A Short Jaunt

[Tatyana Vladimirovna]

STYGIAN TUNDRA
January 17th, 2012

Cold. Why did it always have to be cold wherever she went. It was true that she was stationed in Moscow and this was to be expected, but for once, she would like to go somewhere warm. It wasn't like the Tundra was any better in Inferis where she found herself at the moment, crouched low behind some cover as a fire raged about twenty paces ahead of her. Five Ritualists were dancing and screaming, claiming their disgusting rights as their demons remained bound within them. She was further up front, while her backup, a man named Damon, watched from higher up. "I'll distract. You take the shots." She mumbled into her radio, flexing her hands as she waited patiently. At the moment, she had called just the two of them out on this hunt of these miscreants for she had heard tales of this Damon. Stationed in Barcelona normally, she had been considering requesting for his transfer to Irkutsk. They could use an excellent sharpshooter like himself, but she was always one to hold an interview before simply requesting one. If the man was someone she could not work with or appealed to her morales, then she would have to look elsewhere.

The group was beginning to relax, some breaking off to discuss something while others simply wanted to sit down and rest. Another was standing all of five paces from where she hid, and so she knew what would occur. Straightening, she slipped easily up behind him, snapping his neck as his demon began to rise. Her fist found its way through its chest with a hiss of silver again demonflesh, killing the two of them quickly as the others realized she was there. "Go." Drawing out two of her pistols, she opened fire as two began to run towards her, one starting to morph while the other hung back. The silver bullets tore through them, causing them to hiss and scream in pain though they did not slow. Ducking to the side, her foot lashed out with a kick, the crosses in her boots hissing against the exposed flesh they encountered. The one that had not transformed was hanging back, clearly not used to being attacked so. This one... This one was. It didn't like her little kick and so lashed out with a clawed hand, swiping the air where her head had been seconds before.

Her fists came up into its abdomen, punching in quick succession until she used an uppercut to knock the creature back. It did stumble, and two bullets found its way into the man and his bonded demons brains. Now how was the sniper doing....

[Damon T. Ruger]

"I'll distract. You take the shots."

So much for subtlety.

Not moments in and they were already one down each Demon and Ritualist. He had been called in because this was supposed to be a discreet, specialist job. Take out the Ritualists and the Demons at the same time to ensure alarm's not raised, and that both die and neither continue to be a recurrent threat. And unless there was an ulterior motive - though Damon didn't care, it was beginning to very much seem like there was - in Paladin Vladimirovna's actions, then his purpose here was simply to ensure he didn't die. Regardless, the canine loyalty of the sniper was one that was unmatched, in his eyes, amongst even the grunts of the Irkutsk headquarters. "Go."

Damon retorted mechanically down the radio, amalgam of accents droning heavily over a single word. "Copy." Approximately seven hundred metres away from the Ritualists' camp, there was a ridge. Upon that ridge laid a man, in utter silence, with tanned skin and a machine-like stoic expression on his face, glaring down the iron-sights of a barrel-less rifle as he lifted a stiff black eyepatch and pressed the single golden orb against the iron-sights moments before the colour began to drain from his iris into an eerie, offsetting grey, and his pupil shrunk to almost the size of a punctuation mark upon a page.

With a burst of distant and almost silent gunfire so far away, another two fell to the Paladin's close-combat mastery. In his eyes, her imprecision and rash nature - from a first impression, at least - had not warranted a good start to this mission. That said, she was skilled, and her confidence in her own abilities was well-placed. Perhaps stealth was no inherently required. But moments later, it became apparently why Damon was here, when, seven hundred metres closer to Tatyana, the morphed Ritualist-Demon combination in its vile and grotesque conglomerate form, reared its head and prepared to leap.

Against the ironsights his vision tightened and zoomed inwards like the variable lens of a pair of binoculars or a rifle scope. Wait... He blinked once and it clicked in closer, the details of the horrid human-esque creature vivid enough even at a distance, but a second time, and the scales on its back, along with its grotesque, bulging eyeballs were perfectly visible. Half man, half frog, it seemed to be. Wait... With so much as a gram of weight upon the back stock, Damon ever-so-gently pressed down on the gun, tilting the barrel up, and aligning the sights with the Morph's head, and then pushing the shot up and slightly to the right, before his finger, which had been laying on the trigger the entire time, squeezed inwards. Now.

CRACK.

The sound split the air, almost deafening. Damon - prone from his overwatch position - watched as the fifty-calibre round carved through the air at thousands of revolutions per second, blinking to back out of his "zoomed" lens settings, generating enough heat and force to even shear the oxygen atoms themselves, before it tore towards the pair of them, and into the morphed Ritualist as it leapt, cutting a furrow through one side of its head with ease, and spattering brain and some viscous green blood-like fluid over the ground to the side of Tatyana. The impact of such a hefty bullet knocked the entire creature off-centre, sending it spiraling comically through the air, and causing its leap to fail utterly and completely. "Kill confirmed. Over." The last of its motions and twitches faded and the sniper swung the barrel around to the last quartet of Ritualists, two humans and two Demons, around the corner, having not yet noticed the Paladin, but heard some form of commotion.

And with that, they had began to move. Immediately, Damon started jabbering mechanistically into his radio once more. "Paladin Alpha, this is Archer Three-Actual, four hostiles converging on your position from around the corner, repeat, four hostiles." With a pause, he zoomed back in with the single grey pool surrounding his pupil, and scanned the remaining four up and down, very slowly prowling around the camp, checking their corners. Those Demons would be a bitch to take care off if they morphed, especially from Tatyana's side. Too fast to get an accurate bead sometimes. That shot he'd made just moments ago, his body still ringing and vibrating from the recoil of the gun having jumped straight back into his shoulder, had taken a lot of skill to plan and calculate. Two of those at once, maybe three? Not quite as easy. "Suggest you find cover or distraction ASAP, Paladin Alpha. Over."

[Tatyana Vladimirovna]

"Copy." Honestly, from what she had gathered from the man already, he was most certainly made of the material that she looked for in a soldier. Quiet, to the point, loyal to the cause, and damn good at what he did. She had a feeling he was questioning her reasoning for calling him out here specifically, and she would be sure to answer him honestly once this was all said and done. She knew he had his Eagle Vision, and she knew he was an ace sniper, but how did he handle a situation where he couldn't take all the time to set up his shot perfectly? What did he do when his comrades life was on the line? She knew she could handle the situation if necessary, and so was rather willing to put herself out in the open like this in order to see what exactly he would do. So now, as she watched the body of the morphed ritualist before her fall, turning her head towards the second that she had specifically left relatively untouched.

CRACK

Sound rendered the air, coloring it with the blood of the disgusting pair as it splattered all over the snow beside her. If they weren't too serious, it was a wholly comical setting since she had only stood there and watched the body go flying from his shot. "Kill confirmed. Over." "Copy that." She murmured, taking a deep breath as she now turned her attention towards where she had last seen the remaining pairs. One of them was out of her sight, but the other she could see glancing around with its demon at its side. They were about thirty paces from her at this point, but they had realized the commotion that was happening. They were coming to investigate, and to kill. "Paladin Alpha, this is Archer Three-Actual, four hostiles converging on your position from around the corner, repeat, four hostiles." "Copy Archer Three-Actual, I see one of them now. Over." She responded as she double checked her pistols, striding back towards her cover from before and ducking down and taking a single, calming breath. It wasn't like her nerves were firing all over the place or anything, it was just a simple calming thing.

"Suggest you find cover or distraction ASAP, Paladin Alpha. Over." Heh. "Copy that." Pulling out one of her cigars, she cut it, lit it up, but did not smoke it. Rather, she snuck out of one of the snow covered ice banks that served as her cover to the moment to a different one to her right. It had the perfect view of whomever would round the corner on it without immediately seeing her. Sticking the cigar in there artfully, part of her felt a bit bad for wasting something so delicious and fantastic, but it was necessary. Maybe if she was lucky she'd get to actually smoke it once these fiends were dead. And quick as she had ducked out, she was back to her original bit of cover, feeling her strength return from that first punch she had given before. "Over here!" Came the call in demon, right on schedule. She lay there in the snow, waiting, listening as the footsteps that approached hurried over towards where it saw the smoke rising. The demon towered over its human as they both walked over. But it was the human that reached her ploy first. "Hey its just---" He didn't get to finish his sentence as a bullet found its way into his brain, the demon turning just in time to receive one itself. The two fell dead, but its friend was aware of where she was.

Rolling off to the side and up onto her feet, she heard the loud thump of a great tail coming down where she had been, aiming her pistols as she began to move. It leaped towards her, the human and demon bonding together to form their morph and damn was he fast. Her legs pumped beneath her as she fired off a couple of shots, watching the creature duck and weak, its focus entirely on her. Alright Damon... Time to show off. She was pointedly keeping the demon before her out in the open so he would have a clear shot, diving to the side as a claw came down towards her. She holstered one of her pistols as she kicked out with a foot, colliding with the demons chest to knock it back with a hiss of pain. Yeah, how'd them boots feel?

[Damon T. Ruger]

"Copy Archer Three-Actual, I see one of them now. Over." From behind a scopeless rifle, one grey eye watched mechanically as Tatyana dove around the battlefield - presumably deftly and silently - and regained her earlier colour, waiting for the prime moment to strike. She appeared to be somewhat skilled in close combat; those boots and gloves she wore, he'd heard silently in rumours around the barracks, were engraved with crucifixes as to make them just as damaging to Demons as one of his rounds, pre-soaked in holy water and with tips fashioned from silver. Arguably less so, considering the amount of damage a fifty-calibre Browning Machine Gun round could deal compared to a simple punch, but the weapons technology urination contest was not one he deemed it wise to get into with such an authoritative figure.

The sniper watched coldly and analytically as she lit up the cigar and stabbed it into the bank, using it as a draw to pull in the others, before skirting around to another side. All the while remaining calm and silent. You could see much from above the barrel of a rifle. It put emotions into perspective, such an objective view on things. It was as if you were a silent deity, watching over your quarry from afar, knowing that you could end the life of each and every person scrolling into and out of your view. Everyone on the other end of that barrel was a pound of trigger pressure away from their head exploding like a crushed watermelon.

The cracks of pistols from off in the distance rang out as she felled another two and rose up, a spiral and flurry of whirling punches and kicks, her silver-lined boots meeting the chest of yet another Demon. Pushing it back, Damon watched in visceral detail from behind the rifle's barrel, waiting for the opportune moment. The flesh on its chest sizzled; the thing appeared large and well-defensible, toughened, tempered grey hide over his head. Sniper's creed. If you were going to shoot, do it once or not at all.

Just as he readied himself to take the shot at the Demon, it began to rear its head in what looked like pain. But from up there, Damon was cold, calculating, and apathetic. Not a smirk of advantage nor a glint of sympathy passed his face. Sympathy and empathy were two virtues that had vanished from him whenever he took on a task for the Order - and, almost all claimed, had vanished from him completely. Detach yourself from everyone. Anyone can end up on the wrong end of a bullet. That was his mindset, anyway.

The Demon-human hybrid readied itself to strike, rising up a talon-bearing hand to slash downwards into Tatyana. Unfortunately, it would never get as far as getting that window of opportunity. Damon moved in deftly with his hand and cycled the bolt, chambering a fresh round and priming it, the man listening intently as he heard it click into place with a metallic resonation, the silver tip lining up perfectly with the circular, open end of the perforated muzzle. He was lying prone on the ridge as the eternal blizzard of the tundra whirled semi-ferociously around him - nowhere near as vicious as he'd seen it before - and lined up the shot, before, once more, his finger tightened on the trigger.

Another resounding crack as the air exploded with the stench of cordite and the bullet launched itself through the air, the recoil he so desperately savoured as a mark of a duty done properly jarring back into his shoulder with a welcome, dampening thud. The tip of the round met the target's head just as it had prepared to pounce, and once more, blasted it off into the snow, specking the white with pools of off-red blood. Almost immediately the beast fell limp and into a mangled, and almost morbidly comical pose. Damon didn't laugh, just respected the power each of his bullets held.

Smoke trailed up from the end of the AWF rifle's barrel. Eagle Eye clicked on his radio and hissed two words as in a perfectly pathetic fallacy, the snow began to ease from a tumultuous blizzard into a far calmer shower. The tension and adrenaline slowly began to fade, suppressed as the effects of it were through Damon's blood. Adrenaline wasn't a tool in his arsenal. It was a factor that meant things could go wrong. He'd trained over years and years to just keep his control over that. His palms didn't even get clammy any more. He just felt the rush and ignored it, like so many people couldn't. He remained reserved.

"Tango down."

[Tatyana Vladimirovna]

As soon as the demon was shoved away from her she heard that resounding crack that echoed throughout the tundra, blood flying out into the snow as the body crumpled. The blood seeped into the ground below as her radio crackled into her ear, "Tango down." "Excellent work Archer Three-Actual, let us rendezvous back at camp." She sighed lightly and holstered her pistols, readjusting her gloves on her hands. It didn't matter that she knew how to punch, it always sucked having to punch through something. Walking over to where she had stabbed the cigar into the ice, she had to frown when she saw the blood that had splattered onto it, shaking her head. "Of course." She muttered to herself, having to dig around for a fresh one to cut and light. Slipping it between her lips, she began the walk back up the hill, her blue eyes glancing about the scenery.

Alright, time to evaluate. He had performed exactly as his file had suggested he would in combat and it was impressive. But what of socially? What did the man behind the scope think? She trudged across the ice field back up the hill, all the while pondering to herself as she occasionally puffed on her cigar. Oi.... Sometimes she really wondered at the ache in her bones, shaking her head to herself as a strong gust of air blew through. Within a few moments they reconvened at the old abandoned air craft carrier buried halfway into the ice (how it got there she could only imagine). It was a secure location, ensuring that it remained that way until they returned. Pulling the beret off of her head, she strapped it to her shoulder under a strap, sitting down on a seat on its side also buried into the snow. Oddly enough, it was rather comfortable. "I'm getting too old for this shit..." She muttered to herself as she scratched the back of her head, looking up when Damon approached from the ridge side. She gave him a little wave as she puffed on her cigar again, gently and careful tapping the edge from the edge into the snow.

"So, what do you think of the Tundra? Compare to your home at all?" She had to ask him, striking up any sort of conversation so she could see how he might take it from there. Even though she had spoken to the man about coming out here and working with her, she still hadn't really actually spoken to him at all so she had no real idea what sort of man he was. A file could only substitute so much for actually getting to speak to them in person.

(( I'm sorry. SHe's been fighting with me about this post for four days. >.<;; ))

[Damon T. Ruger]

"Excellent work Archer Three-Actual, let us rendezvous back at camp." Damon didn't bother to reply, simply note the cessation of the operation and immediately begin dismantling his equipment. The bipod flicked back in and he heaved the great frame of the scopeless rifle up, and swiftly deactivated his ability, promptly flicking the eyepatch back down with a grunt and pressing the rifle back into its carry case.

It wasn't long before from over the ridge he approached the camp, seeing the Russian Paladin standing there, haughty and worthy with the cigar clenched between her lips. Though for her imperfections, he knew this was a woman of action, a woman of decision, and a woman he could gladly follow into the breach time and time again as he had done. "So, what do you think of the Tundra? Compare to your home at all?" It felt like eons since they had spoken organically instead of over a phone or the comms devices that the Order's quartermaster department just loved to fit them out with.

Saluting as soon as she came into visible range, he made a quick assertion of the command chain before answering her question. "Ma'am." It came with the salute. Moments later he fell to a more lax stance - for him, at least - and answered. "It is far colder and less hospitable than Germany." Arguable for some, though Damon respected beyond measure his home nation's anal retentive appreciation for quality, detail, precision, and many other factors that contributed overall to efficiency. Efficiency... was paramount, in his eyes, absolutely key. With a click he switched off the radio device, and removed the headset he had been granted from his head, winding it up and folding it into a small collapsed ball before tucking it into a pocket of his low-recognition suit, the fabrics of which clung to his body. This had been a special request from one of the Templars' greatest marksmen; and R&D had eagerly granted the Eagle Eye his low-optic recognition stealth suit, or ATLORS, as it was officially designated. "But it, Frau Vladimirovna, is far from impossible to work in."

Whilst considerably less efficient than operations in more temperate climates, Damon could deal with heat and cold as best as any soldier. He made do with circumstances simply because with that he could minimise the amount of variables. Less variables meant less cross-circumstantial errors. And a reduction of error was a high factor when efficiency was paramount and failure was utterly out of the question. "Permission to speak unofficially, ma'am?" He asked, waiting for what was almost always a positive affirmation and response.

When the inevitable nod came, Damon, who was usually one for a minimalist approach to conversation, placed a rather unusual addendum to the conversation. "It is not standard operation procedure for a Barcelona agent to accompany a Paladin into the Tundra, and flying me over here seems like a lot of hassle for such a simple operation." He sighed, lowering the carry-case into the snow-clad ground with a deep thud. "So my guess is that this is for one reason or another an evaluation or a special operation." Eyes cold and expression numb and emotionless, his eyes locked with Frau Vladimirovna's.

The scar on her face usually dissuaded those of weaker wills and stomachs. Damon was not quite so easily put off. Her ability was where her true use lied; and her ferocious reputation as one of the Order's greatest assets and Irkutsk base commander were the only facts of importance to him. The scar on her face was utterly trivial otherwise, and only a mark of the depth of her loyalty and servitude to an operation, have it been for the Templars or otherwise. "If that is the case, then I would respectfully request to know what you thought of my performance, though I understand completely if I must await for the official debrief." Even the surgical precision and patience of the Eagle Eye, stick up his ass and all, could falter beneath the promise of change and possibly promotion.

[Tatyana Vladimirovna]

Oh.  Right.  Formalities.  His salute reminded her just how much higher her rank was above his, offering a quick salute to him in return as a matter of proper decorum.  "Ma'am."  "At ease."  She responded quietly, lifting her cigar back up to her mouth for another puff.  "It is far colder and less hospitable than Germany."  She blew out smoke as she laughed, having found his response to be among the better out of many that she had heard.  And well, this coming from Germany of all places also made irony quiet the obvious choice here.  It hadn't been hospitable in WWII, it certainly wasn't going to be now.  Not that she was going to phrase that aloud.  She calmed after a moment, grinning as she stared at the fire now.  "But it, Frau Vladimirovna, is far from impossible to work in."  The grin remained as she lifted her eyes from that small fire, casting a brief glint in those mirth filled blue eyes.  

"Aye, my country is not very kind.  But I'm glad that it isn't impossible to work in."  She couldn't help but chuckle again, taking another puff as his voice floated in once more, "Permission to speak unofficially, ma'am?"  Her eyebrow raised now as she straightened up, nodding once to him.  Well now, what was it he wanted to say?  It was such a formal request to speak freely and he was... stiff.  It must come from working in Germany.  "Please do."  It is not standard operation procedure for a Barcelona agent to accompany a Paladin into the Tundra, and flying me over here seems like a lot of hassle for such a simple operation."  Her eyebrow raised further as she sat up more, crossing her legs while puffing silently on her cigar.  A sharp one he was.  She liked this.  "So my guess is that this is for one reason or another an evaluation or a special operation."  Oh-ho-ho.... Good.  Very good.  There was a distance now in her eyes, a shift in the manner in which she sat there. It wasn't the easy-going leader that had been there seconds before, it was full of anticipation and a growing sense of tension.  

Their eyes had locked together now, her expression one of impassivity and difficulty to read.  She had a feeling that he would guess the oddness of their current situation, but to be correct in that.... It was still delicious.  He did not cringe, did not back away from questioning her so and anyone that could do that was good in her book.  "If that is the case, then I would respectfully request to know what you thought of my performance, though I understand completely if I must await for the official debrief."  Silence drifted between them for a moment as their gazes remained locked a little longer, Tatyana being the one to break it as her lips twisted into a smirk, gesturing for him to sit with her.  "No, no need to wait.  You hit the nail on the head."  She took another puff on her cigar, the smoke drifting upwards into the air as the tension began to dissipate as quickly as it had come.  It was like a great beast had appeared, and then decided to leave, now just two simple people talking to each other.  "I like your frankness Damon, and you are sharp as a tack which is something else I like in my comrades."  

Her gaze lifted up from her cigar to him, leaning forward to rest her elbow on her crossed legs. "This was an evaluation, and I am most pleased at your performance.  Reading over someones file can only give you so much of an idea about them, I like to meet my potential comrades in person and actually speak to them.  So congratulations Damon, you have passed."  She gestured upwards towards their mortal realm and sighed lightly.  "We need more recruits out here, especially ones of your calibre.  You will be promoted and transferred to Irkutsk once we get back to HQ.  Congratulations Mr. Ruger."

[Damon T. Ruger]

"No, no need to wait. You hit the nail on the head." If the Eagle Eye never smiled; now would be the perfect time to. "Hit the nail on the head" was a term of precision; and when your entire life was devoted to accuracy as a sniper's was on the warpath in Inferis, then those were the sort of things you wanted to see. Tatyana continued further to expand, apparently impressed with his intuition.

"I like your frankness Damon, and you are sharp as a tack which is something else I like in my comrades." The German-Spaniard inclined his head; many other leaders would have considered such an assertion to be presumptuous, but for Damon it had been the right mix of intuition and daring that it had endeared him - apparently - to the Paladin, who was being above-board and very clean-cut about the whole thing. That was another thing that the sniper liked; that his superior was being very clear about things. It always helped.

"I do nothing but try my best, Frau Vladimirovna." The sniper stated, trying his best to remain humble. Arrogance was not a flagship quality that many Templars possessed until rising up into the order to possess enough respect from your peers that you could so afford to utilise hubris. Which was ironic, considering that it was then considered a virtue in such a fervent Catholic order. Leaning forward, she reorganised her stature, continuing to puff on the cigar - margnally better for one's body than cigarettes, anyway - as she spoke explaining the situation.

"This was an evaluation, and I am most pleased at your performance. Reading over someones file can only give you so much of an idea about them, I like to meet my potential comrades in person and actually speak to them. So congratulations Damon, you have passed." Evaluation, huh? The very makings of a smirk for naught more than a split-second brushed onto the sniper's face, but vanished a moment later as he remembered who he was present in front of, and mechanically inclined his head.

"Many thanks for the opportunity, ma'am." The sniper murmured coldly, the steel tones of his voice reflecting well the clean-cut and well-maintained inner workings of his very own rifle. Which reminded him; he needed to strip it upon return home. "I work only to the best of my abilities and hope that can be enough for my superiors and the order." He asserted with a stern nod; and it was true. If anything, Damon Ruger was as loyal as a dog, and as vicious as a wolf.

"We need more recruits out here, especially ones of your calibre." More recruits? Out here? Of his calibre? So did this mean- "You will be promoted and transferred to Irkutsk once we get back to HQ. Congratulations Mr. Ruger." Promoted!? Damon let his eyebrow inch upwards for a moment before lowering back down, and tried to remember his humility, bowing his head once more - but that was news he hadn't entirely been expecting. Promotion. Huh. Irkutsk?

Looking around from one edge of the wide, cold, cloudless, grey-white expanse to the other, in something of a mechanical survey of his surroundings, before returning his gaze to Tatyana, and breathing out the harsh, cold air as he locked his own steely, steadfast gaze with her once more. "You will not regret it, Frau Vladimirovna." The sniper assured her sternly. "The opportunity and faith in me is appreciated, Paladin. I will not let you down."

With that silence fell between the pair, and Damon waited for the conversational ground to settle; that was slightly more emotion than he tended to show, even if it was just a statement of his fervent, eternal, and undying loyalty, as passionate and strong as ever. But he was growing cold lingering in the weather of Irkutsk, and turned once more to his superior; though his body did not shiver, his mind holding it back, he wished to return instead of standing around here semi-uselessly. "When do we cross back?" Alongside that, of course, he was eager to tend to his new duties and establish himself with the position Frau Vladimirovna deemed fit to give him within Irkutsk headquarters. Hamburg and Barcelona were well and good, and even Washington, but... Russia?

It was something new to him entirely.

[Tatyana Vladimirovna]

It was easy to sense the personal satisfaction that was coming off of him from her general approval and high evaluation of him.  No matter how one might try to hide such things for a sense of modesty or not wanting to be overbearing, it was still one of those emotions that was easy to detect.  Or perhaps that was just her and being used to dealing with people and the way that she functioned as a leader as opposed to others.  Even his momentary confusion aside, she saw him tilting his head, it was something that would pass rather quickly.  There was much she had, in fact, gleaned from going over his file and some of it was proving to be accurate which was always a relief.  It also meant she could seem to make some assumptions of him.  "I do nothing but try my best, Frau Vladimirovna."  Tatyana smirked as she took a deeper puff on her cigar.  Most career military men who gave as much a damn as he did always went with modesty.  She had to admit it was a bit endearing.  Many were surprised that she was as humble as she was given her status in the order.  Heh, then again she didn't exactly travel to visit other districts of the order anyways due to usually working, money, and some other constraint always coming up.  If you didn't have to deal with other districts, then you didn't have to deal with any potential.... issues.  Except for major meetings, and then all that was being pushed aside.  

"Many thanks for the opportunity, ma'am."  She fell quiet for a moment, nodding once to him as the fire sudden crackled rather loudly.  Perhaps it found a bit of air midst the wood.  "I work only to the best of my abilities and hope that can be enough for my superiors and the order."  And then her smirk grew, because she knew he wasn't brown-nosing her right now.  That was just how he truly felt.  Oh yes, she would like him very much as her subordinate and the others wouldn't mind his company either.  Well... perhaps not Menkov, but then it was Menkov.  They would cross that bridge when they came to it.  From there her smirk began a smile as she saw the eyebrows raise in surprise.  Was it really such a shock to him?  He had to know that he had had this coming for a while for his record was truly impeccable.  Oh that was adorable, he bowed his head to her.  A chuckle quietly rumbled beneath them as smoke drifted from between her lips again, her hand reaching over to the side to gently rub the ash off.  

"You will not regret it, Frau Vladimirovna."  She smirked once more, "The opportunity and faith in me is appreciated, Paladin. I will not let you down."
 Tatyana nodded her head once, that odd glint passing over her eyes again as she pushed herself up.  "I'm not too worried, I'm sure you'll do just fine. Welcome to the team."  She took one last puff on her cigar, remembering a thought that she figured he would probably end up disregarding anyways.  "And please, call me Tatyana. Otherwise my title might go to my head." She commented with a chuckle, letting the butt of her cigar drop to the ground. It fizzed as the cold reached up to it as if to suck the heat of it right out. Welcome to the Tundra. "When do we cross back?" Reaching into her pocket, she cracked her neck as she pulled out an old lighter with beautiful delicate filligree engraved into its surface. "Now. We have finished what we came to do. Oh and, Mr. Ruger, you'll want to be learning Russian shortly." And with that she flicked the lighter, the CrossGear humming to life as it enveloped the two of them, taking them back into the bustling streets of Irkutsk.

[END THREAD]

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