zhanna-medvedeva‌:

Zhanna was so tense she was nearly shaking. She wanted to snap at everything Vika said. I don’t need anesthetic, just stitch it. It better be flawless or I’m going to fucking kill you. 

She wanted to shout that her face was all she had. Smart as she was, manipulative as she could be, it was her face that drew attention to her. She wanted to shriek and scream about how the girls would all lose respect for her. How could she be their ideal they all strove for with a mark like that on her face? And if Nadedja made it out alive, the girls would look to her as their next most successful and beautiful guide. It didn’t matter Nadedja wasn’t as smart as Zhanna - she’d be prettier. And if the girls stopped listening to Zhanna, the family would lose money. It didn’t matter if the cut healed perfectly, there would still be a time when it was healing and it’d look atrocious.

Zhanna wanted to lay it all out for Vika and demand, again, that it be handled perfectly. She couldn’t. Not without potentially agitating the wound more. Or being looked down upon as if this was all high school drama. They didn’t get how it worked.

Quiet but not calm, Zhanna straightened up as best she could with an ache starting to spread through her body. She gave a slight nod as a sign to Vika to begin and closed her eyes.

Vika had never been the biggest fan of Zhanna. She was smart, but she valued her looks over the power of her mind. It was childish and shallow. But she did contribute to the family. She did give Vika a new space to play with her victims. Maybe Vika could show her the power of the mind someday, and teach her that looks are less important in the grand scheme of things. 

She prepared the anesthetic and pulled gently on Zhanna’s face before injecting the medication into a site just above the laceration. Giving the anesthetic a minute to work, Vika then prepared her needle for sutures. Vika could see the fire in Zhanna’s eyes, and the tension in her shoulders as Vika leaned in close to begin working. 

She felt disrespected. Did Zhanna not trust her? Vika had the most skilled hands when it came to sutures, her skills had been unmatched in school, and she was efficient. She had always figured if her mother was going to insist on her going to medical school, she would be the best in the damn class. So she spent hours upon hours perfecting her technique, practicing her stitches and suturing up cadavers. She was all they had and lucky for them, she was the best they were going to get. If she was feeling more petty, she would have called Zhanna out, but she obviously has more pressing people to patch up, so she worked quickly. Zhanna would have a small scar from this, barely noticeable. But Vika had a feeling that Zhanna would seek out a consult with a plastic surgeon, but they probably wouldn’t need to do much. Vika’s work would cover Zhanna until she decided that she was unhappy with a scar the no one would notice unless they were looking for it. 

@ Russians

 svetlanavorshevsky‌:

All that Sveta could do to help Vika was hand her what she needed, though it seemed like the woman had it all handled. Naturally, she was quite the talented asset, after all. The convenience of having a loyal doctor in their midst was undeniable; it not only saved the Russians a lot of trouble during emergencies like this, but it saved lives. Those they could save, at least, which were much more than they could have without Vika here. Those who had been able to escape the pandemonium and found refuge in their madams B&B would get to live. The rest lay abandoned and alone in Damon’s club – Sveta tried not to think about it too much. As soon as Vika began working on Dima, Sveta knew that he would be alright; the Kurylenko was efficient in how she worked. Sveta felt comfortable to leave her long enough to find Pavel and borrow his jacket. It was too big on Sveta, but that was the point – at long last, she was fucking covered.

It was difficult to contain her rage, and try as she might, it tore down the bars to the cage Sveta had locked it in. The pretty pink interior of their hiding place was tarnished by blood, perverse twists on Rorschach tests covering the floors to almost each room. Zhanna’s pride and joy hadn’t even opened yet, and already it would need excessive cleaning.

Now wasn’t the time to occupy oneself with this, though. Sveta returned to Vika and her comment made Sveta instinctively put a hand up to her throat. It hurt and would only be worse tomorrow. “I’ll live.” A sober answer, but the others were far worse off than her. Where was Kosta? Where was he to control the chaos? “Let me know what you need, and I’ll get it for you.”

Sveta helped when she could, and while Vika didn’t need it, she appreciated the extra hand. This was the part of medical school that Viktoriya missed. The surgeries. They were puzzles for her to solve. But this way, she could do it her way, with no one to hover over her. It was nice to be able to show off her skills and prove that she had value other that filleting people. She wasn’t sure how many others would be in a shape similar Dima, but if she was lucky, she would get to be putting these puzzles together all night. 

Vika looked up at Sveta as she finished the last stitch. “Put a green based concealer over it before your normal concealer. It will neutralize out the blue and red. But you probably already know that.” Vika brushed a strand of hair outside of her face with her forearm, moving over to the sink to wash her hands off. “Just keep them coming, and if I run out of supplies, there is more in my apartment. I’ll tell you where if we end up needing it.” She better not see Kosta cross across the table with anything more than a small flesh wound, if not, that dumb ass would be getting an earful from her. “Who is next.” 

@ Russians

zhanna-medvedeva‌:

The inn was suggested mostly because of Vika’s setup in the basement, but it seemed that there was no time to waste and Zhanna walked in, hanging off Alexei, to find her brainchild was an infirmary. “Me,” Zhanna declared without bothering to glance around, mostly because she refused to look up, let her hair fall back, and reveal the deep cut on the side of her face. “Without me we wouldn’t even have this.”

Despite Alexei’s protests, Zhanna made her way into another unfinished room and took a seat in one of the various mismatched chairs. She’d asked to see a handful of every chair, bed, linen, and wine bottle that might grace the bed and breakfast before she made a choice. Slowly, she lifted her head up and pulled back her hair. She winced as some strands that were stuck to the blood on the cut pulled away. The cut was still bleed, leaving most of her ear and the left side of her neck covered in blood. It was difficult to discern, but she could tell from the throbbing that the cut ran from her temple, over the corner of her cheekbone, and down to the middle of her jawline. “Do whatever you can and make sure it can all be erased by a good plastic surgeon,” she demanded. In a different circumstance, she would never be so short and commanding of a Kurylenko of all people, but she was already impatient for this to be healed and dealt with. She wanted it gone before the next time she looked in the mirror, no matter how irrational that was.

Vika had contemplated setting up her little infirmary in the basement that Zhanna gave her. She honestly would have felt more comfortable down there, but was unsure of the extent of people’s injuries thus unsure if they would even be able to go up and down stairs. She was sure that it wasn’t the ideal location in Zhanna’s eyes, but promised that she would clean it so well that unless they had been there, no one would be able to tell that the room had at one point been used for trauma triage. 

Zhanna’s injury was nowhere near the worst, but she had offered up the space for them to set up a temporary base to recover from the chaos that had taken place. Vika followed Zhanna into the other room bringing a small handful of supplies with her. Vika rose her brow at Zhanna’s commanding statements. “I’m going to inject a local anesthetic so that I can clean the cut and stitch you up. You will not need a plastic surgeon after I’m done. My stitches are flawless.”

@ Russians

svetlanavorshevsky‌:

As if on cue, Sveta entered the room half-carrying, half-dragging Dmitri along. The man was much taller and heaver than her, but with adrenaline still coursing through her body, Sveta found herself capable of holding him up all by herself. He had been stabbed in the shoulder and shot in the thigh – unlucky bastard would have died if Sveta and Oleg hadn’t wrestled the French bastards off of him. 

“Him.” What else could they do but retreat to Zhanna’s B&B? Those fucking bastards had caught them off guard; they were naked and drunk, rushed down until their backs were against the wall. Sveta’s fury was written all over her face, and she made no effort to hide it. This was a fucking disaster, despite the victory of a dead St. Clair. Now, as she looked around and saw so many of her colleagues wounded, she knew that the next hit would have to be absolute terror.

She looked miserable herself. Bloodied, cut, bruised, her hair disshelved and outfit barely covering her body. There had been no time to go back and get changed – especially not once she found herself pinned to the ground by Noa Halévy. The indentations of the woman’s fingers were red on Sveta’s throat where she had been almost choked to death.

With a grunt, Sveta helped Dima sit on the table, staying by his side to support his weight. “Cunts,” he spat in Russian, the word coming out hindered. Her windpipe basically crushed, she felt hoarse and ached. “I should go back to make sure their precious queen chokes on her own fucking blood.”

With a solemn nod Vika rushed over to help Sveta get the man up onto the cold, metal table and in a space that she would be able to patch him back up. She put on a pair of sterile gloves and started poking around his wounds. 

The leg wound was infinitely more extensive than the shoulder. While the shoulder seemed to be a mere flesh wound, the bullet seemed to have knicked the femoral artery. If Vika didn’t fix it now, Dima would be gone relatively soon. He wasn’t graced with having the bullet be lodged into the artery and being stable with the bullet keeping the artery somewhat close. Oh no, that would have been too easy, instead the bullet had gone straight through the leg, puncturing the artery and leaving him to bleed out. 

Moving quickly, Vika worked to stitch up the gunshot wound. Her mind silencing her surrounding as she went into her own little world. Time seemed to warp as she worked, she could feel that her movements were fast, but at the same time she was so focused that visually, she had all the time in the world. 

Once she was sure that the leg was well stitched up, she moved to the shoulder, an easy fix. “That lovely new necklace you wear is going to bruise, and it will not be the most pleasant recovery. Crushed windpipes never are.” 

@ Russians

@ Russians

It had been open chaos, and Vikatoriya had not been pleased. She had known about the hits that were to take place on the French that night, but she had not expected the French to open fire on a bunch of civilians. It was reckless, but the Russians and the Rutherfords were exposed, so the lure was apparent. Under some stroke of fate, Vika had slipped out, virtually unscathed in comparison to some of the unlucky others. A few bruises from the pushing of the crowd and some sporadic cuts from all of the broken glass. It was honestly a miracle that she had come out with so few injuries, but she had not hesitated to use one of the fallen as a body shield until she could escape, her sense of self preservation heightened. 

Immediately following her escape, Vika quickly made her way back to the her flat, gathering supplies she knew that others would desperately need. What the fuck had Damon been thinking hosting a party where the attendees were practically naked and god knows how drugged out of their mind everyone was, especially on such a big night to make a move against the French. But then again, the Russians should have known better too. With bags full of material, Vika slammed her flat door with frustration. Fucking French. 

Once in Zhanna’s B&B, she made her was over to a worktable that was covered in blueprints and designs for the rooms and gingerly cleared them to another place in the room. No need to get blood on them. “Who is first?”

konstantin--vorshevsky‌:

As stoic as Konstantin normally was, he couldn’t help but crack the most genuine of smiles at Vita’s antics. He waited until she was seated next to him before he leaned over and kissed her cheek chastely, his younger cousin identifying with him on a level that it seemed no other Kurylenko did.

“I simply missed you too much to stay away, my darling Vita,” Kosta replied with a charismatic grin, crossing his legs as he settled into the couch, and the conversation, with such a like-minded soul.

Her next request, disguised as it was in their native tongue, induced a laugh from the Russian that he was certain Vita hadn’t expected. “All in due time, my darling, all in due time.”

“Tell me about your thoughts on London thus far… it’s been years since my last visit, and it seems it’s changed considerably since then.”

Vika gave Kosta a warming smile with the peck on her cheek. Charming, as always, at least in her mind. “At least your favorite food isn’t ears, unlike Tolya,” She continued to tease. Other than her father, Kosta was one of the few of her relatives that seemed to really understand her on a deeper level and seemed to be fighting similar ‘demon’ as others would call it. Because of this, Vika always felt like they had a special connection. 

“Of course, my creativity and presence are unparalleled. You must have had your own creative block or come out of sheer boredom. Whatever the reason, I am happy to see you, cousin.” 

Viktoriya raised an eyebrow. “I am impatient as always. Maybe we can collaborate on some games when I finally do get a new playmate.” A suggestion that Vika hoped Kosta would take her up on. She craved the collaboration of a group project between the two, if not to show her skill but to be able to spend more time with Kosta and prove herself to him. 

“So much fucking rain. And the allies, as you can see, are childish at best. They need to be put in their place if you ask me.”

Russians | Sisyphos NYE

zhanna-medvedeva‌:

Zhanna offered a nod and a small smile, concealing a quick flash of jealousy at the ease with which Vika turned down the idea of drinking to get through something unpleasant. How nice. “Absolutely. We’ll stick near whatever plants we can find,” she suggested. It was a trick she used with her B-girls to keep them sober as clubgoers bought them already watered-down drinks in an attempt to get them drunker. “I’d promise to be a complete distraction, but, and this is a blow to my ego to say, it’ll be difficult to keep eyes off you.”

Alcohol had always been reserved for home, and not social gatherings. Especially not social gathering where she could be doing recon, and she did want to uphold a public image of some degree of class and grace. “At least the plants will be having a rager of a night,” Vika teased, happy that Zhanna was willing to help her. She had figured Zhanna would have kept trying to push drinks on her all night. Vika clucked her tongue, “Oh, Zhanna, all the wandering eyes will be on you, Sveta, Mila, and heaven forbid, Kosta. No one will be looking at me dear, so I think we should be safe on that front.” 

zhanna-medvedeva‌:

Zhanna grinned, unabashed. “Oh, I can’t disagree with you there. My best advice for newcomers is to indulge a little more in booze than you’re normally inclined. Which would be worse, personally - hungover tomorrow, or sober tonight?” She lifted her own drink - never completely empty - to gesture toward the bar. “I can keep you company if you’d like. Remind everyone who comes near us that they can look but not touch.” She sipped her drink and nonchalantly added, “I’ve clawed out eyes for less.”

Viktoriya chewed at her lip, looking around at other part goers. She wasn’t necessarily put off by the lack of clothing, but more so by the fact that it was a social gathering, not something that was more intimate and with less people. By a lot. “You know this is not really a place that I would really partake in drinking. Too many variables. I would rather be sober tonight.” The blonde seemed to like suggesting alcohol, but Vika didn’t really like to get drunk, or even very tipsy. She like to always been in control and alcohol was not conducive to that feeling. Viktoria nodded, willing to relinquish this little bit of control to let Zhanna keep everybody occupied while Vika appeared to follow like a puppy. “And help me hide the fact that I am dumping my drinks out when no one is looking.” 

“He only nibbles a little if you don’t feed him,” she remarked to those passing by before taking a seat next to the man. It had been some time since she had seen her dear cousin, since she had moved to London. But he definitely looked the part of who he was, and the lack of following the dress code lack of care for Damon’s silly rules. She couldn’t say that she didn’t admire him, but she had her role to play, so she had complied with the outlandish wardrobe requirements.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence in London, sweet Kosta?” She eyed him, hungry for a plaything to bring to the new basement facility Zhanna Gad gifted her for Christmas. “Please tell me it will end with a new friend for me as a Christmas gift,” she continued in Russian.

Russians | Sisyphos NYE

It never ceased to be amusing to Konstantin the idea that his reputation proceeded him; as he made his way through the club space around the pool, people stared - he was, after all, the nightmare in their minds come to life… so amusing. People parted as he walked, and the moment he found an available seat at the far end of the venue, the few party patrons that were seated in his general vicinity politely left, trying hard not to make eye contact as they did.

A thing of nightmares… comical. 

It wasn’t long though, before one of the scantily-clad partygoers approached, clearly with the intent to speak with him. Konstantin motioned to the seat across from his own, a flicker of amusement crossing his features preluding his words. 

“Have a seat… I don’t bite.”

zhanna-medvedeva‌: 

Zhanna patted a stray feather down and scoffed quietly at the woman’s wish. “I thought you liked human anatomy?”

Vika raised an eyebrow, eyeing up Zhanna’s outfit. She did always seem to be rather...extravagant. “Not in this setting. This is more your wheelhouse.” 

william-robathan‌:

“I could’ve done with a little less Russian presence, but it seems like none of us got we wanted tonight,” William declared matter-of-factly, taking a small sip of his gin. From where the MP was concerned, their Russian ‘friends’ should’ve been fucking grateful to get an invite.

“Contrary to popular belief, not all of us are heathens. But I guess it is a cross that we must bear coming from misguided souls,” she responded sweetly. Fucking cunt. Vika hated entitled pricks who assumed traits based on stereotypes, no matter how veiled, yet true they may be with regards to her. 

“You know, I could have done with everyone being in more clothes.” She hadn’t really intended on going to Damon Rutherford’s end of the year hoe-down. Literally. But she had figured it could be an opportunity to gather intel on the Rutherfords and those seemingly close to them. Vika was sure it would come in handy later. 

Viktoriya Kurylenko celebrates New Year’s Eve at Sisyphos. –Tuesday, December 31st, 2019.

Maybe not the proper kind of white coat, but you’ll pull it off.

- Zhanna

zhanna-medvedeva‌:

@vikakurylenko​

Zhanna was sparing with her gifts. Sveta and Alexei she gave something to out of what little goodness could be found in her heart. Olga out of obligation. And this year, for her excellent performance, Nadejda. Aside from that, Zhanna wasn’t exactly a giving person at any time of year, and the holidays were no exception. Rather than shower the Vorshevskys and Kurylenkos with gifts of gratitude for the trust they instilled in her, she chose to let her performance be her display of gratitude. What was a better gift that more income, after all?

This year, however, a lovely little opportunity arose in her newest investment. The original plan was to turn the basement into a massage area, but the construction to put up several walls was too tedious when there was already a perfectly good room on the second floor. It was meant to be a special service, so there was no point for multiple rooms. While pondering what to do with the concrete floor basement instead, Zhanna started to drum her fingers on her Victoria Beckham purse. And a thought came to mind of a different woman by a similar name, who had a steady hand and likely as much familiarity with the human body as Zhanna did.

It might’ve been a good idea to consult with Viktoriya before starting on the construction, but Zhanna figured she should at least provide the woman with a solid, sterile base to work off of and she could make adjustments as she saw fit over time. Though not one for whimsy, it seemed fitting to wait a few weeks and give Viktoriya a stainless steel Christmas surprise she could access with a freshly made key. “Are you drinking tonight?” Zhanna asked, a martini of her own in hand as she turned to Viktoriya a little while after the gathering began. Her interactions with the woman had been few and far between in the past, but if there was one thing that always broke the ice easily, it was alcohol.

For Viktoriya, there were two types of gift giving. The first one, her favorite, was when she got to gift meaningful things to those she cared about. The second out of pleasantries or social obligation. That was how She felt with Zhanna, as there were very few people that Vika actually gave meaningful gifts to. So Vika would play the charming, vaguely innocent that she played off when she was in public, or even with many of the other members of her faction. 

Viktoriya, however, had sent her gifts over to their respective homes over a week ago. She had always liked to approach the holiday with organization, and figured the recipients could open them gifts at their leisure and not on her time table. She had little idea of they had been received or even opened, and honestly, she didn’t really care. 

“Probably just a glass of wine at dinner. Nothing too crazy,” Vika admitted shyly. She wasn’t one to really drink much when she went out, those times were reserved for late nights with Anatoly, or when she was alone. “Maybe an after dinner drink, if I’m feeling cheeky,” Viktoriya nodded at Zhanna’s drink, “but don’t change your drink on may account.”

anatoly-veselov‌:

  “Fine, but I will not apologize for the way I sleep,” he pulled her to her feet when she took his hand. “Should you decide to cut my throat in the night, at least cover me up for decency sake,” he joked rather flatly as he picked his way across the small span leading up to the ice, her arm firmly tucked beneath his, hands clasped to keep her upright.

  “Well, for starters it must get boring, keeping yourself shut out from other people all the time, no? Surely there is some comfort to letting someone get to know you,” he helped her onto the ice at first, unfurling his grip on her arm until she was at the tips of his finger before stepping out himself. Despite the seemingly hypocritical nature of the comment, Anatoly himself tired of nothing but superficial connections with everyone he met, practical as it was; people simply weren’t meant to be practical all the time, it seemed. 

  There was a moment or two of wobbling until his instincts kicked in, steadying his feet beneath him with a small, triumphant nod, his gaze falling to her again at her prompt. 

  “Hnn… your best subject in school,” his chin lifted to give him a scrutinizing gaze down along his nose at her. “What was it?” He would not let go of her hand in case she herself began to pitch and wobble, but his grip was light enough she could claim her independence should she tire of him — a fitting symbolism for their dynamic.

“What? Wearing ladies underwear?” Vika teased. Truly she had no idea how Anatoly slept in his own home. At her house, or the family home, maybe, but she usually let him keep his place to himself. “If i’m to come and kill you in your sleep, my guess is that you have made me angry enough that I cannot make any such promises.” She appreciated his stabilizing arm, but was equally excited to let go and let the wind with through her hair as she made laps around the rink. 

“Not shut off. Just not in the loop. They know whatever side of me they want to see or whatever side I let them see. I am in control. They only thing that gets boring is the bullshit pleasantries that people try to push on others. No one wants to see all of the parts of me. Nor should they.” She allowed him to loosen his grip on her. Everyone knew the worst part was getting on the ice and getting a feel for it. Each bit its own. As soon as the ice was under both of them, she gave Tolya a little smile and let go. Sliding next to him, but no physical tether. 

She felt her ankles tense as she kicked the pick of her skates into the ice for a moment, turning to look at the man. 

“Anatomy and physiology. Obviously.” The study of the body, and for her, how to tear it apart piece by piece in the most painful ways possible. It taught her how the body can fail the mind. Vika looked away, biting her lip, she knew it would be the polite thing to ask him something about himself. But the two of them weren’t like that. They gave up bits of themselves when they were ready, not necessarily to appease common manner. 

Mistletoe Advent Challenge