Plotted starter for @captainswinged / @montrealjane
Perhaps Ilya should feel a lot more fazed about... well, this. About the situation he's currently finding himself within.
He doesn't, though. He just thinks about how fucking stupid and unnecessary this is. How he is certainly in the right and that other asshole being - yeah, an asshole. A fucking stupid motherfucker who dared to say a bunch of things that a man like Ilya Rozanov just cannot ignore, cannot allow to exist within the realm of reality, what the fuck, how does nobody see this?!
---People did see it, did agree with him, but not necessarily with Ilya's reaction; That guy who'd dared to say some nasty things about Shane Hollander is, apparently, in hospital now - that is a thing Ilya's very happy about, definitely. But Ilya himself is not in hospital, nor is he out on the street or back at his hotel room.
He's currently sitting inside a police station and being granted exactly one phone call to make to whoever might be caring about him enough. The police officer in charge is definitely running on some sort of adrenaline high, he can tell; To be able to detain Ilya Rozanov, of all people, because he went rabid inside a club and, subsequently so, caused some damage to both that unknown asshole in hospital and the club's furniture - that must surely give that idiot a real boost to his already stupidly overinflated ego.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. So, so much stupid. Too much stupid.
So here Ilya is - nose and lips and knuckles bloody and aching - as he takes the fucking offer given to make one fucking phonecall on his fucking phone before it will be taken away from him for... some time. Unsure how long. Until he's getting back out, he assumes, in one way or another.
Of course he's calling Shane. Could call a teammember of his instead, but with his mind still fogged by both the high of the bar fight and a little too much Vodka, he's automatically seeking out the one man that he trusts the most.
---And when he gets to listen to the noise of someone picking up at the other end of the line, followed by what Ilya assumes to be made of surprise and utter exhaustion, something within the center of his chest begins to bleed as well. In a different kind of way, though. Like... an emotion, perhaps. Or two. Twenty.
"Hello Shane." A little dragged-out, accent thick as blue-green eyes flick over to glance at that cop sitting across the table, staring at him with a smirk that Ilya wants to erase from that guy's face with the help of his fist, but doesn't. "---So, I have problem. ...Well, is not big problem, just annoying. Annoying, erm, thing happened."
