#theyounger

Today, he needed him. He had suspected that there were still a few of Big Vlad’s bounty men among the patrolmen, and with a large gathering of Kin and Townsfolk about to happen in the Crude Sprawl, it was in their best interests to have no one affiliated with the Enterprise there in any official capacity.

He’d done his best to prevent Olgimsky’s men from undermining him during the outbreak, but the hiring wasn’t foolproof, because he couldn’t personally oversee it.

He’d left the Epidemic Committee in charge of hiring patrolmen to help enforce quarantine and cordoning measures- but with the recent discovery that one of the Managers he had to fire was on the Olgimsky payroll, Saburov had to call into question every patrolman that the manager had hired.

Vlad Jr. was also on the Epidemic Committee, and would likely have been aware of the schemes of the Elder to disrupt what little reforms that Saburov could make while also managing the Sand Pest.

It was too late to be angry about it. All he could hope was to tie up loose ends and have things start with as clean a slate as he could manage- though how clean could the metaphorical slate come, when it was tarnished by a century-and-a-half of wrongdoings?

“S’place was meant to die off n’ fuck off. N’ here you are defendin’ it. Noble of ya. Real noble.”

Grief’s words the night before. He’d not told anyone other than Clara that he had always... known that the town was doomed. A persistent feeling that was always brushed off by the other families as his “Capitol biases“. But it wasn’t. To him, it was common sense. A village couldn’t get by with only one doctor and a pharmacy- what hope could a town have?

Very little. They had little power- thank God for the one factory that was kept running to keep it warm in the winter. They had no fire department, or waterworks... a thought that crossed his mind as he entered the Skinners, which was completely transformed by the fire that had consumed it years ago...

A fire he had always suspected that Nina started- though nothing could be proven, as the houses that were there before were only the “tinderbox“ houses, closely packed and thatched roof things that had been there since the formation of the town well before Saburov’s lifetime.

He sighs, thinking about it all, his breath fogging the air.

Finally arriving outside the Clock Shop, he raps a knuckle against the door, before walking in, ringing the chimes that hung over the door that heralded the arrival of customers.

“Vlad? I’ve a task I need your help with.“

She, admittedly, does sit on the document for most of the morning before she approaches Vlad about it. It seems like the best course of action, considering... everything.

And how all of his and Grief’s interactions and... weird animosity suddenly make more sense. 

She finds him elbows deep in another box - they’ve got to be digging through a small forest’s worth of paper. The Enterprise’s documents are many, particularly as she’s discovering said “enterprise” ran in more products than just beef and hide. 

Lara hefts the heavy blanket over her shoulders while ferrying across to the Lump. She turns to glimpse at her house behind her hoping that it wouldn’t become too shambled with the coming fight between the gang and Barley’s crew. She knew Grief would do his best, but he could not speak for the latter group not messing up her living space. All she could do was trust that whatever happened that it would be fixed before she could come back.

At the other bank, she covers her head with the blanket and sneaks to the rear of the Lump. She knew the back entrance well enough to keep off the street, just in case anyone would see her. Once inside, she uncovers her head and calls out. Vlad Jr. spent a lot of time here recently, mostly working with Saburov.

“Hey, it’s Lara! Just me, not some crazy intruder. Well, I guess in this instance I am some crazy intruder... Is it okay if I bunk here for a bit. Trouble has found its way into my home.”

Dear old Mom: Dead as dead with a shot to the head. Wonder where she got a gun?

He couldn’t write that she was a loving mother or a spouse. She might’ve loved the idea of him, once upon a time. Might’ve loved him before he started talking and walking. He can’t pinpoint it. That’s too far back. He settled on just her death date. He’d already stained the rest of her memory. Better to let it be forgotten.

Still, she’s dead and the funeral is lightly attended. Pennyweight attends for some reason, but they don’t talk much. Isador stands nearby him. The man’s looking older, and tired. A few more business partners she had come to observe and listen. Her house, of course, is lit with candles from complete strangers, and half of them were pitying her fortune.

Imagine having that legacy left behind. 

Barley was there, because of course he was, his heels in the gravedirt. Might’ve wanted to pick the corpse clean or piss on it to make a point.

It’s funny, because neither of those political gestures would’ve phased him.

As usual, it drizzles in the Town on Ghorkon. He throws his hood up and shoos Pennyweight off to go get Rakehell ready. They have to run tonight. Doesn’t really matter who was dead, and who wasn’t dead. The show goes on but at the least, none of the vultures follow him when he walks off the perimeter and points himself towards the Basket to go meet with the ghosts there before someone says the wrong thing to him and he ends up in a cell.

Christ Healing the Sick, Pieter de Jode, the Younger, 16th-17th century, Harvard Art Museums: Prints

Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Gift of Belinda L. Randall from the collection of John Witt Randall

“I’m here to speak with Vlad Olgimsky the Younger, please. Urgent business.”

He’s shooed baby boss’s guard off for just a little bit (owed him a few favors that were running a little old). His crew never got caught and there was no need to cash in the chips just yet.

“How you holding up, because I’ve got quite a proposition for you my fine feathered friend so shake the dust off your lapels and c’mere.” 

It was fortunate with the Town’s particular model of management, that before the plague, there was little crime, and very little need for jailing, or maintaining many cells. There were perhaps four cells at most, and one of them was currently occupied.

By one of the last remaining members of the Olgimsky family, no less.

It was very unusual, the circumstances that had brought Vlad the Younger knocking on his door late at night with a confession of hiring someone to murder Bachelor Dankovsky.

Everything he had said lined up with the evidence found in their own investigation and testimony from one of the Kin that had witnessed the attempt. Being a just man, he had very little choice but to follow protocol and have the young man jailed until he could stand trial.

Unfortunately... There was no Judge. Georgiy and the rest of the Kains had passed on.

Now, Saburov was the sole authority in the town. Administrator, Governor, Judge...

The only peer that could jury for an Olgimsky. And, regrettably, there was a distinct possibility for executioner as well.

He passed by the town colors, the banners of all the ruling families that hung proudly in the Hall. Kains and Olgimskys and Saburovs. The Saburovs had been considered lesser, a kind of figurehead for the other two families- but now Alexander ruled with absolute authority.

What was the price for the experiments for us? He thought, bitterly. Katarina is gone. The Kains are gone, and the Olgimskys hang by only a thin thread.

He nods to his patrolmen, and the receptionist sitting at the desk outside of Vlad’s cell.

“I’m going to speak with him,“ he says to one of his lieutenants, “Make sure to stand by.“

He turns to the receptionist, “Record what is said, be very thorough.“

There are quiet affirmations and salutes before the key is turned, the door unlocked, and Saburov sees the quiet young man in the cell before him. He takes a chair from outside and brings it in, letting the door close behind him.

He sits down, facing the young man. Prepared for this to be a long talk.

“Vlad Olgimsky the Younger,“ he states, formally, “I wanted to speak with you again about the incident, and the consequences thereof.“