@ruinaa // x
HI, TIGER. Dmitri smiles softly, fondly.
This wasn't easy. Roman is a highly well-trained SHIELD operative. Dmitri is just a man from a violent home, albeit one with rigorous values. He wasn't taught by his father how to hunt. He was taught to submit. He rejects those lessons now.
He thinks about what he would like to have for dinner with Josephine. He thinks about what it would be like to cook for her. For her to cook for him. Does she make lasagna, now, a family woman with a hectic schedule? Maybe they could make dumplings together.
He listens to the voicemails dissolve into panic and worry and fretting. He holds Roman's phone as comfortably as he would hold his phone, despite their different models.
Ridley, honey, give me a minute, Josephine says. Getting Roman to this apartment—a new rental, far from his actual current residence—had required a shift into Ridley. Humiliating and strange. New perspective. Oh, well. It was worth it.
Roman is unconscious. He will stay that way for several hours. Dmitri has been experimenting with tranquilizers and debilitating chemicals. Chloroform is the classic, and he isn't opposed to its utilization. Still. It's fun to be creative. To shift.
Like now. Next to the handcuffed and ziptied Roman, an identical Roman-looking figure stands holding Roman's phone.
He can't help but pretend to be Roman, to imagine what it's like.
"This wife of yours is a very concerned woman," Dmitri muses. His natural—is anything about him natural?—accent comes naturally with the way Roman's jaw sits. "How does she stand it? All this silly worry over silly things. You—will be fine." He's bitter about it, but he knows that it's true.
"And she—will come to me. Willingly. Wanting to." He shivers.
"You have no idea how good this feels."















