For Sist3r_Sin -- The New Tattoo

[red_peril]

Illya's eyebrows raised when Ivan's driver pulled the car to a stop and parked in front of the tattoo parlor. The sign was in Russian. It was not a place for hipsters and tourists to get inked. It was almost exclusively used by the Vor. The man who owned it was an old friend of his boss' from Russia. The driver got out and opened the door. As usual, Illya got out first, and then his employer. In truth they were more than that. By saving the old man's life, he had earned a permanent place in the family.

"Come, you have earned a new mark, Kuryakin," Ivan told him. He followed his boss inside and watched as he greeted the owner, Victor, with a kiss on the cheek and a handshake. "Go, take off your shirt and lie down."

He listened to the two old men talking softly in Russian as Illya went to the table toward the back of the shop and removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Sliding the shirt off revealed his story to everyone who knew how to read it. He laid down on the table on his back, revealing a couple of recently healed scars. One on his chest bisected the crucifix, cutting Jesus in half and angled toward his heart. The other, raked down well developed abdominal muscles on his left side. These were from the knife wounds he had taken for Ivan. His boss sat down in the back in a chair and picked up one of the Russian newspapers lying there.

The tattooist came and sat down by Illya, pulling on a pair of neoprene gloves and looking over the display of prison and military tattoos. The new tattoo would be different. Made with professional ink and the artwork would be better defined. The tattooist cleaned the area around his abdominal scar with alcohol and looked over the space. Unlike American tattooists, he would not be working from flash, but from memory.

Illya relaxed while the artist prepared his inks. Today he would be getting the Ivanoff family crest, held by a bear. A mark that he was a protector of the family.

Comments

[abyssum_invocat]

"You're welcome," she replied, shaking her head gently as her mouth tilted up just enough to be called a smile. "I'm glad you used it."

[red_peril]

"Da, so am I," he couldn't help but smile. "Ivan did try to warn me about you. Sometimes, I do not listen very well," he said with a shrug. He walked into the restaurant behind her and they were led by the hostess to a couple of open seats at the sushi bar.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Now I want to know what he said," she chuckled, walking with him to the sushi bar, though she kept her hands close, away from the cold air passing around the little glass shield between them and the fish.

"There's nothing you should worry over about me, Illya. I may not be the kind of woman you're familiar with, but...maybe that's a good thing."

[red_peril]

"He didn't say anything specific about you. Only to be careful because you are not family," he accepted the hot steaming towel from the waiter and immediately washed his hands with it. Illya had been to the place enough times to know the custom.

"I agree. Most of the women that I know bore me," he admitted. Considering that if they weren't married to a Vor, they were whores of the Vor, many of them kept obedient by drugs. They also made him quite sad. "I like that you are not like them."

When it was all over, he hoped that they all would be freed and sent back to their families. But that was at least several months down the road.

[abyssum_invocat]

"I can assure you, you will never be bored around me," she said, and when he said something about her not being family Sinthia had to chuckle. "Remind me, someday, to show you something about that."

She wouldn't show him here, but she was well aware of the small, nearly delicate tattoo on the back of her neck. To change the topic, though, she took a towel from the man offering one with a quiet thanks in easy Japanese, dipping her head before she switched back to talking with Illya. "So tell me, what do you like in a woman?"

[red_peril]

"I have already figured that," he grinned. "I find you very interesting." He asked the waiter, also in perfect Japanese for a bottle of warm sake and two cups. "I look forward to seeing it."

"Well, you already know I like strong women," he leaned back in his seat and thought about it a moment. "Feisty, which you have already proven yourself to be. And of course beautiful, of which you are perfect example. Good fashion sense is must. Which you already display. I quite like the Faberge hair comb, it is lovely and very appropriate for the evening. And you were not embarrassed by me acting like a giant dork in the museum. You also have wonderful laugh."

[abyssum_invocat]

"It seemed fitting," she said, delighted that he'd noticed it. "I'm flattered you think I'm beautiful." Truth be told, while she'd been called as much by other people it had never carried quite the same affection as when Illya said it.

She caught herself feeling faintly warm and fluttery over him, and shook her head at herself. It was only the first date. "No, I think what you were is called a geek. There would have to be some level of social ineptness to make you a dork," she teased him with that little laugh appearing again. "And you seem to be managing quite well. "Buying me a drink and everything. But you know I will still show you my tattoo either way."

[red_peril]

"Ah, good. Thank you for explaining. I did not know there was a difference between geek and dork. You did not think I was even little socially inept back there?" he asked. "There may be hope for me yet."

The sake arrived screaming hot and he poured cups full for them, but refrained from drinking. "It needs to cool off first. First time I had it I nearly scalded my throat doing that. I sounded like Marlon Brando in the Godfather for a week."

[abyssum_invocat]

"Of course you were a little, but between a beautiful woman and beautiful jewels, who wouldn't be?" she asked, unable to not a little giggle at the reference to the mafia movie. It had been one of the first she'd watched when she had the chance, fascinated by the look into a familiar world from an entirely opposite perspective.

"Regrettably I don't do many impressions. But I do have some hidden talents, just...not that I can show here. Precisely."

[red_peril]

"This is true," he said before ordering some yellowtail rolls. For Illya watching the movie wasn't a look at his world at all. The Italian American Mafia was entirely different from the Vor. Except in that they both seemed steeped in machismo. "I do not think that I could do impression for you now without hurting my vocal chords! I was teased mercilessly at the time."

"Now you intrigue me even more. I should like to see these hidden talents sometime. So, what do you look for in man?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"I'm sure you will sometime," she murmured. Most likely it would be either entirely unexpected--as in a fight--or she'd invite him to see her at the gym sometime; either way she could be beautifully, gracefully savage against her opponents, which were usually larger men. Not all of them were as tall as Illya, but most were broader, bulky.

"I like...educated men, which you are," Sinthia said, considering as she spoke. "Cultured. Strong, handsome, which you certainly don't have to worry about. I like classic gentlemen, I suppose would be the best term, who know how to fight dirty when they must." There were a surprising number of circumstances in her life where that would be handy.

[red_peril]

"Count me very intrigued," he said as the yellowtail rolls were plated and set before them. "I should have asked before, what is your favorite sushi?" Illya poured a generous amount of soy sauce into a small bowl in front of him and with chopsticks carefully added a third of the thumb sized portion of wasabi to mix into it as he listened.

"Spasibo," he liked that she thought him strong and handsome and cultured as well. Illya too had some hidden talents, some of which he would reveal to her if he had too much sake. "What do you know? I am well trained in both of those areas."

[abyssum_invocat]

"Oh, most any of it. I'd have interrupted you if you were ordering something I didn't like," she said, indulgent for a moment as she watched him mix the dark soy with a considerable amount of spice--the wasabi paste wasn't bright green as most places made it, from powder and water, but was rather more whitish and finely grated. It was good.

She waited a moment after he finished, and tapped the pad of one finger into the mix to taste it, gesturing that he should take one of the rolls to eat. "Are you now? And what are you trained in?" she asked, not yet mentioning her own combinations of skills in that particular set.

[red_peril]

"Good. I like that you speak your mind," he said. "Ah, no. Ladies first, dozo." Illya offered her the dish.

[abyssum_invocat]

"I could speak it louder if you wanted," she said with a flash of a tiny impish smile, manipulating her own set of the pretty lacquered sticks to pick up a piece of the rice and fish. "But we're being civilized, aren't we?"

[red_peril]

"I would say we are," he liked that smile. Mischievous. "You could if you wanted and I would not object. But I think you speak up well enough for yourself without having to shout."

Picking up his own chopsticks, he plucked a morsel of sushi from the plate and dipped it in the soy and wasabi before expertly popping it in his mouth.

[abyssum_invocat]

Sinthia almost replied to that, and found herself pleasantly surprised by the compliment, which wasn't one given to her often, and merely smiled as she ate her sushi, though she was also enjoying the now somewhat cooled sake as well.

"I'd like to hear you," she murmured. "Talk about yourself, that is."

[red_peril]

"Really?" he took a sip of sake. "You did ask about my skills." Illya poured them both more sake. "Before I joined the Vor, I was in the military. First GRU regular army, where I studied Judo, Sambo and marksmanship. I was recruited to Spetsnaz takticheskaya yedinitsa snayper."

[abyssum_invocat]

"Sniper unit," she murmured. "Very difficult to get into with the GRU. I hear." She'd know. Once upon a time she remembered getting that same marksmanship training, albeit tailored to a then-eleven-year-old girl.

She'd been a quick learner. "What did you do to get your first sentence?" she asked, switching languages to quiet Russian so that if they were overheard it wouldn't be by just anyone who came by them. "Or should I be asking who did you shoot?" Sinthia was amazingly non-judgemental as she asked, seeming to look at Illya as if trying to see whether he was lying.

[red_peril]

"Da," he said quietly. Illya was lifting his cup to his lips and stopped halfway when she switched to Russian. He set down the small cup without drinking it. At first, his eyes were on his plate. Then he looked at her, shame clear on his face. "I did not shoot anyone. I had disagreement with superior officer. I broke his neck," he said simply. "I earned dishonorable discharge and all expense paid trip to prison camp in Siberia." He downed the sake in one swallow, not difficult with the tiny size of the cups. "I was sentenced to one hundred years hard labor." It had been a surprise that they hadn't just shot him.

[abyssum_invocat]

Sinthia merely regarded him, clear-eyed and without any reproach or judgement in her expression as she listened to all of his story. "Do not be ashamed of what has happened in the past. That cannot change, and regret does nothing to help you," she said, speaking evenly and lightly.

"Evidently you got out," she said. "Or you look very good for your age, whichever it is." She knew more about that than most; the freezing, thawing, and memory erasure had taken its toll on her, though she certainly didn't look like she'd undergone anything like that. "Would you be surprised to learn I have been to Siberia?" she asked. "I don't remember overmuch of it, though. Not in detail."

[red_peril]

"I know. It also does not change the fact that I killed a man for nothing more than fit of temper." So yes, Illya would regret it for the rest of his life. He leaned closer to her and said quietly in Russian, "I escaped." He looked surprised at her confession. "It is very popular vacation destination. Why were you in Siberia?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"My...parents took me there," she says hesitantly. "It's not something I remember well, though. I couldn't tell you why they decided to go there."

She can. She could. But SInthia won't, because he likely would view her entirely differently, and she doesn't want that when she's only just started really liking him. "You regret that you killed a superior officer, and you're Vor? That isn't something I ever thought I'd hear. Usually they're very unrepentant."

[red_peril]

Illya couldn't imagine anyone going there voluntarily. "Da, I regret. Though I would not show the Vor my regret. I think you already guess I am not typical Vor." He said in almost a whisper, "When I am with them, I do not discuss regret or feeling anything but contempt." He shrugged, "I was not Vor at first. After a few months and a couple of fights with other prisoners, they transferred me to regular prison camp. They look down on me because I was in the military. It made me valuable target." He pulled down the collar of his shirt a little, exposing the scar at his throat. "This is how I first met Vor. So I had to fight to live there, you understand? I killed the one who tried to cut my throat. And the next and the next they sent at me. It was the only way they learned to respect. I had to make myself hard like steel to survive there."

[abyssum_invocat]

Sinthia took a breath, slow and deep as she nodded, purposefully trying not to react. "I understand more than you think, Illya."

She still wouldn't show him the tattoo on her neck, but she put down the sake cup to speak. "I was sixteen when I first met the Vor. Do you know what they like to try and do to sixteen-year-old girls that are alone in their city?" she asked quietly, looking over at him.