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> > 𝙴𝚇𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙳𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚂 ... 2000 hours @ town square, the old quarter, krovograd ... [ warning ... 2/3 others in line of sight ]
preparations for vesna night had started some three to four weeks ago ─ she had been walking through the square dressed as a civilian rather than an agent when one of the old women had beckoned her over with a wave of a wrinkled hand and mălina had been helpless to refuse the test run of honey cakes or the demand that she join the other women in the renactment on the night itself. ( you were a dancer, yes ? she had looked up, mouth full of black bread and churned butter, to nod. it seemed almost criminal to do anything else. good. we need someone strong to lift up daria here. yes ? her gaze drifted over the girl, taking in the sunken cheeks and feverish bright eyes, and knew there was no other answer except to nod again. ) if she had known that it involved costumes, years old expired concealer, old poster colors from a children's paint set and a mask that fitted oddly over her forehead, she might have put up more of a resistance, but the part had been played and her reward had been pressed into her palms, still warm from the fire.
landing down with a heavy grunt onto one of the empty chairs situated in a half - circle around the bonfire, she dragged the mask over her head and pinched at the cake half - heartedly, though the first bite reminded her of the ones she had already tasted in the days leading up to it, burned or undercooked and shoved into the mouth to avoid wastage, and the memory served only to make her flinch away from the sweetness, holding out the treat to the person closest to her.
❝ ... here. i only pinched a bit off that corner. ❞ mălina looked a little green around the gills ─ the funny - smelling paint that had been streaked across her cheeks did little to help with her appearance. ❝ it feels wrong to just toss it, considering ... ❞ this was all some of them had. she swallowed around the honey - soaked cake and offered the other person a smile and a change in topic, hoping her words had not offered insult where there was none.
❝ i distinctly remember my father saying something about jumping over a bonfire once, but that could be another festival. do you think you could clear that ? ❞ chin lifted, pointing towards the crackling fire pit.
She is familiar, but with her face half hidden under a mask and smear of paint, Viktor doesn't venture a guess. When the blonde speaks, though, the voice does give him a clue; namely that she isn't a local. He opts not to let on, accepting the honeycake with a smile.
"You didn't like it?" He asks, taking a sip from his drink and letting the vodka warm his throat before he takes a bite of the cake with a shrug that says 'suit yourself'. "...My mother never learned how to make them. I only ever had them from the village ladies."
Eyes trailing to the bonfire, he considers her question for a moment. "With a running start, perhaps. But I'm not keen to try it now. Too many people to see me if I fail." He looks back at her then, curious. "Could you?"
location: town square
thread status: open ( 0 / 5 )
the proximity of the bonfire brings tears to nika's eyes, the skin of her cheeks uncomfortably tight from the heat. all her gaiety from past vesna's nights is gone. this year there is no sister to dance with or steal honey cakes from — even their mother is conspicuously absent, opting to stay home instead of celebrate the occasion. as the flames dance before her, nika works hard to swallow the lump in her throat.
she steps back from the fire, eager to banish her self-pitying thoughts, and her back collides with a solid mass. "oh shit!" the cup she's holding sways precariously, but somehow she saves it from toppling. "i am so sorry. i didn't get any on you, did i?"
For most, the cold and frost would sting and prickle at their skin, but Viktor barely feels it now. It's the cold he's always known, the kind that runs in his blood. Despite the pall that hangs over them like the bonfire's smoke now hangs over the town square, the cold barely penetrates. He's been listening for the most part, absorbing the tenor of conversation in a way that's become second nature, and he almost doesn't notice Nika so close until he feels her collide with his chest. Instinctively he reaches out to steady her, hand on her shoulder, and he flashes a thin smile.
"No, I don't think so," he assures her, looking down as his thick leather jacket. "Don't worry about it." As he takes her in, he can't help something that softens in his expression, Viktor clearing his throat. "...I won't ask how you're doing. I imagine you're tired of answering that question." It's a feeling he knows well, a life of loss creating a deep sense of familiarity. "Can I get you anything? Another drink?"
VIKTOR LVOVICH BOYATA. FIELD OPERATIVE, BLACK VEIL.
❄️ ( john david washington. cis male. he/him/his ) in krovograd , survival is a test of both skill and morality — will VIKTOR LVOVICH BOYATA withstand the horrors , or will the city break them ? over the comms , their voice cuts through the static : “I'M AN INSTRUMENT. I HAVE NO TIME FOR FEAR.” our records confirm they are a 40 year old FIELD OPERATIVE , assigned to BLACK VEIL for SEVEN YEARS. field reports describe them as QUICK-WITTED AND DISCIPLINED , though firsthand accounts suggest they are equally UNBENDING AND ABRASIVE under pressure. there’s something about them — something in the way they move , speak , or fight — that brings to mind PRAY FOR ME ( THE WEEKND AND KENDRICK LAMAR ). maybe it's just a coincidence. or maybe , it says everything.
DATA.
Full Name: Viktor Lvovich Boyata
Age: Forty (b. 2 September 1965)
Pronouns: He/him
Orientation: ?
Affiliation: Black Veil (beginning c. 1999)
Occupation/Rank: Field Operative
Place Of Origin: Krovograd (prev. USSR)
Ethnicity: Black (Congolese)
Languages spoken: Russian, Swahili, French, English
Known family: Leon Boyata (father); Antoinette Elenga (mother)
TIMELINE.
1961 - Leon Boyata and Antoinette Elenga, immigrants from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, are students at a Soviet university. They begin a relationship, and are married before the end of the year.
1966 - Their only child, Viktor, is born in Krovograd, where Leon works in one of the research facilities as an engineer. He is given a Slavic name and a patronym, observing the culture of their new homeland.
1972 - Leon dies in a factory accident. Antoinette is forced to take on work to support herself and her young child.
1983 - Antoinette dies of cancer, leaving her son as an orphan at seventeen years old.
1984 - Viktor joins the military, training and achieving the rank of sergeant. He continues to make a military career, serving primarily in the district close to Krovograd.
1991 - With the fall of the Soviet Union, Viktor's army service comes to an end. He begins a career with the police and joins a local militia to fill the void, and to attempt to bring some order in his home town.
1999 - After several years of resistance, Viktor opts to join the Black Veil, initially considering it it an opportunity to continue defending the only home he knows.
2005 - As a field agent, he plays an instrumental part in the Black Veil's action to seize the underground. If he has any reservations about what the organization is doing, he's never spoken about it.
2006 - Viktor has little left to him except his duty to the Black Veil. He still tells himself that it is necessary to keep Krovograd safe from the encroachment of outsiders
INTERVIEW.
001. WHAT'S YOUR STORY? ARE YOU KROVOGRAD-BORN, NEWLY DEPLOYED, OR JUST ANOTHER POOR SOUL WHO ENDED UP IN THE WRONG PLACE AT THE WRONG TIME?
“Krovograd-born,” he answers easily, though he knows it probably shows just from how he speaks. He's calm, his back ram-rod straight as one finger taps against his thigh. “But if you're asking how I got here: my parents came to the Soviet Union to attend school. Seeking stability when they left their homeland.” He scoffs, the notion obviously ridiculous to all parties in retrospect. “Imagine, looking for stability. In a place like this.”
002. THE CITY IS A WARZONE, CRAWLING WITH THINGS THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST. WHAT'S YOUR TAKE ON ALL OF THIS? FEAR, DUTY, OR SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY?
“I am doing my job,” he says shortly, his eyes glinting in the dim light as they speak. “It's not my job to ask questions. Only what I need to know.” He pauses a moment, then shakes his head. “I'm not afraid. I wouldn't have made it this far if I was, would I?” Though his expression is dispassionate, he looks away for a moment. “I do what needs doing. That's all.”
003. OUT HERE STRENGTHS KEEP YOU ALIVE, WEAKNESSES GET YOU KILLED. TELL ME, WHAT'S YOUR BEST ASSET IN A SURVIVAL SITUATION? AND WHAT'S GOING TO BE YOUR DOWNFALL?
Viktor sighs, growing irritated by the questioning now. “I'm prepared for anything,” he says simply. “And I appreciate challenges. As for my weakness?” He smiles wryly, a challenge in his dark eyes. “...I don't play well with others.”
004. DESPERATION MAKES PEOPLE DO UGLY THINGS. WHERE DO YOU DRAW THE LINE? OR SHOULD I ASSUME THERE ISN'T ONE?
“My livelihood comes from doing ugly things,” he points out as he stands. “Someone has to do the ugly things, sometimes, if they want anything to change.” He leans in close, looming, his voice low. “You would be wise not to make assumptions about me. Or anyone in this city. The people of Krovograd have all done what they needed to survive.”
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