The Rose and the Wolf -Dimitry-

[Lilia Wyndern]

The halls were so quiet today, it was almost deafening, and luckily the woman that walked through these halls was in no way unaccustomed to such silence. The resounding clacking noises of her heels clashed with the silence, bringing some relief to those of who were not used to such a quiet atmosphere, but either way not many walked these halls to begin with. The elite, she could pride herself with this. This title was hard earned, about as much as the tattoo of a bleeding rose on the side of her shoulder, proof of her own title and status. She had been given many names, some serious and others more visually oriented. ‘Rose Maiden’, ‘Pink Panther’…hell one recruit had even jokingly called her a ‘sex kitten’ merely for her flexibility. …he didn’t last long. Respect was top priority in her list and he was a total drop out, good riddance.

Today, she had done some work, simple ‘questioning’ was all, her frigidly calmed face often choked any sort of resistance out of those she interrogated when she needed to. There were those kinds of people and some that needed more persuasion. Now, she was in no way a Valentine, but seduction could sometimes bring the answers out of people, though she’d never let them touch her, ugh the thought of it made her skin crawl. She disliked being touched, simply because a gentle caress was a guilty pleasure. It felt wonderfully disastrous, curse sensitive skin, curse it so.

She took a right, and proceeded to taking a seat in a plush chair, propping one of her long legs over the other. She needed to relax a bit, relaxation cleared the mind, and that was what made her something formidable. Without adequate rest and a clear mind she would’ve been done with long ago. She smiled at the memory of her first mission, she was so young back then…it had been years now. When she had begun to reminisce she had caught the sounds of footsteps on the floor, her sharp ears catching it right away. Her crystal blue eyes looked to the direction it was coming from, but she said nothing. It was an immediate action for her to tense up even a little bit when she heard unfamiliar noises even in a place like this you can't be too careful.

“…” She remained a calmed individual, but if even one move was made towards her she would have a knife against the person’s throat. Heh, it was good having a dress sometimes, she hid a knife right by her thigh, strapped around soft flesh. Her fingers grazed It, ready to pull it out if necessary.

[Dimitry Zechevny]

His mind wandered aimlessly as he wandered the corridors.

So much special operative. He hadn't done anything of use for so long, that had he not been proving it to himself, he'd have thought his skills lost. In reality, it had only been a couple of days. A new batch of recruits was taking priority, at least until they whittled them down the hardened core. Then they'd become field agents. Grunts. He almost felt sorry for them, until he remembered, he'd also been one. Everyone in here who wasn't a trainee had.

Particularly the girl who had just wandered past him in the corridor. He couldn't remember her name, he had never truly been aquainted with her. But she was certainly... Eye catching. He let her walk a couple of steps before pivoting on his heel, following her, silently, but swiftly. The nature of his skills meant that even in his normally loud shoes, he could become noiseless at but a whim.

He heard the gentle sound of her sitting down. The unmistakable escaping of air from the plush seat. He could tell you this much just from the noise. He slid up to the door, before gently pushing it open, smirking slightly. He'd see how good she was, very soon.

She exuded a certain aura of elegance and beauty from her. But from the tensing of her body when he entered the room, he could tell beneath the pretty exterior was a lethal weapon. Pink hair, long legs and a bust most Valentines would kill to have made her somewhat unique amongst the Special Operatives he had met. He stepped forward normally, clearing his throat before speaking, his Russian accent coming out thickly.

Seems I'm not the only one here with nothing to do. Don't bother with the knife, I'm not here to attack you or anything. Not that it would make much odds. You know as well as I do neither of us would win.

He threw himself on a chair opposite her, much less graceful than she had evidently done, looking at her, before leaning back, hands behind his head, evidently thoroughly relaxed. But, much like she was, he was perfectly ready to leap from his chair to whatever need. He wondered whether he should try and make his presence more known around the special ops group. Might make him seem less... Hostile...

[Lilia Wyndern]

Her heart beat, as if four of them simultaneously pumped blood and oxygen into her system. The adrenaline she was so familiar with seeped into her systems, sending them into a frenzy to ready herself. All this had happened with a relatively calm exterior, but she was a Viper, a Rose that if held or provoked she’d strike with deadly precision and accuracy. When the person had calmly strolled in, and told her that there was no need to pull out a knife at her, she eased herself back on the chair, letting her hands drift to her lap comfortably.

The man she saw was one of the Agents she had seen around a little, and upon hearing him speak his name once, he was indeed foreign and Russian at that. She nicknamed him ‘Vodka’ but she never spoke it to him, it was simply to remember him. Her mind buzzed like a super computer remembering his name. She had always been good with her memory, she had to. “Dimitry Zechevny.” She spoke, his name rolling off her tongue prettily, her French accent helped along the soothing yet stern qualities of her voice.

“…mmm, this is true. If you are a Special Ops Agent, then that only means that you are at my skill level.” Just with different specialties, that was really the only thing that distinguished a person in this department other then the usual of genders and physical traits.

He sat down on a chair next to hers, and she looked over at him as he did to her. He was different, it wasn’t just his accent. He held a chiseled face, and with a rugged stubble that showed his age in the most modest of ways. His physique was also as expected, fit and ready for action.

“…how have things been for you?” She asked, trying to strike a conversation, when she had no duties to perform, she was far more social.

[Dimitry Zechevny]

What was it about the French accent?

It had such a mesmeric, almost beautiful ring to it. He was surprised at how easily it rolled off of her tongue. He was surprised she remembered his name. He certainly didn't remember hers. Or did he? He knew that her nickname was something to do with her person, some key mark. Some of the grunts were discussing how one of the recruits had basically been... Well, robbed of his masculinity by getting pounded into the dirt by her, so to speak. Apparently he'd left a week later. He caught a glimpse of it. On her shoulder. Of course...

So you're the one they call Rose Maiden. I don't believe I've ever been graced with your actual name, despite you being familiar with mine.

He looked up. True. Being an operative only made you a certain level. Everything else was based on personal preferences. But he prided himself on having a wide range of combat methods, each one finely honed, to a razor sharp point.

True enough, but when you deal in death as regularly as I do, such things become... Second nature. However, I'm sure in many ways, you are superior to me.

It was probably true. He was the new boy about campus, so to speak. But he'd never let that stand in his way. He'd shaken that image off very rapidly, with more than one broken bones in more than one person. Not that it had done his social skills any good. He now had that reputation of a cavalier attitude. He'd heard more than one recruit calling him 'Commissar Dimitry'. Not that he minded. They weren't out of line. Yet.

Dull. For the most part. This moment has been the highlight so far. You'd be surprised how little I've had to do. They must think I need a rest. I haven't had an assignment for 2 days. Nothing. Zilch. Yourself?

He was surprised how easy it was to actually just, TALK to someone, not be receiving, or giving orders. Just, talking, like a civilised being. It was actually quite interesting. And he hadn't really been talking to her very long.

I must say, you don't seem the... Special Ops model, if you don't mind me saying. You'd put most Valentines to shame. Then again, you don't earn a title like yours without possessing your own thorns.

He spoke frankly. He didn't tend to mince with words often. It wasn't something he considered useful. Why go around a conversation, just say what you want, say it well, and let others make their judgements, and take them on board with as much respect as they showed yours.

[Lilia Wyndern]

He had immediately caught on to her nickname at least, but that was probably because of the tattoo on her shoulder. Still, currently, none of the agents here had pink hair like she did. He had remembered her name, but that was only because she at least knew the basis of names and some information she would know of them. Not in spite like a certain Valentines General she had vaguely heard of. “…I’m not surprised. I really don’t give my name unless asked for.” She looked away from him briefly. Her name was a simple thing, and yet could be so complex in certain situations. It could be used as a simple way to call that person by, or a name that people identify you as to search for where you are and…well…she had a time when it almost killed her.

She looked back at him; her hair flowed with her relatively quick turn to glance upon him once more. “My name is Lilia Wyndern, though my name isn’t in the least bit French, I did live in France for the majority of my life.” It was easy to tell, the French accent was so much more different then the others. It had a class all its own.

“French is my first language…then English, but I’d like to learn more languages because they are invaluable.” She liked learning other languages; two didn’t seem enough for her really.

He gave her a subtle compliment, saying that in some ways she was superior to him. That made her pride boost up a bit, it was nice to hear that, but she wouldn’t let it show on her face the silent satisfaction she felt.

“Despite my stubborn pride as a woman, there are still some things that men best me in, but…that doesn’t mean I can’t cripple one. I’ve done so many times. In this line of working, having multiple talents makes it easier for you to survive and bring in information. That’s why once I became a recruit; I did all I could to increase the talents I already had, and new ones which I have mastered now.” She closed her eyes, her facial expression relaxed yet stern.

“Is that right? I’ve been busier then you have apparently. I have a mission to go to a few days from now. My best talent, I infiltrate, and when it comes to it, hacking to get information is what I do best with. I never fail in these types of missions; this is why I am a Special Ops Agent like yourself. I am constantly learning, like a machine I aim to be efficient and not to be obsolete….but…”

“This has also caused a barrier for social interactions. It is why I am cold and reclusive and I wish only to get my jobs done with the best I can, so I don’t have to worry about other trifling matters beforehand.” Though, nothing said taking a break when you have nothing to do at the moment was bad.

She chuckled at his last comment, what a flattering compliment that was. “Flattering, yes, my thorns are sharp and adequate in keeping people away, but nonetheless I’ve never been fond of Valentine Units. …I never believed that it is right to degrade yourself in propositioning ones self to please someone sexually just to receive information. The world is just…corrupted that way I suppose. Sex really can get you far, but…I am in no way throwing myself down to such a level. I am an honorable woman, not a sex object.” She had the pride of a Lion, that was absolute, but her luscious, desirable body spoke different words on this subject.

[Dimitry Zechevny]

He smiled, before stretching out. He was quite comfortable here. And conversation... It was actually quite good to relax and unwind. He made a mental note of her name, mouthing it to get his lips around the words. It was a pleasant name.

Lilia. I like it.

He looked at her again. A linguist trapped inside that body... Who'd have thought. Then again, most Special Operatives had something unusual about them. His was his compulsive, almost interrogtion-like analysis of conversation. There was little he couldn't determine from someones tone or phrasing. She for example, seemed to detest the fact that she was blessed with a body, that, as he had so aptly put, would have made most Valentines jealous.

Russian is my first language. As you might expect. Then English of course. French is one of those languages that simply wouldn't sound well from my tongue.

She was right after a fashion. The dedication they both seemed to display often made them difficult to talk to. How did you talk to someone who you know full well will gladly rip you open if they were commanded, without batting an eyelid?

I certainly know what you mean by that. Most I know seem to find me a rather difficult person to be around. A work colleague, but nothing more. It's something I'd possibly like to change. Might help me blend in better. Although, a Russian amongst Americans... I stand out regardless.

He smirked. Ah the Valentines. What a... Different, function they served. Not a precise instrument like most, but a blunt tool, used to smash the heads of sexual desire. He could not fault their efficiency, he held a certain respect for anyone who could do such wonders, just using their body and words, and come back with some dignity.

I must say, I disagree in some ways. Those with such talents as the Valentines must be put to their use, unless they display other talents. Would you not prefer to be in a role that your body and your mind suited? That is what makes a Valentine a Valentine, and a Special Operative, a Special Operative.

He leaned back, looking at her again. She would have made an excellent Valentine. With a body as simply... Ravishing as hers, her haughty attitude, she would be able to make most men swoon, just by being in the same room. He wondered whether that thought had ever crossed her mind. Whether she ever used that to her advantage when on a mission... He stopped himself from asking. She didn't seem the sort of person to take kindly to such questioning.

But, then again, I can see where you are coming from. It is a perfect representation of how low society can fall when bared flesh, sultry words, and in some cases, natural blessings can get the most valued of secrets from someone, without so much as raising a pistol to their heads. Makes my job... Exceedingly dull.

He grimaced slightly. He was exceptionally bored. What do you do when every other department was busy, wading knee deep in paperwork, test subjects and experiments? Nothing. There was nothing to do. One had to make do with what was available to him. And at this moment, he would have to make do with the intelligent, enticing young operative sitting opposite him.

Life was hard sometimes.

[Lilia Wyndern]

She nodded; she wanted to smile at the thought of having someone like her name. It was a name that was very unpopular, but that’s what made it special. Not many people had her name which made her feel special, but being special had its downsides of course. Lilia had already developed a liking of talking to Dimitry, it being his lack of much warmth when he spoke, it being straight to the point. He seemed to be almost her male equivalent, him being socially inept to other people. He was rigid and precise, but he had something she didn’t. He seemed to have warmth she could not grasp, but everything else seemed uncanny to her, hmm it was strange.

“Dimitry, at least you hold no language barrier, but I’m wondering if it’d be worth having companions on a closer level. I suppose if they weren’t weak it’d be something I wouldn’t worry about…” She desired to have companions, but still debated the whole worth of friendship.

He disagreed with her on Valentines a tad, but she didn’t dwell on it. It is her own opinion, but she was so stubborn with it. Her stubborn ways were like trying to pry open an extremely tight lid on a jar but to no avail.

“Hmm, I suppose so…” she had a stubborn look on her face, her soft lower lip jutting out in a light pout. Still, her face perked when he switched to her own side, saying that indeed the world was corrupt as well as the people within it. She wanted to ask if he had ever fell prey to such temptation, but she didn’t want to pry.

“…” She looked down a little, down at her brown boots. She wondered what to say to something like that.

“I like my job. When I believe something is right then in my own perspective and logic it is. I do all that I can to make sure the information I receive is what we all desire to prosper and move on. …and the thrill and satisfaction you feel is enough to make me feel good. Isn’t this the true excitement of being a Special Ops Agent?” She looked at him, serious.

“Don’t call it dull. We do things others cannot, and we’re the best at doing it. Don’t soil the pride you have at accomplishing this task to get where you are.”

[Dimitry Zechevny]

He nodded once. It was true. They were a somewhat specialist group. Few could match the skill they had in their field. They were there for a reason. Dull was perhaps the wrong word. But at the moment, he had been completely unable to be doing anything, of any sort. It was saddening in a way, but it was a nice break he admitted.

Perhaps not dull. Infrequent of late? But, I suppose everyone needs a break from time to time. We wouldn't be at our best if we did not.

He sat up briskly. He had a question burning at the tip of his tongue, but he wasn't quite sure how to phrase it. He'd never asked it before. He'd never really thought about it until now. The first kill. What had it been like for her? He remembered his vividly. It was almost a perfect kill. A single shot, quick, clean, effortless. The only thing that marred the immaculacy of it was the fact that the death was witnessed, and several heard it. But otherwise, no-one knew who had done it. The cell leader, as he was, and his cell were systematically eliminated.

I have always wondered whether everyone's first kill is the same feeling. This may be out of the blue, but what was yours like?

He recalled the build-up, the utmost calm, poise, composure. He had never felt so ready for anything in his life. But the moment it came to pulling the trigger, everything changed. His hands had begun shaking. Nerves had set in, every movement became jittery. Until the moment before he took the shot. Everything had settled, his breath had been caught short. He recalled the feeling of despair when the target was still standing. Until he dropped to the floor, blood pooling on the pristine white carpetting. The exhiliration of the triumph, it was uplifting in ways he could not describe. But then that deep pit that you stared at. You had taken a life. The first was always the worst. The most extreme. You never forgot that face. The first kill was always the one that haunted your memories for a lifetime and more.

It intrigues me how such strong emotions can be evoked from the simplicity of taking another life. I do not dispute that it occurs. Far from it. It is a life changing experience, excusing the pun, so to speak. Would you not agree mademoiselle?

He made an attempt at what little French he knew. It was plainly spoken, barely a hint of French accenting, sounding more forced than anything, but she had made the effort with his name, he would make the effort with her language.

[Lilia Wyndern]

“Mmm, I understand. I haven’t gotten much work done myself, at least anything that calls for me. It’s a tad frustrating, but I suppose what I’ve been doing to pass the time is alright. I exercise a lot, I must, I eat healthy, and at times I do watch the cooking channel. …I haven’t admitted this to anyone, but…I’m horrible at cooking. The only thing I can bake is cookies, and even then it’s not from scratch. Anything I try to make that is remotely complicated I can’t hope to make edible. A curse I’m afraid…”

He had asked her what her first kill was like, and she began to ponder this. She remembered it true, but I was far too gruesome. “My first kill was when I was eighteen years old. The man I killed was also a French resident. Though he was of the evil variety, he tried reasoning with me to spare his life, and I had no gun, so I had to do the dirty work of slitting his throat with just a simple knife. He spoke to me in a way it was like…a snake. The last words he said before I killed him were…”

“Dieu est Monté n'a aucune clémence. au-dessous de la beauté et de ces épines horribles est un pécheur comme moi.” She spoke French magnificently, fluent as it’s supposed to be, and she sounded more fluid with French then English naturally. It was a chilling message though.

“Basically he said ‘God’s Rose has no mercy. Beneath the beauty and those horrid thorns lies a sinner just like me.”

“I haven’t forgotten what that man said, but…I know that I cried afterwards, his blood was on my hands and I was still relatively young and immature when it came to missions and stealing the life of others. I prayed over and over for God to forgive me, to wash away this sin. I had to survive, but sometimes to survive I had to kill others. It’s a natural thing in life to protect others and bring peace.”

“Now it is second nature, but I still think of the message when I must eliminate others. It used to affect me so much back then that I couldn’t pick up anything that looked like a knife for a whole month.

Lilia nodded at Dimitry and she smiled genuinely at his use of minor French. It was nice to see people attempting the romantic language. “Such flattery, mon chéri.” She laughed a little. “I’d love to teach you the language, but I’m afraid I actually might laugh a little. Never have I heard anyone say a word of my language and make it sound so…forced. When speaking French it has to come from here.” She pointed to her heart with her index finger.

“It should be smooth, fluid and lovely sounding as if silk made from Aphrodite the Goddess of Love. That is what my mother told me. Whenever she said to me ‘Je vous aime’ or ‘I love you’ it sounded full of heart.” She sounded as if she was enjoying this; for once her face was full of emotion. Happiness looked good on her for one was used to a cold indifference from her.

“Still…it’s a shame. It’s hard to form bonds with others and expect them to be safe.” Lilia could admit she was afraid to let a man inside,…that probably went both ways but that wasn’t the point. Nowadays, she’s heard rumors of sexual relations with others, but those never last long and Lilia dreaded just having a simple ‘I bang you, you bang me and then we leave for work’ relationship. She wanted something special, but she knew being a Special Ops agent made that pretty much impossible.

[Dimitry Zechevny]

He nodded as he listened. His was nothing like hers. Hers was brutal, unrefined. No wonder it had scarred her somewhat.

Seems untrue. True, a kill is a kill. But the nature of the kill... Those who are evil are not really entitled to pass judgement.

He thought to the liquidation of the KGB. That had been a VERY brutal period of history. Something, he felt, had attributed to the start of the war. When you displace such a powerful and influencial organisation from their power, they'll do anything to get it back. He felt ashamed that fellow countrymen had potentially caused the havoc that had led to the nigh on eradication of the human race...

Mine was somewhat different. Long distance. I only remember his face. Gaunt, blonde hair, grey eyes. Nose like someone had hit it with a frying pan...

He almost smiled at the comment on his pronunciation. He knew it was forced, but his own tongue was harsh. It was more suited to being shouted, but then again, one could garner a good degree of menace from his native tongue. It was a very sinister language if said correctly. This had it's advantages. Shame so few understood him.

Well, it's a different language. Nothing like Russian. All this... Rolling of syllables, softness... None of the harshness that my own tongue is so accustomed to. I'd like to learn, but, perhaps when we have more time. It depends. We'll see I guess. I could teach you Russian, would possibly be easier for you, but it is a difficult language I have heard.

He smiled again. He sort of hoped she took up the offer. It would be nice to spend more time with someone in conversation.

[Lilia Wyndern]

“I know…” She wanted to say something more about it like ‘I still fear it might be true’ but she kept it inside and simply let the subject drift off to a more lighthearted one. He seemed to remember the man he killed, down to features and she nodded as she listened. When the conversation turned more lighthearted she smiled a little.

“It would seem that the French and Russian languages are complete opposites, no? It almost counts as Genders when you think of it. Whenever I think of a Russian man I think of something French a woman comes into mind, probably my mother, but I barely remembering her. He started talking about the ‘softness’ of her language and she laughed whole-heartedly, such a rare thing to see her laugh as well.

“I would be happy to learn Russian, and as a fair trade I give you my own language. I don’t like to ‘mooch’. Where shall we do this?”

[Dimitry Zechevny]

He nodded. The fear was always there for those of even slight chance of damnation. He agreed with her comment on the almost opposite natures of the languages. The image he had of Russia was of vodka, ice and red. France was of fine wine, sun and white. The two images differed on so many levels. He was however sure that Russia, his homeland, was the worse off of the two. It had been almost annihilated during the war.

Where? Well, my place is free, not to sound forward.

He looked at her. It would indeed be worth learning the language, if only to expand the number of languages one could intercept and interpret. Where was little of an issue, as long as they got to learn from each other. He had to say, he'd never had such a beautiful tutor.

But wherever. If anywhere more suitable crops up.

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