|
|
Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 5, 2013 19:44:22 GMT -8
tagged: pasha. time: april 29th, 10am. notes: date is changeable, just pm. Mikhail feared the building in front of him. Everything was different. The building went up, rather than down. It was air conditioned, rather than heated. It even had windows. Windows might have seemed simple to most, but to Mikhail they were a luxury of luxuries. There was very little to see through windows in Antarctica--little other than the white of a snow or the darkness of night--and they leaked heat without extensive preparation. They were expensive and unnecessary, and few had existed in the compound. To see a whole building, seemingly made entirely from windows (although reflective from the outside) was a strange and bizarre sight.
Most of LA was strange and bizarre sights, and while he'd spent his time getting used to things, that time was quickly running short. In two days he would start work proper--and even now he had to report in, to retrieve his artifact so he could get used to it before he was actually required to work.
It was not looking very promising as he stepped inside, shoulders squared. He was formal as anything, heading right for the elevator. He knew where to go and what to do--go to the fifth floor, to the society proper. Check in. Get taken to the vaults to pick it up. Everything should have been ready.
It wasn't. It wasn't at all. They knew he was a society member, but his paperwork was gone. Supposedly, his artifact was ready, but he wasn't able to get through the door. The guard was sympathetic, if unable to help, and after a few minutes of increasingly frantic discussion, he finally agreed--he'd let Mikhail through and escort him to his superior's office.
Normally that would have been the director, but they were out that day, which meant the second for the whole damn area was more likely to be able to help. His stomach was twisting uncomfortably as it so often did as the guard knocked, popping his head in and giving a two second heads up before scooting Mikhail in the door, right into the second's office.
Why did it feel like he was in the belly of the beast? |
|
|
|
Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Jun 6, 2013 5:10:35 GMT -8
tagged: Mikhail Usenko. time: April 29, 10AM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. The office space smelled of coffee, though he never noticed that anymore. Why should he? He’d been in here for the past couple of years, moved up from that dank old one that he used to have back in Russia. He was almost never at his desk back in Russia, though, so that certainly helped. He was always out somewhere, doing something, breaking this or that or loading up a gun in a mad scramble to save his own life. Addicted to adrenaline might’ve been it, but then again, the rest of his family was practically the same.
There usually wasn’t much work in the mornings; the leftovers from the night before were usually the source of his woes at this hour. Still, he had time to pick up a newspaper and flip through it, keeping track of the daily news and the like both in Russia and in the States. Information had to keep flowing, after all; if Russia needed him, they’d call him right back, even if he was technically retired. The Impedio Society, however, might go on and fabricate some story to keep him from leaving if they felt that they needed him.
Of course, there always had to be distractions and disturbances. As he was skimming the obituaries, wondering if anything could be found there and what he should go grocery shopping for the next day, a guard peeked in. Something about getting proper clearance for a guy whose paperwork had basically gone missing. Well, alright, why couldn’t somebody else take care of that? The director was gone. Excellent.
Pasha just gave a dismissive wave of his hand, allowing the person in as his eyes went back down tot the newspaper to finish the section he was reading. He didn’t look back up until it was on his own terms, and that was when he was finished, neatly folding the paper and putting it at one corner of his desk.
The man standing in front of him was thin, almost like a rail, and pale as hell. Even his hair was a powdery white-grey colour, his eyes were at least a slightly darker grey, and he wore a crisp shirt. Pasha hadn’t seen him around the office before, so he could only suppose he was new, or a transfer. Pasha didn’t keep track of them all; they really came in and out like ants in a nest. |
|
|
|
Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 6, 2013 19:38:40 GMT -8
tagged: pasha. time: april 29th, 10am. notes: date is changeable, just pm. Mikhail wasn't sure what to make of the man. He was large--that much was obvious, even with him sitting down--and badly scarred. The most obvious ran across the left side of his mouth, but really they were just all over. One over his nose, one on his chin. He even thought there might have been one just under his collar, but it might have easily just been a hair or a fallen piece of string, and he was far too nervous to stare at it. He had plenty of scars of his own after all, and while most of them were hidden away under his clothes, centered on his torso or limbs, a few peeked out on his hands. Scars were nothing new to him.
He might have been used to scars, but he certainly wasn't used to what happened next. The guard gave his little salute and then headed back to his post, leaving Mikhail behind with the door closed. And then... well, the man at the desk just went right back to his newspaper. Mikhail simply stood there, becoming increasingly more awkward as time went on. Was he supposed to do something? Had he done something wrong? Had the man somehow forgot he was there? Maybe he should have cleared his throat--only he was far, far too nervous for that, standing stock still for what felt like several hours, even if it was only for a few minutes.
When the newspaper was finally folded up, he felt relief run through him. At least they could actually start... well, whatever it was they needed to start. Searching for his paperwork, he supposed. Calling Antarctica, maybe. It was June, which meant it was night, and everyone kept different schedules. There was no real need for timezones or set schedules when the sun never rose, and there would certainly be someone up.
Only he still wasn't talking. He was looking at him, but not talking, which was just making Mikhail even more nervous. He was going to have to do something, wasn't he? He had to, or else they'd just stand there in silence forever. Introductions seemed suitable, and he took a careful step forward.
"My name is Mikhail Usenko. I'm supposed to have been transferred to work here from the Antarctica central branch, but I believe my paperwork has been misplaced." Or at least part of it had. |
|
|
|
Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Jun 7, 2013 13:14:01 GMT -8
tagged: Mikhail Usenko. time: April 29, 10AM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Pasha was unimpressed just by looking at him. Was he an intern of some sort? Or perhaps a new transfer; he’d never seen him around here before, so there was little reason to expect any differently. Too nervous and fidgety for somebody of any proper rank was the next thing that came to his mind, so he wasn’t the one to extend his name and introductions first.
The one thing that stood out to him was the accent; it was very clearly Russian, and with the introduction of his name to the mix, then it was probably undeniable. That helped to soften him just a bit, but it wasn’t much at all. So, a Mikhail Usenko from Antarctica; one of a rare breed, so he’d heard. Cold, and definitely colder than where he’d come from, though where he came from had the title of coldest place of permanent residence. Well, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose, right?
He considered it for a couple of seconds, still staring right at Mikhail as if he hadn’t heard him at all. Where were the transfer papers? He received a pile this morning and was supposed to redirect them, right? Finally, as if he finally realized he was there, he began to sift through the piles on his desk, searching for that folder.
”You need clearance papers, yes?” His accent was so thick, you could cut it with a knife… or not. Yeah, pretty thick. |
|
|
|
Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 9, 2013 10:49:32 GMT -8
tagged: pasha. time: april 29th, 10am. notes: date is changeable, just pm. Mikhail was only growing more and more nervous by the second. Was he supposed to do something? Had he been misinformed when people told him that working here was much like working in Antarctica, only not as cold? Was there some formality he would have to do in order to draw the man's attention once more? He was still just waiting, and his mind was spiraling through all the possibilities, all of them bad. He was not a particularly optimistic person at the best of times, and starting a new job in a new place only made things all the worse. Every possibility seemed to be worse than the last, to the point where he nearly missed it when the man finally did speak.
Russian. That was his first thought, before his brain even caught up and registered what he'd said. Russian, an accent so thick you could cut it with a knife, and deeply familiar. His uncle and his parents had spoken with that accent, only not as thick, since they'd spent so long speaking English in Antarctica. The accent told him that the man had obviously not been speaking English as his primary language for as long as Mikhail's family. A transfer, then? Was he just here from Russia, or had he been there for years?
Wait no--it was no time for that. No time for worrying, and he straightened up, finally answering. "I - they have those. They know I can be here, they just can't find my transfers, to show I'll actually work here." They knew he was a member, they just couldn't find the stuff to say that he was their member. For all the paperwork said, he might as well have still been working in Antarctica. |
|
|
|
Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Jun 10, 2013 4:24:43 GMT -8
tagged: Mikhail Usenko. time: April 29, 10AM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Transfers weren’t his department, so to speak. He rarely dealt with them because, in general, they were below him. He didn’t deal with people very well either way, so there was no point in redirecting the recruits and the like through him if he was just going to scare them away anyways. But since the person that usually dealt with them was away and there was generally nobody else who had the papers, it was now up to him and he was really, really not appreciating the fact.
The pile of folders sitting at one corner shrunk gradually as he sifted through them all. He was looking for one transfer out of several, out of a pile that still needed to be sorted. Why had he taken this promotion again? Right, because he seemed to have little choice; the doctors that dealt with him didn’t want him in the field too often anymore, but it wasn’t exactly stopping him, now was it?
But as the pile shrunk and his transfers still didn’t show, Pasha glanced up at him once more. ”Are you sure you’re supposed to have transferred to this branch?” He couldn’t seem to find those transfers either, and though he thought that he could easily intimidate the guards into letting Mikhail in, he himself needed that confirmation that Mikhail wasn’t some rogue member that decided he needed another artifact. Either that, or he was some misfire that happened to land at the wrong place, which technically wasn’t his problem until Mikhail became a problem.
|
|
|
|
Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 12, 2013 18:11:47 GMT -8
tagged: pasha. time: april 29th, 10am. notes: date is changeable, just pm. His worry only grew as the pile shrunk and shrunk. How could they have lost it? Well, he knew how they could have--the society was a massive intercontinental organization that had thousands upon thousands of members. Any group with even a dozen members was at risk of getting mired in bureaucracy, and with a group as large as the society, it wasn't a matter of 'if' as it was a matter of 'when'. Paperwork would get lost, and it would do so regularly.
Maybe he could help. Maybe he just could explain things... without actually touching on the reasons why. "I'm transferring from the central Antarctica branch. It's supposed to be here for sure--I was hospitalized in the Cedars-Sanai hospital in LA, even. Adjusting from the cold to the LA heat was jarring, and they said they wouldn't transfer me again to avoid making it worse." And supposedly LA was the place to be with all the activity going on. They actually needed more staff, so it had been a mostly perfect fit.
Plus it didn't feel like so much of a downgrade. Antarctica had been a major hub for hunter activity, and moving from hunting in Antarctica to working the vaults in some backcountry minor branch would have been a serious demotion. Everyone had insisted that he wasn't being demoted--just relocated.
Only now he was wondering if he had been demoted. What if he was moved to some outpost in a remote location, where the entire vault amounted to a safe under someone's bed? What if they just hadn't told him? He could feel the panic rising in his throat at the idea of it. What if they just hadn't told him? |
|
|
|
Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Jun 14, 2013 16:34:57 GMT -8
tagged: Mikhail Usenko. time: April 29, 10AM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Pasha picked up the last folder and paused a moment, staring down at it before cracking it open and flipping to the first leaf of paper. A brown haired man stared back at him; not Mikhail Usenko, but some other one from out west. Well, the pale man’s file was certainly not in here, and he wasn’t entirely sure where it could’ve been. He had better things to do than chase a file around headquarters, but for today, it was supposedly his job. Damn it.
Pasha sighed and pushed the last one aside, finally standing from his seat. ”Well, I’m afraid that whatever your reasons, your file isn’t here.” Antarctica sounded like one hell of a trip, though. There weren’t any permanent residents in Antarctica, and Pasha came from the coldest permanent place of residence in the world.
”It might be with the secretary, or in the other office.” In which case, he’d need to go. What didn’t escape his notice when he stood was how he towered over Mikhail, but that was to be expected and he’d long grown used to it. He was awfully thin, though. How the hell had he survived Antarctica? Pasha liked to rough it out, and artifacts to aid survival didn’t really occur to him to use all the time. Sure, if he was dying, he’d go ahead and do so. He liked regular equipment a lot better.
|
|
|
|
Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 14, 2013 20:06:05 GMT -8
tagged: pasha. time: april 29th, 10am. notes: date is changeable, just pm. It wasn't there, and he felt all the more nervous--a little uncomfortable flutter in his chest that told him things weren't going to be alright. That there'd been some kind of mistake, that he'd never get his artifact. That he'd been shipped off to who knew where, to some remote outpost... no, no thinking about that. He pushed the thought away, repeatedly telling himself that it wasn't like that. He would be fine.
With the secretary or another office. That was fine, and he was going to worry over it right up until the point where the man stood. The surprise probably showed on his face, his head tilting back as his eyes widened. He had to be at least six foot eight, and he'd later discover he was estimating two inches short of Pasha's actual height. He hesitated, then stood himself, feeling downright shrimpy. If the man so much as coughed at him, he was liable to splatter against the wall. He was big and bulky. Even as a hunter, Mikhail had still been lithe, muscular but still slim. He'd never been as bulky as the man before him, and it took him a moment to force himself to not stare.
He imagined the man probably got that a lot.
"I'll come with you, if that's all right sir. I doubt they'll want me hanging around in offices with no paperwork." Because the society was anything if not security conscious.
|
|
|
|
Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Jun 17, 2013 4:35:03 GMT -8
tagged: Mikhail Usenko. time: April 29, 10AM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Yes, he got enough stairs on a daily basis that he ceased to notice them, mostly. Years and years of hunting without an artifact, as well as growing up in a military family where bulkiness ran in the blood tended to do that. He rarely used his shield even now, and it often laid leaning against the back wall of his office or hung on his bedroom wall. It was simple looking enough, so at the very least it wasn’t garish. He barely noticed at all when Mikhail went wide eyed at him, and simply brushed past him towards the office door.
Pasha gave a mild nod when Mikhail asked to come with him; nothing wrong with that, after all. The Impedio Society tended to be extremely heavy on security, and having someone hanging around with no paperwork somehow hit him at a sour note. He certainly wouldn’t have been afraid to tackle him if he found someone like Mikhail in the halls. He might’ve broken him in half if he did so, and in fact, Mikhail looked like he’d snap if he so much as touched him.
The transfers office was just down the hall. The headquarters themselves looked like any other office building, and in all honesty, he wasn’t partial. He was used to running around the outdoors, and even at home in Russia, staying inside wasn’t exactly a thing unless you were having a meal or going to bed.
The inside of the office was neat, but there were still piles of paperwork strewn about and Pasha definitely found that to his distaste. It’d just make everything harder to find, but it wasn’t his office and he’d be damned if he was in charge of cleaning up after somebody else.
|
|
|
|
Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 19, 2013 21:24:17 GMT -8
tagged: pasha. time: april 29th, 10am. notes: date is changeable, just pm. To describe the man as intimidating was to vastly underestimate it. He was massive and more then a little bit scary. Even for someone who'd been raised as a hunter, everything about the man screamed 'I could crush you like a grape'. Mikhail was all the more aware of just how small he was by comparison as he trailed the man down the hall, growing more nervous by the second.
It seemed like karma at work that he had a screw-up before he'd even officially returned to work. It was practically fate itself (although not Fate) that something would go wrong, and he found himself wilting under the pressure. It couldn't even be described as cracking, because that would have implied more internal fortitude then Mikhail had remaining.
It didn't help that there was, all things considered, very little he could do. If he tried to get involved, digging through piles, he'd likely make things even worse then they were, and he'd almost certainly be on the receiving end of a harsh glare. All he could do was stand there, just inside the door but a bit off to the side (out of the way in case anyone else showed up) and then do his best to continue the conversation.
Which was awkward. There were no two ways around it, but he was going to try just the same, because if he didn't want to be shipped off to some remote base in the middle of Africa, he was going to have to be on good terms with anyone and everyone.
"Are you from mainland Russia then?" He asked in English, wondering if speaking outright in Russian was a bit too forward. His accent wasn't as thick, but he still spoke Russian fluently. |
|
|
|
Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Jun 21, 2013 12:37:46 GMT -8
tagged: Mikhail Usenko. time: April 29, 10AM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. He shuffled almost noiselessly through, picking up one at a time, peering in and putting it down more neatly than he’d found it. He couldn’t stand things being out of place or too dirty, so he’d probably make the place a little nicer while he was looking through. Not that he particularily enjoyed it, but at least he was working on making it more bearable. God knew it was almost unbearable being in America in the first place.
A glance over his shoulder when Mikhail spoke, before nodding and going back to doing what he was doing. ”Oymyakon, farther up north.” Most Russians haven’t even heard of it, so he wasn’t exactly expecting Mikhail to know. Actually, he was half expecting Mikhail to have been born in America and just picked up the accent from his early childhood by speaking Russian a lot. Yes, he barely had faith in people around him.
|
|
|
|
Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 21, 2013 12:55:35 GMT -8
tagged: pasha. time: april 29th, 10am. notes: date is changeable, just pm. To find out he actually was from Russia was a sweet, sweet relief. One single thing they had in common that Mikhail could work with. Even if he'd been almost entirely sure he was correct, he'd still second guessed himself, worrying that he was really wrong.
He wasn't wrong though, and he took the opportunity to swap into fluent Russian. He'd grown up speaking it, and he was a natural speaker. "I don't know Oymyakon. Is it in the Far East Federal District?" [/i] It sounded like it was, but then Mikhail wasn't very good at working out. There was absolutely no way someone who lived outside of Russia his whole life was going to be able to keep track of all the districts and regions in Russia, especially considering they were constantly changing. "I've never been, but I hope to visit. My family is from there, but I was raised in Antarctica, in the central base--there's a large enough Russian population."[/i] Which was probably too much talking all at once, but he was making an honest effort to get on the man's good side. The man whose name he still didn't know.[/div][/div][/center] |
|
|
|
Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Jun 26, 2013 20:16:25 GMT -8
tagged: Mikhail Usenko. time: April 29, 10AM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Pasha was quiet for several more seconds after Mikhail spoke, though he quickly caught up on the Russian and sorted that into a pile of information that he might need for later. So he did know how to speak Russian, properly accented, so he’d probably grown up around at least a fair amount of it. When speaking English, Mikhail’s accept was definitely less thick, so it was more of a raising situation and not growing up fully immersed in that sort of environment. Casual observations that he quickly put away, because that had nothing to do with his job.
”Yes, Far East Federal District.” So far out that a lot of people just thought of it as goddamn Siberia. He, too, had switched over to Russian in that regard when he spoke, knowing Mikhail would understand him now and able to talk a little more freely without a restriction of a language that he found slightly harder to pronounce.
And to be honest, he didn’t quite care where Mikhail or his family came from. They could’ve come from goddamn Cambodia for all he cared; as long as the job was done right, he was content with that.
”I see…” At least he was acknowledging him, finally picking up a thick file and began to flip through it. ”Mikhail Sergeivich Usenko, is it?”
|
|
|
|
Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jun 26, 2013 21:46:30 GMT -8
tagged: pasha. time: april 29th, 10am. notes: date is changeable, just pm. His file! That had to be it, if he'd just managed to say his full name. He relaxed almost immediately--still a tiny bit stressed out, but now significantly less paranoid that he had been transferred and no one had bothered to tell him about it. If they had... well, he wouldn't have had his paperwork misplaced in such a way that people would have to hunt it down. It was too much work for a 'mistake'.
Even still, he kept up the conversation--still in Russian. It was nice to be able to speak it again and have someone speak back in turn without having to struggle. He'd once had to tour around a new transfer who spoke only a little bit of Russian, and that had been downright painful. The man had been eager to try it out, but damn near unintelligible.
"Yes. That's me." Which was one hell of a relief. "Assuming that's the one from Antarctica."
He paused a moment more, realizing that he was missing something entirely. He still did not know the mans name. All things considered, that was probably an important thing to know, and he remained where he was for a moment before deciding it was worth asking.
"I don't believe I got your name." |
|
|
|
Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Jul 2, 2013 12:54:53 GMT -8
tagged: Mikhail Usenko. time: April 29, 10AM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Antarctica… He dug into it a bit more and found that yes, this was the right one. Antarctica really wouldn’t have been his first pick when it came to transfers, but that wasn’t his jurisdiction, so he realistically had nothing to complain about. As long as Mikhail didn’t prove himself troublesome, which he definitely didn’t look like he’d do, then this might’ve been a one time meeting and little else.
He handed the folder to Mikhail with a little nod; it was what he needed to get through to the archives, after all. Realistically, he was expecting them to part ways at that point with a polite thank you and little else, before Mikhail asked for his name. He was second in command, so he sort of expected people to know, though he couldn’t exactly blame him for transferring in fresh from a frozen wasteland.
”Pasha Mikhaylichenko-Molotov.” A strange name for most, and unpronounceable by the majority. Even his higher ups often tried using shortened version, something which he didn’t appreciate at all.
|
|
|
|
Post by MIKHAIL USENKO on Jul 2, 2013 13:20:02 GMT -8
tagged: pasha. time: april 29th, 10am. notes: date is changeable, just pm. He felt filled with relief, like there was nothing else inside him. He hadn't been transferred without his knowledge. He was meant to be there, and his folder missing was just completely unrelated. He had been worrying over nothing at all.
As for the man's name... well, that was a handful even by Russian standards. Even so, he was one of the few people on the base who could not only pronounce it right, but do so on the first attempt.
"Thank you for your assistance then, Mr. Mikhaylichenko-Molotov." He'd actually helped him quite a bit, whether he believed so or not. He gave him a little salute even, straightening up.
It was nice to have someone else around who spoke Russian.
"Assuming you don't need me for anything, I need to get to the vaults for artifact assignment." Which he was going to be late for if he didn't get going. |
|
DESTINY
UNKNOWN ENTITY
ANCIENT GUIDE
Posts: 221
|
Post by DESTINY on Jul 17, 2013 14:03:42 GMT -8
| [cs=3][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding: 0px; width: 500px; background: transparent url('http://i.imgur.com/JUKLO.png') no-repeat;,true] | | [atrb=width,111][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,padding-left: 8px; padding-top:3px;] | [atrb=width,76][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,padding-left: 0px; padding-top:3px;] | [atrb=width,313][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,padding-left: 0px; padding-top:3px;] | | [cs=3][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,width: 460px; text-align: center; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 20px;] FINISHED | [cs=3][atrb=style,width: 460px; text-align: center; padding-left: 20px; padding-right: 20px;]
DESTINY HAS NOTICED YOUR PRESENCE | [cs=3][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,width: 450px; text-align: center; padding-left: 25px; padding-right: 25px;]
You have both been rewarded with 1 RESIDUE as this thread is now complete. It has been placed in the archives under the 'finished' sub-board. You are more than welcome to PM fate if this thread is not finished or if you are unhappy/unsatisfied with the amount of fate that has been rewarded. Keep up the great work and keep posting with other members. | [cs=3][atrb=valign,top][atrb=style,width: 500px; height: 35px;] |
[newclass=.boorder img]-webkit-border-radius: 100px;-moz-border-radius: 100x;border-radius: 100px; float: left; height: 100px; width: 100px;[/newclass][newclass=.boorder2 img]-webkit-border-radius: 100px;-moz-border-radius: 100x;border-radius: 100px; float: left; height: 70px; width: 70px;[/newclass][newclass=.boorder]-webkit-border-radius: 100px;-moz-border-radius: 100px;border-radius: 100px; border: 4ps solid #ffffff; height: 100px; width: 100px;[/newclass][newclass=.boorder2]-webkit-border-radius: 100px;-moz-border-radius: 100px;border-radius: 100px; border: 4ps solid #ffffff; height: 100px; width: 100px;[/newclass] |
|
