from beneath you it devours ,

[avel vaughnovich dombrovski]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,width: 450px; padding: 10px;] [bg=121212][style=font-family: arial narrow; color: #00BBFF; font-weight: bold; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -1px; line-height: 16px; padding-left: 5px; border-left: 280px solid #00BBFF;]ONE OF THESE DAYS.[/style] [style=text-align: center; color: #e4e4e4; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 3px; font-family: arial;]THE SKY'S GONNA BREAK AND EVERYTHING WILL ESCAPE[/style] [style=margin-top: 5px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #e4e4e4; background-color: #212121; padding: 5px; border: 1px solid #222222;] --- IT was a cold and dark night in moscow. avel rubbed his hands together as he waited for the door to open. he and his older brother were impatiently waiting for someone to unlock the door. the peephole slid open. "open the fuck up, it's colder than your mother's dead body out here," his brother barked in russian. the peephole slid shut and the door opened moments later and the two dombrovski brothers walked in. the house was a typical run-down russian brothel house. there were several set up around the city. however, they were called to this one tonight by their dad, vaughn. apparently one of the... "workers" tried to escape, or was trying to help others escape, avel was hazy on the details. he was just informed about a half hour ago. he had been at dinner with natasha, his current girlfriend. she, of course, didn't appreciate him leaving in the middle of dinner, but she was far too used to it. "how many times do you need to do something? or take care of something? you leave at the worst times," she had told him tonight. yes, she was a girlfriend that didn't know the true nature of his job. it wasn't the easiest thing to say to someone. 'hi, i work in the sex trafficking business.' sort of was a turn off for women. by the time he left the restaurant, his brother was already waiting in his car. "it smells like stale sex and death in here," he commented to his brother. it wasn't the classiest of places by any means. the rooms were not decorated, the floors weren't that clean. it was up-to-date enough to keep the business going. beds and drugs. didn't need more than that. "and you're surprised?" his brother started laughing. they didn't have housekeeping, and there was always an off chance that one of the girls was overdosing or already dead for a few days now. it had been several months since avel had actually been in one of these houses. ever since he was promoted to torpedo, he was seeing less and less of these places. the two brothers still sometimes kidnapped because they were good at it, but since they both had new roles, their old job started to take a backseat. his brother though, still came to these houses for a quick fuck. "this way," the guard at the door his brother yelled at led them down the hall to the back rooms. they weren't going upstairs. only thing up there were the worker's rooms. knocking on the door, avel pushed through. their father and their great uncle, gorya, were arguing in russian. "well were all of them caught? last thing we need is one of those drugged whores finding a goddamn police station," gorya said. he was seated at the table, while vaughn paced near a window. "of course they were all caught." vaughn saw his two sons and motioned them over to the table. the door shut behind them. avel sat down across from gorya, and vaughn finally found himself a seat as well. "so what happened?" avel asked. vaughn ran his hand down the corners of his mouth. "one of the girls decided to play vigilante..." vaughn started. "an american?" avel's brother asked, interrupting. gorya shook his head. "no. a czech." they all nodded. "a czech? i'm impressed," avel said. it was american girls they always found problems with. there was always a good handful that... thought they could do something, or get out, or whatever. it only upped their value. some of the customers that found themselves here liked a girl that put up a fight. or, if they were just annoying, they'd find themselves strung up on heroine. "she tried to escape with some other of the girls. we caught them," vaughn continued. he was irritated. avel could tell. besides the fact that he had probably just been reamed by gorya for letting this happen under his watch, he was probably just overall pissed that someone defied him. "quite honestly the czech is more trouble than her pussy's worth. so we'll just have to make an example out of her," vaughn said as if this was some last resort conclusion he had come to. avel frowned, "and how are you going to do that?" vaughn shrugged. "you're going to kill her. dump her in the river, dump her in the goddamn woods for all i care. just take care of it, avel." avel cocked his head to the side. "you want me to kill her?" almost like he didn't understand what his father was asking. "yes, avel. we're just going to scare all the girls from thinking they can pull off some fucking great escape. you can do this, can't you?" it was a question but avel knew it was a demand. "of course. one shot," he said with a nod. his brother was eyeing him curiously. avel could hide it from his father, but his brother he could not. he knew avel had never actually killed a woman before. he'd been a torpedo, a contract killer for brigade two, and up until now, all his former targets had been men. but a woman? he'd just have to view it as any other target. and chances were, this czech's body had long since been deteriorating from abuse and drugs. maybe she would welcome death. being released from the life she obviously didn't plan on having. vaughn and gorya nodded with satisfaction. gorya got up slowly, grabbing his cane for his balance. vaughn looked at his youngest son. "do it tonight." the two old russians made their way out the door and just like that, had probably already forgotten about the orders they just give. going on to the next thing. his dad was probably going home to see their mom. when the door closed, his brother turned his chair to his. "ok, now that father is gone, can you really do this?" avel didn't want to appear weak. this was his job after all. take care of people that threatened the business. "yes, i can," he got up. smoothing down the front of his suit. his brother nodded. even if he wasn't satisfied with avel's vague response, he didn't press it more. "ok. then i will see you tomorrow, brother." now, avel was alone. but, he didn't want to dwell on his task at hand. when he left the room, he walked back over to the guard. "where is she?" he asked. the guard pointed to the stairs. "first door on the left." he climbed the stairs two at a time. the hall was empty, all the doors down were closed. or in their terms, occupied. first door on the left, he didn't knock, just let himself in. well, he was right about one thing, she looked really fucking breakable. he didn't know if she spoke russian. they brought people from around the globe. most of the time, they just knew their native language and didn't live long enough to learn russian. lucky for her, avel knew czechoslovakian. "Vstávej! Ty jdeš se mnou." (get up. you're coming with me.) [style=color: #00BBFF; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 1px; background-color: #121212; padding: 2px;]TAGGING: ASIA/ANA IN RUSSIA - 2009 | OUTFIT: SUIT-TYPE, LOOKING SHARP | LYRICS: CIVIL TWILIGHT | NOTES: POSSIBLY SUCKED. STILL GETTING USED TO HIM.[/style][/style]

[style=font-size: 10px; font-family: georiga; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 3px;]TEMPLATE BY SAMARECARM OF OTE + BTN[/style]

[anatasia kirsi cervenka]

,

[/size]SHE LIKED TO <sub>pretend she could see out the window. it was a breezy, albeit overcast, day in prague. she was playing street hockey with some of the neighbourhood boys when nikola cervenka's engine rumbled down the street. he swore at the boys, smiled at his eldest daughter. and then he was gone. danica found out about the hockey, and trapped little ana in her bedroom. now she was watching from her window, wishing with her heart to be down on the street playing again. later, after dinner, they would dress edita up as the goaltender and pretend to hit her in the face with the little rubber puck. she closed her eyes with a mirthless sigh. it was orange. or red? she couldn't remember. it ruined the vision. anatasia cervenka opened her eyes again, the open window disappearing behind a board of cracked, stained wood. she was in moscow, with no view of any street. she was never outside. she, too, liked to pretend it was a wasteland in cold war-era soviet. that way, they were all destroyed too. maybe if she tried, she could see a little orange puck roll by.

the last time ana had looked out into the hallway, she saw open eyes pleading. no whispers, no movement, just wordless prayers for a life they all knew was over. it had been sasha, the girl with scraggled black hair and a belarusian accent. she would have looked horrid in orange. she smiled lightly, bemused by this cheerless thought. perhaps a little orange puck would be a bad idea. sasha had been the last girl she had seen taken from this wasteland. whorehouse, crack house, what did they call it? business. a conglomerate beneath a russian empire. where did she fall? they told her she was perfect, flawless little ana. pretty, helpless, dependable ana. she was important to their monstrous cause. it was never going to be the cervenka girl's eyes staring at anyone from the hallway, life fading one breath at a time. it had to be time for the weekly purging of this place. she blinked again, pulling her gaze from the boarded window to the cemented door. maybe if she tried, she could see a mother baking a cake, teasing edita about the icing. she couldn't.

this place altered your brain. most girls succumbed to the haze of the golden heroine. they begged, tears rimming their dead eyes. it would make everything better. they would forget, limp into the rag dolls the russians liked. easily handled, a basic plaything. many men preferred these. when they had lowered her drug-induced fog, this ruined house destroyed her more. she saw ugly shadows on the walls at night, sharp teeth gnawing on little girls. they were tickets, easily replaceable by something fresh. ana was never certain as what to think. sometimes she saw a field with her family. other times, she saw the insides of girls pouring onto their outsides. she tried not to see anything. if you put a tight band around your eyes and breath slowly, you can almost forget. you can fade behind broken glass, scummed with a film of abhorrence and evil. with no heroine drip forced into her arm, it was the best she could do. if the other girls could do it, a future could even be possible. a dim, flickering light at the end of a cave she would surely never reach. it was a feeble thought, escaping, but her blinders allowed her to ponder it. what did she have to go back to? where would she go? it's not like she could do anything, go anywhere. was this the point in which girls chose to stay? ana had no answers to find. her brain was scrambled with different routes, helplessness, an odd strike of determination. she wanted to escape, break free. she wanted to die. she wanted to stay. demons with little teeth were chewing on her mind.

ana rattled the handcuffs. the wounds on her left wrist grew deeper. they were rusted, worn thing from the harsh moscow winter. no doubt left out to absorb moisture and weaken. a man she didn't recognize pushed her into this room, and trapped her to the pipe closest to the window. she had never been here before. her room was at the end of the hallway, fifth door on the right. she kept it tidy, made her bed and attempted to scrub the walls. this place was…not. the air was smokey, the dust in a thick layer all around. probably not a good sign. the only girls brought here were the serious ones, because it was close to the important individuals. if nika had not tripped, had ivanna not wailed, it could have worked. security had been dismal all week, the guards tired and frustrated. no members of the dombrovski family had appeared. the harsh winter would have shielded them perfectly. she rattled the handcuffs again, hissing in distaste. they could be gone. she could be gone. instead, what happened? nina got shot. ivanna was so far gone, she was going to be dead within a day. no one touched ana. perfect ana, pretty ana, flawless ana. no one wanted to hurt little ana. she sniffed, tears wanting to fall, as her mind processed this. she despised her nickname. she wanted to handcuff it to every dombrovski and let them freeze in siberia. it eased her mind a little.

why had she not thought for herself? chances are, ana would have disappeared. the most powerful human traffickers in europe would be off guard, because a challenging little czech girl had slipped between the cracks. she would never be able to go home, never set foot in a dark prague alley. they knew she liked paris. norway, perhaps. or germany. she was rattling the handcuffs to a tuneless beat, pondering where she would have gone, when the door eased open.

she recognized him, albeit faintly. he had sharp eyes and a wicked hand. he rarely spoke. a russian lackey forever dedicated to listening to daddy's orders. ana had seen these before. when she turned to find the tall man standing there, a steel expression hardening his handsome face, she blinked. all of the lava bubbling dangerously in her belly was making her nauseous. she hoped she was appearing bored, unsurprised. there was no question what avel dombrovski was here for. he was the barrel of daddy's gun. no doubt, there was a shiny toy hidden away on his body. he wanted to shoot her between the eyes and leave her in the snow. ana cervenka was not a death celebrated enough to carve the soviet hammer and sickle into her forehead and leave her on a street corner. no one would care if she was discovered. another whore lost to drugs. when he spoke, advancing upon her, for the first time she fell to her fright. pressing against the wall, gripping the chain of her handcuffs, she swore at him. a long, loud string of russian profanities. he was not going to enjoy this like he wished. finally, she stopped, a mirroring steel glint in her own eyes. offering her wrist to him, she smiled darkly. "i do hope it is a fun ride, for you. i am here to please you, sir." her tone thick with sarcasm, the english rolling her smoothly, ana stared. she hated him.</sub>[/blockquote][/blockquote]

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TAGGED, avel !
LENGTH, 1237 words.
LOCALE, circa. 2009 - moscow, russia.
ATTIRE, hurr.
NOTES, <3
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to thursday - "gun in the first act"

[/blockquote]

[avel vaughnovich dombrovski]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,width: 450px; padding: 10px;] [bg=121212][style=font-family: arial narrow; color: #00BBFF; font-weight: bold; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -1px; line-height: 16px; padding-left: 5px; border-left: 280px solid #00BBFF;]ONE OF THESE DAYS.[/style] [style=text-align: center; color: #e4e4e4; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 3px; font-family: arial;]THE SKY'S GONNA BREAK AND EVERYTHING WILL ESCAPE[/style] [style=margin-top: 5px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #e4e4e4; background-color: #212121; padding: 5px; border: 1px solid #222222;] --- HIS childhood wasn't... conventional, we'll say. as long as avel can remember his father was training him and his mother was teaching him languages he eventually would come to understand languages spoken by people they trafficked.. he had been surprised when kids his age weren't like him. not everyone was learning defensive moves? by the time avel started to question this, he learned that both his parents didn't leave honest lives. he knew trafficking was unnatural, but that didn't stop him from kidnapping girls across europe and shipping them back to moscow. it was his job in a multi-billion business. there was always that chance he might get arrested, but the russian bratva had long been in bed with police officers. hell, he had seen some of these officers in the whore houses. cops could pretend to be on the right side of the law, but when it came down to it, they were all no different. it was startling that the youngest dombrovski had no remorse for anything he had done leading up to now. there was not one girl he wish he hadn't kidnapped or one target he wish he hadn't killed. but, standing in front of him was the... girl. he was ending her life tonight and for some reason, it was unsettling in the pit of his stomach. avel hated himself that he was thinking too much into this. it was just part of his job. he would have to do things like this in the future and just some mere sex slave shouldn't be making him question this as much as she was. one shot. just like his father taught him. in the art of murder for hire, you only needed one shot to kill the target. two was a mistake, and three was frantic. avel was going to take this girl to some place where no one would find her. he would put the gun to her head and pull the trigger. this was a close range shot, too. it would be over in a matter of minutes. then, he would probably go back to his girlfriend's apartment and go to sleep, because this night was turning out to be exhausting. he wouldn't think about what was about to happen, he wouldn't remember this girl, and he would go on living his life like he had. she looked young. but it was impossible for him to peg an age on her. maybe before she had been kidnapped, he could have guessed her age, but after years in this place? it did things to people. avel couldn't understand why his father was so up in arms about this one girl. as he sat at the table with his brother and great uncle he felt like his father was almost overreacting. kill the czech was what had been decided and he was unsure why. they wanted to make an example of her, so they said. but fear is an unpredictable and dangerous emotion to hold and wield on any of these girls. avel was sure his father put much fear in every last one of the workers here. all he had to say was he could kill them at any time. fear did things to people. like the girl in front of him. she tried to look unphased by his entrance, but he could see her falter when he walked towards her. there it was again, fear. everyone had it. she gripped her chains and starting swearing at him. in russian. avel could see it now. one thing you didn't want to possess in this place was a mouth. it did them no favors. they saw this more often with american girls which was why his brother mentioned americans during their meeting. they were always spouting off about how they were american citizens. like that meant anything here in moscow, russia. and then she offered him her wrists. she smiled like a cat with hidden secrets of her own. so she wanted to challenge him. "i do hope it is a fun ride, for you. i am here to please you, sir." and now she was talking to him in english. so perhaps she was smart. he cocked his head ever so slightly to the side and looked at her for just a moment. then, he stepped in closer, ignoring her hands, and instead grabbed her at her on either side of her jaw, squeezing just enough to cause discomfort. "behave and i promise i will make this quick." he only did quick, but she didn't need to know that. "make peace with your god and maybe he'll find more mercy on you than i." avel looked into her eyes with only his honesty that what he was saying was the truth. he let go of her and started walking toward the door. "follow me. we mustn't be late," he tossed over his shoulder. down the stairs they went and the guard handed him a set of keys, for her cuffs. then he handed him another set of keys. for a car. "use the car in the alley." the guard told him in russian and avel nodded. the guard opened the door, a gust of frost whipping it's way into the entryway. he looked at the girl again. she was a talker and a runner, and he didn't want her to go running off into the winter night, so he grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her out into the cold, moscow winter night. around the back of the house was the car the guard was undoubtedly talking about. he first unlocked the passenger side door and let her in. shutting the door when she was in, he quickly walked himself around the car and got in himself. he couldn't win, it was just as cold in here as it was outside. he started the car and turned the heat on. now where to take her? his father just told him to take her anywhere throw her body somewhere, just take care of it. chances were they'd find her body and wouldn't be able to identify it, and just stick her with all the other unidentified. the moskva river. he could dumb her there. there were several places that were secluded and no one would see. he'd just dump her body in the water and let the river have it's way with her. maybe the police would find her in a few days, or maybe there wouldn't be anything to find. avel pulled out into the street, heading toward a place he knew along the river. [style=color: #00BBFF; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 1px; background-color: #121212; padding: 2px;]TAGGING: ASIA/ANA IN RUSSIA - 2009 | OUTFIT: SUIT-TYPE, LOOKING SHARP | LYRICS: CIVIL TWILIGHT | NOTES: TAKE TWO, HOPEFULLY BETTER THAN THE LAST.[/style][/style]

[style=font-size: 10px; font-family: georiga; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 3px;]TEMPLATE BY SAMARECARM OF OTE + BTN[/style]

[anatasia kirsi cervenka]

,

[/size]THERE WAS NOTHING <sub>to be had outside of these walls. long, dark streets with flickering street lamps; busses that drove no where. a broken house with boarded windows, thin paint that peeled and fluttered onto the windshields of the power-hungry vehicles that came and went. frail girls with red-rimmed eyes that went in but never out. the trim men in sharp suits, the ones with steel eyes, kicked down the doors and disturbed the unpolished floors with their five hundred dollar soles. this house did not hide from the public. everyone knew what it was. pale arms with needles sticking out, desperation to find a vein they had not already collapsed. thick wads of illegal money changed hands. the age-old description of a criminal pool, with irony-filled salubrious firearms and a kind word that won every time. if you had iced blood and a thick tongue, there was everything. girls like ana cervenka, there was these boarded windows and the next vile of golden heroine.

she had long accepted it. she was entombed in the bottom-feeder structure, the one barely hanging on. it was at the end of the damp road, casting fanged shadows across the stained pavement. its neighbours repaired their garages and ran off. the red door gleamed with its demonic smile, the only victor against the cold russian winters. everything else had surrendered, colourless. where was there to go? this place ate, ate and ate some more. and then it ground up little girls and spat them out when it was full. except for when a steel-eyed man spoke to you. that is when you know you have somewhere to go. this is the part they pretend there is something to be had outside of these walls. a warm fireplace, with soup that would smell like home. how many girls had been murdered because they smiled, relieved? it was the word that won every single time. they pretended there was a glimmer, a pretty halo rimming the demon smiles. once her insides turned to ash, she never listened to their kind russian words. there is no outside, no warmth. they would grow bored of her eventually, and toss her into the snow in a nylon bag. navy, perhaps. that was what sasha got. this was why her mind was spinning as she stood there, staring out the moulding board. what were they going to promise? what was he going to pretend, to taunt?

his name was avel dombrovski. she had seen him before, had whispered his ugly name off of her tongue. it tasted putrid. and he was special. daddy loved his little boy the most, so he must give him a job. a job for a big boy, responsible and important. something he can bring home to mommy. the tall man in the dark suit approached her, and all ana saw was a foolish child, spreading the blood of his victims onto purple construction paper. someone stole the black. the corners of her mouth rose again, the same dark smile twisted her features. she had been a good little girl, so they classroom bully had never been given reason to ruin her. perfect ana; pure, absolute little ana. what compelled you to do this, little ana? no one wants to hurt you. we love you here. the provocations that had haunted her for years danced in front of her eyes, spelling out in thick ink, drawn in a stunning script. she hated him. he was the monster the girls would dream of, the one with a poison tongue that injected everything he wanted into your broken veins. he would leave no scar. the fear felt hot in her body, desperate to show itself. he knew of her horror of him, because it was the one everyone harboured. she hated him.

he terrified her.

she swallowed the heat, pushed her mind to play more childhood tapes of avel dombrovski. it had been a long time since she had seen him. but the walls here were thin, no one bothered to whisper. the men, the dirty ones who helped themselves to the rag dolls, spoke of him. his role. his gun. how it was just that, flash! and oleg was gone. they sounded like flighty fangirls. she smiled again. here was the challenge. offer your hand to the big bad wolf, you cannot scream when he bites. when his fangs pierce your flesh and skin you, one layer at a time, you laugh in his face. ana could find no middle ground. she accepted the challenge. taunted him with her visions, smiled like a cheshire cat when he walked close. it was back, the fear. an witch with moles on her nose stirred her belly like a cauldron, hot and smoking. cooking children who wandered into her gingerbread house. he reached forward and touched her, grasping her jaw together. living in this house had taught ana cervenka to hate touching. she squealed as he threatened her, closing her eyes tight and making weakened attempts to disappear and never be heard of again. it didn't work. "you took that from me long ago, master avel." her voice was soft, tightened with pain. dying was better than remembering. when he spoke again, leaving her behind, the fear roared again. there had been threats since she had come here. no one ever acted on perfect little ana.

he either did not care, or trusted his malevolence. she followed him quietly. she watched girls get manhandled. bruised and battered, thrown down stairs and marched off to the quiet woman to have thick concealer applied to their tiny bodies. those hands were cruel, she could see the stains and scars darkening them. she hated him. remaining silent as the guard - who needed to shave - conversed with perfect little russian solider, the one who pushed kids into the sandbox before nap time, ana watched avel's eyes. for the first time in several years, a chill rushed through her body. the witch turned back up the fire and the heat of humiliation burned once again. the children were beginning to cry, because they were realizing things and they didn't want to be eaten, they really really didn't. use a gps instead of bread crumbs. lesson learned. she pulled once again as he touched her, grabbing her harshly and pulling them out into the colourless night. she swore at him again, a long, colourful ramble in a mash of languages that was dimmed by the wind. she hated him.

she hated how her body followed him willingly, almost desperate for his body's heat. the snow washed over her worn boots and into her frozen toes. a cruel wind ripped through her thin dress. her body won again. it pushed her into the car, grateful for the damp insolation. she could attempt to sleep and die here, on her own accord. it was a nice thought. any sense of rebellion had long disappeared. leaning heavily against the door, ana remained silent as avel turned up the heat and started the car. he was pondering, running a train of possibilities through his mind. that was a bad thing. her fingers found her necklace, that godforsaken locket her father always insisted on keeping. they let her have it sometimes, because she was perfect little ana. or when they wanted to torment her. her mind began to spin again, crawling back to dark czech alleyways and playing in the daisy fields with edita. she watched him driving, unable to gauge his thoughts. he could peel back anyone's skin and leave them raw and unattractive, while he hardened his shell. he was empty armour that she wanted to rattle, just to see what would happen. he scared her; he made her feel like every other girl. she was better than that. she kicked the dashboard just as the first tear fell. and another, followed by a third. salty tears soon stained her cheeks, her swears muffled by her quiet heaves. she kicked and tried to scream, but couldn't because it took too much effort, so she swore and cursed and wished him to kiss the devil. she wanted to ask where they were going, why he was prolonging this. no one was that cruel. but he would never answer her. instead, she whispered, looking up at him through her red-rimmed eyes. "why are you doing this?" her words were soft, hoarse from finally beginning to crack, but he had to listen. he had to because he owed her that.

no one would ever admit it, but he did. she knew he did.</sub>[/blockquote][/blockquote]

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TAGGED, avel !
LENGTH, 1433 words.
LOCALE, circa. 2009 - moscow, russia.
ATTIRE, hurr.
NOTES, who likes them? this kid.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to thursday - "gun in the first act"

[/blockquote]

[avel vaughnovich dombrovski]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,width: 450px; padding: 10px;] [bg=121212][style=font-family: arial narrow; color: #00BBFF; font-weight: bold; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: -1px; line-height: 16px; padding-left: 5px; border-left: 280px solid #00BBFF;]ONE OF THESE DAYS.[/style] [style=text-align: center; color: #e4e4e4; font-size: 10px; letter-spacing: 3px; font-family: arial;]THE SKY'S GONNA BREAK AND EVERYTHING WILL ESCAPE[/style] [style=margin-top: 5px; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; color: #e4e4e4; background-color: #212121; padding: 5px; border: 1px solid #222222;] --- AVEL was quiet because he didn't want to talk to her. engaging in conversation was just... uncomfortable considering he was only with her because he had to kill her. she was only a girl and that in itself didn't sit right with him. yeah, only a girl and had been working for the bratva by having sex with men who paid for it. he had to admit, it would be better to be a prostitute. at least then, you could get a cut from the money for yourself. here? their payment was a sheltered place to live, clothes on their back, and food. it was the bare minimum in living, however in the dead russian winters, having a place to stay was wanted. this was the sex trafficking business and it wasn't glamorous in the least. you were kidnapped, never to see your family again. then, you were doped up on heroine because your body was more relaxed and less likely to put up a fight. avel had seen the worse of what this business could do to girls. but, his emotion remained neutral. at least he didn't go to houses that catered to the clients who preferred... younger. yes, there was a very high demand for children. when there was a demand, they supplied it. simple as that. avel just kept driving. there weren't many people out at this time of night. he only passed a few that were huddled close together on the sidewalks, and traffic lightened tremendously the farther avel got from the main streets. they were slowly creeping away from the small hope she was probably clinging onto. that just maybe... maybe this wouldn't happen after all. and then she was kicking, screaming, and cursing him. she cursed him to kiss the devil and he wanted to laugh. already there. avel had already learned years ago that it was better to walk beside the devil that stand in front of him. he did nothing but continue to drive with one eye and watch her with the other, making sure she wasn't going to try and lunge at him. not that her frail frame could do any damage. when he had gripped her arm at the house, his thumb and middle finger were able to touch only showing how under nourish she had become. that and the drugs. she continued to curse at him. and then she asked him, "why are you doing this?" he paid attention to the street in front of him but he looked at her with all seriousness and said, "i am not doing anything." they were nearing the isolated spot by the river. "i am only here because of your insolent desire to break the rules." he got that question a lot. why are you doing this? is there anything i can do? please don't do this. it won't happen again, i promise. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. please. all different variations but they all meant the same damn thing: fear of death. when it came to close-range killings, this was what avel had to deal with. the talking, the pleading, the begging, and the crying. this fate was terrible to have to endure. knowing that you were going to die was much worse than not knowing it at all. she, however, was only seeing the bratva side of avel dombrovski. outside of taking orders from his parents, he wasn't nearly as focused or serious. scolding from his father came often because avel liked to drink, have a good time, and live up to his social status and being seen in town. but, when he was given something to do, his entire demeanor would change and that was what he was like right now while he drove some girl to her death. it was like he had to put on a mask. this was his alter-ego. at least he knew to alter between the two. he was sure his brother was all one, never changing. avel could separate. his fun personality was who he was, but the killer was what he was. turning the car down an unmarked path with no paved street, they were almost there. avel wasn't worried about anyone hearing them. in this part of moscow, gunshots came as often as the sunlight did. people like him... they felt were invincible. to know that you could murder someone in broad daylight, in a area full of people and not get arrested because witnesses were too scared to talk was common here. avel had never done that, but he knew he could. to know that people like him were above the law in a place like this... he was regarded with respect to those who knew of him. the invincibility came with getting away with things and remaining uncaught. avel couldn't even count how many crimes he truly committed. murder and kidnapping would warrant the most charges he was sure of that. just as avel had expected, the area was completely deserted. he shut off the headlights and traveled only a little further before turning off the car. he slipped the keys into his pocket and without a word, opened up the car and got out. he was acutely aware of the gun brushing against his ribs. never leave the house without one his father told him when he was a teenager. so avel never did. slung in the holster was one of his favorite beretta handguns. he smoothed his suit jacket down his front and pulled it forward slightly, adjusting himself. professional and pristine. he did look around the area he drove into. there were no street lamps, the only light provided tonight was from the moon that had raised high into the night sky. it was just as cold over here, and it looked like it might start snowing again. seems like it might hold off just long enough for avel to do the job and get out of there. besides the sound of the flowing water, there wasn't a soul breathing. it was completely isolated just as avel expected it to be. all the girl's hope should be gone now. no one could save her. he opened up the passenger door and pulled her out, this time, both his hand gripping each arm. "it would be better if you just accepted your fate, and maybe you'll learn from your mistakes in this life and fare better in your next. tak pojď, holubičko," he said. adding come on, little dove in her native language because avel realized he didn't even know this girl's name. maybe it would be better for him if he didn't. perhaps he'd learn of it tomorrow amongst the chatter of one less worker. he pushed her in front of him. "start walking," he finished, nodding towards the river embankment in front of them. [style=color: #00BBFF; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 1px; background-color: #121212; padding: 2px;]TAGGING: ASIA/ANA IN RUSSIA - 2009 | OUTFIT: SUIT-TYPE, LOOKING SHARP | LYRICS: CIVIL TWILIGHT | NOTES: <3[/style][/style]

[style=font-size: 10px; font-family: georiga; text-align: center; letter-spacing: 3px;]TEMPLATE BY SAMARECARM OF OTE + BTN[/style]

[anatasia kirsi cervenka]

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[/size]HE HAD NO <sub>wish to speak with her. she watched him, red-rimmed eyes glaring at the man who pretended to be invincible. avel dombrovski was difficult to read. he wore his armour, tinkered steel leftover from the cold war, with a dignified veneration. his eyes were blank; his tone, listless. he was not, however, as indomitable was he thought. it took a talented mind to search the russian knight, discover the chinks in his armour. anatasia cervenka had witnessed russian bratva members at their most vulnerable - explosive sexual desires, polluted satisfaction, and the burning shame. they were invincible, untouchable, perfect. until the poison-fanged snake rears it head, starved. the russian bratva fitted its members slowly, with rusted steel plates; it was cautious, pumping in its toxic gases until the spirit disappeared in a black smoke. they only realized too late. they were inhumane, mindless killing machines. the scaly snake is ugly, all that remains. it lies dormant, eating your stomach lining until it growls, a hungry belly. it reminded them. you have remaining humanity, you wayward slob. as ana watched avel, she saw that monster slithering uncomfortably. a part of him, deep down, had the desire to do something that would make him a badbad little boy. she recognized it. that was when bratva members stalked through the hallways, a customer. happiness, cheer, had long faded; disturbing desires was the only way to feel anything. as she watched, silent, she felt the awkwardness.

or, perhaps, he really was just that pathetic.

maybe she was allowing too much credit. avel dombrovski could be like the others, starved. forced to the point anything would satisfy their hungry snake. the part of them that, when it slithered, they felt something. anything. bullets and cold winters and orders and blood-stained hands and ruthlessness and everything they had been chiseled into iced their insides. icy winds froze their armour. one touch, one temptation, and they would crack. just for a minute, ashy insides would spill across the concrete. and then it was vacuumed, emptied and buffed back to hollow perfection. was he that complicated? avel dombrovski was a man who prided himself. he possessed the sick ability to excuse himself and go to a bar, play a little pool, maybe buy a girl a drink. he should go to america. there, he could binge on beer and argue about football. that picture was fitted into a glass picture frame, one that would remind his mother of him. she would cry and miss her little soldier. dark rumours crawled the shambled house, whispers of the dombrovski boys. a blind man, circulating with a gun, shooting when it felt right; an exposed man, able to put the gun away and go enjoy life. she liked his brother more. he felt. or pretended not to. all she wished for, really, was to see something behind avel's empty eyes.

nothing haunted him. broken deer eyes would not glower from the shadows, seething at the man who ruined their lives. whispers never woke him. the bratva soldiers who struggled, the ones she saw in her ragged little room, had snakes who were undecided. they were black, shrivelled. the man sitting in front of her kept his fed. it was a shined emerald, with white eyes and sharpened fangs. her initial induction had been sardonically askew. wore a devilish smile and danced a paper doll in front of her. he did not struggle. he did not crave. he flipped his lightswitch off when daddy came calling, ordering him from playing in for dinner. he should wear overalls and lick a popsicle that melts everywhere. dress him up in a black cape, daddy. there. he's all ready to go and kill someone.

so, no, he was not pathetic. not really. he was just really fucking disturbed.

ana said nothing, did nothing, as he drove. once her energy was drained, she merely scowled at him. outburst officially forgotten. ice seeped into her eyes, freezing her salty tears. it never happened. no. she was quiet, eager to outwit him, to haunt him, before he pushed her corpse into the river. "it must be cold. your beretta." every soviet robotic would feel naked without a firearm. smirking darkly, she stared into his face as he pulled her tiny body from the car. was she going to run? ana cervenka was accepting. she had long ago. her pride was torn whenever he looked at her, assuming she was another girl. one who begged, pleaded, because they though there was another way. when avel dombrovski invokes a gun upon your existence, there is no other way. how could they forget? she merely wished for an impression. monsters without shrivelled little snakes inside of them were deserving. his self-admiration, gratified dignity was atrocious. ugly. monstrous. no one deserved such comfort. "you mustn't believe in an afterlife. it would fare sadly for us all." her tone cracked as he called her a dove. that was strictly not allowed. so she spat at him, flames dancing in her tear-strewn eyes. she struggled. she swore at him again. no. simple: no.

he threatened her with his gun. "how many girls have you brought here, avel? should i feel used, or honoured?" kicking at the snow playfully, she turned to watch him, all empty smiles and indigent eyes. he had his cold war armour. she had spent three years callusing her skin, securing any metal that floated down the street. these men could be messy. every bratva member leaving her left a piece of their shields behind. she melded them together. "do not take me for a fool, avel. of course you are going to kill me. you will dump my body in this river," she stepped closer to its banks, touching the iced surface with her toe. "and you will forget i ever existed." her smile echoed again, her tone a firm calm. witticism, the refusal to play their games, was her homemade armour. it smelled like gingerbread. "your family has destroyed mine," she spoke aloud, speaking to the air. ignoring her shivering, she waded ankle-deep into the frozen river. numb. so her own slithery snake remained sleeping, snoring occasionally when it heard her native tongue. "you have ruined me. i'll never be able to have blood taken again." looking from her elbows and back to him, she smiled again, tilting her head to the side. "so kill me. before you proof yourself wrong to me."</sub>[/blockquote][/blockquote]

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TAGGED, avel !
LENGTH, 1076 words.
LOCALE, circa. 2009 - moscow, russia.
ATTIRE, hurr.
NOTES, who likes them? this kid.
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to thursday - "gun in the first act"

[/blockquote]

[avel vaughnovich dombrovski]

[atrb=border, 0, true][atrb=style, border-left: #3A4748 8px solid; border-right: #839175 2px dashed; background: #d8d8d8; padding-top: 16px; padding-right: 16px; padding-left: 16px; padding-bottom: 12px; -moz-border-radius: 10px; width: 368px;] one of these days the sky's gonna break and everything will escape HIS focus was on point. avel never had a problem switching between the two sides of his being. he was given an assignment and he was going to see it through. even though he had one reservation. it was just one. it was his first woman victim and it was just leaving a bad taste in his mouth. at least she was making it easier for him to hate her. the cries, the curses, and the whimpering next to him in the passenger seat was irritating to listen to. he should be more compassionate because she was scared. it should be no different, every close range subject was scared. but terror was different in a woman's eyes than a man's. it was almost ironic that avel thought about this. he drugged and kidnapped countless young women across europe that forced them into this sex trade. he flirted, he charmed, he even kissed before slipping a drug into drinks of women he and his brother were seducing before passing them off in shipments back to europe. he altered these women's lives onto a path they never would have walked down in the first place. he could change a woman's life no problem, but he was having problem just ending one. it was just... odd. avel could thank his father for his ability to remain stoic. you were catching a glimpse of a real russian soldier here. giving no emotion made things easier. it was the side vaughn dombrovski continuously tried to maintain in his youngest son. even if avel was only three years younger than his brother, it was like he was ten years younger in spirit. vaughn wanted to reign in the crazy. even if he couldn't completely accomplish this he always had to remind him, "balance the two if you must, avel." his father liked to chide. probably almost as much as giving orders. most sons would probably feel inadequate by the constant corrections, but avel never did and vaughn knew that. it was just part of their strange father/son relationship. avel liked to live, another ironic statement for him. "it must be cold. your beretta." her taunts probably irritated him the most. "it is," he replied equally as dark, "for now." even as she was minutes from death, she continued to argue and challenge him. he should just shove the gun down her throat and pull the trigger. just like that. she didn't deserve the ceremony he was giving her now. the only thing that was stopping him was that they were still near the car. getting blood out of a car was a bitch. "you'll be there before i. i suppose you'll find out for the both of us," he told her in reference to her afterlife comment. he smirked at her, clearly not liking his nickname for her. avel still had no interest learning her true identity. a face was a face. a face with a name was a person. he believed that maybe this would be just better the less he knew about her. he never had to remove the humanity from a person before he killed them as much as he was with the weak and fragile girl in front of him. she walked in front of him, heading towards the river. "how many girls have you brought here, avel? should i feel used, or honoured?" avel completely bypassed her first question. she didn't need to know she was the first. "you can feel however you want. in a few minutes neither of us will care anymore." he looked up at the sky. small snowflakes were starting to fall. it had been snowing on and off for weeks now. the cold always remained. they were only feet from the river now. "the river is the quickest grave," he murmured like he explained this before. his eyes casually scanned the area around them carefully. it was true. it was rather tedious digging graves, not that avel had ever picked up a shovel in his life. his eyes only returned to hers when she said his family destroyed hers. "my family has ruined a lot of families. what makes your family any different?" avel cocked his head to the side and gave her an honest look, perhaps even a brutal look. he wasn't going to deny that his family was the reason for hundreds, no, thousands of families across the globe were broken and incomplete. they were responsible for missing persons reports that went unsolved, years passing before graves with empty caskets were buried, and childhood bedrooms remaining just how they children left them. he grimaced as she stepped into the river. he looked down at his shoes. he didn't really want to get them wet. he stepped as close to the edge he could, still only an arm's length away from her. he pulled his beretta out, looking down at it, pulling the safety off and cocking it back as he waited for her to stop talking. talkative, this one was. he was unsure what to say. he normally never cliched it, adding in some lame punchline, or asking her for any last words. no, he usually just pointed the gun and pulled the trigger. as far as he was concern, no one deserved his words of wisdom, most of all his apologies for doing what he had to. because, well, he was never sorry. avel pulled the gun up and pointed it at her, his finger lingering right over the trigger. a few seconds passed, and for avel, it might as well of been a few hours. it was hesitation. and there it was, the kick. the slip he tried so hard to stay straight. he couldn't do it. he couldn't kill the nameless czech. tag: asia/ana location: moscow, russia (2009) outfit: suit ensemble, immaculate of course notes: woo! template by eliza @ sp & rcr

[anatasia kirsi cervenka]

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[/size]DEATH MEANT NOTHING <sub>to her. an ending was approaching. the author scripting her life seemed to have run their inkwell dry, never reaching for more. the words on her pages were fading. ana cervenka's climax must have passed. having her lace whitened words into avel dombrovski's own novel was her conclusion. a final wish; a twisted smirk, with murky intentions. a part of her wanted his beretta to jam, as mere proof american designed firearms were weak. another mistake for good boy avel. she wanted to live, her brain screamed. beg, cry, fuck, do whatever means necessary in order to survive. but her chapter twist, an iced reflection of the person she needed to become, was triumphant. she would rather die than continue like this. and her closing wish was for her last breath to fog his eyes, cast a never ending loop into his mind. her eyes widening as her body struggled until there was nothing left; watching as her corpse floated down, another lost body no one would search for. she wished for nothing but difficulties for avel dombrovski. his bullet to have frozen. so he would approach her, wade into the frozen waters and slip as he shot. he could stumble back into his pathetic life with a concussion and a darkened conscience. he had to be like the others, haunted by what he had done. it was all about acceptance. ana knew she was going to die. she smiled, a cold politeness, as her mind, the strong part, bowed to the devil. take a bite and she was not going to cry. please please, mister satan, leave a part of me, the demonic bit as you chew on me like tobacco. spit me out and stain priceless suit.

that was what this was. one last wish, with colourless morals. no goodbyes, preying for her family. she wanted to see avel dombrovski look out the window and see her smiling at him as she died.

a curt development, this was. out of the corner of her eye, ana watched. emotion bowed respectfully and vanished behind white velvet. it was over. dry, sardonic tears trumped onto her pages, a thick, messy scrawl. the dregs of the inkwell. she challenged him. she spat at him. one minute, she allowed herself, before she mirrored his demeanour. these russian people robots, rusted from attention they thought they had, were ridiculous. a meagre portrait of the big bad scary portrait the verrentenikov family wished to paint so so badly. poor little boy avel. a last bit of fun for perfect little ana. as he frowned, she frowned, a dark taunt dancing in her eyes. this was easy. entertaining. fun? she no longer cared if she lived or died. an empty existence, sharpened by pain, dulled by drugs. "keep my corpse, mister dombrovski. sell me on the black-market in order to hire writers. you need more threatening lines." she smiled again, as he spoke of his beretta. he was going to shoot her. they both knew. it was how he would go about it that allowed her the room to spark conversation, one he knew he had no desire to hold. "i'll write you a letter." he spoke of her trip to the afterlife. she had not assumed him to be a religious man. a hopeful one? perhaps. he must know he was following her to the seediest corners, to wallow in filth and self-torment. but the pain reflected in her eyes again as they continued to the afterlife bit. she wanted to spit at him, curse him again. her language, calling her a dove…it flipped her stomach. she wanted to cry. she wouldn't. she couldn't.

the wind bit at her. her fingers were turning blue. had her insides not fallen to ash long before, she would lie down in the snow and sleep. he could lose the game. no smoking barrel. it would be nice to point it out, but she was quickly wearing thin. her mind was getting tired, it was murmuring cryptic wishes. pierce me with a bullet, splatter me everyone. stain the pages because the author writing out story is a fucking fail. i bet they live in their mother's basement, living off of ramen. maybe she could make us a brisket for being such a good first draft. (do you assume, little ana, that we are meant to grace best-seller lists?). silly metaphors. the cold was shutting her brain down and it was sparking, pointing out the most ridiculous of…everything. she hated him. let's revert back to this. she frowned at him, the first genuine emotion flickered across her face. he favoured the classic russian approach, a bleached event. no mess. the ice would wash her body clean, the water would shadow his actions. she got lost in a washing machine, the forgotten sock. oops. she wanted to ruin him. make him lose or create a puddle of blood, stain that stupid fucking suit of his. "my family has ruined a lot of families. hat makes your family any different?" her eyes watered again, the anguish overflowing and staining her cheeks salty. "because my family is here, in front of you. accepting death. having every last wish for you to question yourself for the rest of your life." her words were sporadic again, echoing her deepest wishes. "because it was my family." her voice broke as she looked at him again.

the cold continued to crawl up her body. the water froze her skin. she felt blue. but as she stared, he avoided her eyes. he looked down, inspecting his perfect fucking shoes and his perfect fucking role in this stupid fucking life. ana blinked as he breathed and pointed his gun at her, fingering hovering over the trigger. "no, actually," her voice rose as he hesitated. "fuck that. fuck you. fuck my family. you've ruined me and i am here, waiting. standing in front of you. waiting for you to," she was screaming now, a swift kick of icy water toward him, never reaching him. "do what you do best. i just hope you see me when you fuck your girl tonight. call yourself a financial banker. they like that." her words blended in venom now, dropping her challenging demeanour. she hated him. "my name is ana cervenka. rozloučenou." she had nothing else to say. she closed her eyes, frozen. she was ready to go to sleep.

it never came. she heard no shot, felt no bullet. he said nothing. he never did. she had spoken far more than avel fucking dombrovski, and it had gone to deafened ears. that was fine. she had long stopped listening to her babble. her eyes struggled open, feeling the cold for the first time. he stood, clutching his ridiculous beretta. "do me a service, avel. comrade. look at me!" she shrieked again, unsure of why. hesitation. she saw it. there was no compassion in her eyes, no warmth in her voice. she was not thankful, wanting to collapse out of relief. death meant nothing to her. effect did. remaining in the water, ana watched again, quiet this time. waiting. reverting back to her reclusive aura, defence lifting. he was not going to kill her. he was going to stare at his stupid shoes and pretend this was excusable. hesitantly, ana approached him. any acid had disappeared from her face, now that her mind was breathing lightly once again. funny things can happen to one when they are threatened so greatly. where had her words come from? her anger? one swift motion, and she touched his arm, head tilted. green eyes were cold, the stiff politeness she had adopted echoing in her soft voice. different person, completely. "look at me, coward." she smiled at him, another genuine action. but she could not stop. a taunt was always there with him.

what the actual fuck. what he did to her. what this situation did. she didn't even know who she was anymore. did it matter? should it matter?</sub>[/blockquote][/blockquote]

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TAGGED, avel !
LENGTH, 1339 words.
LOCALE, circa. 2009 - moscow, russia.
ATTIRE, hurr.
NOTES, this is so bipolar >-<
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to thursday - "gun in the first act"

[/blockquote]

[avel vaughnovich dombrovski]

[atrb=border, 0, true][atrb=style, border-left: #3A4748 8px solid; border-right: #839175 2px dashed; background: #d8d8d8; padding-top: 16px; padding-right: 16px; padding-left: 16px; padding-bottom: 12px; -moz-border-radius: 10px; width: 368px;] one of these days the sky's gonna break and everything will escape HIS eyes might as well of been frozen because he couldn't move them away from her. maybe his decision not to kill her was decided back at the house when his brother asked him if he could do it. his brother knew before he even knew about it probably. if avel had to guess, his brother was probably thinking right now if the little brother had done it yet. it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. avel was just given a direction. 'take care of it. take care of it.' his father's voice only echoed in his head with clearly no merit as he couldn't... 'take care of it.' a simple command that up until now, avel had been able to do. why couldn't he kill this nameless vocal girl? he didn't know her, he didn't even recognize her. she obviously knew him, or at least thought she did. avel wasn't a regular to that particular house here in moscow, but he had been there numerous times over the years. he just settled on that fact that she probably just had seen him. she kicked water at him, which momentarily brought him out of the fog in his head. the water didn't reach him, it was a feeble attempt on her part. "my name is ana cervenka. rozloučenou." he internally cursed in his head and almost scowled at her. he didn't want to know her name. he didn't want anything about her. it's easier when it is just a nameless face with no backstory in his mind. if she didn't say that, maybe he would have been able to swallow this emotion of guilt he never possessed and just bury the bullet between her eyes. he wouldn't even watch her body float down the river. he would just turn around, and walk back to his car, start it, and go home. in her desperation, she probably picked up on his hesitation. and she yelled at him. telling him to look at her, which he did. it didn't make it any easier. but he was just getting angry at her. anger was good. anger got jobs done. but still. he couldn't pull the goddamn trigger. 'one shot.' that's what he told his father. he said it then with no emotion, he just had to channel it. the thing was, his guilt was heavier now. avel had to be honest. he probably wouldn't think of her after this. he wouldn't see her face in every girl he saw on the bus, he wouldn't see her in his coffee, and he most definitely wouldn't see her when he was fucking anyone. she thought that she deserved for him to know her name, or the decency to look at her while he shot her. however, she didn't deserve anything, least of all, avel didn't owe her anything. and she smiled like the cat she was and he knew he should really be able to kill her, but still. he couldn't. avel battled with his trigger solidly five different times. every time he believed he was going to just squeeze it, he didn't. even the thought of his father's reaction couldn't make him do it. but... this had to get done right? she couldn't be walking around the streets of moscow. someone would see or recognize her and then it would go back on him. maybe... maybe he didn't have to kill her. if people just thought she was dead, they wouldn't go looking for her. "look at me, coward." her taunts were irritating, and even though avel decided he couldn't kill her, he still pulled the trigger.... it didn't make contact with her. he sent the bullet into the river, whizzing by mere inches from her hip. so much for his one shot. avel still didn't want to get his shoes wet, so he tucked the beretta back against his ribs and yanked her out of the river, and forced her off the embankment. he reached back in his pocket and pulled out the keys to the cuffs the doorman had handed to him. "i'm only going to say this once, so listen up, holubičko," avel said, grabbing her wrists to get a hold of the lock in her cuffs. he was in no way gentle. he hated that he was even doing this. "i don't want to see your face in russia again." he unlocked her cuffs, tossing them in the river behind her. he even pulled out his wallet and stuffed some ruble bills into her hand "get on a train and leave russia. i don't care where. go somewhere that is not here." the fact was, he wasn't being nice to her, he was covering his own tracks. she needed to leave, simple as that. he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "if you tell anyone about this, about your time working, about anything, i know a lot of people in czechoslovakia. i will find you. family, friends, i will bury bullets in their brains before i bury one in yours. know that this is not some empty threat to scare you." tag: asia/ana location: moscow, russia (2009) outfit: suit ensemble, immaculate of course notes: story time. the first half probs is messy from the last half. i wrote the first bit last week. and this is rather short. i ran out of what i wanted to say >.< template by eliza @ sp & rcr