. Flicking the filter, he sent the length of ash drifting to the street as he took the first step in several long minutes.
“Okhota nachalas.” He muttered to himself, placing the cigarette between his lips again, his hand trailing beneath his coat to brush his fingers along his service pistol, the short barrel of the Pistolet Makarova soothed him. Just the familiar touch of the cool steel calmed his anxiousness. He couldn’t fail, he owed it to Iskra to do this. With Markus gone, he was all she had left of the old band. Hell, she was all he had. He took another drag from the cigarette, a long and relentless pull of his lungs turned the remainder of the paper shaft to ash, and he flicked the filter away into the street. This was his mission, one that he wouldn’t survive. That suited him just fine.
He remained absolutely motionless, as if he were carved entirely from marble, his flesh icy to the touch in the cool wind. What he had just seen had horrified him to the end of his wits. He had been too late. That… that –thing- had bitten her, had changed her into some… creature. Whatever she was, she was no longer human, that much was easy to tell. Even dirty, greasy, and coated with weeks of grime and emaciated to the point of an almost skeletal gauntness, she was still so stunningly beautiful. It had stirred his heart to see her that way.
What had honestly been the telling point to the new change in her hadn’t been that beauty. She had always been breathtaking, each and every time his eyes had ever fallen on her. No. It had been in her eyes. Those tired, strained eyes. Something had lurked in them that had never been there before, and he knew, in that moment, what needed to be done if he was going to continue to be at her side. He lifted a shaking hand to his coat, trembling fingers sliding into the breast pocket of the leather trench.
When they pulled away, they gripped the black filter of a cigarette, the unlit end quivering violently as flakes of the dried tobacco drifted to the asphalt at his feet. He turned his wrist, zippo falling from the loop in his cuff that held the trinket, releasing it into his open palm. With a flick of his forefinger, the zippo snapped open and a gout of flame leapt from its mouth, shooting a nice, neat inch and a half from its muzzle to the tip of the cigarette. With a long, slow inhale, he breathed the ember at its end to life, giving it a healthy glow before he snapped the zippo shut.
The trembling in his fingers slowed as he held that breath, the tobacco clinging to his lungs as he felt the cocaine take its course through his chest, a soothing tingle spread through his form as he steeled himself. The first thing he needed to do was to hunt one of these things down for himself. Pushing the zippo back into the loop of leather just inside the sleeve of his coat, he took another long pull from the cigarette and pulled it from between his lips. Flicking the filter, he sent the length of ash drifting to the street as he took the first step in several long minutes.
“Okhota nachalas.” He muttered to himself, placing the cigarette between his lips again, his hand trailing beneath his coat to brush his fingers along his service pistol, the short barrel of the Pistolet Makarova soothed him. Just the familiar touch of the cool steel calmed his anxiousness. He couldn’t fail, he owed it to Iskra to do this. With Markus gone, he was all she had left of the old band. Hell, she was all he had. He took another drag from the cigarette, a long and relentless pull of his lungs turned the remainder of the paper shaft to ash, and he flicked the filter away into the street. This was his mission, one that he wouldn’t survive. That suited him just fine.