Post by omega on Jan 16, 2021 12:24:38 GMT -5
He rose from his chair calmly, grabbing his mug of coffee in one hand, and a book in the other, moving onto a more comfortable sitting place - the sofa. Placing the mug down onto a small coffee table next to it, he continued reading the book he had been recommended to read for quite some time now. Twenty-seven minutes late, he thought. Odd, he was told that the man would be arriving precisely on time. Perhaps a clerical error, he thought, setting his mind back onto the book. His home was nothing too outstanding - pictures of family and friends dotted the walls, a painting or two from when the Vaktan Kingdom reigned, and some minor decorations to make the house feel more lively. He never did have time to set aside for re-decoration, and as time went on, the current layout grew on him significantly.
Then again, anything was better in comparison to having your house bombed before, during and after the Revolution, he mused. Turning to page fifty-three, he put a small piece of paper on the edge, before closing the book, and setting it aside. Taking his mug, he tasted the coffee once more, the man hearing something attempting to unlock his doors. Perfect, he was finally here.
Turning off the lamp next to the sofa, he observed, in nigh total silence, and in the dark. The door eventually creaked open, a dim light illuminating part of the room, the stranger stepping forth ever so reluctantly. Pushing the door back, he had almost closed it, yet not quite - he did not want to make noises. Silently putting his mug down, the silent reader gripped something, before turning the lamp back on. He had caught his guest by surprise, a loud bang filling the walls of the house as the guest collapsed to the floor.
Aleksei Suslov observed silently, as he always did, as blood began to pool out of the now dead would-be assassin. The 'ultranationalist' lapdog, Kazambek, once more, did not get the message clear. He put his gun back where he always did, just under the cushion of the sofa, before he got up. Walking up to the assassin in a calm and collected manner, he knelt beside him, beginning to search his coat. Alas, all he could find was a lighter. Suslov sighed, and rose back to his feet. Perhaps Kazambek was a fool for thinking that doing the same thing over and over again would yield different results, but he had to admit - he was getting smarter. This time he sent someone without direct proof of his group's involvement. Alas, sending someone in full party uniform was still a move of an uneducated individual. The only benefit is that they can blame it on deserters - for all the good that would do.
Suslov opened the door again, slipping on his coat, book in hand and key in the other. With a practiced motion, he closed the door and locked it. Yazov would deal with the body.
He, on the other hand, had an elementary school presentation to attend.
Then again, anything was better in comparison to having your house bombed before, during and after the Revolution, he mused. Turning to page fifty-three, he put a small piece of paper on the edge, before closing the book, and setting it aside. Taking his mug, he tasted the coffee once more, the man hearing something attempting to unlock his doors. Perfect, he was finally here.
Turning off the lamp next to the sofa, he observed, in nigh total silence, and in the dark. The door eventually creaked open, a dim light illuminating part of the room, the stranger stepping forth ever so reluctantly. Pushing the door back, he had almost closed it, yet not quite - he did not want to make noises. Silently putting his mug down, the silent reader gripped something, before turning the lamp back on. He had caught his guest by surprise, a loud bang filling the walls of the house as the guest collapsed to the floor.
Aleksei Suslov observed silently, as he always did, as blood began to pool out of the now dead would-be assassin. The 'ultranationalist' lapdog, Kazambek, once more, did not get the message clear. He put his gun back where he always did, just under the cushion of the sofa, before he got up. Walking up to the assassin in a calm and collected manner, he knelt beside him, beginning to search his coat. Alas, all he could find was a lighter. Suslov sighed, and rose back to his feet. Perhaps Kazambek was a fool for thinking that doing the same thing over and over again would yield different results, but he had to admit - he was getting smarter. This time he sent someone without direct proof of his group's involvement. Alas, sending someone in full party uniform was still a move of an uneducated individual. The only benefit is that they can blame it on deserters - for all the good that would do.
Suslov opened the door again, slipping on his coat, book in hand and key in the other. With a practiced motion, he closed the door and locked it. Yazov would deal with the body.
He, on the other hand, had an elementary school presentation to attend.