ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ (mobdog) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-10-04 13:16:00 |
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THE FIRST ARRIVAL. 2017. He left Derek and Valentina with the RV, to crane their heads over its engines and innards, the windows left open to air out the vehicle that would eventually become their home. Meanwhile, Roman stepped out onto the dusty, blasted earth of what had once been a wilderness park, his boots hitting sand as he emerged out into what was known, apparently, as the Dog Park. The place was haphazard and sprawling (and not as large nor as firmly-situated as it would be a year and a half later; it was still growing by drips and drabs, whenever the mechanic brought back more RVs and trailers for people to live in). Camp residents shot wary looks at the stranger as he walked amongst them, but he’d come through those gates escorted by a known face, so no one directly challenged his presence. Roman corralled a passing woman, her arms loaded up with laundry. “Viktor Scherbatsky,” he said, one hand reaching out for her arm, but then stopping before he actually touched her. The blank look he got in return wasn’t promising. “There’s supposed to be a Viktor Scherbatsky at this camp,” he repeated, patiently. “Do you know where I could find him? I’m his brother.” “Ohhhh,” she said, drawing out the syllable. “You mean Vic!” The woman juggled the dirty clothes, freeing one arm to point in the direction of a larger tent, its peak standing out amongst the ragtag assortment of personal camping tents around it, sprouting like flowers in a field. (Tarp in a desert.) “Try the kitchens. Or at least what passes for kitchens here, I suppose.” Then she levelled a sunny grin at him. “No wonder,” she said to herself, but Roman was already hurrying over towards the tent, where he could now see tendrils of grill-smoke snaking up into the midday sky as well. Now that Rome was pointed in the right direction, his kid brother (not so little, not so young) wasn’t hard to find at all: Viktor Arkadyevich loomed head-and-shoulders above a crowd. Rome’s steps sped up. “Vitya,” he called out with a laugh, announcing his presence, feeling something unclench in his chest. It was a sound Vic hadn't heard in over a year; nearly a decade had elapsed since the last time he'd seen his brother's face. He turned, eyes narrowed and staring at the approaching figure. (Was his mind playing tricks on him?) His own voice, once he got it working again, was hoarse and tight with emotion. Vic had given up his brother for dead, had already made his peace with the fact. And now here he was. "Roma." He took a step forward, then said his brother's name again as Rome continued to approach. It was him, it really was, as solid and unyielding as ever. "I thought you were dead." He'd managed that one phone call to Rome right before the lines went down, to let him know about their plans. Zhenya had always maintained hope that one day he'd find them, but it had always seemed like some kind of crazy pipe dream. Thinking positive about it just made it harder as the days and months passed. And yet, here they were. Zhenya had been right after all. (And she'd want a new diamond as her reward, once she heard about this.) Vic closed the last few remaining feet that separated the two men and clasped his brother in a tight hug. They collided like two icebergs crashing into one another, a thunderous impact that drew eyes and attention to this reunion: two massive men hanging onto each other as if they couldn’t stand on their own two feet without it. It had been a long time since Roman had lost his equilibrium, but right now, he was possessed of the idea that if he let go, he’d lose his balance and teeter to the ground. Landing right on his ass from sheer shock. So instead he leaned on his brother, his little-big-brother, Vitya’s solid weight and reassurance in front of him. Roman kissed his brother on the right cheek, then the other, then back to the right: three times as they’d been taught, mimicking the rites and traditions of their father and uncles and mother and aunts. Then he switched languages without even thinking about it, the Russian flowing loose from his tongue in a way it only did around Valya, though she’d always been more skittish with her grasp on the language. Watered down and diluted the further they got from Pavel, a long thread unwinding through the generations. “Sorry it took me so long. Traffic on I-35 was awful.” Rome was laughing, his voice a merry burr in the back of his throat. "You bastard." Vic cursed in English, the words barely distinguishable through his own laughter, before he, too, switched to Russian to meet his older brother in kind. "Always relying on me to hold the door open for you still, aren't you?" “What are you talking about? I’ve been summoned here to mop up your messes, Viktor Arkadyevich.” Vic’s arm remained around his brother in a loose hold as they continued to talk, his chores at the Dog Park long forgotten. He still needed to rely on that contact to reassure him that this moment was real. "Your family, are they here with you?" A thought occurred to him then and he added, a broad grin breaking out through that stern exterior: "You and Zhenya will finally be able to meet!" “Yes, Valya’s here,” Roman said, exhaling, and that one simple sentence conveyed all of his relief. “She’s back at the RV, trying to figure out the engine with that mechanic of yours. Derek? He’s the one who picked us up, helped us with our motor troubles. I owe him loads for bringing me here, I’m pretty sure.” If he’d been here to report that Valentina had been lost, this would have been a much different conversation. In fact, he wouldn’t even be here at all. But that’s a bridge they won’t have to cross. Instead, the mention of his sister-in-law’s name set another light in Rome’s dark eyes. “Seriously? The mythical Zhenya actually exists? Here I thought you’d made her up this whole time.” "I made up a wife but got saddled with a real-life son. That's exactly what happened." Vic was practically beaming at his brother, though. So his niece was all right; Sasha could meet his cousin. He hoped they'd get along as well as their fathers had when they were kids. (The brothers' children, of course, were nowhere near 'kid' age, but Vic couldn't help but sometimes see his son that way still.) "Come on, we'll bring Valya over and I'll introduce everyone." His chores could wait until later; the Scherbatskies had always put family first. “Wonderful,” Roman said. Happiness was lifting his feet, lifting him out of the fugue that had dragged him through the past few months. It was surprisingly easy to sink back into their usual dynamic, normalcy resuming after so many years of being on pause. The years unraveled between them, shrinking down to the span of just a few minutes: this moment, right here. Freeze it, frame it, and remember it. It won’t always be quite this good. ----------------------- JUST IN CASE. September 10, 2018. Ever since the news about Adelaide Hawkins had dropped, the mood around the nightly bonfire had been heavy, almost oppressive with anxiety. There was no question about whether the Dogs would retaliate in some way; it was solely a matter of when and how. Everyone in the Dog Park, even women and children who had never even met Adelaide, was waiting for the tipping point, for Rodeo to reveal his cards. Vic got his answers at the Officers' council meeting that evening. It was a complex plan, full of lots of moving pieces and threats from both sides. Keeping track of the whole thing was hard enough already, but Vic was also grappling with the fact that in order to pull this off, they'd need to rely on Los Nahuales -- Marina's old crew. His head was thrumming something painful when he left the meeting, but the headache didn't stop him from making his way over to the bonfire. He had something else to do that evening, after all. It was tradition. "We're heading out tomorrow," he said, dropping down unceremoniously -- and, without the use of one hand, still, a little awkwardly -- next to his brother. Rome had been installed in a lawnchair by himself and apart from the bonfire crowd, nursing a bottle of scavenged beer against his knee. No moonshine: contrary to his usual habits, it looked like he was taking it easy on the drink tonight. Best to keep his wits for the next day. “So I heard. Talk flies fast around here.” Roman’s smile was small, rueful. “It’s all of you?” Vic gave a slight nod; his own typical demeanor was dampened by the atmosphere in the air. It felt like the whole camp was teetering on the edge of something big while they hedged their bets on the biggest gamble they'd taken yet. "All of us, yeah." He'd started assuming, over the last two months of his injury, that he was no longer of use to his crew and King. Despite having tonight as evidence that disproved his concerns, Vic didn't yet have the presence of mind to take pride in the fact that he was coming along, despite his shoulder not yet operating at 100%. "I won't be wearing my sling," he added, breaking the relative silence that settled between them. "Appearances and everything." Rome’s cheek twitched, the smallest spasm of a muscle to betray the way he was ruminating over that piece of information, calculating it. Then he nodded. “Yeah, you’ll all be a bunch of puffed-up pigeons. Can’t show any weakness in front of men like that.” The words were mildly deprecating, but he said it affectionately, the way he and his brother had always jostled and tussled each other, the love self-evident. "How am I supposed to show them just how big my muscles are if I got my arm all slung up, you know?" A joke, and a bad one at that, but Vic preferred terrible humor to showing just how nervous he was about this part of their ruse. Rome could likely see right through it, though. He always had. “We’ll keep waving a white handkerchief in the campers for your return. There ought to be some good luck spells babushka knew, that we could use—think we could sacrifice one of Bode’s chickens?” The older man looked otherwise unruffled, but there was a secret stewing inside him, rolling around his mouth. He couldn’t let it out, wouldn’t, was not even tempted to. But just that awareness was like a pebble in Roman’s shoe, grinding and grinding away at him; knowing that Vic would be walking headfirst into a lie. He’d never had to keep anything from his brother before. (There was no way he was the rat. Vic would never endanger his own son, his brother, his niece. Rome told himself this, and he never doubted it for a second.) "How about we save the slaughter for when we're back?" his brother replied, oblivious to Rome's internal discomfort and still attempting to carry on with that brevity he'd started moments ago. "You can greet me with some fried chicken right at the gate once we return." And they would return; Vic put his faith in Rodeo two years ago, and he'd not regretted that yet. Questioned it from time to time, yes, but when it came to things like this their King's mind had always been razor sharp. Vic had never quite learned to plan as the others had. Roman laughed, genuinely now, looking a little surprised as he said: “You know, my mouth watered when you said fried chicken just now. Literally watered, I’m not joking. I didn’t even know my situation was that desperate. But it can be your welcome-back feast, brat.” "We should probably stop talking about fried chicken." Vic's mouth had watered, too, but he supposed that as Enforcer he had to protect everyone in the Dog Park -- even the tasty, delicious animals that Willa had herded over. "We'll do something, though, tomorrow, when I'm back. Us, the kids, the women. I'll bet Ruth will give us something good to cook if she know she'll be eating it." Promises and talking with certainty to try and stave off his nerves and get him through the next twenty-four hours. “Perfect. Get all the family together.” They could both feel that tension rattling around inside them, like a loose piece in the machinery. But they had at least spent this time together; they’d observed their tradition, talked away the darkness for now, invoking their little good luck charm. Roman shifted his bulk now, draining the last of his beer and rising to his feet, a ponderous giant finally shifting and moving. His hand clapped Vic’s uninjured shoulder before he detached and starting the plod back to his own RV. “Get some sleep, little brother.” You’ve got a big day tomorrow. The trap was set, and the Hellhounds were ready to spring it. |