taty|noir

[denial]

what are those? Klo-eh and Nastya? ... well .. if you ask me .. I like Nastya .. sound like a girl name.

[tatufreak]

all shall be revealed......soon.
And by the way, is there something going on between you and $in? You know, petty arguments, troubled pasts, brutal massacre of each other's families, that sort of thing?

[Veggie Delite]

nastya sounds good. isn't "Klo-eh" the original name from the anime?

[denial]

Originally Posted by tatufreak

all shall be revealed......soon.
And by the way, is there something going on between you and $in? You know, petty arguments, troubled pasts, brutal massacre of each other's families, that sort of thing?

no

denial is innocent ... but $in is a flirt under training ... she thought I'm the best .. so she hitting on me ... I'm just heartless, sharp, focus, manipulative and I just love my...gun....sound like Noir .. eh?

[Veggie Delite]

denial is innocent ... but $in is a flirt under training ... she thought I'm the best .. so she hitting on me ... I'm just heartless, sharp, focus, manipulative and I just love my...gun....sound like Noir .. eh?



*stabs denial in the ass with denial's kalashnyikov*

[denial]

LoL ... .....*cough* *cough* *cough* *cough* ..

[tatufreak]

you're like the ultimate groupies an Assassin-fic writer could ever have!

[denial]

tatufreak .. glad that you like us .. so we waiting for update and I feel a bit desperate to know what will be up ..I mean with those mistery questions you asked ..



:::denial smiles sweetly at tatufreak::::..but there's a gun on her back ... she holds it neatly... she is ready...she is always..:::::

[tatufreak]

Your wish is my command.

Never.

Wild grey shapes loomed out of the fog again and again. Above, greens and blues meshed and grew together, surrounding the shrubs that stayed low to the ground. Powerful, towering trunks soared out from around them, silent and sky-scraping - the forest was half an uproar of colours and growth, half a beautiful but eerie place; a living tomb.
But the winter had come, and the snow drifted down through the shrivelled leaves and the curly dead branches. It cushioned and quieted, bringing the mighty trees to silence and surreal expectations. Christmas was coming, the snow was already here.
Far below there were two little boys tussling and laughing. They were honest, happy children with round faces, big eyes and dark hair - warmly wrapped up in their mother's knitted jackets, hands jammed into woolen mittens and feet snug in their 'big-boy boots'; the ones Papa had worked so hard to buy for them last Christmas. Their house wasn't far away - it was a cozy little log cabin, set into a picturesque forest clearing with trees that blossomed in the summer and a smooth, thick carpet of grass, perfect for little bare feet to run over when the weather was right. Nothing smelled so good as that grass in sunlight, the dusky smell and the summer warmth made those two little boys content simply to lie on their backs, breathing the fresh, piney forest air with happy childish contentment.
Now they were busily making a snowman, the 'biggest snowman ever built in the whole wide world!' - and it was almost finished.
The slightly taller of the boys packed another handful of snow onto the snowman's base, glancing up at his brother to give a command.
"Vlad, run to the house and get a scarf and a carrot for him."
As the younger boy turned, the elder straightened up and put a hand on his shoulder.
"This is gonna be the most amazing snowman ever..."
Vladimir nodded, joyfully. "And all because I helped you, Dmitri."
The elder boy smiled, pushing his brother towards the house. "That's right, now run and get the things, we don't want it to get dark before we finish him."
The younger boy scampered off through the forest, leaving Dmitri to pack the snow onto the snowman. "You're huge," he whispered with admiration, "I bet no other kid in the whole world could ever make anything this great!" A thought occurred to him, and he slapped himself theatrically on the forehead. "I forgot to tell Vlad to get a hat! I'd better run and ask Mama for one."
He threw a last glance at his snowman before turning on his heel. The forest was his home, he was completely at ease with it. Weaving through the trees like a ghost, he ducked and twisted mechanically to compensate for obstacles present to him since he was a toddler. It wasn't long before he reached the scrubby bushes at the edge of the clearing, and it was then that he pulled up short.
There were two Jeeps parked outside his house. They had come via the dusty track that led away towards the nearest province town of Syabra, and by the snow just beginning to settle on the bonnet, they looked like they'd only just arrived.
Thoughts and alarms flashed through the young Dmitri's mind. Papa had warned the boys never to come into the house if there were cars parked outside - it was his only strict rule with his children, unquestioned and obeyed. Now the boy was confused about what to do. The cars must have arrived just after Vlad had gone into the house, since the younger son would have never disobeyed The Rule. Now he looked, Dmitri could just make out steam still rising from the car's bonnets.
He quietly made his way behind one of the larger trees, squatting to get a lookout point through a thick shrub. He always did this with visitors, it was nothing more than a routine to him now.
As he rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet to keep warm, his mind drifted.
When the visitors go, I shall go in and have a warm cup of milk, because Mama always keeps the fire going in the winter. And with the milk I shall have one of those rusks she makes, and perhaps Papa will melt some butter onto it for me. I think it's Papa's birthday soon, and it's mine next week, maybe he'll make me a sled that me and Vladdy can share. Of course Vlad won't get me anything, he never does, but Mama always bakes me an extra little cake and says it's from him...I wonder what cake she'll bake for me this year? Only last year it was that one with-
But...but what was this?
The door of the house had opened, waking Dmitri from his thoughts. His Papa walked out first, hands roughly tied behind his back. His Mama followed, and then little Vladdy. All three were tied and bound, and behind them four men with machine guns followed into the fresh snow.
Dmitri's round eyes widened further as he scrambled to get a better look. He watched in confusion as his Papa was shouted at, then forced onto his knees.
Oh, but he'll be so cold in the snow! This is all a joke...it must be...
The lead military man pushed the muzzle of his gun onto the kneeling man's forehead.
Dmitri tried to scream, but his voice choked and nothing more than a strangled squeak emerged. He stared at the scene, frozen. He could do nothing - nothing to stop this terrible thing, nothing to change what he feared was about to happen.
"Pa...pa..." he whispered, tears beginning to fill his eyes. "Papa...what...why?"
Away, far away, the noble man knelt quietly in the snow, his strong face bowed in readiness for what he knew must surely follow. The beautiful, kind eyes - once so filled with love and pride for his two sons - were empty and calm. Nothing could change his fate now, and as his little boy stared at his face he knew that his beloved Papa was already dead; not physically, but in every other respect.
"Good-bye Papa, my Papa," Dmitri whispered, tears shining brightly in his eyes.
Suddenly the calmness of the forest was shattered as a sharp shot rang out into the depths. Birds screamed, and very slowly Dmitri opened his eyes to see that his mother had fainted in the snow.
He half-rose to his feet but one of the military men had already started walking towards her, causing him to pause and draw back. The man leaned down and peered into her face, taking one of her fragile white arms in his big, clumsy hand. He shook her roughly, her eyes opened, he jerked her to her feet.
"Get up," he grunted, and from the forest the watching Dmitri trembled as he lifted a gun to her pale cheek. She very nearly slumped over, but caught herself just in time to the raucous laughter of the military men.
The one holding her glanced at his colleagues before landing a hard punch straight to her jaw.
Dmitri rose to his feet like a shot, but instinct prevented him from running forward to catch his dear mother. She landed in the snow with a soft thud.
The same man gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet, as before. Blood ran down her chin, an ugly bruise was already beginning to show on her delicate jawline. From the forest, her elder son watched as her crimson blood dripped down onto the white snow below, counting every drop with growing horror.
Suddenly the men had had enough. A muzzle was placed onto her forehead, a trigger was pulled, a shot echoed out.
Dmiti uttered a strange moan, like an animal in pain. It went unheard in the retort of the gun, but the four men shivered involuntarily before pulling themselves together.
"No," the watcher whispered, eyes on the fragile little boy lying in the snow at their feet. "Please...please...no..." Tears streamed down his cheeks as he pleaded with the men silently, his desperate cries unheard. "Take me, take me..."
He saw little Vladdy raise his tousled head, round eyes staring up at the four men above him. Four identical muzzles were aimed straight down towards him, and in that moment Dmitri knew, with horror, terror and a grim certainity, that it wasn't going to stop.
The shots rang out again, again, again. The men kept firing at Dmitri's fallen Papa, Mama and brother with a vengeance, set grins on their faces as their fingers tugged the triggers over and over.
Away, cowering behind his little shrub, hidden by his tree, a trembling boy with tear-filled eyes watched them. He shook in fear and horror, but his tears were those of anger. Jaw set, his dark eyes stared - not at the men's faces, nor at his bloodied family, but at their uniforms.
As the hot tears ran down his cheeks, he made a vow. The men kept on shooting, Dmitri couldn't tear himself away. He had the face of a vengeful angel, a child with the soul of a wrathful god.
"You will pay. You will all pay." This through gritted teeth; this promise-curse from the very depths of his soul. "You will all pay."
The shots continued, they doubled in speed, Dmitri put his head into his hands. The shots echoed louder and louder until the boy grew dizzy. He felt like he was falling, going insane, still they grew louder as the world erupted into manic blotches of crimson-
"NO!"
The old man sat bolt upright in bed, panting and shivering - his fingers tore at his cover, stiff and clenched...cold sweat ran down his forehead, his eyes were wide and terrified.
Somewhere outside an owl called.
He leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands and letting out a tortured sigh.
"Will these dreams never end?"
The moon came out from behind a cloud and surreal, dark light filled the room. It shone off a mirror on the opposite wall as the man lifted his face, catching his white-haired reflection.
I'm just an old man now, he thought, great tears running down his careworn cheeks, soft as silk and wrinkled with a thousand lines. I kept my promise, and I regret it every day...hate can never save you....never.

[denial]

oh wow! Tatufreak .. this chapter is very "throbbing" ...

:::denial stares at the screen....not moving....for a moment.. the whole world is silent..::::

update soon okay..thank you ..


Added:

Well I read this chapter last night.. and there's something I wanted to tell you.. [ well I was speecless last night ].. that when reading about the gun shots . I could almost heard the sound of the bang and the echo .. and birds flying of shocked .. I think this the best chapter you wrote in term of decriptive ... and when the guy woke up from a dream .. that was another shot too . I didn't expect it happened long time ago .. so .. well done tatufreak

[tatufreak]

Thank you...that means a lot to me.
I really felt sorry for the boy, the way he went from innocent into a relentless, brutal killer...maybe that shows.
New update in a few days.

[Veggie Delite]

that was really great tf.

i'll just hang around this thread waiting for the update. just be quick, i don't have a tent, and i hate being cold

[Veggie Delite]

by tatufreak:

Just a quickie I've got exams on at the moment so sadly I don't have much time anymore, but here's this update - it doesn't have a title because it's not long enough, so it's sort of an interlude. And doesn't get a graphic title either
Anyway hope this is enough until the weekend - and thank you everyone for the lovely comments. As always, they're what keep me writing.
Mwah.
xTFx
___

Yulia got to bed early.
She rolled onto her side, letting a hand dangle over the edge. A soft purr heralded the little cat present below, and a playful paw appeared, batting at Yulia's limp fingers. The girl smiled in response, eyes happy and shining in the semi-darkness.
Suddenly the kitten emitted a pleased meow, scampering to the approaching Lena's feet. Yulia quickly propped herself up on one elbow to call a warning to Noir, but her worries soon proved unfounded. Her partner carried neither gun nor bad expression, but a saucer of cream and a blanket. The latter landed on the dark girl's legs as Lena squatted to place the dish down for the kitten. She ran a gentle hand down Noir's soft white back, taking his stubby tail between her long fingers and giving it a playful tug.
Yulia watched with a pacified expression, hardly daring to believe it.
She's playing with him! She likes him!
In fact she had misjudged Lena's feelings toward animals - as long as they were quiet, kept themselves clean, didn't foul in the house and didn't stay around long enough for their odour to permeate, she was actually extremely sociable towards them. She'd even had a cat of her own briefly - a long tailed, elegant creature...but he had been killed when a stray bullet from the vengeful brother of a victim had taken his little life. Lena missed him in her way, and Yulia was later to learn that he had been named Dorian. The relevance of the name pleased and saddened her; as did the double entendre of the cat's life and death.
Her dark eyes fell onto Lena's reclining form in the next bed.
Their eyes met, one pair instantly shaded, one slowly expressive.
"Animals aren't so bad," Lena pouted, embarassed.
Yulia watched her passively, willing her to continue. This she did, but perhaps not in the way she had hoped.
"Unfortunately, the snow will probably carry on for quite a while. We can't be expected to keep the kitten for that long, so tomorrow morning we'll find the old woman and take him back."
She rolled onto her back, closed her eyes and propped her hands underneath her head.
Yulia watched with quietly dispassionate eyes, and gradually she lowered herself towards the edge of the bed, letting her hand fall towards the playful kitten.

The next morning, when Lena opened her eyes and rolled over, she found to her surprise and then annoyance that Yulia had disappeared.
If I can't even wake up when the girl wanders out of the apartment, how am I ever going to maintain a decent Assassinship? Mustn't let myself slip...
A doubt nagged at the back of her mind but it was hastily buried, resurfacing as unease a few minutes later.
Lena stirred her fresh coffee, watching the milk swirl into the velvety darkness. She carried her steaming cup to the table, set it down, picked up her coat and walked through the door.
"Damn!"
She stopped halfway down the staircase, eyes closed.
"I don't own her. I don't need to worry. Stay in the apartment, read a magazine, check up on the client. That's what a normal person would do..."
She turned to go back upstairs.
"But then again...I've never been normal."

[Veggie Delite]

by tatufreak:


Part Three Chapter Five - Letting Go

It was a dark, moody day. The distant sheet of clouds had a greenish tinge – there had been a brief break from the snow, but Yulia knew it would fall again soon. All around her high buildings, black streaked with white, towered and brooded above the dark stone courtyard below. No one was around; they were all tucked up in their beds, eyes closed against the coming morning.
Yulia shivered, warm little hands cupped around the kitten curled against her neck. His stubby tail tickled her chin as he curled, purring to his mistress. She was wrapped warmly in a thick coat, her dark wisps of hair almost crackling in the icy cold of the air around her as she trudged through the thick snow towards the marketplace.
As she approached the stall, she closed her eyes.
I couldn’t let her do it… she thought, ashamed. I have to do this on my own. This is important.
Her heart ached terribly with the thought of abandoning the kitten once again. She knew the little animal…he loved her. He cared about her, he wanted her, he relied on her – this feeling was new to the emotionally-starved little girl.
And now she walked with suicidal inevitability towards the place where she would have to let this love fall away from her hands.
To distract herself from the hot tears running down her cheeks, she cradled the kitten closer and tucked her nose into his soft white fur.
“It’ll be ok, Noir,” she whispered, softly. “You’ll be a happy kitten, and you’ll grow up to be a big white cat, with all the lady cats loving you…you’ll chase away all the big dogs and you’ll be the pride of the street, and then one day you might have little kittens all your own; just like the kitten you are now. And they’ll all look up to you, and they – oh!”
She had stopped dead in her tracks, eyes confused as she scanned the street. The stall was nowhere to be found, the entire market had moved on overnight.
Yulia turned, wildly searching the connecting streets for a sign of life.
All around her, the heavy snow muffled any noise, somehow curiously sinister; while the actual flakes were white and pristine, one got the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that just out of sight they turned a crimson red, a horrific sea of frozen blood.
…Or that was how she felt.
Yulia shivered again, shifting Noir protectively in her hands. He let out a protesting miaow, squirming and suddenly uneasy. His mistress glanced down in surprise, and suddenly the kitten began to claw her fingers and push his way out of her gentle grasp. He fought his way free after a moment, springing from her arms and landing without a sound in the soft white snow, miaowing loudly.
“Noir?” Yulia cried, hurt.
“Myshkin,” answered a voice from behind.
Yulia didn’t dare to turn. She closed her eyes, analysing the speaker. He was old, his voice was gentle and amused. There was something kind in it, and yet something hidden below the audible speech – something dark, hesitant.
She opened her dark eyes and glanced over a shoulder, relieved to see a warmly wrapped old man with gentle eyes and a snowy grey beard. His face was scored with thousands of deep wrinkles; laughter lines, or the mark of suffering? He was stooped, but not enough to be slovenly, he had a surprisingly clear gaze and ultimately very handsome features, once-beautiful, now marked with age and kissed with kindness.
He knelt to the snow and spread out a pair of large, soft hands towards the little kitten. The latter reacted instantly, springing into his arms with a purr and a paroxysm of delight and affection.
The man straightened up, watched by the silent Yulia next to him. He toyed with the kitten for a few seconds, then smiled at the girl.
“His name is Myshkin,” he said, in a deep voice. “I think you must have met his friend, Marianne?”
“The fruit-seller,” Yulia echoed, quietly.
“Yes. Sometimes this little kitten escapes my home,” with this the old man laughed affectionately, cuddling the cat closer. “It is then that he goes to her, begging for a piece of fruit. She knows him as Noir, being her special little joke for a white kitten.”
Yulia held her silence, eyes on the gloriously happy kitten in the gentle man’s arms. She concentrated on his accent – it was mostly French, but had a tint of something older; Russian? …Yes, it was definitely Russian.
Must be from a long way back, she mused.
The man smiled down at his little cat.
“Thank you for looking after him. We were quite afraid when he ran off…”
Yulia shrugged, rubbing her arms self-consciously.
“It’s nothing. I’m glad you were here to recognise him.”
The man stroked the kitten and glanced into her dark eyes, searchingly. Yulia stared back, transfixed.
Light blue met dark with force, mixing a little of both into each other. The old man was frail, but his heart was strong – the young girl was strong, but her heart was weak inside her.
A brief moment passed, then the man turned away.
Yulia watched him go, watched the kitten disappear in his big, safe arms. They passed out of sight among the great grey buildings, taking with them a little of her heart, and as she stood there a tear slowly began to run down her face.
Snow began to drift down again; tiny flakes caught on her eyelashes and dark hair, providing a strange comfort. She watched the flurry begin; thousands of similar shapes falling together in the same direction; always the same, and yet every single one different.
And then, drifting down among the others, a few of the snowflakes were caught and lifted by the updraft from the enormous buildings around the courtyard. They whirled high above Yulia’s head, curling into each other and then drifting apart, before freeing themselves from the gust and falling straight onto the sheltered, outstretched hand of the dark-haired girl. She stared down at the four flakes, the four shining little stars held against the darkness of her glove. Gradually they began to melt, as snowflakes do, but under Yulia’s dark gaze two persisted – two of the flakes simply refused to melt away.
A place, somewhere else. Far away? Not really. Far away? Yes…a journey between worlds. Darkness in every room, ancient crumbly damp cold. Stone walls lit into crimson by candlelight and tapestries, evil swirling out of every crack…sunlight blocked out, tortured screams in the dark pits far below.
Yulia began to tremble, eyes squeezing shut to force the tears out. In the blur she could still make out the two bright little snowflakes on her hand, still resilient against the warmth of her breath and the crush of the swirling wind.
Warmth, gentleness, even a hint of love. Acceptance, of a kind. Companionship at least, a home of true acceptance.
Yulia took a deep breath, exhaling in a cloud of warm steam. The snowflakes shimmered for a second, and then melted away in her palm.
“Oh…” the girl said softly, and then she slowly turned to see Lena leaning against one of the buildings, arms folded. Her golden hair fell in curves around her beautiful face, her blue eyes were for once gentle and quiet.
Yulia cast a last glance back at where Myshkin and the old man had disappeared, and then she turned to begin walking towards the waiting girl. As she approached Lena watched her without comment, taking in her empty arms and expression at a glance. Then she turned, and they were walking together - two figures melting away into the snow.
Silence reigned in the courtyard once more as the snow flurried down, burying the world in a blanket of light.
___

The next chapter will be long. I mean really, really long. It's the end of this part, it's the mission, it's Yulia's first real decision, and if I'm to do justice to it, it'll take a long time to write.
I'll work on it in my spare time as hard as I can, but it might take a while...hope you don't mind.
Yours,
xTFx

[denial]

Thanks for update $in and TF,

"Damn!"
She stopped halfway down the staircase, eyes closed.
"I don't own her. I don't need to worry. Stay in the apartment, read a magazine, check up on the client. That's what a normal person would do..."

This is a nice chapter .. while Yulia is a constant sadness .. there's something about Lena .. the conflict between her dark hardness and her denied softness... confusion ... I guess this what make the story strong...

As she approached Lena watched her without comment, taking in her empty arms and expression at a glance. Then she turned, and they were walking together -

I like this part very much .. when there is nothing to say .. but everything is understood ....




-denial

[Veggie Delite]

by tatufreak:

Ok guys - here it is.
This has taken me a good while, and I've put a lot of myself into it...so...I really hope you like it.
To Nunzilla (regardless of the emo)

*References: Prufrock by TS Eliot, The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky*
____________


Nazarev

Lena perched her elegant body on a chair pulled up to the pool table. Her long fingers tapped at the keyboard, occasionally cradling the mouse with one hand and a red snooker ball with the other. Her printer whirred constantly with its busy printing, sliding sheet after sheet of information onto the smooth green table below. Curvy lips shaping the ghost of a smile, the ash-blonde Parisian sophisticate looked calm and relaxed; truly in her scope, icy in her element.
In contrast, the dark girl lying across her duvet against the other side of the room was a ball of misery. She had her knees curled up to her chin, but her arms were spread out across the blanket and her eyes were numb, staring up at the ceiling without expression or feeling.
Golden sunlight kissed the apartment, casting beautiful shadows across the two girls inside. It slatted through the blinds and sheeted through the wide glass windows, wrapping the evening in a haze of glory. The snow clouds had broken briefly, even though more thorough falls were predicted later that night – the calm city was bathed in light, the moment was perfect and magical.
Except for one thing.
Yulia’s empty arms tingled as they lay across the sheets, bare and untouched. Even when the sunset light moved over them they felt vacant, despite the warmth of the gentle gold that shone off the downy hairs along her arms. She watched the shadows, she watched the sun’s path flowing across the ceiling in slats of light and darkness; visible time moving slowly through her world.
A happy face suddenly appeared in her line of vision. Lena was leaning over the bedpost, golden hair tumbling down over her cheeks. Yulia shifted slightly to look up at her, then she rolled over wordlessly to sit on the side of the bed, dark hair falling down over her quiet eyes.
“Is it time?”
“Yes. Let’s go.”


Snow hung heavily in the sky, filling the square with a strange, unearthly light.
Across the street an old man stood at a loaded wheelbarrow, next to a queue of poorly-dressed old and homeless people. Selecting certain items from the cart, he would give these handouts to his followers, seeming to know each one for their needs. They would receive their gift and a kind word, perhaps a handshake, and then they would disperse into the street ends, each with grateful smiles; and the old man kept on giving, despite the threat of a snowstorm.
Behind him, in one of the small chemist shops, two girls leaned on the counter and watched him.
“They call him a saint, you know.”
Yulia glanced up at Lena, and then continued gazing at the man.
“I can see why.”
“They say he’s out here most days, no matter what the weather.”
“I’m sure he’s very committed to the people.”
“No one really knows where he gets the stuff that he gives them, but he seems to have a lot of money.”
“Maybe he was involved in something during the war.”
“Probably – but the locals seem to adore him. They worship him and view him as some sort of saviour.” Lena snorted sardonically. “Funny, when he killed so many.”
Yulia made no comment.
The blonde glanced at her after a while, curious at the younger girl’s expression and silence.
“What’s up?”
“Do you think…it is possible to atone for your sins, Lena?”
She seemed fixed on the old man, giving out his love and gifts so readily.
“He’s certainly been trying,” The blonde answered, “from reports, he’s been doing this a while; I think so far it’s about twelve years.”
“Every day?”
“I guess.”
Lena sighed and drew her gun from her bag, just slightly. The sullen daylight filtering through the shop windows shone down the barrel, deadly and brooding.
“What I do know for sure is that we’ve been contracted to kill him.”
After a tense moment she slipped her weapon back down, out of sight.
“But,” she sighed, “I don’t think I can bring myself to take him now.”
Yulia glanced at her, her eyes questioning.
The blonde’s dark eyelashes nearly touched her perfect cheeks, her expression was unreadable.
“I think he at least deserves the honour of dying in his bed…we can afford him that privilege.”
Yulia listened to this, then turned her dark eyes back to the man in the street.
She could picture the shattering of the window glass as the sleek silver bullet sped silently towards the old man. She could hear his grunt, see the daylight flicker as a spray of crimson dusted the cart beyond him, feel the weight of the man’s frail body collapse to the floor, gnarled fingers clenching at the bullet hole in his chest. Horrified screams, hundreds of desperate hands stretching out to help; sobs and spasms and disbelief; the shock chasing them all away. And there would be the old man hunched around himself in a ball on the cold street, utterly alone, grey beard stained by the street dust on the hard pavement, clear blue eyes clouding as the blurry world darkened around him. The sounds muffled, the street merging into colours and shapes, his heart beating slower and slower. And then, as his tortured breathing measures his world, the slow fading to black as the pain finally washes over him; as the dark sky fills with gentle lights.
Yulia closed her eyes, shutting this out.
Lena…you would have done it… She left the train of thought unfinished, opening her eyes to see the blonde paying for a small bottle of cough syrup and some aspirins before nodding to her accomplice and making her way towards the door.
Yulia shook her head and cleared her thoughts, locking herself instantly into her natural calm; and it was then that the old man turned.
A white kitten meowed, and suddenly the previous day flooded back into her mind.
The dark girl was left staring at the gentle, kind face across the square.
“It’s him,” she whispered.

And away, far away, a dark man sat in a dark room.
His colourless eyes glowed almost red in the reflected light of his sleek computer, his soft fingers tapped the tiny keys in a rythmic dance. With one hand he called things to light, with the other he manipulated them through his little touchpad.
Glowing figures on a screen, informants of a distant quest.



Later that evening the girls sat in the apartment across the pool table from each other, cleaning their guns in complete silence. Occasionally Lena glanced up, but she never caught Yulia's gaze - the latter was concentrating very hard on the task at hand.
Minutes passed as both girls cleaned and checked their weapons over and over; Yulia unwilling to break the silence, Lena silently warned not to.
Eventually both guns shone beyond possible improvement, and the excuse for silence was gone. Lena laid down her cloth, crossed her arms on the table and cocked her blonde head to one side, waiting for the little brunette to look up.
She waited fruitlessly for a few more minutes there before feeling stupid, so she got up and moved to the kitchen.
"Look Yulia," she said eventually, her back to the girl, "I know you're feeling cut up about shooting an old, helpless man."
Behind her, Yulia glanced up and opened her mouth as if to say something, but she slowly shut it again and busied herself with a cartridge of bullets.
"The fact is," Lena continued, "we're Assassins. We can't choose our victims or our clients, we're simply the middlemen here...and it remains true that we should never get involved in the stories of our victims or clients, they are simply our next source of revenue. Coffee?"
"Please."
"And then there's the fact that he’s helpless. As a professional Assassin I also am naturally indisposed to the killing of the defenceless, but the fact remains that his death is required of us by contract. Sugar?"
"No thanks."
"Milk?"
"Please."
"Tonight?"
"No."
"Need more time?"
There was a pause, during which Lena busied herself with the two cups of coffee.
"I think," Yulia began shortly, "that I owe it to spend a little more time in surveillance."
With this the girl straightened up and slid her gun away from her, reaching for her coat instead.
"I'm going down to the square to see if he's still there." She turned briefly to see Lena standing behind her. "Thanks for the coffee."
Seconds later the apartment was empty save for the blonde. She stood frozen, eyes slowly traveling down to the forgotten cups in her hands. In the swirled surface she caught her reflection staring up with worried blue eyes.
"Owe it to who?"

Yulia was silent in the darkening evening. She walked in the dusk on the narrow city pavements, watched the smoke rising from the pipes of lonely men in shirt-sleeves leaning out of their windows. She saw the evening spread out across the sky, walked the half-deserted streets that followed like a tedious argument.
The evening malingered as she found the square and sat, pushing her hands into her pockets and resting her chin on her knees. She huddled herself into a warm ball, waiting for the old man to come with his cart. Already a couple of homeless women waited around, chatting and laughing quietly.
The sky was heavy above their heads - sullen and dark, the clouds looked almost as if they were boiling.
There was an incredible tension in the air around the girl, she could almost feel the very ends of her dark hair stiffening and stretching with the waves of static coursing through the nerves of the darkening day.
Yulia shivered as she watched the scene.
Lena's wrong. She's completely wrong...that's not it at all, that's not what I meant at all. She gave a half-smile. If she knew, she'd be shocked...or would she? She's colder than I am. Maybe she already suspects...or maybe it is I that is wrong. ...No, that is not it...that is not what I meant at all.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the squealing of wooden tires, and the cart rolled into view pushed by the old man and pranced upon by the happy Myshkin.
The bustle in the square increased as homeless people appeared from every corner, making their way towards the old man to receive a gift and to thank and bless him. He responded to them, humble in his kindness but great in his love.
Yulia watched the scene with dead eyes, her gaze traveling past the old man. It rested on the kitten beyond him, the happy little cat that awaited his master while he cared for the people.
Her mouth formed the word "Noir" as her little hand reached out towards the baby cat. And as if by magic, the kitten glanced up to see her.
Giving a joyous miaow, he leapt off the cart and scampered towards her, ears pricking back and white head held high. She knelt to touch his fur; to feel the soft warmth of the kitten's back - and she was rewarded and surprised when the animal responded, putting out his little pink tongue and licking her fingers.
A shadow fell across them, Yulia glanced up straight into the gaze of the old man.
"Hello," he said softly, deep voice rumbling. "It's you."
The girl straightened up as Myshkin gave a grudging miaow.
"Yes..."
"Young Myshkin's been missing you, you know."
Yulia's eyes widened. "Has he?"
The old man smiled gently. "Indeed. He has been quite unspirited of late."
Yulia stared down at the kitten. He had grown tired of being ignored and had curled up on her shoe.
"He looks well."
"Yes," smiled Nazarev, "he is in good hea- Ah!"
Yulia's head snapped up to see the old man looking distressed. His clear blue eyes stared beyond her as his gnarled fingers reached for his chest.
"Sir?" she asked, desperately.
Nazarev let out a strangled groan before his eyelids closed and his knees buckled.
Yulia caught him in an instant, shocked at how little the old man weighed. His head flopped down over her arm, hands trailing in the dirt.
Horrified screams filled the air as the homeless people crowded around the duo.
"Saint Nazarev! Poor Nazarev!" cried an old woman, "What has happened?"
Yulia stared up at the crowd with flashing dark eyes. "Quickly! He has had a heart attack; he needs help."
A young man pushed his way through the crowd. "It isn't a heart attack Miss, he must have forgotten to take his pills this morning. They're at his house."
Yulia turned on him, still supporting Nazarev.
"Then lead the way to his home!" she hissed, her arms aching. The crowd quickly bustled her towards the old man's house, everyone desperate to help but none quite sure exactly how to.
His home was nothing more than a two-room hovel in the lee of a large railway bridge. As they approached, two young boys dashed into the house and emerged with a small bottle of pink pills. Yulia scanned the label before tipping two into the old man's mouth and carefully leaking some proffered water from a bottle into his throat. He swallowed, semi-conscious.
In a few moments he was laid gently on his bed, grey head resting on a soft pillow and frail body tucked under a thin coverlet.
Once he resumed normal breathing and seemed to be asleep, Yulia straightened up and glanced around his home. It was tiny with minimal furnishings, but it was well kept and extremely neat. There was a fireplace, a rug or two, a worn wicker chair and a few books carefully laid on a table. On the shelf above his bed were a few photographs and a trinket, as well as an extremely worried white kitten who miaowed piteously.
Yulia went to take him in her arms, but Myshkin jumped away from her. His large eyes mirrored his terror, so the dark girl left him alone while she tended his master.
Eventually she was happy to leave him alone, but only when she straightened up did she realise that all of the homeless people were still there. A woman slipped into the room and took her hand, kneeling at her feet and crying.
"Thank you, thank you, bless you for saving our saviour. Thank you, bless you."
Yulia stared down at her as the crowd mumbled their grateful thanks and blessings, each looking at her with their honest, gentle eyes.
In that moment a wave of love threatened to engulf her. Never in her broken, fragile life had so many people loved and accepted her; the emotionally-starved girl found herself drowning in the gentleness of the warm friendship extended towards her.
The onlookers were surprised when the mysterious little girl with the suffering dark eyes slipped quietly out of the room, making her way silently towards the exit. A few of the people tried to thank her, but they found themselves talking to empty air.
A couple of meters into the street, Yulia turned to stare through the window at the unconscious old man tended by his loving friends. Her dark eyes were empty and cold, but her glassy heart fractured ever so slightly; a tiny crack spreading through the cold surface of her mind.
The girl stood there for barely a moment before the same homeless woman who had thanked her appeared at the window, staring straight at her with the same expression of grateful love.
She turned and ran.

"Back so soon?"
Yulia glanced up to see Lena at her computer, tossing a cue ball and catching it with the same hand.
She nodded, dark eyes heavy and troubled; but for once, Lena didn't notice - she seemed preoccupied.
"We have a problem, Volk."
"Which?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Anyway, as I said, there's a problem."
Yulia moved over to her side, glancing at the busy screen.
"What is it, Ta?"
Lena swiveled in her chair to look at her.
"You're definitely gonna have to make the kill tonight." She pointed a long fingernail at an ominous whorl of clouds on a printed satellite image lying on the table. "This isn't any ordinary snowstorm. We'll be snowed in for a few days, there's no way you can take him tomorrow night - and obviously the day is ruled out by professional courtesy."
Yulia nodded. "He must die in his sleep."
"Yeah, that. Anyway, you're really going to have to do it tonight...unless you aren't happy with it. I know you've been watching him, and I know you have a great deal of sympathy for him - so I guess just this once, if you really don't w-"
Yulia turned and walked away. She went over to the side table where her gun lay, staring down at it for a few moments before taking it in her hands. Loading and cocking it unflinchingly, she slipped it into her pocket and turned back to Lena.
"I'll do it."
The blonde sat in silence, watching as the dark girl shouldered her jacket once more and headed out of the apartment.
Once she'd judged a suitable length of time to have passed, she very quietly put on her own coat and slipped out of the building, following Yulia from a distance.
Good luck, Volk, she whispered, I hope you make this.

Perhaps Lena was superior in stealth, or perhaps Yulia had too much on her mind to be fully aware of her surroundings - but somehow the duo traveled through the city of Paris in the quiet, heavy evening without the dark girl sensing any followers. She kept her chin to her chest, tracing the cobbles with her eyes while fidgeting with the smooth round watch she kept in her pocket.
The clouds overhead had whorled into an unearthly green colour, bulging with their load and looking sullen and angry. The dark, towering city was ominous, reflecting in the quietly cold eyes of the child below who trudged through the streets, hands in pockets, head down and mind fragile.
Do I dare? ...Can I do what is required of me?
She passed a doorway where a homeless man had curled up, shivering under a blanket to protect himself from the oncoming snow.
The men who killed his father, those very people who Nazarev later killed himself...their friends want him dead.
She paused, watching the homeless man.
And he knows...he has to.
Lena's voice from an earlier conversation came drifting back in echoes.
"Of course he's a kind old man. He probably hopes that if he shows enough kindness and looks frail enough, his enemies will take pity on him. Shame, such naivety in one so old."
Yulia shook her head and began to walk again, head hanging slightly lower.
That's not it. The thin blanket, his light, skeletal frame...his tiny home, his tired eyes and grey-white hair...how carefully he put those books on that table, how gently he loved Noir and the homeless people...he's not trying to fool anyone.
And then it shimmered. Deep inside her, it was almost as if the broken, revolving shards of her crystal past had momentarily spun together - as if they had cast a fleeting shaft of light, a sunbeam of glinting memory that had played over her tortured, ruptured mind and plunged her further into darkness.
She stopped dead, alarming Lena, who was still following at twenty paces.
Yulia's lips began to move, wrenching strange, random phrases from her deepest subconscious and placing them together.
"Dark hands - with every sin, growing blacker; you can never atone, you'll never be free, never be cleared of the evil that is fated to you - no matter how...hard...you...try..."
Her fingers gripped the watch, clenching around it and locking it tightly into her palm.
He's not trying to fool anyone, save himself. He's trying to atone - he knows of his death, he foresaw it many years ago; he's trying to cleanse himself of his evil before he dies.
She shook her head, suddenly overcome as a rush of the deepest, most infinite sadness filled her. Her heart seemed torn at the fragility, at the naïve hopes of the dying old man.
"You can never atone," she whispered. "You can never make your sins go away - they'll stay with you forever...and I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry..."
A little way behind, Lena watched as Yulia very quietly lifted a glove to her cheek to wipe the tears away.
"If I act now," the blonde whispered to herself, "I can contact the client and refuse the mission, it's no big deal, all Assassins do it..."
But now, glancing at Yulia's back, she knew there was no need.
As the dark girl squared her shoulders and slipped her hands into her pockets, Lena shivered involuntarily.
It's like she's cried out all emotion in those little tears...she's ready - and she's much, much stronger than I'll ever be.
Yulia began to walk towards the old man's house once more. Her paces were even and her head was once again held, if not high, then certainly level. She didn't stop to glance left or right, but stuck to her path and stared straight ahead.
Lena found herself watching the girl with a mixture of awe, fear and horror.
She's the perfect Assassin - measured, cold, calculating...she's just become emotionless right in front of me and somehow turned from a little girl into the most brutal and unstoppable killer imaginable...
Before she could stop herself, three words sprang to her lips.
"What are you?"
But Yulia didn't hear her - she had already gone.

Laughter echoed through the snow-scattered woods. Bright colours danced in the ice-crystal air, mittened hands tingled with the sharp cold as the birds twittered and the air nipped with frost.

Yulia gripped her gun tightly in her glove. She didn't slow as she crossed the railway tracks, didn't falter as she strode silently down the hill wrapped in the breathless darkness of the night. The clouds hung very low above the silent earth, ghostly flickers of light flashed high above as the Assassin made her unflinching way towards the tiny house below. Her eyes were different; darker. Somehow the gentle depth and tortured love in them had disappeared, leaving two cold mirrors - shields of ice.

Shouts echoed through the forest. The young boy turned sharply, uneasily. The snow seemed to tremble, the birds were eerily silent. Very slowly, the boy began to creep towards the clearing...

Nazarev opened his clear blue eyes. The room seemed echoey and eerie in the strange light, despite its tiny size. In the corner little Myshkin was calmly washing himself, and in the doorway stood a silent figure.

Horror in an icy world, a hell of snow and silence muffling a little child's pain - towering tree-trunks laced with snow, offering no consolation to the little boy, only a stark reminder of the brutal reality of this strange new world.

Yulia stared down at Nazarev with her cold, hard eyes. Her gun was leveled at his heart, her finger tightening around the trigger.
Behind her, Myshkin cowered in a corner, his large eyes confused and terrified. The little kitten couldn't understand what was happening, all he knew was that very shortly his fragile world would come crashing down; would change forever to send him fleeing into the cold night.
Very quietly, the kitten let out a whimper.
Somewhere deep inside her icy shield, the tiny fracture in Yulia's heart spread like a pressure point. Her head whipped around as her eyes fell on the kitten cowering from her; from what she was about to do. She could feel Nazarev's gentle eyes on her as she stared at the animal, mind racing.
Little Noir, little Myshkin...he was truly the Prince Myshkin of Yulia's confused world; all that represented innocence and purity, now watching as she made her decision.
Yulia glanced back to the old man in his bed. His frame was fragile under the thin cover, but his heart was strong. He caught the dark girl's troubled, open gaze for the last time, before pulling his gentle mouth into a tired smile.
Then his great eyelids closed, as quietly as a child falling asleep.
Yulia watched, her heart finally stilled. There was no choice; there had never been. All along he'd known, and all along...so had she.
Once more she leveled her gun, but this time her eyes were gentle and sad, and for a few seconds they mirrored the deep, desperate pain inside her.
A single shot rang out into the night, and in that little house a kitten's heart broke in two. Whimpering, Myshkin backed away from his master and the Assassin, before turning tail and fleeing into the darkness of the night.
Yulia watched him go, feeling a tiny part of her heart tear out and disappear with the kitten; a little piece of her that could never return.

The boy's eyes narrowed, his heart starting jumping as his face contorted into the visage of righteous wrath. His fingers clenched as he sank into the depths of himself...and then...
and then...

Yulia met Lena outside. The blonde was leaning against the wall, waiting patiently; somehow she felt that the brunette had known she'd been there all along.
Just one glance at the girl's eyes told her everything and she refrained from comment.
Yulia looked up and stood frozen, her eyes locked into Lena's.
And then, slowly, a tiny white flake drifted down between the girls, watched by both as it fell.
Lena lifted her eyes to the heavens, suddenly aware of the beginning of the snowfall, as Yulia continued to watch the solitary flake drifting gently to the ground.
Neither spoke, neither moved.
...Until very slowly Lena slipped her arm around Yulia. The dark haired girl let her forehead fall to rest briefly on the blonde's shoulder, and the Assassin duo found themselves locked in a strange, deeply touching moment. In their own way it was personal and special, and as Yulia began to smile, her eyes flooded with long-held back tears.
Snow fell softly around the two girls like angel feathers, touching the darkness and bringing gentle magic into the night.
"Come on," whispered Lena, gently. "Let's go home."

The young boy opened his eyes. Instead of the usual furious darkness that engulfed him, he was surrounded by a gentle warmth. Around him lights danced in the air as music that he strained to hear filtered through the beautiful forest. His destroyed, broken heart was soothed with the lightest of touches, his ruptures and pain finally beginning to heal as he pushed himself to his feet. Sunlight streaked through the warm green leaves waving gently around him and shone off the tears that rolled down his cheeks; the forest was bathed in a dappled, gentle light and filled with the surreal warmth of a childhood summer as the snow melted away. Forgotten shapes and memories hung briefly in the air around him, just beyond view in the shifting, changing forest. His little hands reached for them, his ears straining to catch the distant sound of childish laughter, the very edges of his world beginning to fade to darkness. He stumbled to the edge of the familiar clearing, his world alive with beautiful and long-forgotten memories, the light quietly beginning to dim and ebb away. His bare feet fell against the warm, smooth grass, his short hair was whipped up by the gentle summer breeze, and then...
Dmitri stretched out his arms, his eyes filling with tears of joy.
"Papa," he whispered, as his world quietly faded into darkness for the very, very last time, "at last."
_________________

[denial]

okay .. I read this .. thanks $in and tatufreak.... but no comment..

[Veggie Delite]

just... wow.....

i just finished reading, i posted but didn´t have time to read

and now i´m so speachless...

[tatufreak]

...no comment?

[Veggie Delite]

it's oh-mah-gawd-tis-brilliant kind of speachless