Date: 2010-02-22 11:12 pm (UTC)
Cheslav exhaled quietly.

"I don't know, comrade. I usually murder people who don't deserve it."

He thought he felt a tic spasm in Aleksandr's cheek.

Cheslav looked into Isaev's eyes and searched for the man.

Was he there, merely grieving, exhausted and aching and weary, or was he the raving, mindless shell of a man that Ilarion and his friend had described?

Cheslav stroked Aleksandr's cheek, with light, firm fingertips, as if chafing warmth back into his skin.

"I'll pour you some water. And then you'll tell me about it."

He turned away. He had spotted an elegant carafe on the nightstand, and he collected it and a lowball glass and returned to Aleksandr's seat.

Cheslav poured, watching him closely, then touched the cool rim of the glass to his lips, coaxing him to drink.

"Tell me," he murmured. "I think you need to."
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February 2010

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