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]

"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.

[red_peril]

"I believe you do," he said quietly. "Da, I know." Illya could easily imagine it. He'd seen it done to others, and what he couldn't tell her was that it was why he was there. That he was not truly Vor. That he was FSB agent sent to stop the trafficking. To free the girls. He reached over and took her hand, looking into the depths of Sinthia's beautiful brown eyes.

[abyssum_invocat]

She looked down at his hand enveloping hers, seemingly soulless as she glanced down, tilting her head, and back up; there was no spike in her breath, no lift to her heartbeat.

"Then you know that if I'm sitting here I understand," she murmured, picking up her chopsticks. "I appreciate that you're not like the rest of them." That was all she said, and left him to wonder the outcome of the story; Sinthia knew, recalled actually, how that had ended with her burying a stiletto knife into pallid, inked flesh and ripping, feeling the warm gush of arterial blood. Perhaps that would be a conversation they had another time, though.

"I'd still like to see the bear. IF you're still willing to show me."

[red_peril]

Illya nodded. He'd seen that look sometimes staring back at him in the mirror. He let go of her hand so that she could eat. There was more to his own story. Someday, they would discuss it, he was sure. The smile crept back when she mentioned the tattoo.

"I would still very much like to show it to you."

[abyssum_invocat]

"So I should take you to my apartment after this to show you," she murmurs, moving close enough that their elbows brushed even when he'd let go of her hand; she could still eat one-handed, and hadn't meant to make him turn loose.

"I don't live far. Close enough to walk." Even in the heels she was wearing. "Unless that's too forward for you?" It would entail at least tolerating her living space, and the dog therein, long enough for her to unclasp one of her stockings. She hated wearing pantyhose, because they were awkward to get into and clung in strange ways; silk stockings were much easier, even if they meant more layers.

[red_peril]

"I am shocked," Illya teased, but he couldn't help but grin. He liked her sitting close to him. There was something comforting about it. "I would like that. I could show you the finished bear."

He signalled for the Sushi chef and ordered a couple more dishes that they could share.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Of course you are," she replied, though she couldn't help the lingering grin the idea brought along as they ate; the rest of the meal was more lighthearted in conversation, normal things about what they liked or disliked and shared.

When she'd paid--it was no trouble to her to do it--she offered her hand out, palm up, to him.

"Do you want to come with me?"

[red_peril]

"Going home with a girl on the first date?" he laughed, "My mother would be shocked!" But he did take her hand. "Of course I could always tell her that you corrupted me."

[abyssum_invocat]

"If your mother believes I've corrupted you, clearly she doesn't know you well," she teased him, a quick smile flashing around her mouth as he took her hand while they walked.

It really wasn't far to her home; a few blocks away from the museum through very quiet streets--especially for being so close to the Great Park--and through a set of ironwork doors, glass and wood ones, and up the stairs, and there they were. She lived on the top floor of a beautiful near-mansion; her apartment was smallish, but it suited her, airy as it was. "Oh," she said, looking down to get her key, "You don't mind dogs, do you? Avi won't hurt you, but he is rather large."

Understatement. But still.

[red_peril]

"Clearly," he laughed. Though already, Sinthia was having an effect on him. He followed her to her place, walking hand in hand. It felt like the most natural thing. If anything, his mother would have teased him for becoming infatuated with a beautiful woman so quickly.

"Not at all. I love dogs," he said. "What kind of dog is Avi?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"You'll see," she said and merely smiled, unlocking her door and clicking her tongue to call the dog off her bed--it was just left of the door, set back in a little alcove with her dresser. Avi, as it turned out, was a borzoi, lanky and all white with the lightest of gray markings on one eye and ear, and one leg.

"Get down from there, Avi," she murmured as the dog whuffed at her, slinking to the floor to greet his owner. To the new person, he reacted calmly but cautiously, sniffing in his direction as Sinthia stepped around him to let Illya in. There was no moving that animal out of the way easily, not at better than a hundred pounds already.