Glaz’ tongue travelled over the upper row of his teeth as their gazes were travelling from live broadcast to his watch. A voice was announcing how many victims were left in the area for him. His eyes required some squinting to spot his fellow’s shadow peeking around corners, each little strategy of his documented like it’s Animal Planet, with a voice trying to read into his actions, ringing through the speakers to explain the recruits just what they were seeing. Maybe even scolding Maxim indirectly for not leading by the best example, not necessarily looking left and right when entering each room like he’s passing traffic, or taking the time to actually check on the ammunition. They all viewed it like such a science, wide eyes observing, thinking there must be a plethora of thoughts and experience behind his actions, they try to write down the moves, the sharp kills and turns in hopes mimicking them will be enough. There was a smirk on Glaz’ face as he shook his head, imagining ‘Now they think guns aren’t needed.’
«When lurking the targets into the blast zone, it is essential to leave the closed area: Any open window one can climb down from may suffice.»
He could hear Tachanka laugh, nudging his shoulder as he sipped.
Shrill music banged against their eardrums in the closest club they could find, robbing its shelves in Maxim’s name. Cards were tossed all over the place, Shuhrat groaning whenever he dropped some of his, and loosing them right before his eyes. Admittedly though, the 6th shot already had Glaz’ gaze blurry, not properly memorising what was on Tachanka’s from the corner. Praises were sung for Maxim as Tachanka talked about the full hall they could barely make out the TV from. He even commented Kapkan would have made a great teacher, which Shuhrat quickly called a debatable case, or something along those slurred lines. «На охоту когда пойдёшь? [When will you go for a hunt next time?]», Glaz glanced to him with a cocked brow, meanwhile, trying to steal a glance over his hand meanwhile. Sneaky he was like that as he laid a card for him to beat.
«А я думаю, не твоя очередь была добирать кролей? [Now that I think, wasn’t it your turn to get some rabbits, hm?]», Sasha wondered, which made blue eyes roll.
«Winter is coming, they’re all hiding.»
Kapkan insisted the debriefing wait as he was thirsty and hours past his drinking time. Mind you, he isn’t an alcoholic, it was simply his want to celebrate with his team. There were more days he went without a drip of the intoxicating brew than with it. Both the job and his own moral code kept him on a well balanced road of responsibility. The only thing that broke it was once the strong elixir reached his tongue and if his friends encouraged him on, he could go from sipping to chugging at the flip of a switch.
“Друзья мои! Где ты?“ He called out, ignoring the angry curses of a pissed off Dr. Kateb behind him. His leg was still hurt, it would need medical attention, but that wasn’t a concern at the moment. He’ll get back to being a good boy tomorrow or so, unless the vodka didn’t numb the pain. It hurt like a bitch and was annoying as all hell but he’d forget about it soon enough. Blood stained but there were tricks to get those stains out.
It was an overly excited recruit that told the hunter where his pals had gone, offered to drive him to. On the whole way there, still in uniform, Maxim recounted all the gruesome details much to his driver’s delight. The man was also Russian, eagerly soaking up as much information as he could until he parked. A hearty slap to the recruit’s back served as a thank you and that was that.
Of course his Spetsnaz patches were covered before Basuda entered the club but he still drew the attention of damn near everyone there. “Опа! Вот вам!” The first person he sees is Alexsandr for obvious height related reasons. The person he makes physical contact with is Timur, in that both of his hands press down on the sniper’s shoulders as he grins with smeared face paint from pulling his mask down. “Ты оставил мне выпить?“ Maxim asked, pulling a chair over to join his fellow and seating it a bit too close to his favorite artist.
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