milaxkorshunova
Fortis in Arduis
Barrister, specialising in International Law and Human Rights | 35 | The Russian Mob | Complimented by TWI 01/04/2021
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The exchange of pleasantries had clearly come to an end.
The last time Lyudmila recalled Gideon asking questions, the conversation took an unexpected turn, diverging from both of their expectations. The memory cast a shadow over her thoughts, prompting her gaze to lower toward the gold liquid swirling in the glass clasped in her hand. The sensation of his lips against hers suddenly felt vivid, causing a barely perceptible parting of her own. Though it had been a year since that moment, it seemed like ages ago, as if the woman who had initiated the passionate action were a stranger to her now.
Not only had she changed, but so many other aspects of her life had shifted. With that realization, her eyes flickered toward the faint outline of her wedding ring still visible on her finger.
So much has changed, yet the torn beneath her heart persists, pricking at her with each memory of theirs with painful melancholy while keeping a spot warm, especially for him.
"Bad timing, is all." Lyudmila met the Rutherford's gaze once more, speaking with a simple honesty. "Gideon, I..." She paused, carefully weighing her words. "...I'm not entirely sure how deeply you believe I was involved in Konstantin's..." Another pause. "...activities." Fairly enough, Lyudmila acknowledged that she had never disclosed much about her life with her ex-husband unless it was absolutely necessary. Therefore, she couldn't blame Gideon for assuming she had, or still maintained, any influence over his actions.
"However, I've always made it clear that I never associated myself with anything or anyone within his organization. At least, I thought I had."
Despite her success in deceiving everyone else, Gideon was always an exception. While she prided herself on her ability to don any suitable mask, Gideon consistently saw through it, effortlessly disarming her. He had no obligation to care, to notice the subtle nuances that others overlooked, or to worry. Yet, here he sat across from her, his gentle eyes brimming with oceans of concern for people, for her.
So much has changed, yet the look he gives her remains unchanged, retaining its gentle demeanor, regardless of the perceived wrongs he believes she may have committed under the veil of her marriage.
"It did not upset me. I just wished I could've done more. If not for myself, then for you." For the people she loves.
One corner of his mouth twitches at that, amused despite himself.
"You'll be pleased to know I've tidied up my act since..." A beat of hesitation, but Gideon smiles anyway, putting it as mildly as possible. "... Since we were young." And then, just to tease her a little bit; "Young-er, in your case." A glance over one shoulder, expression indulgently consoling. "You're still young."
He pours some freshly brewed tea for himself, and fetches the Jack Daniel's, bringing the bottle over with a tumbler. He sets it down in front of her, sensing that she's ever so subtly nervous. If it wasn't for their past, he might not have recognized it at all.
That's how well she wears her mask. — 'Was I ever known to divulge secrets?'
Straightening, Gideon shakes his head. "No. Can't say you were ever guilty of that." He twists the cap off the whiskey, fills her tumbler and adds a splash to his tea. Grabbing the mug, he eases into the faded armchair across from her, wanting to be at eye level. Never any power dynamics between them; some things stay sacred, even now. "Can't say you were ever much of a gossip, either, so no, that isn't why I've asked you here."
He'd always liked that about her. Whatever insight she'd obtained being a once-insider into his family, she'd kept to herself. Not a word slipped, though he's certain many had tried over the years. Not about him, not about his loved ones. It makes the intended topic of this conversation all the more difficult because of that.
"I upset you with that text... Didn't I?" Now or never, he thinks, keeping his tone placid, knowing. "When all hell broke lose at the Berkeleys."
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Throughout her entire journey to the hospital, a curious knot twisted in Lyudmila's stomach. It mirrored the sensation one experiences before a first date, while awaiting entry into an exam room, or prior to a nerve-wracking interview, knowing deep down that the questions to come won't be pleasant.
Though Gideon's summons didn't catch her off guard (the reason behind it was hardly difficult to surmise), the chosen meeting place compensated for any lack of surprise.
"Did we convene in your office because you didn't have time to tidy up at home?" It felt clandestine, as though they were concealing something. Perhaps it was the late hour or the absence of the usual bustle behind the closed doors. Yet Lyudmila's tone remained light-hearted, ensuring the mood remained cheery.
Taking her seat on one of the leather couches as instructed, Lyudmila settled in comfortably before casting a gentle smile toward her companion. "Was I ever known to divulge secrets?" she teased, gesturing toward her chosen beverage for the evening—a choice she suspected she might need.
"So, ––" she began, exhaling softly as she crossed one leg over the other and settled back into the armrest, "I don't suppose you called to catch up on the latest gossip?"
LOCATION — Neurosurgery Dept, St. Catherine's Hospital.
DATE — April 15th, 2024.
STARTER — closed for @milaxkorshunova
They used to joke about this when they were younger.
About what they'd do when he finally got out of med school. That shiny degree, his own private office... No boisterous roommates to interrupt them, no well-meaning friends dropping in at the most inopportune of times.
Now that he has it all, there's nothing concrete left between them.
Love is far behind, friendship carries too great a risk... Some days he isn't even sure whether he makes it into the acquaintance section of her address book anymore.
Still, when she knocks haltingly at his office door, slipping inside when he responds, Gideon can't help but want to make sure she's at ease. He doesn't want it to go down like an interrogation. He's lucky enough that she's answered his summons at all.
"Make yourself comfortable." The Rutherford invites, extending a hand to take her coat. "There's tea and coffee too, if you fancy it." Noting the late hour and the dark outside his window, he adds; "Even got a Jack Daniels around here somewhere... Provided you don't tell my secretary." Patients had gifted it to him for Christmas.
God, and they said you shouldn't have favourites.
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Mila: No, I'm alone...
Mila: There wasn't time for anything. I didn't see Yuliya either
Mila: I'll be waiting for you.
Konstantin: Don't. I want them with you.
Konstantin: I'm coming to get you, and then we're leaving.
Konstantin: There's already a car waiting.
Konstantin: Is Nadezhda there?
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Mila: I am safe.
Mila: I hope you and the people you care about are too.
📱 Gideon ⇄ Lyudmila
Gideon: I hope you're safe.
Gideon: And if you have any persuasive sway over your ex-husband, please use it tonight.
Gideon: You know what Spencer and Nora mean to me. This is the wrong stage for WWIII, and there are too many innocents here besides.
#my maaan if he told her that face to face she'd throw hands#she is like im gonna ignore what you said bc i cant lmao#( text: gideon rutherford )#[ event : awards 2024 ]#post plot drop#also sorry this took me like ages to reply to
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Mila: Where are you? I sent my security for you...
Mila: I'm safe.
[30 seconds later]
Mila: Please, let's leave here...
@milaxkorshunova [text]
Konstantin: Where are you?
Konstantin: Find a room. Lock yourself inside, and don't come out until I'm there to get you. Nobody else.
Konstantin: Please.
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Reaction: after party plot drop
Mentions of: @konstantinvorshevsky
At a certain point, the silence became so oppressive that one might have imagined hearing the faintest sound of a pin dropping.
It occurred just moments after the screen faded to black, leaving behind the haunting images of not an unfamiliar man, that persisted in Lyudmila's mind's eye. Then, adrenaline surged through her veins with such force that she could almost feel it physically. The silence morphed into a panicked frenzy as guests scrambled for an exit—every sound amplified to an ear-splitting crescendo, every movement intensified to an almost unbearable degree.
Yet, for Lyudmila, the instinct to flee never materialized. Instead, her eyes darted desperately and frenetically through the crowd, searching for one particular man.
With muscles tensed and poised to react, Lyudmila found herself paradoxically frozen in terror, gripped by the uncertainty of danger looming over both her and Konstantin. The attack was clearly personal and she was surrounded by enemies.
"Ma'am," a cold hand on her arm jolted her back to the grim reality. "We need to get you away from the crowds." Rendered completely immobile, overwhelmed by the turmoil of her thoughts as she struggled to comprehend what had just unfolded, Lyudmila allowed her security detail to guide her, unaware of who she was brushing past or colliding with in their urgent attempt to escape.
As time seemed to stretch and distort, it was difficult to ascertain how swiftly or by what means she had been ushered into one of the estate's rooms.
A shut of the door, then a click of the lock. The sounds of chaos muffled away now.
Yet, the relief of safety never came. The air suddenly became too tight and heavy to breathe. It pressed down onto Lyudmila's chest, it burnt her clothes, then her skin until she could feel its heaviness onto her breastbone, pushing agonizingly onto her heart. No breath seemed to be enough to fill her lungs sufficiently with oxygen, even if the heart tried – beating ferociously, racing like a thundering drumbeat, it almost felt like it was going to beat out of her chest soon -- so soon, until –– until it suddenly stopped.
One breath (in Lyudmila's mind seemed like her last one, then her heart would definitely stop, it could not possibly bear such pressure) and the air flooded in almost as if someone opened a window to her chest. Emerging from her disorientation, she came to realize her hands were gripping the sides of a sink, water splashed on her white knuckles from the running faucet. Gazing up to the mirror, she was confronted with a reflection of a spectral visage that bore a resemblance to her own.
As her heartbeat gradually slowed and the tension in her muscles began to dissipate, Lyudmila took a moment to collect herself. After what felt like an eternity—or perhaps only a minute or two—she shut off the faucet and turned back to the room, meeting the concerned gaze of her security detail with a demeanor that belied the turmoil she had just experienced.
"I need my phone." Even her voice sounded peculiar, hoarse, and unrecognizable, yet resolute in her demand. Retrieving the device, Lyudmila's trembling finger hovered over the call button as she glanced at his messages displayed on the screen.
Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system.
A desperate sigh left her lips. "Go find him and tell him where you've taken me." Without a moment's hesitation or a word spoken, the Russian nodded and swiftly exited the room, leaving Lyudmila in solitude to write her reply that failed to convey the urgency and vulnerability she truly felt.
Mila: Where are you? I sent my security for you...
Mila: I'm safe.
[30 seconds later]
Mila: Please, let's leave here...
A slight breeze caused goosebumps to rise on Lyudmila's skin. All the windows were open.
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"It's remarkable how each year I find myself relieved not to win. I'm starting to wonder if I'm playing the game all wrong," Lyudmila quipped, though she understood all too well that he might be alluding to a specific nomination. And truth be told, she shared in the satisfaction of avoiding the ascent up those stairs and the potential embarrassment of accepting any awards, particularly the one involving her ex-husband.
A gentle, almost imperceptible smile graced Lyudmila's lips as her gaze fell upon the carefully chosen wine selection – a simple gesture that brought an unexpected warmth and comfort.
With a curious raise of her eyebrow, Lyudmila turned her attention to Gideon. "Am I correct in assuming it had something to do with her recent engagement?" It wouldn't be surprising if Adriana mistook Gideon's thoughtful efforts to ensure her safety. "You needn't worry about her, trust me – in fact, why not try to let go of worry altogether and revel in your hard-earned victories? I'll even let you gulp down this Batard Montrachet if it means you'll have a good time."
Without missing a beat, he signals for a bottle.
"For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't win anything tonight." Gideon replies when he turns to her, watching her keenly. Hoping that for one of those awards, at least, he isn't causing any offense by saying so. But Mila's known his opinion on the subject from the first time they'd had that talk about her husband in the Underground's backroom. The only time they'd openly talked about her husband. "... And not just so that your drinks are on me tonight." He can't help but hope she's better off now, certain she's set free.
When the bottle comes, it's one of her favourites. Hard to forget these things, even with the long march of time. "I've managed to piss off Adriana. Won't ask if your dual nominations in the fairy dust category hold any truth to them, but if she's indulging tonight, do me a favour and make sure she goes easy on the stuff."
He knows at least where Adri's concerned, there's more than a grain of truth to the nomination, and that, on top of so many other things tonight, worry him immensely.
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"Unless, of course, there is something more newsworthy." Such as someone showing up dead – something that is seemingly and grievously becoming more and more common. "Otherwise? A content out of heaven for tabloids."
"Hook-ups make headlines?"
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With an air of uncertainty, akin to that of a hawk, Lyudmila scrutinized his speechless actions, attempting to decipher his unapproachable demeanor. Nonetheless, the clinking of their glasses might have been the closest she'd ever come to witnessing anything resembling an amicable attitude from him.
And she was perfectly fine with that.
"Don't mistake this for an attempt at friendship. I'm doing this for Adriana," she stated firmly, tossing back her shot before glancing around the secluded spot Aviv had chosen, clearly in an effort to avoid interruptions, and then redirecting her gaze back to him. "Even after getting engaged, you don't feel like celebrating?"
As was to be expected, Aviv had wound up in one of the quieter areas the party offered its attendees. The conservatory was chilled enough he could at least hear himself think as he slowly pummelled his liver with vodka. What he hadn't expected was someone to be bold enough to approach. Least of all, her.
I wasn't going to, he thought to himself as he eyed the shot she'd pushed his way. A peace offering? Imagine how much easier things could've been if he'd ever offered her the same fucking courtesy... Reaching for the glass, he lifted it in silence, tapping it against hers before throwing it back without hesitation.
"Is braiding each other's hair next week?"
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@mobscene-starters
Time: After-Party
"So, let's place some bets. Who do you think will make headlines in TWI tomorrow? Categories include hook-ups and fights."
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Award After Party
@yulivorshevsky
"Okay, now mind your steps, the stairs are steep."
Lyudmila cautioned, steadying Yuliya with a firm grip on her arm as they walked down the stone stairs leaving behind the bustling atmosphere of the main party for the darkness and chill of a tucked-away wine cellar.
Although the offerings in the main hall were certainly ample for the Russian guests, what soirée would be complete without embarking on a side quest to discover the true treasures of the cellar's top-shelf wine selection? Besides, surely Nora wouldn't mind one or two Batard Montrachets missing.
The air, heavy with the scent of aged oak and rich, earthy notes, envelops the couple as they descend into a chamber with stone walls lined with rows upon rows of meticulously arranged bottles, adorned with dust-laden labels bearing the names of prestigious vineyards.
Lyudmila assumes the responsibility of perusing the selection, and upon making her choice, she returns to the central table.
"Now, this is my idea of a party," she declares, popping the cork and pouring glasses for her companion and herself. "I nearly forgot how much I missed spending time with you. Here's to that."
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Instead of voicing objections, Lyudmila's response was a resigned sigh.
While back in Moscow, where she had discussed the situation in detail with her father, Lyudmila did contemplate prolonging her stay. Ultimately, she found solace in the protection of her father.
However, hiding away was not truly her nature.
"Well, I appreciate your concern," Lyudmila expressed genuinely, even if it didn't sound as such. Considering whether to confide in the woman, she concluded that their long-standing familial connection meant Sveta would likely understand her.
"People will exploit any hint of vulnerability. I can't afford to appear weak, especially at this time." No matter if it meant in the eyes of the French or political opponents of her father.
"Your life story, while impressive, was never under question until you felt the need to piss like you were marking some imaginary territory." Sveta's bored sigh was matched with a glance down at her nails as she inspected them, disappointed more than anything. "I was simply referring to the fact that you might have wanted a break, given who else is here and the rumors."
And protection. Unafiliated left people open to ideas. Her lips pursed at the thought. "Konstantin is important, and by extension, regardless of your circumstances, you, too." she didn't have to like it, but there were things that were given.
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"Ask the waiter."
Where: Berkeley Manor
Who: @mobscene-starters
Maria could feel her nerves starting to frazzle. She wasn't relying on her usual crutch for the night, which meant she would fall onto another one.
With four shots bought, she slid two across to the person beside her.
"Help me with these?" She glances over in their direction.
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Awards After Party
@drrutherford
"Would now be a good time to take you up on that drink you promised? You certainly seem like you could use one."
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Awards After Party
@aviv-kasyanenko
"Before you dismiss me completely ––" Lyudmila slid a shot glass filled with clear liquid in front of him, while she held a matching one in her other hand, "–– consider this a peace offering."
Given that he was about to marry her best friend, she resolved to make an effort, at the very least.
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"Are you implying that my worth hinged solely on my role as Konstantin's wife?" Lyudmila arched her eyebrow. "You do understand that I am a self-sufficient lawyer with over a decade of experience, the co-founder of a human rights advocacy NGO with permanent observer status at the United Nations, and the primary donor for organizations Amnesty International, UN Watch, and Human Rights Watch?"
"So, remind me again, why was it you were 'not expecting to see me around as much'?"
FOR: @milaxkorshunova
WHEN: 22nd of March, 2024.
WHERE: Berkeley Estate.
"I must say," Sveta purred. "I didn't expect to see you around so much...considering."
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