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Post by milana anya lutrova on Apr 24, 2012 15:22:30 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss279/legendskseeker/fk5qwnjpg.png); padding: 30px; border: #230807 solid 30px; ]KILLER INSTINCT TELLS HER TO  OUTFIT: here. TAGGED: STAZ
NOTES: lame ending xD --- it had been a couple days since the china wok exploded. that night, she was here in the inferno. she was at the lounge, where she was spending the majority of her nights lately. her... other job, was on the quieter side, but it had been like that ever since she came to valkyrie. lana believed it was because she actually had a place of her own here in the inferno. sure, it wasn't big, but it was bigger than most of the places she used to crash in. in russia, she traveled more. here? she hadn't left the city limits yet. it was kind of nice. the only thing she really missed about going from city to city in russia was that, her scenery was always changing and she was seeing people every other time. however, now she felt like this was what a life felt like. she knew her dad would be proud she made it to america. whether she was tied to the russians or not, life here was better than russia. at least for her it was.
lana never really thought of getting hurt during one of her deliveries. maybe it was just because she had been doing it for seven years without anything bad happening that she just saw it as delivering groceries from point a to point b. maybe she should be worried about what could happen to her if anything did go wrong. what if the delivery was to an undercover cop, or someone that just shot her? she hadn't started any jobs with derek stanwood yet. it had been a quiet month so far. but she was just now getting nervous. lana was never one to be gung-ho about the bratva, but derek clearly wasn't and had no problem saying it. that was worrying. what if he was the cause of something happening? she would just have to tell him that though he might not agree with it, he had to suck up and be dedicated to it one hundred percent because if you weren't, that's when you would lose an arm or a head.
it was approaching evening and lana was sitting in the lobby of the hotel. for no particular reason at all besides she had to go into the lounge soon. she was drinking a coffee and half reading the newspaper and half people-watching. she never read the paper, but she was doing so because the explosion was all the city could talk about since it happened. she'd turn on the television in her room, and news reports of the latest news would be what the newscasters were talking about. they were even bringing in criminal experts in, explaining that this could be the doing of one of the known crime groups residing in valkyrie. of course, that was all speculation, but the city sure seemed to love the stories. lana knew it was the italians that blew the chinese restaurant up. by that night she knew after one of the russian bouncers for the lounge told her that they were attacked. she was blindsided, surprised. sure, warfare like this happened all the time back home, but maybe it was because valkyrie had been relatively quiet since she moved here that she forgot about it. she asked the bouncer if anyone was hurt, which was her wondering if something happened to staz, but she wasn't ready to ask him that. the bouncer told her that some died, some were hurt, and it wasn't too much of a hit. surely she would have specified if the "heir" to the bratva was injured so lana just left it alone for the night.
the newspaper didn't have any new details, though lana was sure it wouldn't get much more than what they had now. there would always be speculating and maybe people would whisper about it being one groups's hit against another, but it would never be confirmed. lana knew that the italians covered their tracks well. everyone in valkyrie did. she leaned back in the chair as she folded the paper up and tossed it on the coffee table in front of her. a few other people were sitting quietly in chairs around her. she could see across the way families checking into the hotel for the weekend, college boys with beers heading towards the casino, and girls heading towards the bars. some of the bellboys were pushing carts to and from the elevators. every so often some man with a puffed out chest in a nice suit with sunglasses on would come in and immediately be greeted with one of the concierges of the hotel. that always meant they were rich and were going to be spending a lot of money gambling. lana had never been to las vegas, but the inferno was a lot like one of those hotels. obviously valkyrie itself wasn't like las vegas, but having one hotel in the city that has the atmosphere made the inferno incredibly popular.
she was only worried about one thing and his name was todd. he was what you could say her favorite customer. in a creepy way. always buying her drinks, always talking to her after she finished her set. it was nice at first, but now it was just becoming creepy. especially since the other night, he asked if she wanted to go out sometime. she said she was really busy lately, but maybe next time. she didn't know why she said that. giving him hope and everything like that. lana knew that she wasn't used to that kind of attention, but todd just rubbed her the wrong way. she didn't like him. she might have wondered if he would show up tonight, but she already knew the answer to that; he would be there, who was she kidding? lana closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. maybe she should just stop getting all worked up over it. it was probably nothing. maybe she was just blowing it all out of proportion. or... maybe she wasn't. the idea of asking staz what she should do crossed her mind. maybe he could give her some advice? next time she would run into him, she'd ask.
lana turned her focus away from the front desk of the hotel and looked around the rest of the lobby, quite busy during the dinner hour. well, speaking of. staz walking through some of the people. she hadn't talked to him since the news of the explosion. she didn't really want to bother him, she knew her place and she was guessing he had a lot on his mind with the recent hit. lana shuffled out of her chair and through the remaining of her coffee into the trash can next to some fake tree. "hey, staz," she said, stopping him from where ever he was heading to. "how have you been since the bomb? i would have talked to you earlier, just thought that you have been busy."
BEWARE OF EVIL MEN |
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Post by stanislav yuri verrentenikov on May 6, 2012 0:25:32 GMT -6
[/size] CHAOS, TO PHRASE it gently, is what it was. complete chaos. stanislav verrentenikov had yet to sleep this week. the explosion of the china wok was only the beginning of fires he had been extinguishing for days. he would gladly take the actual explosion over this. at least it had been blind insanity in the hours following the vindictive sabotage, pathetic in traditional italian style. but now? now was when people expected things, results. it was the verrentenikov bratva. so anyone with "verrentenikov" attached to their name was receiving apprehensive, but calculated, stares. and, really, only two verrentenikovs ran this bratva. liza was in a solid deterioration; sasha was, to be honest, not one to trust with responsibility. that left aleksander and his son, stanislav. and while it was a small crime organization, with their american headquarters in valkyrie, the damage was exceeding expectations. he was in no way prepared for this. his inner circle kept their eyes on him, laser beams with impatient alarms. he was supposed to have the answers, a plan. the entire seedy underground assumed there were plans for everything. a back-up strategy. a getaway car. a really big fucking band-aid to making everything better. maybe they did. perhaps stanislav verrentenikov was the odd man out. while he had always been prepared for the time when the italians finally executed a plan not surrounding cigars, scotch or silly aliases, this had caught even him off-guard. it was the explosion, the confusion, and then the desperation. people wanted answers, a firm-handed needle to stitch their lives back together. combine it all and heat it over a clay pot, at boiling point, you were given a hot soup that needed salt, badly, and a chaos that was wearing the russian heir very thin.
it was the internal affairs that was doing it. not that anyone would ever admit, the inside of the russian bratva had been disordered for years. he often had more issues with his own people than outsiders. business was seamless, truly effortless. it was the baggage that came along with the brigades that set tempers aflame. jamie collins decided to take a vacation in prison; he decided to keep the stanwood boy around; even sasha was fading. he spent more time as a bookkeeper than an actual, to put it in american terms, mob boss. ridiculous. and now, the heads of each brigade were looking at him with impatient eyes. it was his impression that they followed. these families had been in the game for generations, each in charge of their own business. as long as there were no cracks in the veneer, there was no reason for verrentenikov involvement. and, yet, they could not control their pawns. they, themselves, were having trouble recovering from this little impairment. the italians were simple. throw them a bone dipped in tomato sauce and they would go away. the irish, what credit did they deserve? and the local law enforcement was on his payroll. the russians were a cold-hearted, complicated accumulation of doe-eyed individuals. and he was quickly losing patience with it.
was he a god damn genie? people expected too much from the young heir, twenty-six and raw. even aleksander had slipped into the country undetected, taking a break from his own empire in order to set his organization straight. call it father-son time. it was the first time staz had seen his father in almost a year. between overlooking all of the details and sitting beside his dying wife, aleksander had been a ghost, pulling the strings from behind heavy curtains. he even had a little more respect for his father. none of this was simple, definitely not easy. and if the head of the entire verrentenikov bratva had chosen to take personal interest in a situation, you'd better believe it was important. for the first time since arriving in valkyrie, people were not listening to his orders. frustrated, sickened or simply aimless for new direction, every work aleksander uttered was taken with seriousness. how nice. his father still had the ability to make him feel small. small, stupid and aimless. he hated it, but when the parent comes to save the day…well, he was a little grateful. just a little. "if there are no movements within forty-eight hours, please erase the situation. he is unimportant." aleksander verrentenikov's words were short, bitten with impatience and exhaustion. it was the fifth death threat he had made that day. clearly, he did not have the same empathy his son did. wonder what would happen if he got ahold of the sakahov situation. his son was following him, hands pushed deep into his pockets, while his father snapped to the man at his side, and into his cellphone. somehow, they all knew which orders were directed at them. he felt small. small and stupid and aimless. "please, vlad, arrange for linguistic experts. born in moscow, one would be expected to speak russian." that was his father's humour. he despised speaking anything other than his native tongue, and the laziness of the american-set bratva members was greying his hair. even staz made sure to speak russian around his father. and he was the one who encouraged north american behaviour. he was in no way a genie. because a genie does not sheepishly follow around the boss like an intern, one who was in first-grade because there was no room for him in the kindergarden class.
he breathed a light sigh. the bratva was quickly taking order again, a solid reconstruction finally underway. but the feelings were not mutual. a good part of him was grateful his father had come. there was a reason aleksander controlled the entire bratva, he had a certain power that staz was having difficulty grasping. the boss, however, had nothing but sourness for his son. it was evident in his tone, the words he used. he was impatient with staz, arrested for thought. this was not what he was expecting. honestly? that hurt more than the entire disarray of the bratva. of course he wanted to please his parents. it was just proving to be fucking impossible. "stanislav." the voice was back. the one who scolded sasha for killing a dog when there was no reason to. it used to send staz back to his mother's side, scared of this complicated man. no problem with killing, but severe issues with killing for no reason. he was having trouble exercising that himself. catching himself in another sigh, staz blinked and found his father had paused on the stairway, looking back at his son. "we will be having a discussion tonight. vlad, please continue." and just like that, stanislav verrentenikov was erased from his father's thought board. he could easily disappear had he not been so expected to remain present. small and stupid and aimless or not, he still had the most insight into the local activity. he had offered a grand total of three useful perceptions that day. yay? maybe he'd feel like a grown-up when the topic of the italians finally arose. he knew all about them. them and luca giovanni's smirking face and how he'd felt so ridiculous during he explosion. his local counterpart had struck first, and in a substantial way. he expected himself to respond. maybe.
his mind was wandering again. he barely notice as they rose through the lower levels of the inferno hotel and casino, when they finally emerged into the marble lobby. his father had to be impressed with what his son had done with their headquarters, right? apart from saying to never fucking hold meetings in the back rooms of restaurants again. no one would touch they here. see? small and stupid and aimless. pulling his phone from his pocket in an attempt to appear preoccupied, only half-listening to his father's intentions with the skipentroff brigade, staz only paused when he heard his name. the nickname his father refused to use, the one everyone seemed to abhor. lana. he watched her with distant eyes. looking forward again, his father and vlad paused again, apparently in a deep conversation he should be aware of, he stopped. if there was one circumstance aleksander verrentenikov was unimpressed with, it was the one concerning milana lutrova. he had little thought to the past, the history. he simply could not understand why staz had kept her in his life, naming her, to him, an untouchable member of his inner circle. he couldn't do anything to her if he tried. apart from the ugly words that would surely be exchanged during their "serious discussion". but still. he had felt oddly disconnected from her. there were other matters, his own issues. she had wanted to come to america so badly, to live another part of her life. what else could he do? his familial content was pulling him from sanity. his father's demands, his fading mother, sasha and everything about her. even the dead verrentenikov would be making an appearance soon, a satisfied smirk on her glossy lips. valentina had the most to say about this entire situation. with yet another sigh, he glanced at is father again, grasped lana's arm and pulled her farther into the lobby, away from the prying eyes of "important crime people". or however sasha phrased it. rubbing his eyes tiredly, pulling his hat from his head and mussing his unwashed hair, staz looked down at her again. "the boss is in town. write the novel on what that means. nothing good." maybe the explosion was a good thing. it was colouring the painting of the russians a pretty revolting piece of art. "what is it? i thought you wanted to remain as away from all…this" he motioned toward his father, still deep in discontent conversation. he wanted to disappear, never speak to any of these people again. but he couldn't. he didn't know what he wanted. aleksander verrentenikov had one more talent, making his son feeling small and stupid and aimless, but also conflicted. he was seamless in his work because he had no connections. he didn't know anymore.[/blockquote][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, LANISLAV. <3
LENGTH, 1681 words.
ATTIRE, jeans, long sleeve white shirt, hat.
NOTES, <3 i love them so fucking much.
CREDITS, format to me. gif to tumblr.
lyrics to sanctus reall - "i want to get lost"
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Post by milana anya lutrova on May 7, 2012 17:42:16 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss279/legendskseeker/fk5qwnjpg.png); padding: 30px; border: #230807 solid 30px; ]KILLER INSTINCT TELLS HER TO OUTFIT: here. TAGGED: STAZ
NOTES: i could not resist. damn you for making me want to reply right away. --- LANA believed in very little these days. when she was younger, her father took her to church, and read the bible to her and all that. she had been very faithful, and she would read these stories about angels and how you went to a wonderful place called heaven when you died. anton had always told her that they were always being watched and protected by celestial beings. it had been a wonderful thought to think that. that you were being protected. her view changed after her father's death. at thirteen, she didn't understand how god could take her father away from her. where had been his protection? she tried going to church on her own after that, but she had such a sour taste in her mouth after that. she'd sit in the back pew the entire time and wonder why everyone would celebrate some divine being when violence was happening all around them. surely since the world's society was now building bombs to destroy countries and people, where was god to step in and say it's time for another change. people believed he had wiped the world with that damn flood. surely it wasn't severe as it was now. then finally, she just gave up.
but she wanted to know where anton ended up. was he in this supposed heaven? was he still just buried in that unmarked grave? she never went to the cemetery in which he had been buried in. she couldn't bare it. there was no ceremony or anything like that. he was a traitor, you don't get special treatment when you are a traitor. lana just had to bear the memory of when he fell to the floor and when his body was pulled away from her grasp. lana heard of people being able to feel their loved ones after death. that they could sometimes see or hear or smell something that reminded them of the deceased. that never happened to her. lana so desperately wanted some reassurance. it was a dangerous feeling to feel alone. complete hopelessness. she never felt her dad once. never a guidance, never a feeling, never anything. lana was envious of those who thought they did. now that she was twenty and she was part of the bratva whether she liked it or not, she was beginning to hate her father for risking his life to be a traitor. why couldn't he just follow the rules? lana would bet her bottom dollar that anton would be here with her today if he would have just done what he was told. he should have just done it for her, at least.
it had been a few weeks since she was in the hotel room where derek stanwood was being beat into working for the bratva. he was probably wondering why he hadn't gotten a call yet. deliveries on her side had been a little on the slow side. there were times over in russia where she wouldn't have anything to do for a month, and then the next month she would be running from moscow to samara, or kazan to novosibirsk within the week. since there had been a dry spell, lana was sure derek and her would be very busy soon. to be honest, she liked derek. it was very clear he wanted nothing to do with the bratva at all, and she had been there before. but, these people that lived in america really needed to learn when to shut up. she heard the speech, he had to do what was right. and look what right got him. the neighborhoods she grew up in, no one talked. someone could walk in the middle of the street and shut three people with dozens of witnesses watching. when the police came around, no one would say anything. they didn't see who it was, no idea what he looked like. it was just an unwritten rule in slummed neighborhoods like that. the ones stupid enough to comply with the police usually ended up dead before the court date so they couldn't testify. and so, she knew derek was probably going to have a hard time. she admired his morals, but thought he was stupid. lana wanted to get along with derek, but she had that feeling like he didn't want to get along with her.
staz didn't even greet her, or give her a chance to say much else as he grabbed her arm and started pulling her away from where he had been standing. she frowned for a moment before looking behind her, because it felt like he was pulling her away from something. and there he was. aleksander verrentenikov, staz's father, talking to someone else who looked equally threatening... and no doubt russian. lana had actually never talked to him ever in her life, nor did she ever want to. but regardless, she knew what he looked like. it was like all americans knowing who barack obama was without actually talking to him. you just know what your leader looks like. she knew when it came down to it, she did pretty much work for him, but he terrified her. mainly because she heard from the gossip and the talk that aleksander had no idea why staz kept her around. she was the daughter of the traitor. in her mind, if you're questioning why someone is still around, that gives reason to get rid of them. she hadn't even noticed aleksander was here when she was sitting over by the couches. even if she was part of staz's inner circle, she was still just an outsider looking in. aleksander's visit to the states hadn't even reached her ears. lana probably would have just sat there since clearly she had been interrupting something. even though the italians hit against them was pretty direct, she wouldn't have guessed that he would have come to america from russia. but, that only showed how much she knew about the bratva. looked like this explosion had caused more problems than she initially thought.
"ok, ok. let go of me," she said and jerked her arm away from his grasp. jeez, it looked like she was five years old being scolded. he stopped and ran a hand through his hair. now that she was standing right in front of him, she could tell he probably hadn't slept much since the explosion. and with his father in town, it was probably incredibly stressful. staz was the head of operations here in valkyrie. and even if it wasn't his fault, it still happened under his watch. he told her that the boss was in town. lana peeked over staz's shoulder where his dad stood, still talking to the other guy. "i see," was all she could really say. she didn't have to ask him about why he was here, because that was pretty obvious. she looked at people wandering around the lobby. did any of them have any idea who they were walking by? "what is it? i thought you wanted to remain as away from all…this" she frowned as her blue eyes focused back on him. it was his tone of voice that made her pause. it sounded short and irritated. well, maybe it was because he was on edge because of everything that was going on. lana could have been her normally blunt self with him and say maybe she would if he wasn't so bent on keeping her in his circle because he 'trusted' her. instead, lana had just been caught off guard so she was at a loss for words. "i just needed to ask you something. it had nothing to do with 'this,'" she said throwing quotes up with her fingers. "but i mean, if you are busy, i can just deal with it on my own. i guess."
BEWARE OF EVIL MEN |
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Post by stanislav yuri verrentenikov on Jun 12, 2012 23:58:25 GMT -6
[/size] ONE QUESTION HAD been stalking him for his entire life. just one. the inquisition that refused to leave, even after he demanded it. he would throw bottles. threaten with a gun. but it never faded, insisted it loiter with an insincere smirk plastered on its stupid fucking face. it knew staz could never answer it, not successfully. the remains would fester, itching for a proper explanation. they would follow him then. over time, they would starve his brain and eat his feelings, until they a sturdy set of words on their own. it was a circle, a vicious whirlpool that had been spinning for twenty-six years. one question. one word. that was all it took to break him. one question. one word.
why.
that was it. why.
it no longer deserved a question mark; it was an inquisition no more. when it reared its three-lettered headed and roared, poison gas seething, there was never room for an answer. fangs were only bared when it felt the need to remind him who was in charge. stanislav verrentenikov had been in a constant power struggle his entire life. him versus his father, him versus his feelings, him versus sasha, sasha's disease, mother, happiness, taking away happiness. at the helm, however, was that word. it controlled everything. if he knew why his father managed to make him feeling small and stupid and aimless; if he knew why his feelings were there at all; if he knew why everything was the way it was….perhaps it would go away. maybe it would grow tired and go to sleep, or yawn and leave because he was boring, it had never mattered. staz was unable to give it what it wanted, an answer. this was the one thing he couldn't flip to the back of the book and cheat. an heir to the russian bratva had escapes few others did. there were very few things that were outside of a verrentenikov's control. there were countless hands dealt, and he held them all, an underpaid blackjack dealer. working the midnight shift. with no tips. regardless of the sourness of the conditions, staz held all the cards. he controlled lives and outcomes, who deserved happiness and who was going to cry at night because they had no one. but it stopped mattering long ago. he worked because he had a job. he approached it with his family in mind - who got hurt in the process was their own doing. but he stopped caring long ago, too. because that word held all of the cards who were holding his cards, which he held. stanislav verrentenikov had power, perhaps. but a question that left no room for debate (or answers and question marks) had power of that power.
it wanted to know a lot of things. but he never told it. he wanted to starve its brain like it was starving his. it nipped his finger when it got frustrated. pointed little demon fangs broke his skin and injected poison into his veins. it wanted to drug him until he was beyond cohesion, so he would admit all the answers. maybe it thought he was the back of the book, with all of the answers but no explanations. in all honesty, staz had no illustration to paint. "why" was banging on the door to an empty room, free of brushes and canvas. when was it going to grow tiresome and leave? he was growing weary, breathless of fighting with it for so long. but he was not going to stop. staz had long decided he was not going to be the one to destroy himself. someone else was going to do that, in forty or fifty years, in a back alley of new york city. luca, perhaps. however, it had been a long time, a very long time. an endless struggle, a never-ending string of glares and grins. "why" was a very open word. it presented itself a bland case and watched him expectantly. it was patient. so composed and meek, staz himself was beginning to question it. he wanted to know why it wanted to know a lot of things. but it was never going to tell him. all because he knew that it did not know.
the three-lettered monster was dancing in front of him, taunting and provocative. it always did when he was looking at milana lutrova. many of the grey areas in staz's life concerned her. they had such a long, disfigured history, no one could offer a response. a rhetorical question, a cheeky inquiry perhaps. the feather quill, dipped in a scarlet ink, wrote a tale where they intertwined and remained that way. when there was a free spot on the yellowing page, it sketched a rough drawing of a monster, its eyes scratched out and "why" put in their place. it would show up now and then, once or twice in a chapter. it moved, a fluid sway, in order to demand his attention and flirt with him. whenever lana's name appeared here (at the back of the book?), it would smile and taunt him again. that was its way of getting even, because it was growing restless when he shut him mouth and refused to share the news. no one needed to say anything about milana lutrova, because they both know there was no information to be given. you could write a novel on them and never finish it, because the editor would throw it back at you. there is no background information, let alone an ending! the word must be proud, so successful in alluding defeat. because it didn't matter which way he spun it. he could retch it up, threaten it with a gun, ignore it, see it here but not there. it held the strings, merely tightening its grip when he was looking at lana. it tormented him the most then. but it never went away. not really.
his life would be different without lana. everyone knew that. most of them rolled their eyes and informed him that she was present in his life. he knew that, thank you very much. he was sort of the one present there, too. his life would be different without plenty of things. "why" wouldn't be there. it never plagued sasha, his mother. his father? perhaps. liza would smile sadly and claim the similarities between aleksander and stanislav verrentenikov. fondly. "why". no question mark required. staz had seen the ghosts behind his father's eyes briefly. but it was there, growing more audacious in reminding him of this. it had been sincere in the beginning; it grew unimpressed when there were no answers to be given. it had been lingering to take up space ever since. there. have an answer, on the house. there were two explanations it wanted: milana lutrova and russian roulette. what is the point in either? a would not be here without b. and b would not be here without…well, he didn't know. that was the real question. twice a year, staz held a mysteriously loaded firearm (a makarov, weapon of champions) to his temple and feel the breath fade from his body. it was a game with no rules. nothing was rigged, free reign for all players. it was his victory that brought lana into his life. she must have hated him. why did he live, while anton collapsed to the ground, leaving an orphaned girl behind? she had to be asking that, right? "why" must nip at her with little fangs sometimes, demanding words that will never be there. her life would be different without him, after all. a lot of things would be different if stanislav verrentenikov and milana lutrova never crossed paths.
why.
it was winning. when staz looked into her eyes, he saw a familiar three-lettered monster lingering there. he hoped it wasn't ruining her like it was him. he had accepted their relationships, even if his companion had not. but it ran the control room, successfully wearing him thin. it made a lot of noise when lana was present. she tormented it, he assumed. staz ignored it when she was around. it didn't like that. he was quiet as she spoke, eyes shuffling between him and his father. it was difficult to understand the relationship between the two head verrentenikovs. staz rarely did. he felt clumsy with his father walking on valkyrie soil, like he had been playing dress-up and now it was time to go inside and do his chemistry homework. the loudness of aleksander verrentenikov had overstepped and stomped through his brain as it pleased. the quiet bluntness reserved for lana was quickly edging toward the corner, collapsing into a small pile of dust. it changed a lot of things. rubbing his left cheek, feeling the stubble beneath his chapped palm, he managed to pull his eyes back to lana's. he could see it in her eyes, the way she paused at his tone. "doesn't it always have to do with this?" his voice had softened, a near whisper. it was careful, almost vulnerable. hurt. it was growing more and more impossible to accept their relationship when it was shrouded in so much mystery. see? it was winning, eager to set a record. "no. i'm sorry." staring at her now, actually looking at her, he paused to study her face. he knew when lana was thrown off-guard, timid. she was. "he forces things…harshly." aleksander forced him harshly, he wanted to say. "what can i do?" with his father present, it was proving impossible to truly focus. on lana, on anything. he was half-looking over at his father as he spoke already, already feeling truly disgusted that he couldn't manage to look her right in the eye. "why" could win, easily. but it took a simple look for lana to take first place. maybe he didn't want her to know how broken he felt. maybe he just needed to do his job. why didn't he know? oh yeah.[/blockquote][/blockquote] ----------------------------------------------------------- TAGGED, LANISLAV. <3
LENGTH, 1661 words.
ATTIRE, jeans, long sleeve white shirt, hat.
NOTES, my god i fail.
CREDITS, format to me. gif to tumblr.
lyrics to sanctus reall - "i want to get lost"
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Post by milana anya lutrova on Jun 23, 2012 21:54:58 GMT -6
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss279/legendskseeker/fk5qwnjpg.png); padding: 30px; border: #230807 solid 30px; ]KILLER INSTINCT TELLS HER TO OUTFIT: here. TAGGED: STAZ
NOTES:hope this sounds ok <3 --- SHE knew that if it wasn't for russian roulette, her life would be completely different. she would... feel happy. maybe lana would smile more. maybe she wouldn't be so lonely. it came down to the fact that this terrible game altered her life in a way where she knew this was not the path god had originally intended for her. lana was so far off the path that she was truly lost, and she was really left with no one to guide her. some days, she felt like she was a zombie. she would just go through the motions of the tasks throughout the day. even if someone would think it, lana wasn't suicidal. no. she was quite the opposite. she wanted so desperately to live, it was a need that kept her going. all because of this damn game. everything doesn't happen for a reason. it happens because you put yourself there and made the choices you did. she loved her father, she did. but sometimes, she hated him for the choices he made. a traitor he was, and if he would have stuck with the bratva, they would still be together. she was sure that they would both be in america. and she was sure that she would just be a daughter of someone in the bratva, not in the bratva herself. that was what was supposed to happen. anton signed up for that and he should have stuck with it. her life was constantly plagued with 'what ifs' and she knew she shouldn't constantly live in the realm of what if, but it was very hard not to. knowing that you wouldn't be in the hole you were in right now if it wasn't for one, two, and three.
even now that her father's death was said and done, the what ifs never stopped with him being alive. they were relevant to her even now. a recurring 'what if' was: what if she and staz never had this odd form of friendship? it was sad that he, of all people, was one of her only friends. lana had to think that if staz had never been interested in her, she'd probably be in russia still. she also knew she wouldn't be running drugs, a rather low-key job. girls at her age would have been shuffled into a brothel. and lana knew that being a sex slave was probably where she would have ended up. she was a orphan and having no family... she would have had a roof over her head. she saw how those houses worked over there. it was alluring for girls, like her, with nothing left. it wasn't a five star hotel stay by any means, but it could keep you alive. but, lana never became a prostitute. instead, she was put as a shestyorka - an associate, in brigade one. usually it was a temporary position before she'd be a full-fledged member, but she remained the lowest-ranking position for the past seven years. she did not mind, nor did she care. it was comical how much she was part of the bratva, but wasn't at the same time. all because of the man standing in front of her.
staz recently told her he kept her around because he trusted her. lana had been quite surprised when she had heard this. why did he trust her? she had hated, yes, truly hated him when she was younger. at thirteen, all she saw was he was the reason her father was dead. he still lived while her father didn't. she hated that she always saw him, and hated that he kept her around. well, it had been a few years now since she felt that way. lana never understood their relationship. maybe it was just an understanding. she knew he would always be there. unless, of course... but she didn't want to think about that. it was just something she never understood about him. why he continued to play the game that would ultimately kill him because cheating death that many times could not be good for the balance of things. he was never mean to her, even when she despised him. he never yelled at her, never brushed her off, never told her to go away. but here she was, standing with him in the middle of the busy hotel lobby and he had a hard time looking her in the eye.
"doesn't it always have to do with this?" her eye contact strayed to his shirt, unable to look at his face. no. this had to do with a stalker dangerously walking the crazy line. she was sure he didn't even know what the bratva was. but... it was them, staz and lana, and they never talked about the weather, now did they?
lana could see how tired he was. she wondered how long it had been since he actually slept. and she was bothering him, she could see it. he asked what he could do, though he was distracted. she could tell by the way he kept glancing at his father that he was only half here. lana felt selfish. who was she to pull him away and ask a question on a frivolous problem she had come across? she shook her head. "no. i'm sorry. it's... it's nothing." lana looked up at him, pulling the hair out of her eyes. she tried to smile. "sorry i bothered you," lana murmured, embarrassed. she glanced once more at aleksander, whose eye contact kept going from the guy he was talking to, to them. and she really did not like that. lana turned and headed towards the elevators to go back up to her room. for the first time, she felt... like a burden.
a couple days later, lana hadn't talked to staz since the lobby run-in. she went on her first job with derek stanwood, and she was happy to say she wasn't in jail. derek had been someone she was worried about. she just didn't know about him. the hostility towards each other at the beginning had mostly dissipated by the end of their first run, but lana still just didn't know. maybe it would get better the longer they continued working together. when she got back to the hotel that night, she wanted to go up to staz's room to tell him that she hadn't killed derek. it was one of the reasons he was assigned to her. because more than likely anyone else would have killed him. but, then she remembered that things now felt weird with staz. she had been pissed the day in the lobby. this had never happened before with them. he was irritated. and she had felt like he was irritated with her. she didn't know what she did, either.
she was working at the lounge tonight, and at least she was able to take her mind off of the bratva. before the lounge opened for the night, lana hung out with some of the other employees in the lounge. she joked and talked with the bartender as he gave her light drinks. it was sort of like she was gaining friends. she didn't really not get along with the guys she worked with. they were nice to her, and she knew that they knew what organization she was really tied to, but they didn't treat her differently because of it. lana thought maybe she could ask them what she should do with number one fan. but then, for some dumb reason, she felt embarrassed to ask. and then she was ushered of to go get ready herself because people were coming soon. lana decided that she would just let the guy down easy. say she was flattered and such, but she wasn't exactly interested. maybe just less harsh.
a simple strapless black gown and some red lipstick later, she was on the stage, doing one of the few things that relaxed her these days. if lana never found this job, she would probably be up in her room alone right now. reading probably, or watching the television. singing was also a rare glimpse at a more at-ease lana. she didn't feel alone or keep her shy composure. it was the last song of the night, and the night had been really successful for her. she didn't think of the things that had been bothering her. but then, real life caught up with her again, ending the momentary carelessness. staz made his way into the lounge, and it wasn't even that that was bothering to her. it was the fact that he was making great lengths not to look in her direction.
BEWARE OF EVIL MEN |
[/td][/tr][/table] TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY SUGARCULT [/center] |
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