Status: In development!
A Goddamn Moskal
Friendly dispute.
The street lights shun through the dark streets. Stalking pedestrians, looking down in an attempt to reach and illuminate the two men hiding in the umber between them.
"Gaze upon my work."
Artiom proclaimed, and handed Markov a small, pristine photograph of a horribly mutilated woman.
“Wow, You didn't do more than that and yet still took forever to answer, or even say a fucking word!” Markov let his irritation be known. Markov, who would usually feel enthusiastic about these things, instead had a horrible feeling growing inside him. He still liked the picture, and just like he had previously requested, the victim was now a woman, and the motif struck him with awe.
“Not the horrid form my subjects usually have, wouldn't you agree.” Artiom said.
”You go around and kill people without my consent now? And where do you think I got the information from? From the fucking police! Because I was with Galine and some fucking idiot ignored my calls!”
He exlaimed, on the verge of screaming.
"And why the fuck didn't you kill Omar in Galine's house? Killing him and his wife in their own domicile raises alot of fucking suspicion!"
Artiom sat down on the wet curb and just sat there in silence. Gazing out at nothing.
“The killing. It's a part of my work. A sort of reformation if you will. To make man into art. If you think I have had it any easier than you, then you relish in your own ignorance my friend.”
He lit a fag. Markov scorned the disgusting act, he ignores the one in charge and proceeds with disrespecting him by smoking. Has he not done damage enough for now? Markov thought, and covered his face slightly with a tissue.
“Just so you realize, things will get tougher from here on out. Galine seems adamant she stays with me for now, stupid woman doesn't even seem to care about her lover, haven't seen a single tear. The police have gone into high alert, I couldn't do anything about it, as you might imagine, you retard."
“The police was something I counted on. Any news if the Bureau is in on this?”
Markov looked away a little, to hide the fact he felt shame blossoming on his cheeks. He had not yet looked into it, he had been far too busy panicking and spending time with Galine... embarrased to admit it, he instead said:
“Are you a retard? How can I sneak around for information when I'm part of a crime! And I'm not even the criminal, I would almost count myself a victim to your immense derangement. Even though I have the right to that sort of information... Also, the fucking news!” he continued with an angry voice:
“My handsome face is everywhere, at every corner! Do you realize how demanding this is?!”
“It's not just your face, it's all of you top-brass. And don't worry about your face being shown everywhere, you're in politics aren't you? I'm gonna travel east, commit something as gruesome as I can, shift the focus from our little 'playground' we got going here. You just play along with your innocence and this will all work out.” Artiom dubbed his fag and the ashes fell into the murky waters below him.
Markov sighed. Playing innocent was not the greatest issue here. If Artiom was to leave for a while, then there wouldn’t be any entertainment, bunched up with other problematic things. This would be a depressing time indeed.
“Then I expect you make better stuff than you did last time, you disgusting idiot!”
“Don't worry about that. There ought to be many able-bodied people east, easier to work with.”
He stood up and tossed the fag to the ground.
“Might be fun... seeing the east.”
“What if you get caught there... you know? Then I can't help you, and I can say for certain that I will not move a finger to even try.”
Markov said.
“A lot of veterans in the east. I'll pull some strings.”
*Tsk!* Markov snorted, if he was the one who “pulled the strings” then he would be caught for sure, Markov thought.
“Well... who cares, it might be interesting to see if he survives his little trip.”
Then he said:
“I will call you when everything has settled down a bit, but remember this, that this has probably marked my reputation for the rest of my life, so this will never be forgotten.”
Artiom didn't answer, he looked upon Markov as if he was forcing him away with his look alone. The gaze was ominous; Markov understood the intention of it.
“Well, I'm off then. See you later, I hope... ”
Markov said, turning his back against the old man, taking muffled steps, heading silently into the haunting lights.
“You will either see me, or the end of barrel.” Artiom stood firm.
“Oh, interesting, this might not be so depressing after all!”
he thought. He raised his hand in a gesture, as if to show that he heard every word, and continued on his way. The night crept closer, showering the street with cold and damp. The streetlamps continued to shine their light upon the wet cobblestone, and cast figures into shadows.
"Gaze upon my work."
Artiom proclaimed, and handed Markov a small, pristine photograph of a horribly mutilated woman.
“Wow, You didn't do more than that and yet still took forever to answer, or even say a fucking word!” Markov let his irritation be known. Markov, who would usually feel enthusiastic about these things, instead had a horrible feeling growing inside him. He still liked the picture, and just like he had previously requested, the victim was now a woman, and the motif struck him with awe.
“Not the horrid form my subjects usually have, wouldn't you agree.” Artiom said.
”You go around and kill people without my consent now? And where do you think I got the information from? From the fucking police! Because I was with Galine and some fucking idiot ignored my calls!”
He exlaimed, on the verge of screaming.
"And why the fuck didn't you kill Omar in Galine's house? Killing him and his wife in their own domicile raises alot of fucking suspicion!"
Artiom sat down on the wet curb and just sat there in silence. Gazing out at nothing.
“The killing. It's a part of my work. A sort of reformation if you will. To make man into art. If you think I have had it any easier than you, then you relish in your own ignorance my friend.”
He lit a fag. Markov scorned the disgusting act, he ignores the one in charge and proceeds with disrespecting him by smoking. Has he not done damage enough for now? Markov thought, and covered his face slightly with a tissue.
“Just so you realize, things will get tougher from here on out. Galine seems adamant she stays with me for now, stupid woman doesn't even seem to care about her lover, haven't seen a single tear. The police have gone into high alert, I couldn't do anything about it, as you might imagine, you retard."
“The police was something I counted on. Any news if the Bureau is in on this?”
Markov looked away a little, to hide the fact he felt shame blossoming on his cheeks. He had not yet looked into it, he had been far too busy panicking and spending time with Galine... embarrased to admit it, he instead said:
“Are you a retard? How can I sneak around for information when I'm part of a crime! And I'm not even the criminal, I would almost count myself a victim to your immense derangement. Even though I have the right to that sort of information... Also, the fucking news!” he continued with an angry voice:
“My handsome face is everywhere, at every corner! Do you realize how demanding this is?!”
“It's not just your face, it's all of you top-brass. And don't worry about your face being shown everywhere, you're in politics aren't you? I'm gonna travel east, commit something as gruesome as I can, shift the focus from our little 'playground' we got going here. You just play along with your innocence and this will all work out.” Artiom dubbed his fag and the ashes fell into the murky waters below him.
Markov sighed. Playing innocent was not the greatest issue here. If Artiom was to leave for a while, then there wouldn’t be any entertainment, bunched up with other problematic things. This would be a depressing time indeed.
“Then I expect you make better stuff than you did last time, you disgusting idiot!”
“Don't worry about that. There ought to be many able-bodied people east, easier to work with.”
He stood up and tossed the fag to the ground.
“Might be fun... seeing the east.”
“What if you get caught there... you know? Then I can't help you, and I can say for certain that I will not move a finger to even try.”
Markov said.
“A lot of veterans in the east. I'll pull some strings.”
*Tsk!* Markov snorted, if he was the one who “pulled the strings” then he would be caught for sure, Markov thought.
“Well... who cares, it might be interesting to see if he survives his little trip.”
Then he said:
“I will call you when everything has settled down a bit, but remember this, that this has probably marked my reputation for the rest of my life, so this will never be forgotten.”
Artiom didn't answer, he looked upon Markov as if he was forcing him away with his look alone. The gaze was ominous; Markov understood the intention of it.
“Well, I'm off then. See you later, I hope... ”
Markov said, turning his back against the old man, taking muffled steps, heading silently into the haunting lights.
“You will either see me, or the end of barrel.” Artiom stood firm.
“Oh, interesting, this might not be so depressing after all!”
he thought. He raised his hand in a gesture, as if to show that he heard every word, and continued on his way. The night crept closer, showering the street with cold and damp. The streetlamps continued to shine their light upon the wet cobblestone, and cast figures into shadows.