maksimkurylenko
MAKSIM
Thirty-Eight. The russian mob. Loyalist.
Son of Arkady Kurylenko
264 posts
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if you had to walk into the room with everyone you've ever met, who would you go looking for first?
@viktoriya-kurylenko
Maksim's eyes lifted, zoning in for a brief moment as her name fell from his lips, no thought needed, "Vika." shoulders lifting into an easy-make shift shrug. "There is no one that will be more important to me than my sister, regardless of time. She is the single most important person to me in this world."
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It felt wrong to be standing here, purple smudges under his eyes from the lack of sleep that had overcome him. Aviv being taken had never been a part of the plan, and shouldn't have even been a possibility. And yet, there they stood. In an apartment that felt like a fucking shell. A beat, felt like an hour.
He didn't have the answers for her, not the ones he wanted to give her. Where is he Maks? Her voice echoed like a record on repeat, it wasn't her fault, he understood. The French. The words were on the edge of his tongue but he couldn't tell her. Adriana was prone to making irrational decisions in times of grief. Russian Roulette, ring a bell? He couldn't have her running in, guns blazing. It might get both of them killed, and for that, he'd never forgive himself.
"We don't know...no one knows."
@maksimkurylenko
She was at his apartment again, and this time Pete wasn't able to stop her. She wasn't drunk nor she had taken anything, it was just something she needed to do. She just needed to be somewhere because already there wasn't anything that she was able to do.
Once inside, she looked up at Maks. "You told me he'd be fine, you told me you'd get him." It had been over a month. She didn't know if Aviv was buried somewhere or flowing in the bottom of the ocean. There was nothing. "Where is he, Maks?"
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The conversation halted as abruptly as it'd begun.
One minute ocean orbs had been tracing the contours of an almost perfectly symmetrical face, framed in the most gorgeous red. Even if he could tell it was a cheap box dye from the corner shop, it suited her.
Who the fuck else? Nico -- that crazy mother fu--
Maksim's breath came out in ragged, shallow bursts, almost doubling over as the piercing pain was enough for that smooth exterior to crumble.
Rage, pain, anger flickered over his features in a matter of seconds. The redhead he'd been attempting to charm only moments ago now wore a look that sat somewhere between shock and utter confusion, but still, she stayed rooted to her seat, eyes wide, unsure of how to react.
She couldn't see what Nico held, even he wasn't sure? A knife? A fucking pen? Her satan nails? The bustling noise of the club around them seemed muffled momentarily as if the sudden shock had dulled his senses. Breath, he demanded, in, out.
It hadn't hit any organs, he was sure…he hoped. Grunting.
"Nico," he managed to hiss through gritted teeth, "What the actual fuck are you doing?" his hand finding the hot liquid that now clung to his shirt, as he reigned himself in. If this was anyone else, he would've snapped their neck without thinking. But this was Nico.
Crazy came with her, and he'd signed the invisible contract.
"Apologies -- " he turned back to where the redhead had been sitting, only to find her gone. Like dust in the wind, a heavy sigh heaved from between his lips. Well fuck. What had the witch in such a foul mood happened to be his next line of thought. "Right, thanks for that. Let's walk."
The sensation of the cold metal buried in his flesh made every step excruciating. He could feel the warmth of his own blood trickling down his side, and with each movement, it seemed to spread, soaking further into his shirt. The crowd around them was blissfully unaware, too engrossed in their own revelries to notice. Oblivion, it was a beautiful thing and something he was glad to have none of. With that came disappointment. Aware, he could make decisions and choices -- except for those on his own fucking side, It seemed.
Walking into the washroom, stepping aside, he locked the door behind them the second they entered. "Check the stalls," he gestured with his chin as he took a moment to take a look at her handy work in the mirror with a grunt. "Fucking hell, Nico. Really? What's with the dramatics? If you wanted the redhead, all you had to do was ask…I would've shared."
LOCATION — The Basement, Russian Nightclub.
DATE — Mid April, 2024 [flashback]
STARTER — closed for @maksimkurylenko
Her good friend Maksim is enjoying the company of a redhead who may or may not be a prostitute when Nico finally spots him and stalks up from behind. She reaches out to snake a hand down his arm, in a manner that might have looked sensual were it not for the immediate burst of searing pain that follows, as a foreign object is impaled swiftly and decisively into the space between his spine and his right flank.
The reason for her other hand – now covering his own – becomes clear at this point, steadying the drink he is holding, lest he drop it and cause an unnecessary ruckus. Already his hand is shaking, and he can't bite back the low groan. She's too short to reach his ear, so Nico merely tilts her chin up, letting her voice carry over the lordotic curve of his spine. "Come, Maksim. We go on little walk."
It isn't an invitation, anymore than the 2.5 x 50mm mini screwdriver currently lodged in the muscle of his back. Already a rivulet of blood is running down, staining his shirt light crimson. The Romanian woman shoves him away from his present company and in the direction of the nearest washrooms, grip firm around her steering tool.
"Little talk, Maksim... Between friends."
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Maksim: Anyone? It's been another fucking day.
Russian Group Chat
Vika: Has anyone heard from or seen Aviv?
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Maksim's heart steadied as he scanned the room, slowly he saw it rise, those tensions that had been at snapping point all night were setting loose, his grip tightening on Isla's arm. "You're leaving," he confirmed, urgency lacing his tone. "That was real, very fucking real," it was hard to see, Ilya, like that, "and we need to get out of here before things get worse."
He couldn't go far, he had responsibilities. But also owed it to Isla as her date.
"I need to find the others after I get you out," he muttered, more to himself than to Isla, though he didn't loosen his hold on her. "Stay close, okay?" He maneuvered through the crowd quickly, slipping and pushing and pressing them out of the way, Maksim's senses on high alert.
"Where were you?"
It took Isla a moment to get her bearings as she found herself back out in the hallway. It wasn't like she'd often visited the Berkley Estate, and with her head spinning the way it was, it took a moment or two before she could rightfully figure out which way the crowd was moving. It seemed a good enough direction than any. Her purse gone, phone gone.. -- and despite seeing a great number of familiar faces, none of the ones she wanted to see broke through the mess of people.
"Was that..." the closet. That was where her phone was. "Was that who I think it was?" The video, the man hung and all but quartered by beasts. Something about the face looking up from the now decapitated head, she knew. You need to go.. "What?" How brow knit together in confusion as she looked around at all those perhaps as unsure as she was. "I'm, yeah.. I'm fine. Was that real?" Fingertips curled into the lapel of his jacket, hoping to draw a little more of his attention instead of the passersby. "We're leaving, right?"
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Texting - Aviv / Adriana.
Maksim: Dude. Can you answer your phone?
Maksim: Please tell me you've just fucked off somewhere with Adri, FFS.
Maksim: [forwards messages to Adriana]
Maksim: Adriana, is Aviv with you?
#aviv & maksim#aviv kasyanenko#adriana & maksim#amaroadriana#texting: adri#texting: aviv#text messages#post plot drop#post event
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"You wound me," hand-finding his heart in mock agony. "remind me never to piss you off -- I quite enjoy breathing."
"I never said I was shooting an unarmed man, I said I was shooting you."
#misha & maksim#mishavorshevsky#pre plot drop#event ; awards 24#after party ; 24#location: berkeley estate
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Maksim: {Manic smiling picture sent in return}
Maksim: And this is why you're my fuckin sister.
Maksim: Good work, good fuckingggg work.
Maksim: Yeah, question answered.
Maksim: I'll finish up and I'll be out.
Vika: {picture of Patrizia}
Vika: Does that answer your question?
Vika: I'm with Misha. Don't stay too long. We have work to do.
#viktoriya & maksim#texting: vika#viktoriya kurylenko#event ; awards 24#after party ; 24#location: berkeley estate
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Maksim: No.
Maksim: When was the last time anyone saw him?
Russian Group Chat
Vika: Has anyone heard from or seen Aviv?
#russian group chat#texting: vika#vika & maksim#text messages#post plot drop#location: berkeley estate
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"Not my type, Nico." Even Maksim couldn't keep that brokering smile that sliced across his lips.
Nico was someone he admired, ferocity in a woman was something he'd always been able to appreciate. Still, his eyes locked on the Italian across the room: he'd make his move at the after-party.
"I'll find a way to get him alone." And at the time, he meant it. Pausing, his arms crossed over his chest. "What about you? Is anyone at the party catching your eye? Or are talkin' and thinkin' murder only, here?"
#end#nico & maksim#showalittlespine#after party ; 24#event ; awards 24#pre plot drop#location: berkeley estate
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"Then fuckin' walk around me?" The words came out dressed in disgust, hard eyes boring into her with a newly lit fire. "Better yet? How about I fucking help you?" he honestly didn't care if she was a woman, his large hands grasped the tops of her arms as lifted and chucked her aside with no ease or gentleness.
As if she were simply a bag of flour.
Next time, he wouldn't be so nice: he didn't have time for this.
Eyes trailing down from head to toe, he scoffed. "Now you've done the only thing you're useful for and gotten out my way, fuck off." spitting at her feet, she was French, as far as he was concerned. He saw her, throughout the night, flittering around them. That disgust only grows.
He turned, "I hope you're not standing there when I come back." A warning, he didn't want to have to deal with her again. He had things to do, and other French that were far more worth his time.
@jeanpalfroix
The Vixen could feel very body start to tremble. This was the worst case scenario she wanted to find herself in. It was sheer will that kept the flashbacks at bay, long enough where she could get away from Maksim and deal with them — alone.
"You're in the way." She keeps her voice from cracking, taking a small step forward. Maria was certain both of them wanted to be other places, she hoped. Where was Guillaume and Jérôme? Where was Jean? Why did she run off?
#maria & maksim#maria azenha#event ; awards 24#awards 24#post plot drop#location: berkeley estate#ft. jean#jeanpalfroix
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When Maria came into his path, he huffed through flared nostrils. Frustration was building in his shoulders, anger coiling in him. He had every mind to shove her out of the way to get to where he was going. To find the people that actually mattered to him. Not her.
"Maria." He said, tone matching her own. "Can I help you?" He spat.
He was angry, fucking livid. Italian's, french, her. They were one in the same.
Where: Berkeley Manor Post Plot Drop
Who: @maksimkurylenko
Fingers comb through her hair, the dire need to drown out the screams and pleas that echoed in her head.
She could feel bodies push past her, all heading in the opposite direction, but she had this sudden urge to push forward. If she kept going, she could escape that night.
A quietness suddenly engulfed her and something snapped that pulled her back, which in reality she wished hadn't, that the reflection in the window was one she didn't want to see.
Maria turns to face him, noting that he was blocking the exit. "Maksim." Her tone flat.
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Maksim burst out into the brush, unending laughter as he doubled over. After his previous encounter with her and that fucking Italian bastard, this was by far, better than he could've ever imagined, hand slapping over his mouth. "Look, I didn't even touch you: that's all on you." raising his hands in surrender, trying to keep his breath level as he burst into another round of laughter. "Bit wet?"
The sight of a Kurylenko coming towards sent a chill down Olivia's spine. She took a step backwards on instinct without paying attention to her footing. Unfortunately this meant stepping onto the edge of the pool itself. Her arms flailed as she lost her balance and fell backwards into the pool with a splash. When she pushed her head above the surface, coughing up the water that made its way into her mouth in her surprise, she fixed the man with the fiercest glare she could manage. "What the actual fuck?"
#oliviacoppola#olivia & maksim#event ; awards 24#pre plot drop#location: berkeley estate#int. pool room
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Texting - Vika.
Maksim: Are you ok?
Maksim: Taking any chances tonight? Or are you leaving? Because you know I support any decision.
#texting: vika#vika & maksim#event ; awards 24#post plot drop#location: berkeley estate#after party ; 24
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Texting - Aviv & Tolya.
Maksim: Where are you guys?
Maksim: Better together than apart.
#ft. aviv#ft. tolya#texting: aviv#texting: tolya#post plot drop#event ; awards 24#after party ; 24#location: berkeley estate
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FOR: @islahvnt
WHEN: 22nd of March, 2024.
WHERE: Berkeley Estate. POST PLOT DROP.
Where the fuck was she?
His hands ran through his hair once more, dropping his eyes to his phone in hand as a curse broke free from his lip. She wasn't fucking answering. He typed again, his third consecutive text within minutes as he saw the crowd swelling.
This was fucking bad.
You need to get out of here.
Where are you???
Isla!
Looking up, spotting blonde hair and that familiar dress that had kept him captivated through the night, his feet were moving, dodging people as quickly as he could. He had minutes, if that before all hell fucking broke loose. "Isla." His voice ground out. "We need to go -- you need to go." he corrected, looking over his shoulder to find the rest of his people.
"Are you okay?"
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Did he plan on coming to more of these things? Not if he could help it. His shoulders lifted into an empty shrug. "I wouldn't say this is my usual kind of...thing. But I could get used to it." No, he fucking couldn't. But he was being polite.
The woman, beautiful in her own right, had him grinning.
Maksim couldn't help the laugh that broke from his lips. Her wit was as sharp as her dress was striking. Arms folding, his shoulder leaned against the nearby wall, watching her with a keen sense of admiration.
"If you being the real winner means having to survive a room full of those envious stares and potential legal repercussions, then I'd say you've got quite the title," Maksim replied with a smirk, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before glancing around the room.
He took a long swig of his drink.
It was true; Nora stood out among predictable attire. And while he may have initially found himself amused by that humored discomfort, he found himself thoroughly intrigued. "Everyone looks beautiful, and then there's you."
"A child playing dress up? Well, if you plan on coming to more of these things," because whilst he was vaguely familiar, she couldn't personally place him with confidence enough to be sure this wasn't his first, "you'll get used to it."
Nora offered an attempt at a sympathetic smile, then. Either he wasn't used to these kinds of events at all, or he came from similar circumstances as her own. Did Nora love her dress? Wholeheartedly. Did she have any say whatsoever in what she'd be dressed in, tonight? No. The only difference was Nora wasn't a child playing dress up, and more of a doll to be dressed by those looking to show off their latest work on someone who attracted just enough press for it to be worth their while.
So flattering... sarcasm.
Actually, about as flattering as the man's attempt at a compliment.
"Well, maybe not jail..." Because that sounded a little bit too...sex offender-y. "I think you're trying to be nice, though, so thank you. There are definitely people who look so much more beautiful; my best friend is an entire princess. But are they getting a workout carrying their dresses around? No. I'm the real winner here."
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