#russian-writer

Misha hummed cryptically, not quite making eye contact with the other man. Instead, he glanced off into space as he thought of how to clarify. A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Both.” He mused, his eyes recentring on Mikael, “Good fighter. Not afraid of uh–strangeness–A little of both.”

Patients that didn’t hold still were a personal annoyance to Ludwig; a man who wasn’t particularly patient himself.

A huff escaped him as he held Mikael down a moment longer than he needed to. Whether as a warning, or an unintentional delay on the Medic’s part was unknown, though it was most likely the latter. He released the Sniper and straightened

“Danke.” The doctor said after a moment. A smile returned to his previously frustrated face as his attention turned to the wound, almost as if forgetting the event immediately.

Some bruising and maybe a little swelling if Ludwig squinted. Nothing too serious, more of an inconvenience if anything. Of course, the doctor wanted to see how deep the injury went before treating it.

It was horrible. The buzzing lights overhead, the enclosed wooden space. All of it. It was all so alien and fake. Misha clutched himself tightly, trying not to sob. 

He didn’t know where he was, how he got there or why he was there. His mother, father and sister were nowhere to be found. But not even the air felt the same as what he was used to.

And then something hit him in the back. Hard.

Misha stumbled forward and whirled around. His dark brown hair briefly flicked off his tearstained face before settling back. Through his locks, a pair of puffy blue eyes peered down at another boy--who was scrambling away from him.

For a moment he stood still, not quite believing his eyes. The silence was broken by his own sniffling.

//WHO GAVE HEAVY PHONE?

11. A confession via text

[Text: Russian Sniper] : Hello.[Text: Russian Sniper] : I am sorry if I was rude to you. [Text: Russian Sniper] : I am not so comfortable with other Russians[Text: Russian Sniper] : It is my fault. Do not worry.[Text: Russian Sniper] : If you would like a bearskin coat, I can make you one.

“Woah there! Don’t shoot. I’m out here hunting, just like you. At least I’m assuming that’s what you’re doing.” Rob raised his hands up, showing his shotgun and nothing else. He knew he was on thin ice, seeing as the Sniper before him was RED and while they were in a territorial no man’s land during ceasefire, he would prefer not to get shot.