Taken to Task (Liet)

[Ivan Braginski]

Ivan hummed as he walked with Toris to their cabins; it had been a good day. Their had been few issues Ivan had had to take care of privately amongst the crew and only one he'd had to take care of publicly; Toris had caught the tail end of that one and had seemed a little perturbed, but that was fine by Ivan. The man had been making a mistake that could have damaged the weapon's store efficiency and that was just not proper for a pirate ship like theirs.

He stretched as he paced into the warm little lounge area, flopping down onto a couch as his hand grabbed for the vodka bottle he'd left on the side table to have to drink at the end of the day," Is been good da? No problems, no fights~" Ivan smirked at Toris, crossing his legs as he relaxed.

[SaldusSapnai]

The Lithuanian frowned, crossing his arms lightly as he leant against the bar-counter—he didn’t feel quite comfortable enough in this close, darkened, watchful room to sit down. Especially after what just happened.

He took it as a given that Ivan handled the ‘discipline’ of the ship—the Russian was quite insistent on it, actually, especially in the earlier days when Toris was still trying to wrap his head around being a ‘captain’. Until now, however, the brunet hadn’t known exactly what it was Ivan did to keep order on the Metall Podsolnuh; now, he wasn’t sure he was happier knowing.

“If anyone did try and start a fight after that, I would be surprised,” he commented quietly, almost accusingly, shaking his head and drawing his arms in. “Breaking his hand just because his friends had brought him lunch while he was on duty—it’s a surprise we don’t have more cripples on this ship, the way you run it.”

It took the dead silence of the crackling fire for Toris to realize he had spoken those thoughts aloud, and he turned wary, troubled forest eyes up to his ‘first-mate’.

[Ivan Braginski]

Ivan paused, hand spasming on the bottle nearly making him drop it so he set it aside before he did so. He clasped his hands together and hanged his head, lips thinning as he peered at Liet through his bangs; staring at him with a hard gaze," Was not harsh. If he had damaged weapons stores, we would be disadvantaged. Would suffer much worse than broken hand...and he will heal da. It was clean, not on growth plate." He stood up slowly, head tilted as he sneered," But what would you have done? Chided? Given slap on wrist and warning?"

[SaldusSapnai]

Toris flushed, his own jaw tightening, but instead of backing down, like he had half-expected, the Lithuanian found himself uncrossing his arms, bracing them against the edge of the counter behind him, and standing up straight, meeting Ivan’s eyes stare for stare with a stern expression.

“And having one hand less in case of attack doesn’t put us at a disadvantage? You know as well as I do that he’s one of our best gunners, and has a healthy respect for weaponry. Or didn’t you notice that he wasn’t sitting anywhere near the powder when he was handling liquids?” The Baltic tilted his head, eyes hard and cool like stone, “After all, it’s not as though he was drinking vodka at the wheel of the ship, was it?”

Somewhere in the back of his head, there was a voice telling Toris not to push, but, Dieve, if he couldn’t stand up for his own men, how could he expect them to follow him, even if he wasn’t technically their captain? Besides that, he was, frankly, tired of cowering, and being complacent. Was he a man or wasn’t he?

[Ivan Braginski]

Ivan gritted his teeth," I do not drink on duty." His voice was hard, and cold like Black Ice over a lake; one wrong move and it would send you plunging into a frigid death. He stalked closer, hands curling into fists," I do not eat on duty either..." Ivan didn't eat much at all really, he had more than once since he started on this venture before they had been well established set aside a meal so that someone else could eat; Ivan knew hunger and it did not bother him," His shift was almost up. And it is ship rule, no food or drink in armory. He could have waited." He slammed his hand into a wall, as he leaned over Toris.

[SaldusSapnai]

Toris glowered back, not moving an inch in retreat even as the Russian got into his space, the only visible sign of tension in his white knuckles and locked jaw. That little voice frantically calling him back to sanity was being heavily muffled by a haze of heat, the forest in his eyes simmering if not quite on fire.

“Well,” the Baltic started, his voice a lilting but clearly acidic drawl, “he has nothing but time now to wait, ne?” Suddenly, the Baltic was the one moving into the other’s space now, leaning up and practically yelling into the blond’s face, “In the meantime, we’re down one gunner because you don’t know how to manage people without scaring the life out of them!”

Toris suddenly shoved forward on Ivan’s chest with the brunt of his hand, forcing the Russian from his space in a fierce moment of unfettered frustration.

[Ivan Braginski]

Ivan growled at the loud tone and the words before he grunted, eyes widening as a hand forced its way against his sternum; sending him back a few stumbling steps. It jarred him, something coming loose, the tone too close to old monsters; his eyes darkening as he hissed in a voice as soft as arctic snow and twice as deadly," You...you..." He swung out, grabbing him and yanking him closer by a hold on his arms; shaking him as he snarled into his face," Какое право имеет жалкий пресмыкающегося подростков, как вы должны попробовать и мне больно!?"

Ivan squeezed his arms as he slammed him into the wall, eyes wild almost as he shook him again," Well?! I am Captain here! Do not forget you are justa toy. A puppet that lives by my mercy!" His chest heaved lightly as he struggled with his demons even as he looked into deep green that was nothing like the ice blue of his childhood.

(Russian: What right does a pathetic cringing teen like you have to try and hurt me?!)

[SaldusSapnai]

Toris’ eyes had widened after he had actually struck out, surprised by his own actions as though they had belonged to someone else. Before he had a moment to think more clearly on it and admit that he may have gone too far, though, he was forced against the Russian, his head jerking as the other snarled an angry stream of his own language.

The Lithuanian had only a moment to interpret before he was painfully slammed against a wall, his breath leaving him in a hiss, the pressure of the wall’s edges digging into his back. The heat haze flared.

“You call this mercy?!” He shouted, reaching up and clawing into Ivan’s arms, glaring into him with wild fury, “I am a person, dammit, and I had a life before you! I had a future! You stole that from me!”

His breathing hitched, his own throat closing on his words like they were smoke in his lungs, eyes burning and tearing to try and clear the burn. “Demonai prakeikimas dieną jums tapo 'Kapitonu’!” he spat, venom in every word.

Devils curse the day you became a “Captain.”

[Ivan Braginski]

For a moment Ivan faltered, hands lightening their grip but when the sound of Lithuanian reached his ears; by the time he'd translated it he'd turned and smashed the smaller man into the ground. The Russian straddled him, face twisted into a disturbing leer," Oh...is that so? Than...perhaps I should make you happy again da? So happy again..."

His hand dipped into his coat, a twisted little giggle escaping him; a knife twinkling dull silver in the light of the room as he pinned him by his throat and crooned," Просто немного жало ребенка ~ а затем вы будете свободны и счастливы снова да?" Ivan reared back, eyes and smile widening sickeningly before the soft cream fabric around his neck slipped loose, the ends fluttering against his chest.

His hand shook, face going slack, than he rolled away, crying out before he scrambled up off the floor. His hand smacking into the table before he snatched the vodka up and stumbled into his room, Ivan smashing the door shut; his back forced against it. His eyes wide and alarmed, fingers scrabbling until they forced the locks into place. The Russian trembled, forcing the scarf off; dragging his pink one on as he curled into his bed," № .. Нет, я хороший мальчик ... пожалуйста ... пожалуйста, нет ..." He cradled the knife and vodka to his chest before he dragged the blanket over him, cocooning himself in the white fabric.


(Russian: Just a little sting child~ and then you will be free and happy again yes?)
(Russian:No...no I am good boy...please...please no...)

[SaldusSapnai]

Toris hit the ground hard, a strangled gasping cry escaping him as he looked up at Ivan, the haze suddenly evaporating and leaving the Lithuanian with hollowing fear once he met the Russian’s eyes. The brunet’s hands scrabbled against the carpet, nails tearing as he tried to force himself back, when Ivan was suddenly crushing his throat to the floor, forcing Toris’ breath out in a stuttered whimper as his eyes honed in on the knife.

He shook his head, or tried—it was difficult with the force of a Russian on your wind-pipe—and pleaded, not even aware he was talking, his voice a frantic whisper, “Ne-ne-ne-Ivan-Rusija-Praðome dël Dievo meilës nëra vël-!” The other raised the knife, and Lithuania swore his heart was going to stop when-

Toris’ was interrupted by a fluttering movement, his eyes catching onto the pale flash of skin beneath the Russian’s throat. He paused, transfixed, unable to do more than gape at the sheer quantity and depth of the visible, trailing scars. Something in Toris’ core ached at the sight, before Ivan was suddenly up and off from him. The Lithuanian coughed harshly, taking in great gasps of air with his own considerably bruised throat, even as his eyes remained on Russia until he was out of the room.

Toris simply laid there for an agonizing eternity, trembling with the realization of how close he came to death. Eventually, he came to a shaky sit, his hand brushing against his throat, face lined with tears and salt. “I-Ivan?” he called with a rasp, barely able to hear himself over the pain of swallowing. The stillness haunted him.

No no no Ivan Russia Please for the love of God not aga-

[Ivan Braginski]

Ivan curled himself tighter, crying softly as he rocked under the blanket; murmuring a soft litany of Russian under his breath. Most of it nonsense but the word no repeated often and in repetition like some sort of mantra to keep the dark at bay, his hands gripping the bottle and the blade in a white knuckled grip like someone would try and pry them away; tears curled down his cheeks as he struggled to get ahold of then and now and everything in between.

Whispers clawing him deeper into his depression, his neck warm now, but that brush of cold had reminded him too much of the slow brush of metal before it was used with a sort of efficiency no one ever wanted to be acquainted with.

[SaldusSapnai]

Toris spent a long time staring at the closed door leading to Ivan’s room, feeling cold inside in spite of the warmth of the lounge. He didn’t trust himself to stand quite yet, but, unable to explain the instinct even to himself, the Lithuanian found himself crawling across the floor, leaning against the thick bedroom door with a soft and almost silent ‘thud’, shuddering as he pressed his ear to it.

Of course, he could hear nothing.

Toris snorted at himself, a flicker of a hysteric smile flashing across his mouth, as he pressed his trembling knuckles to the door, curling up and pressing his closed eyes to his knees. His mind would not let go of the image of those scars. The Lithuanian’s breath hitched, his shoulders shaking, and before long warm wet spots dotted across his knees, as he tried to rationalize the ache inside him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, unaware and crying.

[Ivan Braginski]

Ivan jerked when something thumped and slid almost noiselessly against his door, curling up and peeking out of his blanket with wide scared eyes; growling at it. His hand shaking on the knife as his fingers tried to protest the force with which he was holding it, than something else followed a second later.

A soft whisper that dug into his senses, not like the bad voices...He slowly slid off the bed, scooting away from the edge of it with a nervous whine; monsters hid under beds. Baba Yaga might try and steal him from the shadows...Ivan bit at his lip and listened hard, trying to find that whisper again as he bit at the top of the vodka bottle; debating drinking just a little.

[SaldusSapnai]

Face buried in his knees, one arm tucked around his legs as the other hand flattened against the door, Toris tried to calm himself, his breath hitching in soft, soundless gasps. “I never wanted it to go this far,” he confessed into the darkness of his arm, swallowing again and wincing, his throat still tender.

Toris shuddered, haunted again by the looks in Ivan’s eyes—anger, madness, fear. It was the fear that shook him, the look of sheer complete helplessness. It was too much like how he had felt, only all at once and so much worse, and it looked so wrong on Ivan. His own helplessness had made him lash out, had made him frenzied and reckless with rage, but for the Russian…

‘Someone did that to him,’ the Lithuanian thought, swallowing again and trying to soothe the ache in his stomach, head sinking as he curled in. “I’m sorry,” Toris repeated, wishing that he had known, wondering if that would have made a difference.

[Ivan Braginski]

Ivan inched to the door, eyes wide as he slowly pressed his palms to the door; cheek following a moment after. That was that whisper again, it sounded so sad, were whispers supposed to be sad? He gripped the blanket around his body and curled against the cold metal; whispering softly to it like it held the secrets of the world," Why? Why are you sorry?" He stroked his hand over the cold metal, giggling softly," You are just whisper...whispers are not sad..."