amy_rashelle: (Yours to Keep)
2011-06-14 09:28 pm
Entry tags:

Face to Face

Ilena sat at her small kitchen table, watching the blond man pace in front of her. There was no confusion or anger or desperation in his expression. In fact, she was quite certain she’d never seen a man so cold or confident before in her life…well, almost. Edward Kingston came to mind.

In fact, this man looked very similar. His hair was cut short to his head in military style and his eyes held the same dark blue determination. Squared back shoulders, neatly fitted suit and a casual hold on his gun that told Ilena he knew how to use it very well.

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amy_rashelle: (Yours to Keep)
2010-01-31 10:51 pm

Unforgiven Mistakes

The Old Man was getting tired of Greg’s voicemail. He’d stressed time and again that they never let the phone go to voicemail. If he called then it was bloody important and they needed to pick up. He slammed the phone down as Greg’s voice melodiously asked him to leave a message. Where was the little prick? He’d been home from Moscow for nearly two weeks and had checked in once.

“Of all the bloody cheek,” he muttered under his breath. He picked up the phone again and waited as the ringing connected him to his secretary. “Tell communications that I want a GPS lock on Gregory Harris right now. And call in Kingston.”

“Yes, sir,” she said quickly.

Communications called him ten minutes later.
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amy_rashelle: (Yours to Keep)
2009-09-06 06:00 pm
Entry tags:

A Thin Blue Line

Greg knocked once on Daniel’s door before walking inside.  He had a key and he had been here often enough to check on him.  The flat was immaculate, but Daniel had been living in his bedroom the last few days.  Normally this sort of cleanliness was due to his absence.  Daniel was out on assignment more often than Greg.

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amy_rashelle: (ilena - here)
2009-06-21 05:39 pm

Memory - Part 2

“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)
2009-06-06 02:13 pm

Memory - Part 1

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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amy_rashelle: (ilena - here)
2009-05-18 01:26 pm

Boris the Elephant

                She didn’t know how he figured out what she was. Her clothing was quite conservative; her perfume was a subtle and expensive brand. Everything about her said eloquence, care, money, and nobility. He knew it was all a lie. Women so finely dressed didn’t allow an elephant to kiss their face with a wet trunk. The thought of ruined makeup was too great a disaster to fathom.


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amy_rashelle: (ilena - distant)
2009-04-04 10:55 am
amy_rashelle: (ilena - concern)
2009-02-17 08:24 am
Entry tags:

March 4, 1989

 “Ilena, get away from the window.”

Ilena looked up at her grandmother, Marina Gavrikov. The old woman looked tired and concerned. Her grandfather had been out for much too long.  It was becoming too dangerous, even for a man who had lived there his entire life.  What was left of the Red Army was causing riots up and down the countryside, especially in the interior where the Soviets' hold was weakening. One such group had just now managed to come to Perm. It seemed an odd place for a demonstration. Perm was in the middle of nowhere and their little village didn’t even make the Soviet map.

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amy_rashelle: (ilena - distant)
2009-02-11 05:45 pm

December 2, 1978

    They were arguing loudly, but she was giving in.  He could read it in her eyes.  Edward held her shoulders and squeezed gently enough to make his point.  “She can’t come,” he insisted.
    “She’s my daughter,” Marya said softly.  “I….I can’t…”
    “That’s why you have to!”  He cupped her face.  Marya was beautiful.  Sometimes he had to pause for a moment and just admire it.  Ilena would inherit that beauty, he could see it now.  She was also inheriting a lack of manners.  Her bastard of a father, probably. 
    “She’s not mine," Edward continued.  "She’s not a part of our lives.  She is your past and you have to let go of it.”  He sighed softly. “We’re starting a new family.  You can have a new child.  One with me.”
    Marya breathed hard and closed her eyes.  Her little Ilena was sleeping in her room.  She was always such a good girl, but so headstrong.  The first night Edward had come home with her little Ilena had slammed her foot down on top of his.  A mutual hatred sprang up between the two.
    She slid her hand down over her stomach and recognized the fluttering sensation only pregnancy could make.  Their new child was growing inside her and Edward refused to let them be born in Russia.  He also refused to take any children not his.  “You’ll love London,” he said gently.  “We will have a good life.”  He kissed her forehead.  “You will forget her.  It will just be us.”
    The Kingstons.  Edward, Marya, and whomever their new addition might be.  There was no place for Ilena.  “All right,” she agreed after a long time.
    Edward smoothed her hair back and kissed deeply.  He had his family.  Everything would be all right.  And the brat would be out of their lives.  His foot still hurt.