Laying on the bare floor of your apartment with a pillow under your head, a glass of water next to you and a bucket by your feet, you wonder exactly what you were thinking drinking so damn much. You had never been particularly enticed by the call of the bottle, but apparently the stress of the last few days had made it seem like a much better idea to see if you could see the bottom of one for the first time.
A small meow by your - you have to think for a moment - left elbow makes you leaver yourself up and look woozily at the wooden boards. Ah yes. You'd also managed to find him. Maxim, the black and white kitten who was to join your other three in slowly taking over the apartment as their colony. He squawked in protest as you lifted him slowly onto your chest then settled quickly. A scratch under the chin had him purring gently, such that the others came to investigate. With the warmth of your cats lying against you and your bird chirruping somewhere above you considered what little you remembered of your night.
Leytenant Nikita Konstantinov was one of the few officers you could call a friend at Polyapavlosk, and for more reasons than one. Neither of you were outcasts but neither had you ever truly found yourself amongst your comrades and one drunken night it had quickly become clear why. Nikita was a man who preferred the company of his fellow man, he had admitted, in hushed tones that led you to believe he honestly trusted you deeply. Or that he was so drunk he had no idea what he was saying.
Nonetheless, he had placed his life in your hands. If that particular piece of information somehow made its way to Nikita's commanding officer or, heaven forbid, the Zaschita, then he would soon be out of uniform and in prison. But he had trusted you. Of course he was the first person you turned to when you wanted to talk to someone about just how beautiful women are.
He'd thrown his arms around you and kissed your cheek. It was deeply reassuring.
When he had invited you most cryptically to 'a place we could be free' you had almost blanched at the opportunity but a steeling conversation and a loaned pair of trousers to replace the skirt that usually completed your uniform had you feeling more confident. Thus you found yourself, hair pinned up beneath peaked cap and heavy boots under dark green trousers, walking alongside Nikita on a deserted street on the North side of Polyapavlosk as the cold seeped into your bones.
A side alley led you to a thick door built into an otherwise entirely nondescript wall that screamed 'bad news' to every one of your senses.
"What the fuck are we doing, Nikita." you asked, looking around nervously. You felt so damn comfortable to be out in uniform and trousers but the fear of being caught out, of being accused of crossdressing? It was almost crippling.
"Shush, Val, and wait." you could hear the laughter in his voice.
A minute passed and then another as you blew clouds into the cold air. Shifting restlessly you were about to speak again when a slot in the door slammed open and a pair of eyes looked you both up and down.
"Nikita." A deep voice intoned, "Who's the chick?"
"May I present Leytenant Valentina Mikhailova, Elena, flying the nest for the first time." Nikita bowed slightly as he spoke, adding an entirely unnecessary flourish in her direction. After a moment the door swung open to reveal a muscular babushka with thick grey hair falling down her back, the eponymous Elena. She gave you another once over, slower this time, from head to toe and then smiled.
"I'm sure she'll enjoy herself. Go right ahead."
Nikita lead you in and down a flight of stairs into a dimly lit basement. It was sparsely decorated and even more sparsely populated but there were at least a few patrons scattered around. From somewhere hidden music played, something foreign you didn't recognise but it had a rhythm and a beat. There was, at least, a bar which you quickly found yourself shuffled towards. Another older woman stood behind it, smiling broadly.
"Yakatarina, Valentina. I have a feeling she'll need a few of the strong stuff." Nikita said as he guided you onto a bar stool and disappeared off across the room with just as much efficiency.
A glass was placed in front of you and filled with a clear liquid, but you spent your first moments just looking around. The art on the walls was subtle, floral. The seats and tables were worn but sturdy. And the people sitting at them, there was something about them that was strange.
Seconds passed as you stared. A woman whispered in another woman's ear, sharing quiet laughter. A man touched another man's hand across a table almost absentmindedly. When the realisation struck, it came quite suddenly.
You snapped back to face your drink, cheeks burning red though they turned even redder when you almost choked knocking back the blisteringly strong vodka the woman had placed in front of you. When you had finished coughing she was back in front of you, filling the glass again.
"Your first time somewhere like this?" she asked without a hint of judgement in her voice.
All you can do by way of reply is nod.
"You're safe here, little bird. It's difficult, but we make sure it is. Elena and I, we don't take any shit from the pigs that run this city."
You knocked back your glass again, choking slightly less this time.
"Go easy. It's harder to carry an officer out of here than anyone else." She placed the bottle next to your glass and went to serve another customer.
As the night went on and the amount of liquid in the bottle went down and you got steadily drunker the place filled up. There weren't many people, maybe forty at most, but there were men embracing men and women kissing women and you hadn't ever dreamed of seeing that happen in what may as well have been public by your standards. And the women were so, so beautiful. You stayed at the bar but every so often one would walk past and you swore that every time you almost died from how overwhelmingly pretty they were. The one with black curls broke your heart with a glance. The one with plump red lips stopped the air in your throat when she smiled. And the perfume of the one with the green dress, you had to grip the bar simply to stay upright.
Although that last one may have had as much to do with the alcohol as anything else.
It was around the bottom of the bottle that she came to sit next to you, the girl with the thick red hair and bright green eyes and skin pale enough it could be milk. She put a hand on your knee and smiled and laughed when you made a joke. It was more intoxicating than the vodka. You had never felt anything like it, your heart beating so fast you thought it would burst from your chest.
Of course, that was about when you had drunk enough that you remembered nothing more of the night but for Nikita dropping you into your bed (startling two of the cats in the process) and forcing you to drink a glass of water. And then sleep.
-2 Stress! Vice gained: Alcohol!
A month passes without any word regarding the things you had found and, while you stopped investigating it so publically (fortunately Leo had returned with little information and a stinking hangover) you kept an eye out for any other strange reports coming through your office. Nothing did, of course, though you were unsure if it was simply that nothing had been moved or if they had rerouted to avoid you.
And then one day, a piece of paper slipped under your apartment door with an address, a date and a time on it. This was it, you knew, an opportunity to learn exactly what you'd gotten yourself into.
You find yourself sitting in a cafe on the other side of the city from your apartment, your cap on the table next to you. The weight of the service pistol strapped to your belt which you have been wearing ever since the confrontation at your dining table is reassuring. While you have no idea who you're waiting for or how long you'll be, it is the perfect opportunity to order hot breakfast including eggs and sausage which you rarely have the money to buy for yourself.
A girl appears with a plate and a mug of hot coffee and you look up to say thank you - and freeze. The hair, the eyes, the skin. She is unmistakable. Suddenly you are back in a smoky bar with her lips on yours and her hand on your thigh and you are wordless once more. She smiles with a sparkle in her eyes and places the plate in front of you.
"I hope you enjoyed it." She murmurs, motioning to the plate but even your anxiety riddled mind couldn't mistake her meaning. A nod is all she needs to turn and walk off towards the kitchen, your eyes following her the entire way.
Only the clearing of a throat draws your attention back to the table. A man stands across from you dressed in civilian clothes with a briefcase in hand. You motion to the seat, which he takes.
"Miss Mikhailova?"
"Yes. Would you like food? It's good."
He takes a moment to order from another waitress before returning his attention to you.
"I am Pietr. I am given to understand you are a patriot."
How do you proceed? (All result in a test)
[ ] "With more information I could be" Press him for information
[ ] "For people like you? Of course" Charm him into giving you details
[ ] "I've never been anything but" Tell him you want to help
[ ] "For Varnmark or Kevia?" Be noncommital in your answers.
