Why does everyone come to gawk at me?

“I didn’t expect seeing you here, of all people. You know how it works, right? You are Andrey Stamatin. What kind of beast is required to take down a man like you?”

━

“Not your fault? How could you? How could you assume that? Death is repulsive, how dare you kiss her cold lips. You sought her touch, didn’t you? Grasped her cold hands.”

━

“Now, now, I don’t want to hear your pitiful excuses. There’s someone close to you looking for a sustainable way to… step over it. Not even run from death - as you clearly know, that would fail. By the way, this is going to be your second attempt, isn’t it? Not too bad, but your brother managed to stay alive until now. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Isn’t he the one who needs protection?”

━ 

“You act like I’m the one burdening you with these shackles. When in reality, it was you who put them on. Blame your own stupidity for dragging you down. You didn’t save your strength, instead running to find a dead body. What did you think would happen? That she would still be alive by the time you reach her? She left that letter to you the day before. It was well over night when you found it. Doves tend to fall from the sky more at night than day. Or did you ever catch one during your walks?”

━ 

“This won’t be a learning experience. Death teaches nothing. It only waits. It’s an abyss, without will. Similar to the one your other half is planning. It’s the plague that teaches. The Town. Conflict is educational. Seek that instead of wandering about.”

━ 

“I may have already told you too much. The play itself isn’t mine, haven’t I mentioned? They wrote the script. I’m just an interpreter. A prompter. You’re Andrey Stamatin, did you forget? So follow your artistic path. That’s your way for now. Your bridge lies over the abyss. Build it, and it’ll all come together. Unless the chains drag you down again in which case, you will have to pay me another visit.”

━ 

He couldn’t recall when he arrived in the theater, and yet here he was. The sight of Mark Immortell was an unpleasant one, but at least not unexpected. Both he and his brother were at times theatrical and dramatic, but this man was another thing altogether.

“Apparently the sand pest.”

His response was dry. This all seemed like a repetition now that he thought of it. He knew the theater well enough, but this was something more than just the building in the center of the town. Hadn’t he been here before? Kneeling by his brother’s side?

“Isn’t it in the script?”

The wound was still fresh in his chest. It hurt to think of the last time he saw Eva, but he would never give Immortell the satisfaction of seeing such side of him. At least not here.

“Leave him out of this.”

The apathy he portrayed before the director instantly vanished at the mention of his little brother. He would do it a thousand times over, withstand the plague every day if it meant that his brother remained unharmed. It was how it was meant to be. His brother would live, Andrey would fall if he had to.

His nerves were already on edge at the mention of his brother when then came the mention of Eva, yet again. Who did this guy think he was? Director or not, to mock her death...

There was no thought given as he clenched his fist and threw it at Immortell’s features. Director or not, nobody would disrespect Eva without getting some in return. And yet...

And yet... He remained unharmed. Andrey was sure he threw a punch towards the man, just as he had many others before him, and yet this man remained untouched. His words still rang as normal. The script carried on. Andrey wasn’t meant to react, he wasn’t meant to be this sensitive, especially then.

“How about I seek that “conflict” with you, bastard? You ought to learn a thing or two about how you speak of others.”

Andrey still felt the urge to make that director pay for what he uttered and yet he felt his anger dissipate. The way he spoke was as a guide, it wasn’t necessarily personal. They were in the theater, and in a way, this was an act. He had to follow through the script, to fulfill his role. But it was wrong. His emotions intertwined one another with what he should do and what he ought to feel. Actors and plays. Death and repetition. What was he in all of this?

“What would you know about building anything...”

His words sounded distant now. A play it was. And he was meant to build bridges now? A bridge over an abyss... It wasn’t a concept he couldn’t grasp yet he lacked a reason to go through with it. It was a play, with a script and a purpose, and yet he spoke as though Eva’s death was planned and he wasn’t meant to care for it. How could he not chase after his woman? How could he not wrap his arms around her to shelter her from her own thoughts? He did what he could. He did what he had to. His chest still ached whenever he thought of her and how they last met, and yet he’d do it all over. He had no regrets. Peter was safe, Filin was safe and Eva wasn’t coming back.

The deal itself lost all of it’s meaning as Andrey pondered through what he had done and what he could do. He had done everything he ever wanted to. The rest of the play could run it’s course without him, especially if the trade-off was to lose his courage. What would he be able to do without that? Nothing.

Solemnly, Andrey shook his head.

POV: Bartender Day: 7 Time: Early Morning Status: @reallybadgrief

So the boss was dying. There goes the steady flow of money, the safety of the Broken heart, basically his entire life would go down with that man unless he could get himself a reasonable deal with this crook. He was just following orders too, maybe there would be some value in that.

The way to the warehouse he sought wasn’t easy. He had to stop by a disreputable shop and ask for directions. The looks he got with that stunt alone made him far more nervous than he should be for this affair. He had to try and steady his hands as well as inhale deeply before pushing open the heavy warehouse door lit by a burning barrel nearby.

“I’m looking for Bad Grief.”

The Grief was woken up by knocking on the door of his room. He sighed, after discovering that his neck, leaning all night on the wooden bed frame, was now aching, along with his back. Then he looked around, realizing that Stakh sleeps now peacefully. He still was breathing, making Grief relieved. If he survived the night, he will be fine. Still, this whole situation, the whole event, seemed just… abstract. Unreal. Like one of those manic dreams. Yet, Rubin lay there, with forearms covered in multiple layers of bandages. The knocking got more intense. Grief stretched, opened the door slightly, and snapped “What?” at his thug.

“Boss, there is a Stamatin’s barkeep at the door and he would like a word with you.” Barkeep? That is peculiar. And could be quite urgent. He cautiously looked at Rubin. It was just for a moment. He was sleeping, besides. He can leave him for a few minutes, right?

He entered the central part of his lair, looking at the tired man. Grief was a regular visitor and he felt like he knew this barkeep a bit, even tho they did not talk much. He was a silent listener of everyone’s drunk problems and jokes, making him one of the best-informed sources of gossip in the Town. Grief respected that. Besides, if he was there…that matter could be something considering Andrey. And that thought really worried Filin.

Status: @reallybadgrief

The bartender hated having to deal with these men. He served many of them drinks, yes, but it was in the Broken Heart where he was protected, not among them in their warehouses. He could never be sure how many were lurking there and what mood they found themselves in.

At the sight of Bad Grief he straightened his back and nodded. What should be even begin with? That the man was dying? That he hoped to shelter the Capital’s Bachelor and now had no means of seeing it through? None of this bode well for the poor man.

“Yes. I’ve come on his behalf. There are two deals that he would like to have with you.” He was dying. That was the entire point. How did Andrey think he could phrase this to get any agreement from Bad Grief? What could he offer now? He had nothing and would likely still have to beg to keep his former job.

As he realized the uncomfortable pause he inevitably caused, the barkeep merely inhaled deeply and let out a hopeless sigh. He had to at least maintain his temperament and professionalism.

“He hoped that you could watch over his brother, Peter Stamatin. As well as finding these tools to accommodate the Bachelor from the capital.” He procured the paper he had kept from the day before and extended it to the smuggler. “In return, you can have the Broken Heart and everything in it.”

Grief frowned. What the hell was this man talking about? And why Andrey did not come to him personally about it? Why would he want to give him his beloved, most valued bar? And then it struck him. Probably because he instantly thought about suicide after the last events. That was not like Andrey, but he also thought suicide was not like Rubin, and yet he was rescuing him from the brink of death yesterday. And this Bartender’s blabbering sounded like Stamatin’s last will. That made his heart heavy and made his blood pumping, making him rage with the mix of different emotions. In all this torment happening lately, he could not lose Andrey. He just…he could not.

“What do you mean “I could watch over his brother Peter.” What. The. Hell. Do you mean? Where is Andrey? I do not want to hear about taking over Broken Heart as long as you won’t answer me. Answer me! Is he dead or fucking what?“ - emotions took over him, as he realized that his death can be even a possibility. His voice went from a confused, calm one to screaming rapidly. He got closer to this man, so he would appear more threatening. He did not want a fucking Broken Heart. He wanted Dryusha.

Status: @reallybadgrief

He had no pleasant answers to give. As the smuggler approached him further he felt the end coming for him. Much like his boss, he was probably not returning home either, but what could he do? It was too late to try and run.

“He’s infected.” What else did he need to say? That alone should answer every question. “He left the Broken Heart before I did. Didn’t say where he was headed, only asking that you’d watch over his brother. He offered the Broken Heart in return.”

"He’s infected.”

These words rang in Grief’s head unpleasantly, giving him a feeling of going through a fever dream. Somehow, in his mind, Andrey was indestructible. He could survive any stab, any wound, and any illness. His fists clenched on the bartender’s collar, shaking, only to let him go later. After all, the man was only a messenger. It is not like he got Andrey infected. He merely gave him the bad news. Besides he was a good employee. Never told on him and Andrey and their affairs, despite knowing about it all.

Grief sighed and buried his face in his hands dressed in fingerless gloves. Why with the plague nothing was easy? He could not just go, shoot the source of it, bribe it. Anything. He could only beg fate to let Dryusha live long enough for him to get help. He cannot believe that this man could die because of something so trivial as the plague. Unnecessary death. Like everyone on these streets.

The smell of degrading bodies and burnt meat on the streets lingered in the air. He felt as if all his clothes now were drenched with this odor. Of all people, Stamatin did not deserve to join these hoards, buried in group graves in the muddy ground.

It seemed like Dankovsky will be getting that gun for free. He meant, for curing Andrey. With one of these weird…powders, kids made apparently. Grief still couldn’t believe that kids made something more effective than all the healers in this damned Town. He stared blankly at the still-terrified barkeep.

The man couldn’t help but to frown as his collar was gripped. How he longed to be back behind the bar where nobody would come near him. Being surrounded by thugs that easily threw their hands around wasn’t something he was particularly fond of.

“His only words was that he was going ‘out’. He was never one to disclose his personal affairs, as you ought to know.” He wasn’t always predictable either. Sure, most of the time he was out with some lover or some spar, but he was a Stamatin after all. Sanity, stability and predictability wasn’t something they were known for. It would be far too much of a hassle to look for the man in the state the town was in. The possibility of getting infected was far too high if it even got to someone like Andrey.

“It might be best to count him as dead.”

POV: Bartender Day: 7 Time: Early Morning Status: @reallybadgrief

So the boss was dying. There goes the steady flow of money, the safety of the Broken heart, basically his entire life would go down with that man unless he could get himself a reasonable deal with this crook. He was just following orders too, maybe there would be some value in that.

The way to the warehouse he sought wasn’t easy. He had to stop by a disreputable shop and ask for directions. The looks he got with that stunt alone made him far more nervous than he should be for this affair. He had to try and steady his hands as well as inhale deeply before pushing open the heavy warehouse door lit by a burning barrel nearby.

“I’m looking for Bad Grief.”

The Grief was woken up by knocking on the door of his room. He sighed, after discovering that his neck, leaning all night on the wooden bed frame, was now aching, along with his back. Then he looked around, realizing that Stakh sleeps now peacefully. He still was breathing, making Grief relieved. If he survived the night, he will be fine. Still, this whole situation, the whole event, seemed just… abstract. Unreal. Like one of those manic dreams. Yet, Rubin lay there, with forearms covered in multiple layers of bandages. The knocking got more intense. Grief stretched, opened the door slightly, and snapped “What?” at his thug.

“Boss, there is a Stamatin’s barkeep at the door and he would like a word with you.” Barkeep? That is peculiar. And could be quite urgent. He cautiously looked at Rubin. It was just for a moment. He was sleeping, besides. He can leave him for a few minutes, right?

He entered the central part of his lair, looking at the tired man. Grief was a regular visitor and he felt like he knew this barkeep a bit, even tho they did not talk much. He was a silent listener of everyone’s drunk problems and jokes, making him one of the best-informed sources of gossip in the Town. Grief respected that. Besides, if he was there…that matter could be something considering Andrey. And that thought really worried Filin.

Status: @reallybadgrief

The bartender hated having to deal with these men. He served many of them drinks, yes, but it was in the Broken Heart where he was protected, not among them in their warehouses. He could never be sure how many were lurking there and what mood they found themselves in.

At the sight of Bad Grief he straightened his back and nodded. What should be even begin with? That the man was dying? That he hoped to shelter the Capital’s Bachelor and now had no means of seeing it through? None of this bode well for the poor man.

“Yes. I’ve come on his behalf. There are two deals that he would like to have with you.” He was dying. That was the entire point. How did Andrey think he could phrase this to get any agreement from Bad Grief? What could he offer now? He had nothing and would likely still have to beg to keep his former job.

As he realized the uncomfortable pause he inevitably caused, the barkeep merely inhaled deeply and let out a hopeless sigh. He had to at least maintain his temperament and professionalism.

“He hoped that you could watch over his brother, Peter Stamatin. As well as finding these tools to accommodate the Bachelor from the capital.” He procured the paper he had kept from the day before and extended it to the smuggler. “In return, you can have the Broken Heart and everything in it.”

Grief frowned. What the hell was this man talking about? And why Andrey did not come to him personally about it? Why would he want to give him his beloved, most valued bar? And then it struck him. Probably because he instantly thought about suicide after the last events. That was not like Andrey, but he also thought suicide was not like Rubin, and yet he was rescuing him from the brink of death yesterday. And this Bartender’s blabbering sounded like Stamatin’s last will. That made his heart heavy and made his blood pumping, making him rage with the mix of different emotions. In all this torment happening lately, he could not lose Andrey. He just…he could not.

“What do you mean "I could watch over his brother Peter.” What. The. Hell. Do you mean? Where is Andrey? I do not want to hear about taking over Broken Heart as long as you won’t answer me. Answer me! Is he dead or fucking what?“ - emotions took over him, as he realized that his death can be even a possibility. His voice went from a confused, calm one to screaming rapidly. He got closer to this man, so he would appear more threatening. He did not want a fucking Broken Heart. He wanted Dryusha.

Status: @reallybadgrief

He had no pleasant answers to give. As the smuggler approached him further he felt the end coming for him. Much like his boss, he was probably not returning home either, but what could he do? It was too late to try and run.

"He's infected." What else did he need to say? That alone should answer every question. "He left the Broken Heart before I did. Didn't say where he was headed, only asking that you'd watch over his brother. He offered the Broken Heart in return."

POV: Bartender Day: 7 Time: Early Morning Status: @reallybadgrief

So the boss was dying. There goes the steady flow of money, the safety of the Broken heart, basically his entire life would go down with that man unless he could get himself a reasonable deal with this crook. He was just following orders too, maybe there would be some value in that.

The way to the warehouse he sought wasn’t easy. He had to stop by a disreputable shop and ask for directions. The looks he got with that stunt alone made him far more nervous than he should be for this affair. He had to try and steady his hands as well as inhale deeply before pushing open the heavy warehouse door lit by a burning barrel nearby.

“I’m looking for Bad Grief.”

The Grief was woken up by knocking on the door of his room. He sighed, after discovering that his neck, leaning all night on the wooden bed frame, was now aching, along with his back. Then he looked around, realizing that Stakh sleeps now peacefully. He still was breathing, making Grief relieved. If he survived the night, he will be fine. Still, this whole situation, the whole event, seemed just… abstract. Unreal. Like one of those manic dreams. Yet, Rubin lay there, with forearms covered in multiple layers of bandages. The knocking got more intense. Grief stretched, opened the door slightly, and snapped “What?” at his thug.

“Boss, there is a Stamatin’s barkeep at the door and he would like a word with you.” Barkeep? That is peculiar. And could be quite urgent. He cautiously looked at Rubin. It was just for a moment. He was sleeping, besides. He can leave him for a few minutes, right?

He entered the central part of his lair, looking at the tired man. Grief was a regular visitor and he felt like he knew this barkeep a bit, even tho they did not talk much. He was a silent listener of everyone’s drunk problems and jokes, making him one of the best-informed sources of gossip in the Town. Grief respected that. Besides, if he was there…that matter could be something considering Andrey. And that thought really worried Filin.

Status: @reallybadgrief

The bartender hated having to deal with these men. He served many of them drinks, yes, but it was in the Broken Heart where he was protected, not among them in their warehouses. He could never be sure how many were lurking there and what mood they found themselves in.

At the sight of Bad Grief he straightened his back and nodded. What should be even begin with? That the man was dying? That he hoped to shelter the Capital's Bachelor and now had no means of seeing it through? None of this bode well for the poor man.

"Yes. I've come on his behalf. There are two deals that he would like to have with you." He was dying. That was the entire point. How did Andrey think he could phrase this to get any agreement from Bad Grief? What could he offer now? He had nothing and would likely still have to beg to keep his former job.

As he realized the uncomfortable pause he inevitably caused, the barkeep merely inhaled deeply and let out a hopeless sigh. He had to at least maintain his temperament and professionalism.

"He hoped that you could watch over his brother, Peter Stamatin. As well as finding these tools to accommodate the Bachelor from the capital." He procured the paper he had kept from the day before and extended it to the smuggler. "In return, you can have the Broken Heart and everything in it."

  During these six, no, seven days that Daniil had spent in town, he was doing more running than he had probably done in his entire life. It was either time or bandits making him sprint, run as fast as his legs could carry him. Hah, time. How funny was that, considering he had an item allowing him to basically control it whenever. He could reach for it. He could have saved Georgiy Kain, he could have! He was tempted to go back. What he said to Victor… He might have gone too far, making promises he couldn’t keep. He meant it, but… Dammit. Should he repeat it? Do a rerun of Monday? But… He wasted so many resources, so much strength already. It would be easier to go back to when Dankovsky was still at home. In the Capital. He was thinking about it again. Was there a limit to how much he could go back? Victor didn’t say a word about it. No, no. He wasn’t desperate yet.

He was so tired, though. He ran all around the Town. He had so little time to test the samples, too. After visiting Ravel a few hours earlier, he had to go to the hospital. Honestly, he was under the belief that there would be any useful equipment there. Of course, that wasn’t the case. Why would anyone consider a microscope an important tool? He also didn’t expect the hospital to feel so… Strange. As if he was constantly watched. The floor felt as if he was walking on wet soil. The Bachelor didn’t remember it being quite like this before. Trying to focus back on his task, he didn’t find what he was looking for, but he did get something else instead. Organs. Organs as in samples to test. To test! While he didn’t have his equipment. How great. Since he was already there, he chose to use some of the medicine Notkin had brought him… He didn’t want to waste it, but if he could get paid for doing work at the theatre, then so be it. God, the rotten smell as he started working. Was it a hospital or a morgue? Daniil administered some morphine, gave two patients antibiotics, and that was it. He didn’t want to spend any more time there, not with the feeling of eyes staring at his back. At least this gave him some time to think about where he could test the samples. Rubin. He must’ve had his own equipment, or rather Isidor’s. Thankfully, Dankovsky remembered where the man’s hideout was.

POV: Barkeep Status: @tincture-enjoyer​

The Broken Heart was as busy as ever. People came to drown their sorrows and sell what they carried for another cup. Plenty of woes to forget and as night begun, fear that needed to become courage instead. The barkeep dutifully served them all equally, at least until he spotted a dark coat entering the pub.

“Bachelor Dankovsky?”

The barkeep raised his voice to get the Bachelor’s attention and prepared a glass of twyrine to offer to this capital’s guest.

Day: 6

Daniil walked down the stairs, below the ground level. For as much as the people here hated digging in the earth, calling it taboo, they surely enjoyed spending their time in the Broken Heart. The building that probably represented every sin in the eyes of the Kin. It must’ve taken quite a bit of work. The space was big and underground, for a second, Dankovsky wondered whether the religious folk stoned at least one of the workers.

The sound of his own name caught his attention. He turned towards the bar, looked at the man standing behind the counter. The knowledge of his name wasn’t surprising at all, at this point, probably everyone knew who he was and what he looked like. Capital dandy, dressed quite eloquently despite looking like a corpse. They must’ve thought so. He didn’t believe himself to be ugly, absolutely not, but after practically a week spent in Town-On-Gorkhon he surely felt like his skin barely held onto his bones. Like the bags under his eyes grew bigger, like he earned himself more wrinkles, maybe one or two gray hairs. He sighed, making his way over to the bar. The staff, if one could call it that, was most likely made aware of his visit in case the Stamatin wasn’t there to greet him. That was apparently the case now, Daniil didn’t see Andrey just yet.

The rumors spread incredibly fast. Somebody stole his equipment during the previous night, and everyone seemed to already know about this. Whether it was the bandits themselves or Artemy, maybe Notkin? No, the kid probably wouldn’t talk about it. Well, whoever it was that spread the information didn’t matter now. Hell, it could have been himself in some stupid conversation. Even the barkeep knew about this.

Although that much seemed like a blessing. The man was offering him accommodation, a place to finish his research in. How crazy did that seem? One night, everyone appeared to hate him, attempt to kill him and another doctor, throw away his equipment, ridicule him, and the next… Well, two people sent couriers after him, seemingly wanting him around or at least needing his help. The prospect of a safe space to continue his research was… Tempting to say the least, yet it surely had a price. If there was any sort of equipment too… No one was simply nice to him out of the kindness of their hearts. He couldn’t spare any more coin.

The barkeep didn’t pay much attention to the internal struggles that were apparent in the Bachelor’s face. For his part, the Broken Heart’s regular worker just kept his professional demeanour throughout. Back straight, hands kept busy cleaning glasses and with a flat tone in his voice.

“You still have friends in this town, Bachelor Dankovsky. The Stamatin twins are some of them.”

Before continuing further, the man reached for a piece of folded paper and a small pen, redirecting it afterwards to the doctor. In truth, he wasn’t made aware that they were to receive any payment. Andrey Stamatin had merely told him that he was to offer to accommodate the doctor and find which supplies he needed for his work. It didn’t sound like a solid business proposition, but he wasn’t one to question his boss if he still got paid by the end of the day.

  It felt unreal. Too good to be true, but the barkeep’s face remained impassive. It was just business to him, he played the messenger here, simple enough. It was Andrey who he should be speaking to later. Daniil took the piece of paper and the pen. For a second, he was stuck in place, processing that this was in fact happening. After a moment, though, he started writing down the needed equipment.

Microscope. Test tubes. Beakers. Volumetric flask. Dropper. Magnifying glass. Watch glass. Funnels. Crucible. Bunsen burner. Weight scale.

The barkeep took the paper once the Bachelor had finished writing his list. He didn’t have to guess for long where they were going to inevitably ask for these tools; medical equipment wasn’t easy to come by, and neither were the other requested tools. The man could only hope that he wasn’t the one that would have to ask for these tools to be found. He’d gladly tell Andrey to do the dirty work himself if he wanted this that badly.

“I’ve been told we were to get you what you needed to keep working.”

Andrey didn’t speak much of it even to him, yet he carried in his voice enough enthusiasm for the bartender to know he’d go through any lengths needed to keep this capital doctor happy.

“If you need a bed as well, I can add that to what you’ll require. We’ll do our best to get what you need as soon as possible.”

  His work was done, yet he still went to the hospital during the day. Maybe out of habit by now. Maybe duty. Maybe guilt… Probably guilt. The kin were now following his every step. They didn’t try to hide it whatsoever, they wanted him to know they were there. They didn’t even do anything, merely watched. Observed his every move like a herd of vultures. It was far worse than if they had outright attacked him. At least then he’d have a reason to fight them, to get rid of them. Find a release for all that pent-up anger and frustration. But they stood there and simply watched. In front of the hospital, at the corner of the street, sitting one one of the benches. Didn’t try to move closer, didn’t try to leave, simply watched. He could feel their gaze on his back. He felt exposed, uncomfortable in his own skin. Did they know? Could they feel what he had done? Did they know about Isidor? Their looks felt meaningful, there was more and more weight added onto his shoulders as time passed. More eyes. Even after closing the hospital’s door, he still felt observed. The feeling didn’t fade, it only got worse. The smell of rot and decay hit him like a punch to the gut. He had to cover his mouth at first, the feeling making him nauseous despite being somewhat familiar with it. He didn’t remember it being this bad the previous day, no, definitely not.

He had to take a break every hour, when the stench and the pressure were too much to handle. When he needed fresh air. That didn’t help much. The Kin were still there. One person staring at him from the other end of the street. Not acting, simply looking at him, or through him. It felt maddening. Going back and forth between the hospital, the strange feeling of it, and back outside where he couldn’t run away from the gazes. From the blame.

It was all taking a toll on him. He couldn’t hold his tools out of fear of breaking them. He almost snapped at the orderlies when more sick were brought inside. Stakh was sure someone was constantly berating him, standing right behind or to the right, yet whenever he turned there were only sick, neither of whom were capable of forming coherent sentences. He was barely standing, yet he couldn’t allow himself to sit down. He’d fall unconscious as soon as he sat down.

At one point, it reached a breaking point, he couldn’t stay in the theatre anymore. He couldn’t be any more useful. He couldn’t do anything more. He couldn’t do anything at all. He couldn’t help anybody. Useless. Rubin was done. Dammit, if only he knew. If he noticed, if he caught on. Fuck, maybe all these people, all the corpses… Maybe then- Fuck. Fuck. His nails dug into the skin as he clenched his fists. He was done. He was tired and he was done. The vaccine would end up in Dankovsky’s hands, he’d just leave a message. He couldn’t talk to the man himself, he couldn’t hope for a breakthrough… Or see another failure.

Rubin took out a piece of paper, one he didn’t cover entirely in notes, and wrote… Peter’s name. He wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t he supposed to write a letter to the Bachelor?… Ah, fuck it. The artist’s name was already written on one side. At that moment, he debated whether to write Lara a separate letter. On the one hand, she deserved to know why he wanted to do it or that… That he was sorry. On the other hand… his final decision was a no. That felt like too much of a waste of paper, what would he write exactly? He added Gravel’s name next to Peter’s. Leaning forward on the desk, he began writing.

“The vaccine is done, yet it hasn’t been tested yet. I believe I’m leaving it in safe hands. If You get in contact with Bachelor Dankovsky, give it to him.

I’m also leaving You 2 shmowders (the golden box with white powder inside), I wish I had managed to collect more. If either of You gets infected, take one. It’s a dangerous drug, but it will get rid of infection completely. Take immunity boosters afterwards if you can. Don’t leave the house until it’s over. Take care of Grace.

- Stakh

Ps. I couldn’t bring myself to As my last request Please burn the notebook.”

There wasn’t much else he could add. Not stating the reason for the letter, leaving behind just the basic instructions. Perhaps if there was anything he wanted to confess, he couldn’t bring himself to write it down. He needed to place the message somewhere where Peter would find it, maybe not immediately. For a moment, he thought of that room, but… That felt cruel. The stairs then. The architect would have to eventually go down, he’d find it. At least that way, he could avoid looking him in the eye.

Status: @tincture-enjoyer @twyrine-den

TRIGGER WARNING: EXCLIPIT SUICIDE ATTEMPT DESCRIPTION

Grief was exhausted with this whole day and yet he just turned from one side of the bed to another. He could not get himself to sleep anyhow. This night felt weird. Maybe the bed was just uncomfortable? Not like he could expect any luxury here but…

As always in situations like those he eventually just sighed, got up, and took out a cigarette. He dressed up quickly and carelessly, putting his big coat on all these mismatched clothes.

Then he started walking along the trail like he always did to calm himself. Steppe people looked at him, but he got used to them. Herb brides were so pretty anyway, he did not mind them… Especially them. His perfect moment of peace got interrupted by hearing a loud, very loud door shutting. The hell? It was 03:00 AM. Are Barely’s twats planning something? He had to check. Had to check or he knew he will not sleep any second today. He drew out his gun, just in case, loaded it deftly and he began to walk more carefully. But except for some steppe people, nobody appeared. He decided to follow the noise. He was walking slowly towards the building. Wait, was not that this one warehouse he gave to Rubin? He was pretty sure it was. He sighed with relief. That meant he can safely go away, Rubin probably was just doing his little science experiments. Unless someone attacked him… Maybe they attacked him? His instincts made him open the door with full force.

He did not see Stakh and what hit him was the fetor of meat which started to degrade. Rubin killed someone? The air was thick with that pungent smell. Of anything that could be happening there, Grief did not expect that. He just closed the doors and shouted “Stakh, what the fuck is happening here?”

Yet Stakh was not answering. Perhaps he was sleeping? Grief angrily walked towards the other room, if you can say that a blanket imitating private space was a room, and was about to grab his arm to shake him when he noticed that Stakh just lays on the ground, shaking and the ground is filled with scarlet stains. A lot of them. And it all came from Rubin’s wrists, now cut horizontally, crossing the line of his veins.

“Oh for the love of the devil.” - Grigory whispered.

Grief stood stunned for a millisecond and then, without saying a word, but breathing loudly, he took off his coat, then took off his shirt, with one strong pull he tore it in two and bandaged Rubin’s wrists as tight as possible, whispering to himself looped words “tick-tack”, to remain cold-blooded. In all that tragedy, Grief sighed with “relief” that the other man despite being a physician, cut his veins horizontally. Maybe he had a chance of saving him. He looked terrified at all of the blood, at Stakh, his former friend, with who he just fucking played marbles, trembling and growling from pain. He grabbed Stakh by both of his cheeks and, shaking, he said “Just…stay alive. Stay alive, Stakh. I will be back in a moment.”

Grief grabbed his coat on his back while moving and ran as fast as he could, as he was chased by a guard. But he was only chased by a vision of Rubin’s death and how now everything was depending on him. He did not think long about it. He had no idea where healers were, but he knew one person, who knew something about medicine.

His favorite bar owner and a former medical student, Andrey.

Well, he just hoped that this something of his medical knowledge will be enough for saving Rubin’s life.

Andrey was in a drunken haze when he heard his name being called. It sounded as if it had come from the depths of an abyss yet habit made him expect otherwise. His thoughts shuffled to try and understand what it could be. He hadn’t scorned anyone as of late, and he had spent most of the day with Eva. The thought of her was what intoxicated him the most. He had drunk a few bottles, but after she had left he just let himself completely go. He sought a real source of inspiration to appease her the next time their paths crossed. His thoughts of changing the Stillwater seemed pointless in essence. Surely if she wanted changes, she would have just told him so. Even his paintings would probably never truly get to her heart either…

As quick as Grief saw Andrey, he just said “thanks world” and grabbed the man. Of course he was intoxicated. How else it could be. He had to make him sober as fast as possible. The interiors of the bar was as loud as always in the night, like its walls would accompany with the music. Grief was practically screaming to him, shaking him by the arms so he finally focused on him.

“ANDREY, SOBER UP, SOBER UP, I BEG YOU, RUBIN SLIT UP HIS WRISTS, HE IS FUCKING DYING, YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WITH ANY KNOWLEDGE I KNOW LOCATION OF. LET’S GO.”

If he hadn’t already seen Grigory’s ginger hair Andrey would be throwing his fists in retaliation to such crude treatment. The thought of swinging a punch was still perfectly acceptable in his mind, but he figured now might not be the best time. Why was he so loud? Why was he trying to push Andrey around when he barely had the muscle to lift his own ridiculously oversized coat?

With the music and the screaming in his hears, he could barely tell that he wanted something to do with Rubin. Something about him dying? Another one then?

“The fuck do you want me to do?”

What did Filin think Andrey could do with a dying man? Grant him a feast as one last meal? He followed the smuggler nonetheless. He might have been reluctant, but he could spin this to his favor later if needed too. The fresh breeze was a sobering factor all on it’s own. The night’s air was cold and seemed to pierce through his skin. Normally it wouldn’t feel the way it did, but it bothered him tonight. It was almost a relief to walk into a warehouse, as much of a mess as this one seemed to be. The thought of finding Stanislav Rubin with blood all over him wasn’t a thought he had properly processed through. Normally doctors and surgeons alike were always filled with blood, but Rubin was just laying with his arms wide open and blood over his wrists. Had he just given up? He previously thought better of the man…

“Get me bandages.” Andrey grumbled in a tired tone as he approached the fallen man. He had to see how deep they were first, but Filin could make himself useful in the meantime. “Antiseptics, water…”

Grief was glad enough that Andrey even followed him, instead of telling him to fuck off. He will make it up to him somehow, now that did not matter.

As a result of Andrey’s words, he just nodded and manically stormed to Rubin’s desk, where he had everything scattered. It looked miserable at first, yet after checking quickly a few cupboards, boxes, and drawers he managed to collect bandages, gauze, and even some antisceptics. He also grabbed scissors which were placed on the table. Then he rushed to Andrey and handed him this set, waiting like a squire for Stamatin’s next orders. He watched the, huh, architect as he was gently unraveling pieces of Grief’s torn shirt from Rubin’s hands.

He did not have great contact with Rubin over the last few years. They fought even where they were kids. Always polar opposites and it did stay like that. Yet seeing him, giving up so miserably, also unexpectedly really shooked Grigory. From all people, Stakh? He would rather say that Lara could do something like that. She had a soft heart, constantly smothered by a load of her problems. Stakh always seemed hard-rock, determined, and hard-working. He just realized that he did not know him and that weirdly stung him. There was hardly another thought on his mind other than that he felt a sudden shade of regret for how his life went, for cutting off Lara and Stakh completely. Not that it changed anything right now, except for the heaviness of his chest.

The wounds were deep, but sloppy. Andrey looked around to see what Filin had brought; everything useful but not what he currently sought.

“Got any needle? Some thread too?”

As he turned his head, he noticed how hazy his vision became. He thought he hadn’t drunk that much, but he had to admit that he there was definitely something that had caused him to feel so disorientated. Just more problems to solve when he returned, he supposed. Checking his entire stock of twyrine wasn’t something that he would want to do anytime soon yet alas, if they had gone bad he’d have to fix it.

His attention returned to Rubin once Filin arrived with a handful of needles and threads. He did his best to disinfect his tools and the doctor’s arms with the few resources he had. At least they didn’t have to scour the entirety of the warehouses to get medical supplies. Filin’s concern was an odd thing to see as well. He never acted particularly tough even to his henchmen, but neither was he so concerned over somebody else’s well being either. Even while stitching Rubin’s cuts closed, Andrey could feel the smuggler’s worried gaze never leaving his every move.

Grief sighed with relief when Andrey stitched long cuts on Rubin’s forearms. This meant they somehow, miraculously managed to better the situation enough for Stakh to survive. He just stood there, nervously playing with his pocket clock to distract himself from this sight of a warehouse filled with blood, of Stakh laying there like a big doll, barely breathing like his lungs could stop working any second.

“We should move him somewhere else, at least to my Lair. Here Stakh was doing some peculiarities with meat or blood because it smells like the hospital’s backroom in there. I am not a doctor, but not the best place to stay. Help me move him to the nest, I will give him my bed and I shall treat him with care. Will I manage? If I will not be managing, I am sure Artemy will feel guilty enough to be a dear and help. But I will need your help with moving Stakh. Sadly, he is almost twice my height and too heavy. Especially now that he got knocked out, from blood loss I think.”

Grief buried his hands in his face and let out a deep breath. Then looked at Andrey, who now was dirty with blood and with a surprisingly soft, worried expression looked at the man. “Thanks, the fate you have been there. Thank you so much, Dryusha.”

Then he walked to Rubin’s body and caught his ankles, looking at Andrey who gently lift up Stakh’s arms. Fortunately, there were no unwanted guards who could question him. Maybe even if they were, they wouldn’t? Town On Gorkhon tolerated more and more with each passing day.

Andrey straightened his back with a tired exhale and just smile softly at how much Filin spoke. He didn’t sound like his usual self like this. No rhymes or playing as a tough criminal.

In response to the smuggler’s worries, Andrey only nodded and followed his motions along. He could swear he was feeling fainter as time passed. Normally he’d be far more awake after walking through the night’s cold air and bringing a man back from the brink of death, yet his muscles ached. He wasn’t even in the mood to tease Filin over his worries further.

“Sent your men to bed already?”

It was a surprise to find Filin’s preferred warehouse practically empty. Normally it was always filled with a dozen men and a couple of herb brides, but tonight that didn’t seem to be the case. He wouldn’t be the one to complain about it, it was best this way after all as less questions would be raised as to just what had happened. He knew the kinds of men Filin liked hanging around with too well. They’d sooner start rumors about him and the smuggler being the ones to try and kill one of the town’s only doctors than to be the ones to save him.

“I was meant to have a word with Dankovsky too but I must have missed him earlier.” He still had to check in with his barkeep to know just what the Bachelor had chosen to do. Perhaps Eva was right. Time was definitely slipping from Andrey’s hands, but he wouldn’t say it was as twisted as she made it seem just yet.

Before turning on his heels to leave the warehouse and return to his own affairs, he couldn’t help but to look back at Rubin. His arms were a mess. He shouldn’t even be using much of his hands in the foreseeable future to begin with. What was he going to do now to help the town?

“I’ll let him know if I see him... I think you might just have to play doctor a while longer though.” Andrey’s eyes scanned the area as he spoke. There were no signs of medical supplies here either. He hadn’t any in the Broken Heart as well, and now it was starting to seem that they’d need it themselves. How long would they have if Rubin tried to end his life before saving the town? Was something worse yet to come? Was there really no hope left?

“Get his things in here too. We’ll need bandages, antiseptics, water... Anything and everything you can get. Fuck whatever Olgimsky told you and find out why Rubin tried to get out of here like that.”

  His work was done, yet he still went to the hospital during the day. Maybe out of habit by now. Maybe duty. Maybe guilt… Probably guilt. The kin were now following his every step. They didn’t try to hide it whatsoever, they wanted him to know they were there. They didn’t even do anything, merely watched. Observed his every move like a herd of vultures. It was far worse than if they had outright attacked him. At least then he’d have a reason to fight them, to get rid of them. Find a release for all that pent-up anger and frustration. But they stood there and simply watched. In front of the hospital, at the corner of the street, sitting one one of the benches. Didn’t try to move closer, didn’t try to leave, simply watched. He could feel their gaze on his back. He felt exposed, uncomfortable in his own skin. Did they know? Could they feel what he had done? Did they know about Isidor? Their looks felt meaningful, there was more and more weight added onto his shoulders as time passed. More eyes. Even after closing the hospital’s door, he still felt observed. The feeling didn’t fade, it only got worse. The smell of rot and decay hit him like a punch to the gut. He had to cover his mouth at first, the feeling making him nauseous despite being somewhat familiar with it. He didn’t remember it being this bad the previous day, no, definitely not.

He had to take a break every hour, when the stench and the pressure were too much to handle. When he needed fresh air. That didn’t help much. The Kin were still there. One person staring at him from the other end of the street. Not acting, simply looking at him, or through him. It felt maddening. Going back and forth between the hospital, the strange feeling of it, and back outside where he couldn’t run away from the gazes. From the blame.

It was all taking a toll on him. He couldn’t hold his tools out of fear of breaking them. He almost snapped at the orderlies when more sick were brought inside. Stakh was sure someone was constantly berating him, standing right behind or to the right, yet whenever he turned there were only sick, neither of whom were capable of forming coherent sentences. He was barely standing, yet he couldn’t allow himself to sit down. He’d fall unconscious as soon as he sat down.

At one point, it reached a breaking point, he couldn’t stay in the theatre anymore. He couldn’t be any more useful. He couldn’t do anything more. He couldn’t do anything at all. He couldn’t help anybody. Useless. Rubin was done. Dammit, if only he knew. If he noticed, if he caught on. Fuck, maybe all these people, all the corpses… Maybe then- Fuck. Fuck. His nails dug into the skin as he clenched his fists. He was done. He was tired and he was done. The vaccine would end up in Dankovsky’s hands, he’d just leave a message. He couldn’t talk to the man himself, he couldn’t hope for a breakthrough… Or see another failure.

Rubin took out a piece of paper, one he didn’t cover entirely in notes, and wrote… Peter’s name. He wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t he supposed to write a letter to the Bachelor?… Ah, fuck it. The artist’s name was already written on one side. At that moment, he debated whether to write Lara a separate letter. On the one hand, she deserved to know why he wanted to do it or that… That he was sorry. On the other hand… his final decision was a no. That felt like too much of a waste of paper, what would he write exactly? He added Gravel’s name next to Peter’s. Leaning forward on the desk, he began writing.

“The vaccine is done, yet it hasn’t been tested yet. I believe I’m leaving it in safe hands. If You get in contact with Bachelor Dankovsky, give it to him.

I’m also leaving You 2 shmowders (the golden box with white powder inside), I wish I had managed to collect more. If either of You gets infected, take one. It’s a dangerous drug, but it will get rid of infection completely. Take immunity boosters afterwards if you can. Don’t leave the house until it’s over. Take care of Grace.

- Stakh

Ps. I couldn’t bring myself to As my last request Please burn the notebook.”

There wasn’t much else he could add. Not stating the reason for the letter, leaving behind just the basic instructions. Perhaps if there was anything he wanted to confess, he couldn’t bring himself to write it down. He needed to place the message somewhere where Peter would find it, maybe not immediately. For a moment, he thought of that room, but… That felt cruel. The stairs then. The architect would have to eventually go down, he’d find it. At least that way, he could avoid looking him in the eye.

Status: @tincture-enjoyer @twyrine-den

TRIGGER WARNING: EXCLIPIT SUICIDE ATTEMPT DESCRIPTION

Grief was exhausted with this whole day and yet he just turned from one side of the bed to another. He could not get himself to sleep anyhow. This night felt weird. Maybe the bed was just uncomfortable? Not like he could expect any luxury here but…

As always in situations like those he eventually just sighed, got up, and took out a cigarette. He dressed up quickly and carelessly, putting his big coat on all these mismatched clothes.

Then he started walking along the trail like he always did to calm himself. Steppe people looked at him, but he got used to them. Herb brides were so pretty anyway, he did not mind them… Especially them. His perfect moment of peace got interrupted by hearing a loud, very loud door shutting. The hell? It was 03:00 AM. Are Barely’s twats planning something? He had to check. Had to check or he knew he will not sleep any second today. He drew out his gun, just in case, loaded it deftly and he began to walk more carefully. But except for some steppe people, nobody appeared. He decided to follow the noise. He was walking slowly towards the building. Wait, was not that this one warehouse he gave to Rubin? He was pretty sure it was. He sighed with relief. That meant he can safely go away, Rubin probably was just doing his little science experiments. Unless someone attacked him… Maybe they attacked him? His instincts made him open the door with full force.

He did not see Stakh and what hit him was the fetor of meat which started to degrade. Rubin killed someone? The air was thick with that pungent smell. Of anything that could be happening there, Grief did not expect that. He just closed the doors and shouted “Stakh, what the fuck is happening here?”

Yet Stakh was not answering. Perhaps he was sleeping? Grief angrily walked towards the other room, if you can say that a blanket imitating private space was a room, and was about to grab his arm to shake him when he noticed that Stakh just lays on the ground, shaking and the ground is filled with scarlet stains. A lot of them. And it all came from Rubin’s wrists, now cut horizontally, crossing the line of his veins.

“Oh for the love of the devil.” - Grigory whispered.

Grief stood stunned for a millisecond and then, without saying a word, but breathing loudly, he took off his coat, then took off his shirt, with one strong pull he tore it in two and bandaged Rubin’s wrists as tight as possible, whispering to himself looped words “tick-tack”, to remain cold-blooded. In all that tragedy, Grief sighed with “relief” that the other man despite being a physician, cut his veins horizontally. Maybe he had a chance of saving him. He looked terrified at all of the blood, at Stakh, his former friend, with who he just fucking played marbles, trembling and growling from pain. He grabbed Stakh by both of his cheeks and, shaking, he said “Just…stay alive. Stay alive, Stakh. I will be back in a moment.”

Grief grabbed his coat on his back while moving and ran as fast as he could, as he was chased by a guard. But he was only chased by a vision of Rubin’s death and how now everything was depending on him. He did not think long about it. He had no idea where healers were, but he knew one person, who knew something about medicine.

His favorite bar owner and a former medical student, Andrey.

Well, he just hoped that this something of his medical knowledge will be enough for saving Rubin’s life.

Andrey was in a drunken haze when he heard his name being called. It sounded as if it had come from the depths of an abyss yet habit made him expect otherwise. His thoughts shuffled to try and understand what it could be. He hadn’t scorned anyone as of late, and he had spent most of the day with Eva. The thought of her was what intoxicated him the most. He had drunk a few bottles, but after she had left he just let himself completely go. He sought a real source of inspiration to appease her the next time their paths crossed. His thoughts of changing the Stillwater seemed pointless in essence. Surely if she wanted changes, she would have just told him so. Even his paintings would probably never truly get to her heart either…

As quick as Grief saw Andrey, he just said “thanks world” and grabbed the man. Of course he was intoxicated. How else it could be. He had to make him sober as fast as possible. The interiors of the bar was as loud as always in the night, like its walls would accompany with the music. Grief was practically screaming to him, shaking him by the arms so he finally focused on him.

“ANDREY, SOBER UP, SOBER UP, I BEG YOU, RUBIN SLIT UP HIS WRISTS, HE IS FUCKING DYING, YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WITH ANY KNOWLEDGE I KNOW LOCATION OF. LET’S GO.”

If he hadn’t already seen Grigory’s ginger hair Andrey would be throwing his fists in retaliation to such crude treatment. The thought of swinging a punch was still perfectly acceptable in his mind, but he figured now might not be the best time. Why was he so loud? Why was he trying to push Andrey around when he barely had the muscle to lift his own ridiculously oversized coat?

With the music and the screaming in his hears, he could barely tell that he wanted something to do with Rubin. Something about him dying? Another one then?

“The fuck do you want me to do?”

What did Filin think Andrey could do with a dying man? Grant him a feast as one last meal? He followed the smuggler nonetheless. He might have been reluctant, but he could spin this to his favor later if needed too. The fresh breeze was a sobering factor all on it’s own. The night’s air was cold and seemed to pierce through his skin. Normally it wouldn’t feel the way it did, but it bothered him tonight. It was almost a relief to walk into a warehouse, as much of a mess as this one seemed to be. The thought of finding Stanislav Rubin with blood all over him wasn’t a thought he had properly processed through. Normally doctors and surgeons alike were always filled with blood, but Rubin was just laying with his arms wide open and blood over his wrists. Had he just given up? He previously thought better of the man…

“Get me bandages.” Andrey grumbled in a tired tone as he approached the fallen man. He had to see how deep they were first, but Filin could make himself useful in the meantime. “Antiseptics, water…”

Grief was glad enough that Andrey even followed him, instead of telling him to fuck off. He will make it up to him somehow, now that did not matter.

As a result of Andrey’s words, he just nodded and manically stormed to Rubin’s desk, where he had everything scattered. It looked miserable at first, yet after checking quickly a few cupboards, boxes, and drawers he managed to collect bandages, gauze, and even some antisceptics. He also grabbed scissors which were placed on the table. Then he rushed to Andrey and handed him this set, waiting like a squire for Stamatin’s next orders. He watched the, huh, architect as he was gently unraveling pieces of Grief’s torn shirt from Rubin’s hands.

He did not have great contact with Rubin over the last few years. They fought even where they were kids. Always polar opposites and it did stay like that. Yet seeing him, giving up so miserably, also unexpectedly really shooked Grigory. From all people, Stakh? He would rather say that Lara could do something like that. She had a soft heart, constantly smothered by a load of her problems. Stakh always seemed hard-rock, determined, and hard-working. He just realized that he did not know him and that weirdly stung him. There was hardly another thought on his mind other than that he felt a sudden shade of regret for how his life went, for cutting off Lara and Stakh completely. Not that it changed anything right now, except for the heaviness of his chest.

The wounds were deep, but sloppy. Andrey looked around to see what Filin had brought; everything useful but not what he currently sought.

“Got any needle? Some thread too?”

As he turned his head, he noticed how hazy his vision became. He thought he hadn’t drunk that much, but he had to admit that he there was definitely something that had caused him to feel so disorientated. Just more problems to solve when he returned, he supposed. Checking his entire stock of twyrine wasn’t something that he would want to do anytime soon yet alas, if they had gone bad he’d have to fix it.

His attention returned to Rubin once Filin arrived with a handful of needles and threads. He did his best to disinfect his tools and the doctor’s arms with the few resources he had. At least they didn’t have to scour the entirety of the warehouses to get medical supplies. Filin’s concern was an odd thing to see as well. He never acted particularly tough even to his henchmen, but neither was he so concerned over somebody else’s well being either. Even while stitching Rubin’s cuts closed, Andrey could feel the smuggler’s worried gaze never leaving his every move.

My Dearest Andrey,

I feel certain that this note won’t reach you in good spirits. But there is a lot on my mind that I want to tell you before I have to leave. I apologize that I didn’t use the time we had to say these words to you in person, but I know my love, and I know you wouldn’t let me go if I did.

I am sorry for making this choice, but there seems to be no other way. Our town is falling apart. Not only that, but time is following its tracks. The Cathedral screams for a soul that I can offer. I began to hear voices at night, begging me to hand myself to its clutches. I know this won’t be an ultimate solution, yet as long as I can be sure that time won’t collapse on you, it will be worth it.

You have been - in every way - all that I could ever want. You gave me my freedom when I asked you to, never tried to control me. Yet I always remained your woman. I don’t think two people could’ve been any happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, but I also know how strong you are. There is so much left for you to do and I can’t wait to observe your genius from my resting place.

I am starting to trail off. Believe me when I say, I am so tired. But I want to finish this saying that I owe all the happiness I had to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. You draped me in the most beautiful clothes and made me feel like something special. The town knew that no one could ever take your place. Neither in your work nor your place in my heart.

If anybody could have saved me, it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on, knowing I am the solution to a problem that could threaten your life.

I don’t think two people could have been ever happier than us. You are my light.

  His work was done, yet he still went to the hospital during the day. Maybe out of habit by now. Maybe duty. Maybe guilt… Probably guilt. The kin were now following his every step. They didn’t try to hide it whatsoever, they wanted him to know they were there. They didn’t even do anything, merely watched. Observed his every move like a herd of vultures. It was far worse than if they had outright attacked him. At least then he’d have a reason to fight them, to get rid of them. Find a release for all that pent-up anger and frustration. But they stood there and simply watched. In front of the hospital, at the corner of the street, sitting one one of the benches. Didn’t try to move closer, didn’t try to leave, simply watched. He could feel their gaze on his back. He felt exposed, uncomfortable in his own skin. Did they know? Could they feel what he had done? Did they know about Isidor? Their looks felt meaningful, there was more and more weight added onto his shoulders as time passed. More eyes. Even after closing the hospital’s door, he still felt observed. The feeling didn’t fade, it only got worse. The smell of rot and decay hit him like a punch to the gut. He had to cover his mouth at first, the feeling making him nauseous despite being somewhat familiar with it. He didn’t remember it being this bad the previous day, no, definitely not.

He had to take a break every hour, when the stench and the pressure were too much to handle. When he needed fresh air. That didn’t help much. The Kin were still there. One person staring at him from the other end of the street. Not acting, simply looking at him, or through him. It felt maddening. Going back and forth between the hospital, the strange feeling of it, and back outside where he couldn’t run away from the gazes. From the blame.

It was all taking a toll on him. He couldn’t hold his tools out of fear of breaking them. He almost snapped at the orderlies when more sick were brought inside. Stakh was sure someone was constantly berating him, standing right behind or to the right, yet whenever he turned there were only sick, neither of whom were capable of forming coherent sentences. He was barely standing, yet he couldn’t allow himself to sit down. He’d fall unconscious as soon as he sat down.

At one point, it reached a breaking point, he couldn’t stay in the theatre anymore. He couldn’t be any more useful. He couldn’t do anything more. He couldn’t do anything at all. He couldn’t help anybody. Useless. Rubin was done. Dammit, if only he knew. If he noticed, if he caught on. Fuck, maybe all these people, all the corpses… Maybe then- Fuck. Fuck. His nails dug into the skin as he clenched his fists. He was done. He was tired and he was done. The vaccine would end up in Dankovsky’s hands, he’d just leave a message. He couldn’t talk to the man himself, he couldn’t hope for a breakthrough… Or see another failure.

Rubin took out a piece of paper, one he didn’t cover entirely in notes, and wrote… Peter’s name. He wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t he supposed to write a letter to the Bachelor?… Ah, fuck it. The artist’s name was already written on one side. At that moment, he debated whether to write Lara a separate letter. On the one hand, she deserved to know why he wanted to do it or that… That he was sorry. On the other hand… his final decision was a no. That felt like too much of a waste of paper, what would he write exactly? He added Gravel’s name next to Peter’s. Leaning forward on the desk, he began writing.

“The vaccine is done, yet it hasn’t been tested yet. I believe I’m leaving it in safe hands. If You get in contact with Bachelor Dankovsky, give it to him.

I’m also leaving You 2 shmowders (the golden box with white powder inside), I wish I had managed to collect more. If either of You gets infected, take one. It’s a dangerous drug, but it will get rid of infection completely. Take immunity boosters afterwards if you can. Don’t leave the house until it’s over. Take care of Grace.

- Stakh

Ps. I couldn’t bring myself to As my last request Please burn the notebook.”

There wasn’t much else he could add. Not stating the reason for the letter, leaving behind just the basic instructions. Perhaps if there was anything he wanted to confess, he couldn’t bring himself to write it down. He needed to place the message somewhere where Peter would find it, maybe not immediately. For a moment, he thought of that room, but… That felt cruel. The stairs then. The architect would have to eventually go down, he’d find it. At least that way, he could avoid looking him in the eye.

Status: @tincture-enjoyer @twyrine-den

TRIGGER WARNING: EXCLIPIT SUICIDE ATTEMPT DESCRIPTION

Grief was exhausted with this whole day and yet he just turned from one side of the bed to another. He could not get himself to sleep anyhow. This night felt weird. Maybe the bed was just uncomfortable? Not like he could expect any luxury here but…

As always in situations like those he eventually just sighed, got up, and took out a cigarette. He dressed up quickly and carelessly, putting his big coat on all these mismatched clothes.

Then he started walking along the trail like he always did to calm himself. Steppe people looked at him, but he got used to them. Herb brides were so pretty anyway, he did not mind them… Especially them. His perfect moment of peace got interrupted by hearing a loud, very loud door shutting. The hell? It was 03:00 AM. Are Barely’s twats planning something? He had to check. Had to check or he knew he will not sleep any second today. He drew out his gun, just in case, loaded it deftly and he began to walk more carefully. But except for some steppe people, nobody appeared. He decided to follow the noise. He was walking slowly towards the building. Wait, was not that this one warehouse he gave to Rubin? He was pretty sure it was. He sighed with relief. That meant he can safely go away, Rubin probably was just doing his little science experiments. Unless someone attacked him… Maybe they attacked him? His instincts made him open the door with full force.

He did not see Stakh and what hit him was the fetor of meat which started to degrade. Rubin killed someone? The air was thick with that pungent smell. Of anything that could be happening there, Grief did not expect that. He just closed the doors and shouted “Stakh, what the fuck is happening here?”

Yet Stakh was not answering. Perhaps he was sleeping? Grief angrily walked towards the other room, if you can say that a blanket imitating private space was a room, and was about to grab his arm to shake him when he noticed that Stakh just lays on the ground, shaking and the ground is filled with scarlet stains. A lot of them. And it all came from Rubin’s wrists, now cut horizontally, crossing the line of his veins.

“Oh for the love of the devil.” - Grigory whispered.

Grief stood stunned for a millisecond and then, without saying a word, but breathing loudly, he took off his coat, then took off his shirt, with one strong pull he tore it in two and bandaged Rubin’s wrists as tight as possible, whispering to himself looped words “tick-tack”, to remain cold-blooded. In all that tragedy, Grief sighed with “relief” that the other man despite being a physician, cut his veins horizontally. Maybe he had a chance of saving him. He looked terrified at all of the blood, at Stakh, his former friend, with who he just fucking played marbles, trembling and growling from pain. He grabbed Stakh by both of his cheeks and, shaking, he said “Just…stay alive. Stay alive, Stakh. I will be back in a moment.”

Grief grabbed his coat on his back while moving and ran as fast as he could, as he was chased by a guard. But he was only chased by a vision of Rubin’s death and how now everything was depending on him. He did not think long about it. He had no idea where healers were, but he knew one person, who knew something about medicine.

His favorite bar owner and a former medical student, Andrey.

Well, he just hoped that this something of his medical knowledge will be enough for saving Rubin’s life.

Andrey was in a drunken haze when he heard his name being called. It sounded as if it had come from the depths of an abyss yet habit made him expect otherwise. His thoughts shuffled to try and understand what it could be. He hadn’t scorned anyone as of late, and he had spent most of the day with Eva. The thought of her was what intoxicated him the most. He had drunk a few bottles, but after she had left he just let himself completely go. He sought a real source of inspiration to appease her the next time their paths crossed. His thoughts of changing the Stillwater seemed pointless in essence. Surely if she wanted changes, she would have just told him so. Even his paintings would probably never truly get to her heart either…

As quick as Grief saw Andrey, he just said “thanks world” and grabbed the man. Of course he was intoxicated. How else it could be. He had to make him sober as fast as possible. The interiors of the bar was as loud as always in the night, like its walls would accompany with the music. Grief was practically screaming to him, shaking him by the arms so he finally focused on him.

“ANDREY, SOBER UP, SOBER UP, I BEG YOU, RUBIN SLIT UP HIS WRISTS, HE IS FUCKING DYING, YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON WITH ANY KNOWLEDGE I KNOW LOCATION OF. LET’S GO.”

If he hadn’t already seen Grigory’s ginger hair Andrey would be throwing his fists in retaliation to such crude treatment. The thought of swinging a punch was still perfectly acceptable in his mind, but he figured now might not be the best time. Why was he so loud? Why was he trying to push Andrey around when he barely had the muscle to lift his own ridiculously oversized coat?

With the music and the screaming in his hears, he could barely tell that he wanted something to do with Rubin. Something about him dying? Another one then?

“The fuck do you want me to do?”

What did Filin think Andrey could do with a dying man? Grant him a feast as one last meal? He followed the smuggler nonetheless. He might have been reluctant, but he could spin this to his favor later if needed too. The fresh breeze was a sobering factor all on it’s own. The night’s air was cold and seemed to pierce through his skin. Normally it wouldn’t feel the way it did, but it bothered him tonight. It was almost a relief to walk into a warehouse, as much of a mess as this one seemed to be. The thought of finding Stanislav Rubin with blood all over him wasn’t a thought he had properly processed through. Normally doctors and surgeons alike were always filled with blood, but Rubin was just laying with his arms wide open and blood over his wrists. Had he just given up? He previously thought better of the man...

“Get me bandages.” Andrey grumbled in a tired tone as he approached the fallen man. He had to see how deep they were first, but Filin could make himself useful in the meantime. “Antiseptics, water...”

POV: Andrey Stamatin Status: @twyrineconcoction

Though her mood seemed quite low, at least she had found a subject that seemed to bring some interest out of her. Andrey could understand the sentiment. Both him and his brother also adored their own creations, and though the sentiments his little brother had were stronger than his, he also felt deeply connected to the buildings.

He had to shake his head upon hearing the rumors she spoke of. Normally he’d be aware of everything that happened in the town, but he had barely been inside the broken heart yesterday, and even today he left as soon as he could. But the thought that Eva felt as drawn to a building as he and his brother were was endearing in it’s own way. There were so many reasons for why he loved this woman, and yet the way she phrased her thoughts only heightened his feelings. Who else in this town saw buildings as they did… The Kains cared for them, that was true, but not in the same sense that they did. They were a mere tool for the Kains, while for Eva, himself and his little brother, they were kin.

“I’ll put a stop to these rumors.”

Andrey’s words came with a soft smile. Rumors were easily made, but also easily stopped; he just had to spread the word as soon as he returned, whenever that would be.

“We can visit it too. Either before or after you’ve had something to eat.”

After his suggestion, the architect waved the small bag he had brought with the loaf of bread and twyrine for this exact purpose. Even with all of her worries, she still had to take care of herself.

The Cathedral was close enough too. He had already planned to spend the entire day with Eva to protect her from what she feared the day before, if she wanted to wander through the town, at least he’d be there to keep her safe. Luckily the Cathedral wasn’t filled with children or in a country he was forbidden to visit like his beloved creations were.

POV: Eva Yan Status: @twyrine-den​

He spoke out of his heart. It was a rare sight for most, but one that Eva genuinely adored. He wouldn’t keep any secrets from her. He wouldn’t lie and most importantly, he would never leave her behind. If Andrey put his mind into protecting her from any rumors, she could be sure they would be gone by the next day. But rumors weren’t what the woman was so afraid of. The people could talk for all she cared, blame her for whatever they saw fit. She had already put her mind into this. She knew what was about to come and although she wasn’t afraid of the end, she was definitely scared of the way it would happen. It hadn’t come to her, not yet. Perhaps another sleepless night could solve her last doubts.

“Maybe we shouldn’t… Not today.”

If they did, Eva was sure she wouldn’t be able to leave. The heart of the Cathedral laid in shambles. And up to this point, there seemed to be only a handful of people who were actually aware of it. Maria and her, Daniil, obviously. Perhaps the other remaining Kains. And Andrey… He’s never been this protective of her. As if he feared what would happen. A deep-planted knowledge of what could pretty much happen tomorrow. She was afraid of leaving him behind if she really did pull through with her plan. Although she figured he would understand. That much would be enough for her if it meant she could keep the Cathedral intact. One of the buildings that were crucial to their town. Not only in its structure, but also its meaning and its power. What it gave to the people without ever asking for something in return. Protecting it meant protecting the town. The Bachelor wouldn’t be able to break time if he went back, he wouldn’t…

“You know… I’m almost happy now, Dryushka. I’ve found a way to help everyone. But hush, it’s a secret for now.” 

For the first time, she could actually smile today. Being at peace with her decision despite her overall exhaustion. Walking back to Andrey, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him in a long embrace. She wanted to be with him, at least for today. Hold him for as many times as she liked before she could no longer do it. It almost felt like farewell, even though they still had the entire day to themselves. Eva knew this would last until the end. This bitter taste of knowing how much she would have to hurt him a greater good.  Protecting time meant keeping him alive. And even if her soul was trapped in that building, she could still gaze out. Maybe see him if he ever walked by. He would age, build more, hold this town at the palm of his hand… And she could watch from the very same spot. Maybe he would expand the town into the Steppe… Or he could leave. She banished that thought from her mind, not wanting to have anything interfere with her plans. 

“We could go on a walk. I want to wear the cloak you gave me. Maybe visit your place… You could show me what you’re working on.”

Eva’s words didn’t ease much of Andrey’s mind. If not today, then tomorrow, but how much longer could he avoid his own duties? The town was unlikely to get any better judging by how the days have been.

Regardless of what he had to do in the near future, he embraced the moment and returned all of Eva’s affections. She was always welcome to keep her secrets, as long as her smile remained. Her affections and lighter words were also a pleasant distraction from the chaos in the town, until she suggested to visit his place. He mostly stayed in the Broken Heart, and today he’d rather not have her intrude on his evening plans with the Bachelor.

“To the Broken Heart then.”

Perhaps it was a better choice as well. The Cathedral was a grim place compared to the Broken Heart. At least in the latter they’d have plenty of debauchery at their disposal as well as drinks, a comfortable place to lay in and anything else they’d desire.

Andrey placed a soft, playful peck on Eva’s neck and led her out of the Stillwater by the hand after. He hurried his pace as they crossed the most dangerous parts of the town, as well as the ones where screams could easily be heard coming from the nearby buildings. It wasn’t a sight he wanted Eva to see or be in for long. His steps only slowed once he pushed the large warehouse’s door open. Though the air was still thick outside, it seemed to be bearable inside the pub. He didn’t waste much time in the Broken Heart’s main room, only briefly greeting the barkeep and waving half-heartedly to the dancing herb bride on the stage. His focus was in the backroom where he knew Eva would be able to rest.

Before even announcing anything else, Andrey tossed every sheet and pillow he could find onto his couch. It wasn’t as comfortable and luxurious as what Eva had in the Stillwater, but it was still better than no comfort at all. He then promptly laid the bread and the twyrine bottle on the nearest cupboard for her to take at her leisure. With the room roughly arranged to accommodate one of his favorite guests, he then allowed his attention to shift to just what he had been doing as of late. Thoughts of the horrible mindset he was in cropped back into his mind, though he quickly dismissed whatever statue he might have wanted to make and other such nonsense. He instead chose to dig through his personal paper piles, tucked away in one of his table drawers with only a little more care and order than his little brother would have had.

It was nice to get out of her walls for once. Even if the Stillwater did not pressure her the way it did with others, staying so close to the Cathedral did make her rather sad than happy to finally have some time to spend with Andrey. It was different in the Broken Heart. Here, she did not have to worry about such problems. Being distracted for once made her loosen up, almost carelessly following him into the backrooms and settling down, as soon as he laid out the pillows for her. She even did not hesitate grabbing the Twyrine, taking a generous sip while Andrey went through his sketches. 

She missed seeing him like this. In his own element, his own place… Everything about this room screamed her boyfriend’s name. And so did his guests - Eva giggled at the thought.  She got up, pulling one of the lighter blankets over her shoulders like a cape. Eva knew the drawers he was going through. Often watching him rummage through their contents whenever an idea struck him that he wanted to put on paper asap.  Walking up behind him, she more or less tried to look over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the sketch he was eyeing. 

“What are you looking at?”

Eva knew she caught him off-guard, smiling slyly at his expression. Although she was genuinely interested in the figures she saw. It was a fun idea to know he’d been practicing a lot more act lately. It didn’t always have to be structures and buildings. Something different from the usual… that’s what they all needed.  Something that would draw their attention away from the pain and loss.

Andrey didn’t often blush, but his smile did curl into a sheepish grin as Eva peeked behind him. He shamelessly offered the papers to her after. To him they were lines and curves and to Eva, though she likely saw beyond the graphite techniques used, she wasn’t likely to judge the theme portrayed in it either.

“Distractions.” The architect explained, even if he didn’t have to. Among his drawings were sketches of all types of body shapes, some more explicit than others, as well as other abstract portrayals of passing thoughts. He didn’t have to say how they came about either. Everyone in town knew how he coped with difficult times; Eva was no different.

After handing over the papers he was just about to look for more when he suddenly paused and looked up at Eva. Seeing her with a bottle in hand only made her more attractive in his eyes. Thoughts of getting intoxicated with her filled his mind, though so too did putting the sight of her into paper. With a rekindled vigor, Andrey reached for a new bundle of papers, this time blank, as well as a bottle of his own and a pencil. He could always do both.

“Too many madmen in town lately!” Andrey huffed as he dragged his pencil across the papers in a wide arc to capture Eva’s general position. With the first stroke done, he took a hefty amount of the twyrine bottle. “Just keeping this place intact has been a headache of it’s own.” He recalled a few words he left when he was leaving the pub earlier today. By the sounds of it, a house had burned down, though that was a topic he’d rather avoid with his present company. If the crowd was now burning down buildings, that didn’t bode well for the two of them. “But it will remain standing for as long as I’m around.” Andrey added with a small smirk on his lips before turning his attention back to his sketch.

At first, she didn’t catch on with what he was doing. Taking one or two smaller sips from her bottle, she only realized at the sound of graphite scratching against the paper. She quickly turned her gaze, driving her attention away from the bodies she held in her hands. It had been a while since Andrey last drew her.

Eva smiled, throwing her golden locks over her shoulder. The thought of him still being so intoxicated by her looks would never fail to heighten her self-worth if she even possessed such a thing.  The woman stood still, waiting for him to finish. Only then did she think about what he said. 

‘for all to admire’

After some thought, she was certain that she didn’t want that. At least not this time… not with this picture.  “Keep this one for yourself.”, she replied kindly, only moving when she was sure he was done. Standing in front of him, she put the other sketches to the side, looking at the one he made of her. By now she shouldn’t even be surprised of how much she admired his art every time she witnessed it. He made her look so beautiful, more than she was or would ever be. He had a talent for capturing a scene fast and catching the general feeling in the room. Eva could feel the emotion coming from her portrait. It stared back at her, reminding her of the time she was wasting. Unconsciously, she shook her head, knowing that no minute would ever feel wasted as long as she got to spend it with him. She didn’t want to rush anything. Who knew when she would see him again? Maybe never…

“Can you get me more Twyrine?”

Andrey couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different about Eva. He obliged to her every whim, handing her more twyrine and every paper she reached for, but even so she seemed saddened. It could be from exhaustion too, she did mention how she hadn’t slept.

  During these six, no, seven days that Daniil had spent in town, he was doing more running than he had probably done in his entire life. It was either time or bandits making him sprint, run as fast as his legs could carry him. Hah, time. How funny was that, considering he had an item allowing him to basically control it whenever. He could reach for it. He could have saved Georgiy Kain, he could have! He was tempted to go back. What he said to Victor… He might have gone too far, making promises he couldn’t keep. He meant it, but… Dammit. Should he repeat it? Do a rerun of Monday? But… He wasted so many resources, so much strength already. It would be easier to go back to when Dankovsky was still at home. In the Capital. He was thinking about it again. Was there a limit to how much he could go back? Victor didn’t say a word about it. No, no. He wasn’t desperate yet.

He was so tired, though. He ran all around the Town. He had so little time to test the samples, too. After visiting Ravel a few hours earlier, he had to go to the hospital. Honestly, he was under the belief that there would be any useful equipment there. Of course, that wasn’t the case. Why would anyone consider a microscope an important tool? He also didn’t expect the hospital to feel so… Strange. As if he was constantly watched. The floor felt as if he was walking on wet soil. The Bachelor didn’t remember it being quite like this before. Trying to focus back on his task, he didn’t find what he was looking for, but he did get something else instead. Organs. Organs as in samples to test. To test! While he didn’t have his equipment. How great. Since he was already there, he chose to use some of the medicine Notkin had brought him… He didn’t want to waste it, but if he could get paid for doing work at the theatre, then so be it. God, the rotten smell as he started working. Was it a hospital or a morgue? Daniil administered some morphine, gave two patients antibiotics, and that was it. He didn’t want to spend any more time there, not with the feeling of eyes staring at his back. At least this gave him some time to think about where he could test the samples. Rubin. He must’ve had his own equipment, or rather Isidor’s. Thankfully, Dankovsky remembered where the man’s hideout was.

POV: Barkeep Status: @tincture-enjoyer​

The Broken Heart was as busy as ever. People came to drown their sorrows and sell what they carried for another cup. Plenty of woes to forget and as night begun, fear that needed to become courage instead. The barkeep dutifully served them all equally, at least until he spotted a dark coat entering the pub.

“Bachelor Dankovsky?”

The barkeep raised his voice to get the Bachelor’s attention and prepared a glass of twyrine to offer to this capital’s guest.

Day: 6

Daniil walked down the stairs, below the ground level. For as much as the people here hated digging in the earth, calling it taboo, they surely enjoyed spending their time in the Broken Heart. The building that probably represented every sin in the eyes of the Kin. It must’ve taken quite a bit of work. The space was big and underground, for a second, Dankovsky wondered whether the religious folk stoned at least one of the workers.

The sound of his own name caught his attention. He turned towards the bar, looked at the man standing behind the counter. The knowledge of his name wasn’t surprising at all, at this point, probably everyone knew who he was and what he looked like. Capital dandy, dressed quite eloquently despite looking like a corpse. They must’ve thought so. He didn’t believe himself to be ugly, absolutely not, but after practically a week spent in Town-On-Gorkhon he surely felt like his skin barely held onto his bones. Like the bags under his eyes grew bigger, like he earned himself more wrinkles, maybe one or two gray hairs. He sighed, making his way over to the bar. The staff, if one could call it that, was most likely made aware of his visit in case the Stamatin wasn’t there to greet him. That was apparently the case now, Daniil didn’t see Andrey just yet.

The rumors spread incredibly fast. Somebody stole his equipment during the previous night, and everyone seemed to already know about this. Whether it was the bandits themselves or Artemy, maybe Notkin? No, the kid probably wouldn’t talk about it. Well, whoever it was that spread the information didn’t matter now. Hell, it could have been himself in some stupid conversation. Even the barkeep knew about this.

Although that much seemed like a blessing. The man was offering him accommodation, a place to finish his research in. How crazy did that seem? One night, everyone appeared to hate him, attempt to kill him and another doctor, throw away his equipment, ridicule him, and the next… Well, two people sent couriers after him, seemingly wanting him around or at least needing his help. The prospect of a safe space to continue his research was… Tempting to say the least, yet it surely had a price. If there was any sort of equipment too… No one was simply nice to him out of the kindness of their hearts. He couldn’t spare any more coin.

The barkeep didn’t pay much attention to the internal struggles that were apparent in the Bachelor’s face. For his part, the Broken Heart’s regular worker just kept his professional demeanour throughout. Back straight, hands kept busy cleaning glasses and with a flat tone in his voice.

“You still have friends in this town, Bachelor Dankovsky. The Stamatin twins are some of them.”

Before continuing further, the man reached for a piece of folded paper and a small pen, redirecting it afterwards to the doctor. In truth, he wasn’t made aware that they were to receive any payment. Andrey Stamatin had merely told him that he was to offer to accommodate the doctor and find which supplies he needed for his work. It didn’t sound like a solid business proposition, but he wasn’t one to question his boss if he still got paid by the end of the day.

  His work was done, yet he still went to the hospital during the day. Maybe out of habit by now. Maybe duty. Maybe guilt… Probably guilt. The kin were now following his every step. They didn’t try to hide it whatsoever, they wanted him to know they were there. They didn’t even do anything, merely watched. Observed his every move like a herd of vultures. It was far worse than if they had outright attacked him. At least then he’d have a reason to fight them, to get rid of them. Find a release for all that pent-up anger and frustration. But they stood there and simply watched. In front of the hospital, at the corner of the street, sitting one one of the benches. Didn’t try to move closer, didn’t try to leave, simply watched. He could feel their gaze on his back. He felt exposed, uncomfortable in his own skin. Did they know? Could they feel what he had done? Did they know about Isidor? Their looks felt meaningful, there was more and more weight added onto his shoulders as time passed. More eyes. Even after closing the hospital’s door, he still felt observed. The feeling didn’t fade, it only got worse. The smell of rot and decay hit him like a punch to the gut. He had to cover his mouth at first, the feeling making him nauseous despite being somewhat familiar with it. He didn’t remember it being this bad the previous day, no, definitely not.

He had to take a break every hour, when the stench and the pressure were too much to handle. When he needed fresh air. That didn’t help much. The Kin were still there. One person staring at him from the other end of the street. Not acting, simply looking at him, or through him. It felt maddening. Going back and forth between the hospital, the strange feeling of it, and back outside where he couldn’t run away from the gazes. From the blame.

It was all taking a toll on him. He couldn’t hold his tools out of fear of breaking them. He almost snapped at the orderlies when more sick were brought inside. Stakh was sure someone was constantly berating him, standing right behind or to the right, yet whenever he turned there were only sick, neither of whom were capable of forming coherent sentences. He was barely standing, yet he couldn’t allow himself to sit down. He’d fall unconscious as soon as he sat down.

At one point, it reached a breaking point, he couldn’t stay in the theatre anymore. He couldn’t be any more useful. He couldn’t do anything more. He couldn’t do anything at all. He couldn’t help anybody. Useless. Rubin was done. Dammit, if only he knew. If he noticed, if he caught on. Fuck, maybe all these people, all the corpses… Maybe then- Fuck. Fuck. His nails dug into the skin as he clenched his fists. He was done. He was tired and he was done. The vaccine would end up in Dankovsky’s hands, he’d just leave a message. He couldn’t talk to the man himself, he couldn’t hope for a breakthrough… Or see another failure.

Rubin took out a piece of paper, one he didn’t cover entirely in notes, and wrote… Peter’s name. He wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t he supposed to write a letter to the Bachelor?… Ah, fuck it. The artist’s name was already written on one side. At that moment, he debated whether to write Lara a separate letter. On the one hand, she deserved to know why he wanted to do it or that… That he was sorry. On the other hand… his final decision was a no. That felt like too much of a waste of paper, what would he write exactly? He added Gravel’s name next to Peter’s. Leaning forward on the desk, he began writing.

“The vaccine is done, yet it hasn’t been tested yet. I believe I’m leaving it in safe hands. If You get in contact with Bachelor Dankovsky, give it to him.

I’m also leaving You 2 shmowders (the golden box with white powder inside), I wish I had managed to collect more. If either of You gets infected, take one. It’s a dangerous drug, but it will get rid of infection completely. Take immunity boosters afterwards if you can. Don’t leave the house until it’s over. Take care of Grace.

- Stakh

Ps. I couldn’t bring myself to As my last request Please burn the notebook.”

There wasn’t much else he could add. Not stating the reason for the letter, leaving behind just the basic instructions. Perhaps if there was anything he wanted to confess, he couldn’t bring himself to write it down. He needed to place the message somewhere where Peter would find it, maybe not immediately. For a moment, he thought of that room, but… That felt cruel. The stairs then. The architect would have to eventually go down, he’d find it. At least that way, he could avoid looking him in the eye.

Status: @tincture-enjoyer @twyrine-den

TRIGGER WARNING: EXCLIPIT SUICIDE ATTEMPT DESCRIPTION

Grief was exhausted with this whole day and yet he just turned from one side of the bed to another. He could not get himself to sleep anyhow. This night felt weird. Maybe the bed was just uncomfortable? Not like he could expect any luxury here but…

As always in situations like those he eventually just sighed, got up, and took out a cigarette. He dressed up quickly and carelessly, putting his big coat on all these mismatched clothes.

Then he started walking along the trail like he always did to calm himself. Steppe people looked at him, but he got used to them. Herb brides were so pretty anyway, he did not mind them… Especially them. His perfect moment of peace got interrupted by hearing a loud, very loud door shutting. The hell? It was 03:00 AM. Are Barely’s twats planning something? He had to check. Had to check or he knew he will not sleep any second today. He drew out his gun, just in case, loaded it deftly and he began to walk more carefully. But except for some steppe people, nobody appeared. He decided to follow the noise. He was walking slowly towards the building. Wait, was not that this one warehouse he gave to Rubin? He was pretty sure it was. He sighed with relief. That meant he can safely go away, Rubin probably was just doing his little science experiments. Unless someone attacked him… Maybe they attacked him? His instincts made him open the door with full force.

He did not see Stakh and what hit him was the fetor of meat which started to degrade. Rubin killed someone? The air was thick with that pungent smell. Of anything that could be happening there, Grief did not expect that. He just closed the doors and shouted “Stakh, what the fuck is happening here?”

Yet Stakh was not answering. Perhaps he was sleeping? Grief angrily walked towards the other room, if you can say that a blanket imitating private space was a room, and was about to grab his arm to shake him when he noticed that Stakh just lays on the ground, shaking and the ground is filled with scarlet stains. A lot of them. And it all came from Rubin’s wrists, now cut horizontally, crossing the line of his veins.

“Oh for the love of the devil.” - Grigory whispered.

Grief stood stunned for a millisecond and then, without saying a word, but breathing loudly, he took off his coat, then took off his shirt, with one strong pull he tore it in two and bandaged Rubin’s wrists as tight as possible, whispering to himself looped words “tick-tack”, to remain cold-blooded. In all that tragedy, Grief sighed with “relief” that the other man despite being a physician, cut his veins horizontally. Maybe he had a chance of saving him. He looked terrified at all of the blood, at Stakh, his former friend, with who he just fucking played marbles, trembling and growling from pain. He grabbed Stakh by both of his cheeks and, shaking, he said “Just…stay alive. Stay alive, Stakh. I will be back in a moment.”

Grief grabbed his coat on his back while moving and ran as fast as he could, as he was chased by a guard. But he was only chased by a vision of Rubin’s death and how now everything was depending on him. He did not think long about it. He had no idea where healers were, but he knew one person, who knew something about medicine.

His favorite bar owner and a former medical student, Andrey.

Well, he just hoped that this something of his medical knowledge will be enough for saving Rubin’s life.

Andrey was in a drunken haze when he heard his name being called. It sounded as if it had come from the depths of an abyss yet habit made him expect otherwise. His thoughts shuffled to try and understand what it could be. He hadn’t scorned anyone as of late, and he had spent most of the day with Eva. The thought of her was what intoxicated him the most. He had drunk a few bottles, but after she had left he just let himself completely go. He sought a real source of inspiration to appease her the next time their paths crossed. His thoughts of changing the Stillwater seemed pointless in essence. Surely if she wanted changes, she would have just told him so. Even his paintings would probably never truly get to her heart either...

POV: Andrey Stamatin Status: @twyrineconcoction

Though her mood seemed quite low, at least she had found a subject that seemed to bring some interest out of her. Andrey could understand the sentiment. Both him and his brother also adored their own creations, and though the sentiments his little brother had were stronger than his, he also felt deeply connected to the buildings.

He had to shake his head upon hearing the rumors she spoke of. Normally he’d be aware of everything that happened in the town, but he had barely been inside the broken heart yesterday, and even today he left as soon as he could. But the thought that Eva felt as drawn to a building as he and his brother were was endearing in it’s own way. There were so many reasons for why he loved this woman, and yet the way she phrased her thoughts only heightened his feelings. Who else in this town saw buildings as they did… The Kains cared for them, that was true, but not in the same sense that they did. They were a mere tool for the Kains, while for Eva, himself and his little brother, they were kin.

“I’ll put a stop to these rumors.”

Andrey’s words came with a soft smile. Rumors were easily made, but also easily stopped; he just had to spread the word as soon as he returned, whenever that would be.

“We can visit it too. Either before or after you’ve had something to eat.”

After his suggestion, the architect waved the small bag he had brought with the loaf of bread and twyrine for this exact purpose. Even with all of her worries, she still had to take care of herself.

The Cathedral was close enough too. He had already planned to spend the entire day with Eva to protect her from what she feared the day before, if she wanted to wander through the town, at least he’d be there to keep her safe. Luckily the Cathedral wasn’t filled with children or in a country he was forbidden to visit like his beloved creations were.

POV: Eva Yan Status: @twyrine-den​

He spoke out of his heart. It was a rare sight for most, but one that Eva genuinely adored. He wouldn’t keep any secrets from her. He wouldn’t lie and most importantly, he would never leave her behind. If Andrey put his mind into protecting her from any rumors, she could be sure they would be gone by the next day. But rumors weren’t what the woman was so afraid of. The people could talk for all she cared, blame her for whatever they saw fit. She had already put her mind into this. She knew what was about to come and although she wasn’t afraid of the end, she was definitely scared of the way it would happen. It hadn’t come to her, not yet. Perhaps another sleepless night could solve her last doubts.

“Maybe we shouldn’t… Not today.”

If they did, Eva was sure she wouldn’t be able to leave. The heart of the Cathedral laid in shambles. And up to this point, there seemed to be only a handful of people who were actually aware of it. Maria and her, Daniil, obviously. Perhaps the other remaining Kains. And Andrey… He’s never been this protective of her. As if he feared what would happen. A deep-planted knowledge of what could pretty much happen tomorrow. She was afraid of leaving him behind if she really did pull through with her plan. Although she figured he would understand. That much would be enough for her if it meant she could keep the Cathedral intact. One of the buildings that were crucial to their town. Not only in its structure, but also its meaning and its power. What it gave to the people without ever asking for something in return. Protecting it meant protecting the town. The Bachelor wouldn’t be able to break time if he went back, he wouldn’t…

“You know… I’m almost happy now, Dryushka. I’ve found a way to help everyone. But hush, it’s a secret for now.” 

For the first time, she could actually smile today. Being at peace with her decision despite her overall exhaustion. Walking back to Andrey, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him in a long embrace. She wanted to be with him, at least for today. Hold him for as many times as she liked before she could no longer do it. It almost felt like farewell, even though they still had the entire day to themselves. Eva knew this would last until the end. This bitter taste of knowing how much she would have to hurt him a greater good.  Protecting time meant keeping him alive. And even if her soul was trapped in that building, she could still gaze out. Maybe see him if he ever walked by. He would age, build more, hold this town at the palm of his hand… And she could watch from the very same spot. Maybe he would expand the town into the Steppe… Or he could leave. She banished that thought from her mind, not wanting to have anything interfere with her plans. 

“We could go on a walk. I want to wear the cloak you gave me. Maybe visit your place… You could show me what you’re working on.”

Eva’s words didn’t ease much of Andrey’s mind. If not today, then tomorrow, but how much longer could he avoid his own duties? The town was unlikely to get any better judging by how the days have been.

Regardless of what he had to do in the near future, he embraced the moment and returned all of Eva’s affections. She was always welcome to keep her secrets, as long as her smile remained. Her affections and lighter words were also a pleasant distraction from the chaos in the town, until she suggested to visit his place. He mostly stayed in the Broken Heart, and today he’d rather not have her intrude on his evening plans with the Bachelor.

“To the Broken Heart then.”

Perhaps it was a better choice as well. The Cathedral was a grim place compared to the Broken Heart. At least in the latter they’d have plenty of debauchery at their disposal as well as drinks, a comfortable place to lay in and anything else they’d desire.

Andrey placed a soft, playful peck on Eva’s neck and led her out of the Stillwater by the hand after. He hurried his pace as they crossed the most dangerous parts of the town, as well as the ones where screams could easily be heard coming from the nearby buildings. It wasn’t a sight he wanted Eva to see or be in for long. His steps only slowed once he pushed the large warehouse’s door open. Though the air was still thick outside, it seemed to be bearable inside the pub. He didn’t waste much time in the Broken Heart’s main room, only briefly greeting the barkeep and waving half-heartedly to the dancing herb bride on the stage. His focus was in the backroom where he knew Eva would be able to rest.

Before even announcing anything else, Andrey tossed every sheet and pillow he could find onto his couch. It wasn’t as comfortable and luxurious as what Eva had in the Stillwater, but it was still better than no comfort at all. He then promptly laid the bread and the twyrine bottle on the nearest cupboard for her to take at her leisure. With the room roughly arranged to accommodate one of his favorite guests, he then allowed his attention to shift to just what he had been doing as of late. Thoughts of the horrible mindset he was in cropped back into his mind, though he quickly dismissed whatever statue he might have wanted to make and other such nonsense. He instead chose to dig through his personal paper piles, tucked away in one of his table drawers with only a little more care and order than his little brother would have had.

It was nice to get out of her walls for once. Even if the Stillwater did not pressure her the way it did with others, staying so close to the Cathedral did make her rather sad than happy to finally have some time to spend with Andrey. It was different in the Broken Heart. Here, she did not have to worry about such problems. Being distracted for once made her loosen up, almost carelessly following him into the backrooms and settling down, as soon as he laid out the pillows for her. She even did not hesitate grabbing the Twyrine, taking a generous sip while Andrey went through his sketches. 

She missed seeing him like this. In his own element, his own place… Everything about this room screamed her boyfriend’s name. And so did his guests - Eva giggled at the thought.  She got up, pulling one of the lighter blankets over her shoulders like a cape. Eva knew the drawers he was going through. Often watching him rummage through their contents whenever an idea struck him that he wanted to put on paper asap.  Walking up behind him, she more or less tried to look over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the sketch he was eyeing. 

“What are you looking at?”

Eva knew she caught him off-guard, smiling slyly at his expression. Although she was genuinely interested in the figures she saw. It was a fun idea to know he’d been practicing a lot more act lately. It didn’t always have to be structures and buildings. Something different from the usual… that’s what they all needed.  Something that would draw their attention away from the pain and loss.

Andrey didn’t often blush, but his smile did curl into a sheepish grin as Eva peeked behind him. He shamelessly offered the papers to her after. To him they were lines and curves and to Eva, though she likely saw beyond the graphite techniques used, she wasn’t likely to judge the theme portrayed in it either.

“Distractions.” The architect explained, even if he didn’t have to. Among his drawings were sketches of all types of body shapes, some more explicit than others, as well as other abstract portrayals of passing thoughts. He didn’t have to say how they came about either. Everyone in town knew how he coped with difficult times; Eva was no different.

After handing over the papers he was just about to look for more when he suddenly paused and looked up at Eva. Seeing her with a bottle in hand only made her more attractive in his eyes. Thoughts of getting intoxicated with her filled his mind, though so too did putting the sight of her into paper. With a rekindled vigor, Andrey reached for a new bundle of papers, this time blank, as well as a bottle of his own and a pencil. He could always do both.

“Too many madmen in town lately!” Andrey huffed as he dragged his pencil across the papers in a wide arc to capture Eva’s general position. With the first stroke done, he took a hefty amount of the twyrine bottle. “Just keeping this place intact has been a headache of it’s own.” He recalled a few words he left when he was leaving the pub earlier today. By the sounds of it, a house had burned down, though that was a topic he’d rather avoid with his present company. If the crowd was now burning down buildings, that didn’t bode well for the two of them. “But it will remain standing for as long as I’m around.” Andrey added with a small smirk on his lips before turning his attention back to his sketch.

POV: Andrey Stamatin Status: @twyrineconcoction

Though her mood seemed quite low, at least she had found a subject that seemed to bring some interest out of her. Andrey could understand the sentiment. Both him and his brother also adored their own creations, and though the sentiments his little brother had were stronger than his, he also felt deeply connected to the buildings.

He had to shake his head upon hearing the rumors she spoke of. Normally he’d be aware of everything that happened in the town, but he had barely been inside the broken heart yesterday, and even today he left as soon as he could. But the thought that Eva felt as drawn to a building as he and his brother were was endearing in it’s own way. There were so many reasons for why he loved this woman, and yet the way she phrased her thoughts only heightened his feelings. Who else in this town saw buildings as they did… The Kains cared for them, that was true, but not in the same sense that they did. They were a mere tool for the Kains, while for Eva, himself and his little brother, they were kin.

“I’ll put a stop to these rumors.”

Andrey’s words came with a soft smile. Rumors were easily made, but also easily stopped; he just had to spread the word as soon as he returned, whenever that would be.

“We can visit it too. Either before or after you’ve had something to eat.”

After his suggestion, the architect waved the small bag he had brought with the loaf of bread and twyrine for this exact purpose. Even with all of her worries, she still had to take care of herself.

The Cathedral was close enough too. He had already planned to spend the entire day with Eva to protect her from what she feared the day before, if she wanted to wander through the town, at least he’d be there to keep her safe. Luckily the Cathedral wasn’t filled with children or in a country he was forbidden to visit like his beloved creations were.

POV: Eva Yan Status: @twyrine-den​

He spoke out of his heart. It was a rare sight for most, but one that Eva genuinely adored. He wouldn’t keep any secrets from her. He wouldn’t lie and most importantly, he would never leave her behind. If Andrey put his mind into protecting her from any rumors, she could be sure they would be gone by the next day. But rumors weren’t what the woman was so afraid of. The people could talk for all she cared, blame her for whatever they saw fit. She had already put her mind into this. She knew what was about to come and although she wasn’t afraid of the end, she was definitely scared of the way it would happen. It hadn’t come to her, not yet. Perhaps another sleepless night could solve her last doubts.

“Maybe we shouldn’t… Not today.”

If they did, Eva was sure she wouldn’t be able to leave. The heart of the Cathedral laid in shambles. And up to this point, there seemed to be only a handful of people who were actually aware of it. Maria and her, Daniil, obviously. Perhaps the other remaining Kains. And Andrey… He’s never been this protective of her. As if he feared what would happen. A deep-planted knowledge of what could pretty much happen tomorrow. She was afraid of leaving him behind if she really did pull through with her plan. Although she figured he would understand. That much would be enough for her if it meant she could keep the Cathedral intact. One of the buildings that were crucial to their town. Not only in its structure, but also its meaning and its power. What it gave to the people without ever asking for something in return. Protecting it meant protecting the town. The Bachelor wouldn’t be able to break time if he went back, he wouldn’t…

“You know… I’m almost happy now, Dryushka. I’ve found a way to help everyone. But hush, it’s a secret for now.” 

For the first time, she could actually smile today. Being at peace with her decision despite her overall exhaustion. Walking back to Andrey, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him in a long embrace. She wanted to be with him, at least for today. Hold him for as many times as she liked before she could no longer do it. It almost felt like farewell, even though they still had the entire day to themselves. Eva knew this would last until the end. This bitter taste of knowing how much she would have to hurt him a greater good.  Protecting time meant keeping him alive. And even if her soul was trapped in that building, she could still gaze out. Maybe see him if he ever walked by. He would age, build more, hold this town at the palm of his hand… And she could watch from the very same spot. Maybe he would expand the town into the Steppe… Or he could leave. She banished that thought from her mind, not wanting to have anything interfere with her plans. 

“We could go on a walk. I want to wear the cloak you gave me. Maybe visit your place… You could show me what you’re working on.”

Eva’s words didn’t ease much of Andrey’s mind. If not today, then tomorrow, but how much longer could he avoid his own duties? The town was unlikely to get any better judging by how the days have been.

Regardless of what he had to do in the near future, he embraced the moment and returned all of Eva’s affections. She was always welcome to keep her secrets, as long as her smile remained. Her affections and lighter words were also a pleasant distraction from the chaos in the town, until she suggested to visit his place. He mostly stayed in the Broken Heart, and today he’d rather not have her intrude on his evening plans with the Bachelor.

“To the Broken Heart then.”

Perhaps it was a better choice as well. The Cathedral was a grim place compared to the Broken Heart. At least in the latter they’d have plenty of debauchery at their disposal as well as drinks, a comfortable place to lay in and anything else they’d desire.

Andrey placed a soft, playful peck on Eva’s neck and led her out of the Stillwater by the hand after. He hurried his pace as they crossed the most dangerous parts of the town, as well as the ones where screams could easily be heard coming from the nearby buildings. It wasn’t a sight he wanted Eva to see or be in for long. His steps only slowed once he pushed the large warehouse’s door open. Though the air was still thick outside, it seemed to be bearable inside the pub. He didn’t waste much time in the Broken Heart’s main room, only briefly greeting the barkeep and waving half-heartedly to the dancing herb bride on the stage. His focus was in the backroom where he knew Eva would be able to rest.

Before even announcing anything else, Andrey tossed every sheet and pillow he could find onto his couch. It wasn’t as comfortable and luxurious as what Eva had in the Stillwater, but it was still better than no comfort at all. He then promptly laid the bread and the twyrine bottle on the nearest cupboard for her to take at her leisure. With the room roughly arranged to accommodate one of his favorite guests, he then allowed his attention to shift to just what he had been doing as of late. Thoughts of the horrible mindset he was in cropped back into his mind, though he quickly dismissed whatever statue he might have wanted to make and other such nonsense. He instead chose to dig through his personal paper piles, tucked away in one of his table drawers with only a little more care and order than his little brother would have had.