#e.starters

his mind is blank and the world is beginning to shift--- everything is sort of... fuzzy. out of focus. the grip on his steering wheel is white knuckle, but he can hardly feel it below the tremble. the churning of his stomach is only growing stronger by the second. the fleeting feeling that he may pass out cold the moment his feet hit the ice forces him to pause. that grip loosens slowly as he begins to count one steering wheel, two side mirrors, three--- 

he opens the car door and tries one heavy boot on the ground and when it doesn’t falter, he takes one final breath. he isn’t aware, but when he looks back on this moment he will observe a permanent shift. this is the moment that defines the turning point of eli vogel’s life.

eli vasile, now, actually. 

the sound of his car door slamming shut grounds him. the crunch of ice below those heavy footfalls are inconsistent. crescent moons form themselves in his palms, fists wrapped so tightly that soon, he won’t be able to easily unfurl them again. tense is a modest word for the acting pakhan’s posture. 

“Get rid of it.” he doesn’t know who he’s speaking to as he stares down at the corpse--- a coward? or is this another message? when his eyes snap up, they lock on a guard. poor guy. he’s going to be dead as the messenger if this doesn’t go well. “Get the fuck rid of it--- we don’t have much time.”

attention drifts to the sealed box. 

“Axel, take it to the basement.”

every hyperbolic term for unbelievable has begun to stream into eli’s mind. disaster was inevitable-- but this--?? the risk had seemed far too great for anyone to dare, and yet here he is: wobbling legs treading over grass wet with blood, beer, and whatever bodily fluids the crowd has released since the first bullets began to spray. the autopilot kicked in at some point and though he doesn’t register it, eli is shouting commands at the crowd-- begging them to get out of his way, reminding them that he is, indeed, chief of police. 

it isn’t doing much good. 

he only stops at the sight of one, particularly strange attendee standing directly in his pathway-- and even stranger, eli doesn’t think he’s seen the guy before. one doesn’t often forget the sight of a festival famous wannabe wearing a gigantic teddy bear head. his feet nearly slip out from under him as he halts to a stop---

it’s like dimitri just can’t stop leaving him these unpleasant little surprises--- hey! guess what, i have another daughter that i never bothered to tell you about. hey! guess what, i’m leaving to god knows where tomorrow and i’m not going to tell you anything about it. hey! guess what, some associate that i’ve never told you about is sleeping in the house for the foreseeable future and--- and i know this is out of character for me, but i just... can’t tell you anything about it. 

it’s the worst sense of nostalgia. hey eli, i know you have plans tonight, but the sewing circle is coming over and i need you to tidy up. the eye roll that follows the echo of his mother’s voice is reflexive, going unnoticed he grips the doorknob. with one jerking gesture, he swings the door open. another wave of childhood memories hits, but for once, he’s on the other side of the intrusion---