End Game

Jun. 15th, 2011 09:20 pm
amy_rashelle: (Krylov Mansion)
He could hear muffled gunfire in the background. Shouts and angry Russian batted back and forth overhead. Greg didn't focus on any of it. The exhaustion that had overwhelmed him was so complete that he was fairly certain no one would ever be able to wake him from it. He'd stopped moving his hands, weighed down by the chains and lack of blood circulation. He couldn't feel where his skin met with the ground anymore. The cold had numbed him to any sensations.

Someone was moving him gently. He didn't bother helping or fighting. This was it. It was about bloody time. He'd been waiting a week to die. What had taken them so long? As long as they made it bloody fast, he'd be all right. None of this Russian tongue cutting out business. One bullet to the temple. Clean, quick. The death any man in the service hoped for.
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amy_rashelle: (ilena - here)
“So why don’t you tell me who you really are.”  Ilena propped her chin up on her hand as she stared down at Greg’s well formed torso.  Not too many men could appear half naked with pride and even fewer used her services.  It made moments like these a treat.

“Daniel Kingston,” he said easily.

“Your name is Greg,” she responded.

“Daniel is my first name.  I just go by Greg a lot.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

“I am not,” he argued.
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amy_rashelle: (ilena - pleased)
Feliks Krylov led Greg further into the house.  It was fashioned after the era of the Bolsheviks, so there were quite a few memoirs from the 1917 revolutions.  Swords from the royal army were hosted proudly on the wall beside some other choice weapons of Russia’s illicit past.  Whether it was just a sampling of an expensive collection or meant to intimidate visitors, Greg felt is was effective either way.  Still, in his opinion, the French had them beat with the guillotine.
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