"Blatnye trash," said Aleksandr and spat on the ground.
His mind was clearer now, despite his weakened constitution, the adrenalin and testosterone that flooded his senses almost like sal volatile.
Oleksei was moving toward him, a bruising stride with a sense of threat and purpose.
Something in the ominous curve of of Oleksei's mouth offended him. It looked as if he was blatantly enjoying himself. It lacked any reverence at all, under the circumstances.
Aleksandr was not enjoying himself. His life had been the very opposite of enjoyment of late, though he wasn't quite sure what that technically was. It was something beyond and above misery.
Suffering, he thought. Suffering was what they called that.
Was Cheslav enjoying his suffering on some level, or was he just slow-witted enough that the slightest hint of physical altercation would make his low-class, showboating nature giddy enough to forget the context of where they stood, and why, and what occasion he had muscled his presence into?
Aleksandr had not forgotten.
His fist clenched hard and relaxed slowly.
"I wouldn't woolgather much longer, Slava," he said, his voice soft and deathly measured. Taut as piano wire. "He who hesitates is lost."
He said it, even though he knew he was in far from prime condition. Even though he knew he would be unable to suppress Cheslav's physical influence. It was improbable in the best of situations; impossible now, as he stood, a wrecked and wasted man, steeped in agony and grief.
It was the words themselves that mattered; your intent.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2010-02-27 12:42 pm (UTC)His mind was clearer now, despite his weakened constitution, the adrenalin and testosterone that flooded his senses almost like sal volatile.
Oleksei was moving toward him, a bruising stride with a sense of threat and purpose.
Something in the ominous curve of of Oleksei's mouth offended him. It looked as if he was blatantly enjoying himself. It lacked any reverence at all, under the circumstances.
Aleksandr was not enjoying himself. His life had been the very opposite of enjoyment of late, though he wasn't quite sure what that technically was. It was something beyond and above misery.
Suffering, he thought. Suffering was what they called that.
Was Cheslav enjoying his suffering on some level, or was he just slow-witted enough that the slightest hint of physical altercation would make his low-class, showboating nature giddy enough to forget the context of where they stood, and why, and what occasion he had muscled his presence into?
Aleksandr had not forgotten.
His fist clenched hard and relaxed slowly.
"I wouldn't woolgather much longer, Slava," he said, his voice soft and deathly measured. Taut as piano wire. "He who hesitates is lost."
He said it, even though he knew he was in far from prime condition. Even though he knew he would be unable to suppress Cheslav's physical influence. It was improbable in the best of situations; impossible now, as he stood, a wrecked and wasted man, steeped in agony and grief.
It was the words themselves that mattered; your intent.
Not whether you could back them up.