004: Silence [uprising]
Aug 30, 2016 13:19:36 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Aug 30, 2016 13:19:36 GMT -5
LOCATION: Toronto, Canada: Pearson International Airport
DATE/TIME: June 2, 2005 || 11:57PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
The white plastic seats had stopped being comfortable eight hours ago. She'd stopped worrying that his flight had been delayed, that she'd gotten the numbers or the date or the time wrong four hours ago. She'd been to the ticket counter numerous times. Every fingernail was bitten to the quick, a perfect manicure ruined – it was fitting though – matched the rumpled dress and the drooping pantyhose with a giant run in the knee. When it had happened, she'd laughed it off, thinking that they'd have a laugh about it later. She could dress up, she could polish everything and wear Louboutins she could scarcely afford with pearls around her neck and diamonds in her ears and it didn't matter. That tomboy with the scabby knees was always going to come creeping back through.
It wasn't funny anymore.
Her head was throbbing, pulse pounding in her temples, behind her eyes as she stared at the board for the flights. Arrivals and departures and the letters were smeared hieroglyphs, some foreign language that she barely understood as she pushed to her feet. Her purse bumped against her ribs, the ache as she struggled to draw a deep breath intensifying as she walked over to the counter again.
"Excuse me," her voice was strained, barely above a hoarse whisper as she tossed her hair from her face, "are there any other flights coming from Moscow? Or anywhere else in Russia? Even ones that weren't direct? I think the connection was supposed to have been in Paris but I'm not – no... it was Brussels. I'm sure of it. Are there any other flights coming in from Brussels?"
The woman behind the counter dutifully keyed in the information, shaking her head. "Afraid not, honey. Only one coming in today from Brussels and it arrived-"
"-seven hours ago," Kitty whispered in time with the woman, turning away from the counter. Her arms were wrapped around herself now, the hopelessness clawing at her insides. She could feel a scream building and she knew if she let it out, she'd never stop. Fumbling with the clasp, the cute little clutch purse was in her hand and she fished out her cell phone, checking her messages. Holding down the 1 button, she waited for it to start ringing, pressing it to her ear. Four rings and then his voice filled her ear, his outgoing message curt and clipped. "Mik," her voice trembled, "it's Kitty again. I'm still at the airport and I'm starting to think that maybe I made a mistake on the day. I swear I wrote it down on my calendar and I... well, it's..." she glanced up at the clock, the huge digital display that could be seen halfway across the concourse. "It's Sunday now. It's a little after midnight and I'm..." A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another and then she was swiping at her face, sinking back into that uncomfortable chair, her voice dropping to a ragged whisper. "I'm still waiting. For you."
She swallowed hard, the words forcing themselves out despite the burning in her throat. "If something's happened and you can't... or you changed your mind... please... please call me. Okay? Don't worry about the time. Just call-"
"-to replay your message, press five. If you are satisfied with your message, please hang up or press the star key to record again."
She hung up. The phone fell to her lap, sliding off the silky material to clatter on the floor at her feet. She didn't bother to pick it up, instead closing her eyes against the onslaught of tears, biting her lip and holding her breath. She counted to three hundred before she felt calm enough to retrieve her fallen phone, surprised it was still there. Eight-fifty before she found the strength to stand.
He's not coming.
kittymacblog.wordpress.net posting
August 28, 2016
current mood:
current song: Renegades by X-Ambassadors
SILENCE ALWAYS IRRITATES ME and I know how childish that seems. Our interim commissioner, the man who was bitching on social media about all the meetings he has to attend just days ago, has been curiously silent thus far. I'm torn between being vaguely insulted to impressed – perhaps I've actually come across someone who's done adequate research. Maybe he knows what he's in for?
I won't lord that over him. I'm not that immature, truly and I know I don't have to remind him how petty people can be in this business. Like dogs with bones, they carry on day in and day out. Social media is a circus, word soup of the ignoramus and I can't be bothered to put on my hip waders and slog through the muck. Tonight I'm wrestling a masked man who calls himself Phantasm. I have no delusions that I'm going to emerge unscathed from that clash any more than I believe I'll be victorious. He's hungry. He's picked up several big wins lately and it's common sense to think that he's far less rusty than I seem to have become. This level of honesty is unbecoming, I know. Unexpected, but I feel like candor is something that's required now.
Masks are something that cowards hide behind. Lies are bricks in walls.
I'm not a little pig. I don't need a safe house that's impervious to huffing and puffing of all the bad wolves out there. What does this mean to you, Reinhardt?
Ah, well, herein lies the puzzle and I've left enough bread crumbs that you should be able to follow easily enough. I won't be at my best when I arrive in Mexico and it's up to you to determine if that's going to be that little fumble – perhaps a little chink in my armour. I've given you the means to destroy me and you're not even able to muster a single word about it. I'm disappointed.
I'm annoyed.
I don't like silence.
Is this a fatal mistake? Is telling you this akin to playing like a moron, letting you see all the cards I've ever held in my life and ever will again? It's idiotic to even think. But people do. They come out with these smug little remarks. They smirk and they chuckle and they think to themselves how clever they truly are. Those same people are gone now from this business – well all except the one I hate the most and he's managed to winnow his way into a company in Louisiana, setting himself up in the same sort of position you have. I'd never stoop so low as to compare you to that smarmy shit without a name, but the fact remains of the parallel drawn. I never got the face him one on one, the way I really wanted to. And now here you are – a perfect surrogate on a silver platter. Redemption waiting in the wings and all that claptrap that goes with it.
I wonder if this is complacency or a lapse in judgement on your part. I do.
Here I sit, typing these words, already antsy. I wonder what state I'll be in when I step off that plane in Mexico. I wonder if the desire to crush and maim will still be woefully unsated. I wonder. I wonder.
Do you think you can beat me? Do you think this is going to be a walk in the park?
I want to hear you sound off. I want to soak in every last word. So get to it. Say my name, you coward. Say it with the right amount of fear – no bass. Do you think wrestling a newcomer is beneath you now that you've become this figurehead? Is that what this is?
Come at me with bravado and I will happily become your Caligula – are you familiar with him? He had a saying: let them hate as long as they fear. This is a promise, made by a woman who is accustomed to making threats and the difference between those two concepts. Hate and/or fear. Which one will I draw from you, I wonder. Perhaps both.
I will do my best to break you. I will do it for the only Mikhail who matters, Reinhardt – you are barely a shadow of the man he is. I'll do this to make him proud. To prove that his faith in me hasn't been for naught. I'll do it because the love I have for that man is beyond all scope of words. This is my motivation. Not the cheers of the crowd or a pithy little paycheque at the end of it all. No.
I want to make him smile and that brings me to our song of the day. The opening salvo, the hook, as it were. A plea of sorts, the kind of thing he said to me in that revolving restaurant in Toronto, as if he knew then how badly I'd ached for what he represented. For what he'd been built up to in my mind.
Run away with me
Lost souls and reverie
Running wild and running free
Two kids, you and me
I have no need for their approval. Or yours.
I have him. I have my Prince, my knight, my savior. I know that's pathetic and I know that some would love to mock me putting that out in public. I don't care. He means the world to me and you are nothing more than a footnote. I despise you for having his name and for that, I will take it from you. Leave you that pathetic last name of yours. That strong and oh-so-manly moniker that fits you as well as a glove on a man with no fingers.
Brevity is appreciated.
You are a coward.
Welcome to the twilight hours of your once-esteemed wrestling career. You can thank me later for freeing up your time for all those tedious meetings of yours. I'm sure they'll be much more tolerable when you're high on painkillers.
Be seeing you, Reinhardt.
=^,,^=
LOCATION: Toronto, Canada: 360 Restaurant
DATE/TIME: October 21, 2015 || 3:07PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
By the time the elevator reached the top of the CN Tower, Kitty Stryfe had sweaty palms that she needed to blot against the baby-soft doeskin pants she wore. Looking at her reflection in the mirrored glass, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear that had escaped from the French twist she wore it in and took a deep breath, hoping that he liked red on her as much as Alex used to. Nodding to the attendant as the doors opened, she strode towards the maître d's stand, the heels of her Louboutin peep-toe pumps clicking against the tiles. She gave her name, waiting while the man checked the list but her eyes had already drifted over his shoulder, scanning the restaurant - she'd shown up deliberately late, knowing how long the ride up took and timing it so that she could make an entrance. Her heart fluttered, breath catching in her throat as she saw him seated by the window, catching sight of him in profile before he saw her: Mikhail Petrov, the only man who'd managed to break her heart completely without any effort at all.
He'd dressed casually, charcoal slacks and black leather ankle boots that European men seemed to wear so well but most Americans would never be caught dead in; over that was a lighter gray shirt with a sort of soft sheen that spoke of pure silk. He'd left the top two buttons undone, and his hand lifted up as she looked, fingertips touching the buttons in a manner that spoke more of habit than a deliberate attempt at sexy. As if he felt eyes on him he turned toward the entrance, scanning to see if she was here.
The host touched her arm, making her gasp. "Your companion already arrived, Miss - your table is by the window. If you'll allow me..." he plucked up a menu and moved towards the table Mikhail sat at, leaving her no choice but to follow. The closer she got, the more handsome he seemed and by the time she arrived beside the table, it was a wonder nobody else could hear her heart racing.
He finally caught sight of her and for just a moment he indulged himself in just looking at her, from the top of her lovely dark haired head down to those adorable shoes that showed just a little hint of her toes, and then he looked up to see if he could catch her eyes. He wanted her to see how she affected him, a half-smile touching his lips and making his expression a pleased one. As the host brought her toward the table he stood, and moved around to pull her chair out himself. He wanted to say something suave, something that would stick with her later on after they had parted company, but that would be false. So he settled for just one word, and let his tone of voice add weight to it. "Kitty."
"Mikhail." She answered back, her own tone betraying the rush of emotions that she covered by turning towards the host with a smile before he returned to his post. "Thank you, sir." She hesitated for a moment, tugging at the hem of her turtleneck sweater as though to smooth out any invisible wrinkles before sliding into the chair he'd pulled out for her. "You look..." her smile was bright and genuine as she paused, her twinkling eyes looking more greenish than golden brown as they met his. She couldn't bring herself to complete the thought, thinking that perhaps saying he looked devilishly handsome wouldn't translate as well. "It's so good to," she paused, trying to find the right words even though their last meeting was still there in her mind, "to see you again."
He pushed the chair in, getting her just the right distance from the table before he moved the short distance to his own chair and sat down. He had this way about him, that might seem almost lazy but was actually more him restraining himself. If someone who didn't know him looked at Mikhail, they might note that he was thin and didn't look like he'd be much in a fight. Someone that had actually seen him work however, would never make that mistake. He turned enough to murmur at the host something about 'better than usual' and wine before he turned back to Kitty and reached out with his right hand, extending it to her palm up - a silent request for her hand. "I do not think I have the right English, for what it is like to see you again. Other than I must be blessed. That is close enough, I think."
She gave him her hand, feeling a little thrill that went up her arm when their fingers met. God, he's more handsome than I remember, she thought, blushing slightly at both that and the compliment he'd just paid her, even if it wasn't intentional. "You and Sabra always worry so much about your English - I've never had trouble understanding either of you."
Mikhail's smile was crooked for a second before he let it simply be. A rich chuckle, a hint of sound that drew attention and he shook his head. "Now that is good news. It came faster to her, but I suppose she was far more...motivated." He hadn't released her hand, even though it was coming to the point it might seem a little awkward. "Anything you like, Kitty." A pause. "For lunch, of course. Order what you want, to go with the wine."
"Hmmm." There was a crooked smile on her lips as well, one that showed the dimple in her cheek before she simply said the words that had popped into her head. "Well, I'm not sure if you'd pair better with red or white so I suppose I should play it safe and order off the menu like a good girl." Yet she made no motion to even open the leather bound folio to even look at the choices. In that moment, she only had eyes for him.
Mikhail shifted in his seat, leaning forward just a bit and still not releasing her hand and meeting her gaze with his dark one. His eyes were that same deep color that Sabra's were, like a swirl of dark chocolate. Keen, attentive, and he deliberately drew his thumb over her skin as he laughed soft. That sound was warm, rich and full despite the low volume and there was a hint of his humor in his words after. "I am sure if you wished, we could find out just which was best. But for now, I suppose that you must be... a good girl." He leaned back in the chair, slowly releasing her hand and gesturing toward the menu. "I could order for us both, but I find I would rather see what you like... it makes things so much more interesting."
She opened it almost reluctantly, eyes scanning over the words printed in that fancy typeface, all the while keenly aware of the lingering warmth of his hand in hers. "Perhaps we should make a game of it. You guess where my tastes lie and if you're correct, I'll reward you."
"Hmm." A low sound, definitely amused but his expression stilled for a moment. "That hardly seems fair, Kitty...since I have already gotten my reward. After all, you are here." If she happened to look at him in that moment she would catch him dropping a quick wink at her. "But I accept. We shall see how far off I am, perhaps." He signaled for the waiter, drawing over his own menu with a fingertip and flipping it open casually.
"I have faith," Kitty murmured, wishing that she'd worn a necklace so that she had something to do with her hands. "You know me better than most, even now."
He paused, giving her a look that spoke volumes before he chose his words carefully. "Then they were fools, to give up the opportunity to know you as you deserve. Kitty, I could say such things to you. But ..." And the waiter smoothly stepped up to the table with the bottle of wine he'd ordered, and two fine glasses. He weathered the dark look shot his way admirably, as Mikhail gestured for him to set the bottle down, and then turned the menu and silently indicated the choices with quick brushes of his fingers on the entries, tapping the pictures. The waiter picked up fast, nodding at the end before giving Kitty a polite smile and leaving for the kitchen.
"Oh you trickster, you." She laughed with delight, realizing she hadn't paid close enough attention to see what he'd been pointing at on the page. She'd been too fixated on those long fingers of his and the strength she'd felt when they'd been holding hers. "Now I'll have to wait for the food to come to see how well you play!" Sobering slightly, that hint of a smile was still on her lips as she looked at the wine bottle, wondering if it was even a good idea for her to get tipsy with him around. "Tell me a story? I'd love to know what you've been up to since... well... since we last saw one another?"
He gave her that crooked little smile again, a slight shake of his head but not in denial of her request, more of a giving in. "Perhaps I am for some, Princess." He chuckled again, just a hint of how much richer it could get hovering around the edges. "If you would not mind pouring a glass of wine for us? I suppose I could tell you a little story. I cannot imagine that you would not find yourself bored in moments. But I can never look at you, and think no." A hint of a warmer look that wanted to be, and he looked out toward the window. "Did you know, I have a boat? I spent a good portion of my time, on that boat." Dancing around the fact he was able to get in and out of Morocco much like a modern day pirate due to that boat. "I never thought I was the type to be a sailor. Tell me, Kitty. Do you like to go sailing?"
She filled both glasses halfway and lifted one to her lips, taking a taste before answering. "I love the water but I've never been. Isn't that strange? You think with all my adventures I'd have but no, I'm simply not that exciting, I guess. I went on a cruise once, a very long time ago but that's hardly the same. It was more like an island filled with far too many people and sticky children. Sailing sounds... peaceful." She paused, toying with the stem of her wineglass, "and no. You're not quite what I picture when I think of a sailor."
He laughed then, a fuller version than she'd heard and his amusement was held just as much in his eyes. "Then I shall have to be the one to take you, I think. Though I must disagree with you, Kitty. I find you quite exciting, but then I suppose I look at things in my own way." Musing a moment, that laugh still making his eyes seem warmer. "I spent a lot of time sailing at night, for the safety of other people. I had no desire to be questioned, you see. I took things to Sabra and her husband, messages out. Ammo, whatever they needed. Things that customs would have frowned upon, to say the least." He stopped for a long moment, then looked up at Kitty with the oddest expression. "I spent a lot of time on deck, looking at the stars without the haze of city lights. Without even the sort of light you find in the country. A well of darkness, sky, sea. I looked at them so much, but it really was not the stars I was wanting."
She hung on every word, losing herself in the sound of his accent. Licking her lips, she avoided the obvious question he left hanging. "For two years, I was hidden away in a safe house, all my correspondence cut without any sort of connection to the outside world. People don't understand what that was like. They think I was playing a dirty trick, that I was laughing and still enjoying my life but all the things they take for granted, I was denied. I was dead for those years, even if I was still breathing and the blood was still in my veins..." her eyes locked on his, "I hated the stars at night. I could see them so clearly from my window without any buildings or city pollution blocking my view. They reminded me of other places, of other people I would never see again and I wanted so badly for them to burn out and just leave me alone." She paused, realizing she'd never told anyone this, not even her handlers who'd spent so much time with her. "I'm sorry. I ruined your story, didn't I?"
Mikhail reached out over the table, taking her hand again. "Never, never be sorry to tell me things. Kitty, you must understand how precious it is for me even to have words like these that tell me how sad you were. Now let me explain to you, what it was that I wanted. I wanted to be brave enough, to cross and find you." He gave her a rather inscrutable look. "Yet each time, I would hear you in my head. Not yet, Mikhail... I know, rationally it was not you. You could not haunt me, ghosts are not real. But it seemed to me, that if I could just step up into that dark between the stars, you would be waiting."
"Mikhail..." she couldn't bring herself to utter anything beyond his name and even that was filled with such sadness and yearning that she shook her head, feeling tears prickling her eyes. "No. You can't be serious." The words came out in a raw whisper although she didn't pull her hand back from his. Now she almost needed that touch. "Me? Why would you...?"
"Of course I am serious." He paused, tightening his fingers on her hand just slightly. "Have you never guessed? Have you never truly understood me?" That look across to the window again before he returned the full weight of his gaze on her. "Kitty, there are times that a man can get unspeakably lucky. I suppose that is a Russian conceit? But I knew the first time I saw you, that was mine. My lucky moment, and then to get to meet you and know you?" There was a slight, bitter undertone at the last directed solely to himself. "Then you were snatched away, and I was selfish because all I could think of was that you never knew because I never said."
"Then maybe, this is a second chance for both of us?" Her smile was soft, muted by the tears shining in her eyes. "Because from the first moment... that night in the rain in Paris I felt... something. I still do. There's this pull. I'm drawn to you in a way I can't really explain and I thought for the longest time that it was just me reacting to how much you reminded me of some handsome man from a fable, noble and gentle and kind with a strength nobody else I know has ever possessed and all I ever wanted was to have someone like you in my life. And maybe those things were factors. I don't really know." Her fingers squeezed his gently. "You have me now. I'm here. Tell me anything you wish."
"It sounds too simple, to just say I love you, Kitty. As if what I feel is beyond the language I say it in. To me," he paused for a long moment. "Я люблю тебя. Ты мое сердце." He took a breath that from the poised man seemed oddly boyish and shaky. "I should have told you that, the first moment Sabra brought you in, she never knew that I had already seen you before. That I knew, even then. It makes no sense, I know that. I am a rational man, Kitty. But with you? I find myself sounding like some romantic fool, and find that I do not care."
She sat there a moment, blinking away tears as she stared at him, realizing there were no words she could muster that would express how grateful she was for the gift he'd just given her. "No regrets." Kitty finally said, her voice soft as she looked up at him again. "This time, in this place... this is what that voice was telling you when you were alone under the stars. Our time is now."
DATE/TIME: June 2, 2005 || 11:57PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
The white plastic seats had stopped being comfortable eight hours ago. She'd stopped worrying that his flight had been delayed, that she'd gotten the numbers or the date or the time wrong four hours ago. She'd been to the ticket counter numerous times. Every fingernail was bitten to the quick, a perfect manicure ruined – it was fitting though – matched the rumpled dress and the drooping pantyhose with a giant run in the knee. When it had happened, she'd laughed it off, thinking that they'd have a laugh about it later. She could dress up, she could polish everything and wear Louboutins she could scarcely afford with pearls around her neck and diamonds in her ears and it didn't matter. That tomboy with the scabby knees was always going to come creeping back through.
It wasn't funny anymore.
Her head was throbbing, pulse pounding in her temples, behind her eyes as she stared at the board for the flights. Arrivals and departures and the letters were smeared hieroglyphs, some foreign language that she barely understood as she pushed to her feet. Her purse bumped against her ribs, the ache as she struggled to draw a deep breath intensifying as she walked over to the counter again.
"Excuse me," her voice was strained, barely above a hoarse whisper as she tossed her hair from her face, "are there any other flights coming from Moscow? Or anywhere else in Russia? Even ones that weren't direct? I think the connection was supposed to have been in Paris but I'm not – no... it was Brussels. I'm sure of it. Are there any other flights coming in from Brussels?"
The woman behind the counter dutifully keyed in the information, shaking her head. "Afraid not, honey. Only one coming in today from Brussels and it arrived-"
"-seven hours ago," Kitty whispered in time with the woman, turning away from the counter. Her arms were wrapped around herself now, the hopelessness clawing at her insides. She could feel a scream building and she knew if she let it out, she'd never stop. Fumbling with the clasp, the cute little clutch purse was in her hand and she fished out her cell phone, checking her messages. Holding down the 1 button, she waited for it to start ringing, pressing it to her ear. Four rings and then his voice filled her ear, his outgoing message curt and clipped. "Mik," her voice trembled, "it's Kitty again. I'm still at the airport and I'm starting to think that maybe I made a mistake on the day. I swear I wrote it down on my calendar and I... well, it's..." she glanced up at the clock, the huge digital display that could be seen halfway across the concourse. "It's Sunday now. It's a little after midnight and I'm..." A tear slipped down her cheek, followed by another and then she was swiping at her face, sinking back into that uncomfortable chair, her voice dropping to a ragged whisper. "I'm still waiting. For you."
She swallowed hard, the words forcing themselves out despite the burning in her throat. "If something's happened and you can't... or you changed your mind... please... please call me. Okay? Don't worry about the time. Just call-"
"-to replay your message, press five. If you are satisfied with your message, please hang up or press the star key to record again."
She hung up. The phone fell to her lap, sliding off the silky material to clatter on the floor at her feet. She didn't bother to pick it up, instead closing her eyes against the onslaught of tears, biting her lip and holding her breath. She counted to three hundred before she felt calm enough to retrieve her fallen phone, surprised it was still there. Eight-fifty before she found the strength to stand.
He's not coming.
kittymacblog.wordpress.net posting
August 28, 2016
current mood:
current song: Renegades by X-Ambassadors
SILENCE ALWAYS IRRITATES ME and I know how childish that seems. Our interim commissioner, the man who was bitching on social media about all the meetings he has to attend just days ago, has been curiously silent thus far. I'm torn between being vaguely insulted to impressed – perhaps I've actually come across someone who's done adequate research. Maybe he knows what he's in for?
I won't lord that over him. I'm not that immature, truly and I know I don't have to remind him how petty people can be in this business. Like dogs with bones, they carry on day in and day out. Social media is a circus, word soup of the ignoramus and I can't be bothered to put on my hip waders and slog through the muck. Tonight I'm wrestling a masked man who calls himself Phantasm. I have no delusions that I'm going to emerge unscathed from that clash any more than I believe I'll be victorious. He's hungry. He's picked up several big wins lately and it's common sense to think that he's far less rusty than I seem to have become. This level of honesty is unbecoming, I know. Unexpected, but I feel like candor is something that's required now.
Masks are something that cowards hide behind. Lies are bricks in walls.
I'm not a little pig. I don't need a safe house that's impervious to huffing and puffing of all the bad wolves out there. What does this mean to you, Reinhardt?
Ah, well, herein lies the puzzle and I've left enough bread crumbs that you should be able to follow easily enough. I won't be at my best when I arrive in Mexico and it's up to you to determine if that's going to be that little fumble – perhaps a little chink in my armour. I've given you the means to destroy me and you're not even able to muster a single word about it. I'm disappointed.
I'm annoyed.
I don't like silence.
Is this a fatal mistake? Is telling you this akin to playing like a moron, letting you see all the cards I've ever held in my life and ever will again? It's idiotic to even think. But people do. They come out with these smug little remarks. They smirk and they chuckle and they think to themselves how clever they truly are. Those same people are gone now from this business – well all except the one I hate the most and he's managed to winnow his way into a company in Louisiana, setting himself up in the same sort of position you have. I'd never stoop so low as to compare you to that smarmy shit without a name, but the fact remains of the parallel drawn. I never got the face him one on one, the way I really wanted to. And now here you are – a perfect surrogate on a silver platter. Redemption waiting in the wings and all that claptrap that goes with it.
I wonder if this is complacency or a lapse in judgement on your part. I do.
Here I sit, typing these words, already antsy. I wonder what state I'll be in when I step off that plane in Mexico. I wonder if the desire to crush and maim will still be woefully unsated. I wonder. I wonder.
Do you think you can beat me? Do you think this is going to be a walk in the park?
I want to hear you sound off. I want to soak in every last word. So get to it. Say my name, you coward. Say it with the right amount of fear – no bass. Do you think wrestling a newcomer is beneath you now that you've become this figurehead? Is that what this is?
Come at me with bravado and I will happily become your Caligula – are you familiar with him? He had a saying: let them hate as long as they fear. This is a promise, made by a woman who is accustomed to making threats and the difference between those two concepts. Hate and/or fear. Which one will I draw from you, I wonder. Perhaps both.
I will do my best to break you. I will do it for the only Mikhail who matters, Reinhardt – you are barely a shadow of the man he is. I'll do this to make him proud. To prove that his faith in me hasn't been for naught. I'll do it because the love I have for that man is beyond all scope of words. This is my motivation. Not the cheers of the crowd or a pithy little paycheque at the end of it all. No.
I want to make him smile and that brings me to our song of the day. The opening salvo, the hook, as it were. A plea of sorts, the kind of thing he said to me in that revolving restaurant in Toronto, as if he knew then how badly I'd ached for what he represented. For what he'd been built up to in my mind.
Run away with me
Lost souls and reverie
Running wild and running free
Two kids, you and me
I have no need for their approval. Or yours.
I have him. I have my Prince, my knight, my savior. I know that's pathetic and I know that some would love to mock me putting that out in public. I don't care. He means the world to me and you are nothing more than a footnote. I despise you for having his name and for that, I will take it from you. Leave you that pathetic last name of yours. That strong and oh-so-manly moniker that fits you as well as a glove on a man with no fingers.
Brevity is appreciated.
You are a coward.
Welcome to the twilight hours of your once-esteemed wrestling career. You can thank me later for freeing up your time for all those tedious meetings of yours. I'm sure they'll be much more tolerable when you're high on painkillers.
Be seeing you, Reinhardt.
=^,,^=
LOCATION: Toronto, Canada: 360 Restaurant
DATE/TIME: October 21, 2015 || 3:07PM LOCAL TIME
CAMERA STATUS: ON/OFF
By the time the elevator reached the top of the CN Tower, Kitty Stryfe had sweaty palms that she needed to blot against the baby-soft doeskin pants she wore. Looking at her reflection in the mirrored glass, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear that had escaped from the French twist she wore it in and took a deep breath, hoping that he liked red on her as much as Alex used to. Nodding to the attendant as the doors opened, she strode towards the maître d's stand, the heels of her Louboutin peep-toe pumps clicking against the tiles. She gave her name, waiting while the man checked the list but her eyes had already drifted over his shoulder, scanning the restaurant - she'd shown up deliberately late, knowing how long the ride up took and timing it so that she could make an entrance. Her heart fluttered, breath catching in her throat as she saw him seated by the window, catching sight of him in profile before he saw her: Mikhail Petrov, the only man who'd managed to break her heart completely without any effort at all.
He'd dressed casually, charcoal slacks and black leather ankle boots that European men seemed to wear so well but most Americans would never be caught dead in; over that was a lighter gray shirt with a sort of soft sheen that spoke of pure silk. He'd left the top two buttons undone, and his hand lifted up as she looked, fingertips touching the buttons in a manner that spoke more of habit than a deliberate attempt at sexy. As if he felt eyes on him he turned toward the entrance, scanning to see if she was here.
The host touched her arm, making her gasp. "Your companion already arrived, Miss - your table is by the window. If you'll allow me..." he plucked up a menu and moved towards the table Mikhail sat at, leaving her no choice but to follow. The closer she got, the more handsome he seemed and by the time she arrived beside the table, it was a wonder nobody else could hear her heart racing.
He finally caught sight of her and for just a moment he indulged himself in just looking at her, from the top of her lovely dark haired head down to those adorable shoes that showed just a little hint of her toes, and then he looked up to see if he could catch her eyes. He wanted her to see how she affected him, a half-smile touching his lips and making his expression a pleased one. As the host brought her toward the table he stood, and moved around to pull her chair out himself. He wanted to say something suave, something that would stick with her later on after they had parted company, but that would be false. So he settled for just one word, and let his tone of voice add weight to it. "Kitty."
"Mikhail." She answered back, her own tone betraying the rush of emotions that she covered by turning towards the host with a smile before he returned to his post. "Thank you, sir." She hesitated for a moment, tugging at the hem of her turtleneck sweater as though to smooth out any invisible wrinkles before sliding into the chair he'd pulled out for her. "You look..." her smile was bright and genuine as she paused, her twinkling eyes looking more greenish than golden brown as they met his. She couldn't bring herself to complete the thought, thinking that perhaps saying he looked devilishly handsome wouldn't translate as well. "It's so good to," she paused, trying to find the right words even though their last meeting was still there in her mind, "to see you again."
He pushed the chair in, getting her just the right distance from the table before he moved the short distance to his own chair and sat down. He had this way about him, that might seem almost lazy but was actually more him restraining himself. If someone who didn't know him looked at Mikhail, they might note that he was thin and didn't look like he'd be much in a fight. Someone that had actually seen him work however, would never make that mistake. He turned enough to murmur at the host something about 'better than usual' and wine before he turned back to Kitty and reached out with his right hand, extending it to her palm up - a silent request for her hand. "I do not think I have the right English, for what it is like to see you again. Other than I must be blessed. That is close enough, I think."
She gave him her hand, feeling a little thrill that went up her arm when their fingers met. God, he's more handsome than I remember, she thought, blushing slightly at both that and the compliment he'd just paid her, even if it wasn't intentional. "You and Sabra always worry so much about your English - I've never had trouble understanding either of you."
Mikhail's smile was crooked for a second before he let it simply be. A rich chuckle, a hint of sound that drew attention and he shook his head. "Now that is good news. It came faster to her, but I suppose she was far more...motivated." He hadn't released her hand, even though it was coming to the point it might seem a little awkward. "Anything you like, Kitty." A pause. "For lunch, of course. Order what you want, to go with the wine."
"Hmmm." There was a crooked smile on her lips as well, one that showed the dimple in her cheek before she simply said the words that had popped into her head. "Well, I'm not sure if you'd pair better with red or white so I suppose I should play it safe and order off the menu like a good girl." Yet she made no motion to even open the leather bound folio to even look at the choices. In that moment, she only had eyes for him.
Mikhail shifted in his seat, leaning forward just a bit and still not releasing her hand and meeting her gaze with his dark one. His eyes were that same deep color that Sabra's were, like a swirl of dark chocolate. Keen, attentive, and he deliberately drew his thumb over her skin as he laughed soft. That sound was warm, rich and full despite the low volume and there was a hint of his humor in his words after. "I am sure if you wished, we could find out just which was best. But for now, I suppose that you must be... a good girl." He leaned back in the chair, slowly releasing her hand and gesturing toward the menu. "I could order for us both, but I find I would rather see what you like... it makes things so much more interesting."
She opened it almost reluctantly, eyes scanning over the words printed in that fancy typeface, all the while keenly aware of the lingering warmth of his hand in hers. "Perhaps we should make a game of it. You guess where my tastes lie and if you're correct, I'll reward you."
"Hmm." A low sound, definitely amused but his expression stilled for a moment. "That hardly seems fair, Kitty...since I have already gotten my reward. After all, you are here." If she happened to look at him in that moment she would catch him dropping a quick wink at her. "But I accept. We shall see how far off I am, perhaps." He signaled for the waiter, drawing over his own menu with a fingertip and flipping it open casually.
"I have faith," Kitty murmured, wishing that she'd worn a necklace so that she had something to do with her hands. "You know me better than most, even now."
He paused, giving her a look that spoke volumes before he chose his words carefully. "Then they were fools, to give up the opportunity to know you as you deserve. Kitty, I could say such things to you. But ..." And the waiter smoothly stepped up to the table with the bottle of wine he'd ordered, and two fine glasses. He weathered the dark look shot his way admirably, as Mikhail gestured for him to set the bottle down, and then turned the menu and silently indicated the choices with quick brushes of his fingers on the entries, tapping the pictures. The waiter picked up fast, nodding at the end before giving Kitty a polite smile and leaving for the kitchen.
"Oh you trickster, you." She laughed with delight, realizing she hadn't paid close enough attention to see what he'd been pointing at on the page. She'd been too fixated on those long fingers of his and the strength she'd felt when they'd been holding hers. "Now I'll have to wait for the food to come to see how well you play!" Sobering slightly, that hint of a smile was still on her lips as she looked at the wine bottle, wondering if it was even a good idea for her to get tipsy with him around. "Tell me a story? I'd love to know what you've been up to since... well... since we last saw one another?"
He gave her that crooked little smile again, a slight shake of his head but not in denial of her request, more of a giving in. "Perhaps I am for some, Princess." He chuckled again, just a hint of how much richer it could get hovering around the edges. "If you would not mind pouring a glass of wine for us? I suppose I could tell you a little story. I cannot imagine that you would not find yourself bored in moments. But I can never look at you, and think no." A hint of a warmer look that wanted to be, and he looked out toward the window. "Did you know, I have a boat? I spent a good portion of my time, on that boat." Dancing around the fact he was able to get in and out of Morocco much like a modern day pirate due to that boat. "I never thought I was the type to be a sailor. Tell me, Kitty. Do you like to go sailing?"
She filled both glasses halfway and lifted one to her lips, taking a taste before answering. "I love the water but I've never been. Isn't that strange? You think with all my adventures I'd have but no, I'm simply not that exciting, I guess. I went on a cruise once, a very long time ago but that's hardly the same. It was more like an island filled with far too many people and sticky children. Sailing sounds... peaceful." She paused, toying with the stem of her wineglass, "and no. You're not quite what I picture when I think of a sailor."
He laughed then, a fuller version than she'd heard and his amusement was held just as much in his eyes. "Then I shall have to be the one to take you, I think. Though I must disagree with you, Kitty. I find you quite exciting, but then I suppose I look at things in my own way." Musing a moment, that laugh still making his eyes seem warmer. "I spent a lot of time sailing at night, for the safety of other people. I had no desire to be questioned, you see. I took things to Sabra and her husband, messages out. Ammo, whatever they needed. Things that customs would have frowned upon, to say the least." He stopped for a long moment, then looked up at Kitty with the oddest expression. "I spent a lot of time on deck, looking at the stars without the haze of city lights. Without even the sort of light you find in the country. A well of darkness, sky, sea. I looked at them so much, but it really was not the stars I was wanting."
She hung on every word, losing herself in the sound of his accent. Licking her lips, she avoided the obvious question he left hanging. "For two years, I was hidden away in a safe house, all my correspondence cut without any sort of connection to the outside world. People don't understand what that was like. They think I was playing a dirty trick, that I was laughing and still enjoying my life but all the things they take for granted, I was denied. I was dead for those years, even if I was still breathing and the blood was still in my veins..." her eyes locked on his, "I hated the stars at night. I could see them so clearly from my window without any buildings or city pollution blocking my view. They reminded me of other places, of other people I would never see again and I wanted so badly for them to burn out and just leave me alone." She paused, realizing she'd never told anyone this, not even her handlers who'd spent so much time with her. "I'm sorry. I ruined your story, didn't I?"
Mikhail reached out over the table, taking her hand again. "Never, never be sorry to tell me things. Kitty, you must understand how precious it is for me even to have words like these that tell me how sad you were. Now let me explain to you, what it was that I wanted. I wanted to be brave enough, to cross and find you." He gave her a rather inscrutable look. "Yet each time, I would hear you in my head. Not yet, Mikhail... I know, rationally it was not you. You could not haunt me, ghosts are not real. But it seemed to me, that if I could just step up into that dark between the stars, you would be waiting."
"Mikhail..." she couldn't bring herself to utter anything beyond his name and even that was filled with such sadness and yearning that she shook her head, feeling tears prickling her eyes. "No. You can't be serious." The words came out in a raw whisper although she didn't pull her hand back from his. Now she almost needed that touch. "Me? Why would you...?"
"Of course I am serious." He paused, tightening his fingers on her hand just slightly. "Have you never guessed? Have you never truly understood me?" That look across to the window again before he returned the full weight of his gaze on her. "Kitty, there are times that a man can get unspeakably lucky. I suppose that is a Russian conceit? But I knew the first time I saw you, that was mine. My lucky moment, and then to get to meet you and know you?" There was a slight, bitter undertone at the last directed solely to himself. "Then you were snatched away, and I was selfish because all I could think of was that you never knew because I never said."
"Then maybe, this is a second chance for both of us?" Her smile was soft, muted by the tears shining in her eyes. "Because from the first moment... that night in the rain in Paris I felt... something. I still do. There's this pull. I'm drawn to you in a way I can't really explain and I thought for the longest time that it was just me reacting to how much you reminded me of some handsome man from a fable, noble and gentle and kind with a strength nobody else I know has ever possessed and all I ever wanted was to have someone like you in my life. And maybe those things were factors. I don't really know." Her fingers squeezed his gently. "You have me now. I'm here. Tell me anything you wish."
"It sounds too simple, to just say I love you, Kitty. As if what I feel is beyond the language I say it in. To me," he paused for a long moment. "Я люблю тебя. Ты мое сердце." He took a breath that from the poised man seemed oddly boyish and shaky. "I should have told you that, the first moment Sabra brought you in, she never knew that I had already seen you before. That I knew, even then. It makes no sense, I know that. I am a rational man, Kitty. But with you? I find myself sounding like some romantic fool, and find that I do not care."
She sat there a moment, blinking away tears as she stared at him, realizing there were no words she could muster that would express how grateful she was for the gift he'd just given her. "No regrets." Kitty finally said, her voice soft as she looked up at him again. "This time, in this place... this is what that voice was telling you when you were alone under the stars. Our time is now."
