#kozach

He turns his wheelchair to face HUNK.

"No training today. Go out, and mingle with the populace. Those are your orders."

No training. No training. No. Training.

The words repeat inside his head several times over, although the outward signs only convey his default state. Which, arguably, is always seemingly annoyed. Tilting his head to one side, he stares at Alexander. Clearly, buying some time in the feeble hopes it was meant to simply be some attempted joke.

He's been sent on errands by past employers. Some, of course, were more nefarious than others. But it's obvious that isn't what the man intends. Which only seems to grat on the merc more.

"I require further instruction." He finally says. Through gritted teeth, naturally.

"What is the purpose of this assignment?"

All that time off, and he still had one last obligation to fulfill. With one final week before he returned to duty, Leon spent the last of his medical leave calling in favors to purposefully drop himself into the aftermath of a war zone. Considering the USGov allowed him to go AWOL on the eve of an impending joint-occupation, it hadn't been all that difficult to pull a, You owe me one.

You'd think after saving the guy's life, making good on a promise to visit--with souvenirs--and paying for his dinner, Alexander Kozachenko would be happier to see him.

Then again, maybe he should've been grateful "Buddy" hadn't shot him on sight, promise of drinks or not.

when he turns toward her , clearly irritated by the light , she lowers the beam slightly , just enough to illuminate the blood that drips down his neck . her own gaze darkens , but she is not struck with fear , not yet . he also seems unphased by what he's done . something is off about all of this . was this a means of self defense , or simply a crime of passion ? elena keeps her distance , her free hand hovering at her side should she need to reach for one of her knives . ❛ did he hurt you ? ❜ she asks quietly , gaze peering toward the body on the ground . ❛ i can help with that , if you need . ❜

the children remain well. andriy continues to pester me for war stories, and i tell him each time i will tell him when he is older. caught maksym with alcohol today and confiscated it, told him never to bring something like that to class again. asked me if he was in trouble for drinking vodka, told him he was in trouble for drinking bad vodka.

the last of the orphaned children has been adopted now. seventeen, promises he will stop missing class now, told him to tell parents teacher is very strict and knows nasty american spies if they do not keep up on homework.

you have not visited for a while. i know you are busy, but i also know american beer is trash, so make some time soon, yeah?

∟alexander”

He gets the mail as two pictures on his phone while at a gas station restaurant in Nebraska. He doesn't mind having his mail opened for him. The worst he usually got in paper were the latest supermarket deals.

They really need to exchange phone numbers or something. This is a little ridiculous.

At least, he'd think that if he didn't enjoy the snail mail. They'd been writing each other for years. Now? Fourteen of them. Longer than some people have been married and longer than a lot of people in his profession stay alive and employed.

Leon takes a pen from his pocket, and a paper out of a yellow paper pad in his jeans. He'd send a postmark from Nebraska to the ESR, why not?