"Вы пакостный сынок шлюхи. Гадостная американская собака. Капиталистический шлам. Вы должны думать более лучшего путя получить, что меня соединили вас. Как раньше. Как вы использовал для того чтобы быть. You do not say as many words as you used to." A laugh spills from Nicholai and, for a second, the line goes quiet before there is the all-too-telling sound of someone picking up the phone again. "You have a poisonous tongue, Death. All too coaxing.."
If he were sober, this conversation would have ended the first time he heard his former-comrade's voice. But, he's drunk. No, he's completely gone and he doesn't care. Not tonight, anyway. Tomorrow morning, things will be different.
"Damage control, you mean clean up. Ah, typical. Line up or are we the only two left?" Ginovaef takes another swig from his class and huffs as he swallows back the almost-illegal brand of vodka. "You know room and place of stay are of no concern to me, unless you are so foolish to forget those times."
Then, there's more silence. It drags on until a breath catches it up and swallows the silence with a deafening cackle. The laughter continues on, its haunting sound dragging and scraping across the thin walls of Nicholai's living quarters before centering itself again.
"Broken, bleeding and gasping," Ginovaef breaths, his words only hisses on the other end. "You tease me, Death. How cruel."