Post by auskuchen on Oct 26, 2011 19:19:33 GMT -5
((Okay, I already posted it to FF.net, but I want critiques so let 'em loose please?))
Quick AN: The beginning of this chapter uses chat format for a short time. Occasionally, parts of the story shall be written in things other than third-person omniscient. Sorry if that offends you.
Story: Top of the Hill
Rating/Warning: 14+ in this chapter, for crude language and macabre humor and mentions of sexual activity. Yes, I do make necrophiliac jokes. Hush. Also, the name 'Francis' which brings up bad images anyhow. Late chapters will be more explicit. -le sigh-
Pairing: AmeRus/RusAme, FrUk, One-sidedBelaRuss, more to be added later.
Top of the Hill
Chapter 1: Shiver Up the Spine
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Snegnapolyu (Ivan Braginski) is online.
Snegnapolyu: It's six pm, suck it.
Migrandecigarro (Pedro Vasquez): Go outside man, look if anyone left their clothes and LOOT.
Migrandecigarro: Automatic loot function and you aren't even on a team.*
Snegnapolyu…A MMORPG joke? Ped, u are so freaking bored.
Migrandecigarro: Admit it made you laugh.
Snegnapolyu: Nyet. Also, lol, besides my baba, no one here is that faithful.
Migrandecigarro: Mi Abuelo is the same way. Dude wanted me to be a priest.
Snegnapolyu: xД Padre Pedro.
Snegnapolyu: Blasphemy.
Migrandecigarro: Si, si, get molested by your sister yet?
Snegnapolyu: Do I have to come over there and inspect your faucet?*
Migrandecigarro: You should change your SN to whatever mybigpipe is in Russian.
Migrandecigarro: Then we'd match.
Snegnapolyu: That's why I'm keeping it the same.
Migrandecigarro: Cabron.*
Snegnapolyu: ^j^
Migrandecigarro: Come over. I wanna drink and we still have some tequila left from the last time.
Snegnapolyu: Can't. I have a job, night shift. (You man-whore, encouraging my alcoholism)
Migrandecigarro: WHAT.
Migrandecigarro: The fuck? When did this happen? Not telling your amigo you have a new job. (I don't need to encourage you. You drink enough by yourself.)
Snegnapolyu: Just started today, at the cemetery. (You know what? Go enjoy the heart attacks you'll get from the ice cream you're eating right now)
Migrandecigarro: You serious How'd you get a job there? (Frozen strawberry yogurt at the moment, u mad?)
Snegnapolyu: the guy there, Kirkland, posted an ad on craiglist.
Migrandecigarro: The occult guy who gets drunk in Tino's every Sunday? You sure he doesn't want to sacrifice you for some satanic ceremony?
Snegnapolyu: I'm sorry mama, I forgot I'm a little boy.
Migrandecigarro:
That place has weird rumors about it, ukno?
Snegnapolyu: It's a cemetery. It'd be strange if there were no rumors about it.
Migrandecigarro: No. no. It used to be an Indian graveyard way back when. People just continued burying things there once they settled here.
Migrandecigarro: then in the 30's I think they found catacombs but couldn't excavate it. I think it was real shaky or something and someone died brutally.
Snegnapolyu: Mm, da, so? Why do I care?
Migrandecigarro: So since when have you decided that you like dead girls?
Snegnapolyu: g2g and stfu
Migrandecigarro: Say hello to all those DUIs and ODers you find there, Ivan. And remember, just because she's dead doesn't mean she's clean.
Snegnapolyu: fuck you.
Snegnapolyu (Ivan Braginski) has signed off.
Driving your mother's beat-up old van isn't remotely cool; Ivan Braginski knew this all too well. But as his van bumped on the very rocky and twisted road to the cemetery, Ivan felt accomplished. He has a job. He has a fucking job. Way to be a man, Vanya! Well, he was a man. Being extremely tall and rather handy with your fists made him a man to others. Not so much to his elder sister, mother, and Bababulya* who still called him 'Malchik'* when annoyed with him. At least his mother would stop being annoyed with the fact he wasn't doing anything now.
Each turn he made on the wheel was punctuated with a widening smile. Sure the job wasn't well-paying; a gravedigger and night guard probably wasn't the most best-paying thing anyway. But he could get tips for digging grave. Plus, there was a certain mystique and cool factor about working in a graveyard. And, being a very large cemetery and the only in the county, Panagea cemetery saw lots of new… residents.
He pulled into the little plot of gravel stone that he guessed was the parking space and parked. He could see the familiar figure of Arthur Kirkland leaning on the fence, made of the rather cliché cast-iron bars, smoking a cigarette in his trademark little top-hat and black trench coat, effect only ruined by the bottle-green wellington boots he wore over khaki pants. The short(er) man nodded and stubbed out his cigarette on the gravel as Ivan locked his car, raising his hand in a half-hearted wave.
"Braginski."
"Privet*. So, about this job-"
"I told you all those details on Facebook, Braginski. Skip the official procedure and follow me to sign the contract. I hope you brought your certificates."
Ivan almost growled, angry at being cut off. He walked behind Kirkland with slightly clenched fists, counting in his mind to control himself. It was a habit from years of meeting with his counselor after picking fights with kids. He'd make Ivan count up to 200 in the corner until the ash-blond boy had calmed down. The trick worked and Ivan used it most of the time. Kirkland seemed to not care and briskly walked up to the entrance to the graveyard, his boots making crunching noises with each step. Ivan suddenly noticed that it was colder here than in town, mostly because it was higher up, set on a hill. And there seemed to be a mist of some sort hanging above the cemetery, making it harder to see the mausoleum they had further up on top. The two climbed up some stairs before reaching the small, forlorn office building, which they entered. Ivan paused to gape at an old sign which read, "Two for one burial special. Relations not need apply."
"Tea?" asked Arthur, turning on his boiler. Ivan shook his head and sat down, looking at the titles of the dusty textbooks Arthur had 'hidden' under scraps of paper. "The Grimoire of Armadel" and "Identifying Malevolent Spirits". Loose diagrams, an opened pack of tarots, and weirdly enough, what looked like an unfinished hot pink scarf laid on the desk. Arthur shuffled through his desk and gave some papers for Ivan to sign.
"For if something happens, we hold no accountability. Like grave robbing. So if it happens we hold you responsible. I'm sure you're not thick enough to try it." Ivan just smiled widely, imagining Arthur's face on pavement and one of Ivan's faucet pipes smashing it down repeatedly. Yes, this was a normal visualization for Ivan. He didn't deny that he was a violent person. Arthur completely avoided the look and handed him a pen and a paper. Within a few minutes the paper work was finished and Arthur got up and took a shovel from the wall and walked over to the mausoleum. Ivan exited the office and began looking around. Robert Pangaea, the founder of the town they lived on, was kept in a stone coffin inside. Apparently founding the town had been a feat deserving of a mausoleum. Ivan had never cared for the town's history, probably one of the reasons he'd never come here. Also, it was just creepy here.
"Come on, Braginski, I haven't got all night."
Suddenly, Ivan's gaze was pulled to the right, where he could see a few old "Do Not Enter" signs and tape plastered over an entrance to the ground. A sign, mostly rusted and obviously extremely old told him that it was dangerous to enter because of unstable ground. An eerie feeling came over him, as he sensed a shiver come over him. It was a familiar feeling to Ivan, almost like the one of being watched, but more like feeling someone else's presence. It seemed to stem from the closed off entrance to what Ivan could only assume was the catacombs his Cuban friend had spoken of. He felt slightly drawn to it, curious by nature, and wanted to go see what was there, especially if there was someone inside. He almost took a step towards it but was soon cut off by the irritated voice of Arthur.
"What the bloody fuck are you looking at? Get your bleeding ass over here, Braginski." The green-eyed man snipped as he poked his head from the mausoleum door. Slightly stunned, Ivan shook his head. "I'm being ridiculous." he thought. "There isn't anyone in the cemetery besides Arthur and me. And lots of dead people." That thought didn't make him feel any better and he slowly entered the dark mausoleum. It was very dark, except for two or three candles scattered around the coffin room. Briefly, Ivan remembered Pedro's question of whether Arthur wanted to use for some black magic ritual and looked fleetingly towards the door, making sure it was open in case he needed to get the hell out of there.
"Isn't there any light here?" asked Ivan, looking at the walls for a light switch. Arthur shook his head.
"No. Only the casket room is wired for electricity. A bit too hazardous to light anything in this room." Said the Brit, rubbing the old and grey stone coffin with Robert Pangaea's named inscribed into the lid. His face looked rather sinister illuminated by candlelight and Ivan once more looked at the door.
"Your shift ends at 4 am. I will arrive by then. Each night I'll tell you where to dig a grave by," and here Arthur reached into that trench coat and removed a printed copy of the map of the graveyard. The map was marked with a grid and numbers. "Coordinates. Each grave is to be six feet deep, four feet wide and seven feet long. No more, no less. The shovel I have now measures exactly six feet, and is marked by foot on the handle. Use it to measure."He threw Ivan the shovel and the taller man caught it.
"Set of rules, Braginski. One, don't fuck with my stuff. Everything on my desk belongs to me and you don't need an office anyhow. Two, you can use the coffee machine and the mini-fridge as long as you replenish it. If I come in and find no more coffee left I will flog you so hard you won't even need your bollocks anymore. Not that you do now." Oh, seriously, did this guy want to die?
"Pasasi moi khuy.*" mumbled Ivan under his breath.
"Sorry, you say something?" said Arthur as he marked up the map with a black sharpie.
"Ny-no, I didn't."
"Moving on then. Third of all, you will not contact me unless something is screwed up. And it better be worth my time, I'm a busy person."
Ivan couldn't resist this chance to insult someone, a habit earned from years of saying what he wanted since no one dared raise fists against 'that psycho Russian kid'. "Since when? Joined a coven or something?" Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm not a bloody Wiccan, you nitwit. And no. A former friend decided that paying rent is beneath him and dropped in to my house, without invite. That's the only reason why you have this job."
Arthur mumbled something about frogs and Ivan raised his eyebrow. Kirkland had friends? Most of the town was a bit too creeped out by the man to approach him. At that moment Kirkland's cell phone began to ring. Ivan recognized the ringtone as "London Calling" by the Clash. Arthur groaned and answered it.
"You git, stop raising my phone bill! Yes, I'm about to head home. You did what? You perverted son of a-! Watch what happens when I get home Francis, I'm throwing you out! Fix it right now!"
Arthur's voice got angrier as the conversation continued and the Englishman soon hurried out of the mausoleum. Craning his neck, he shouted back to Ivan.
"I have to go. The coordinates are on the map. Don't screw up." He then resumed cursing 'Francis' on his way to his car.
Ivan sighed, picking up the map and bringing it to the light. He had two graves to dig today and a fence to repair. That was fine with him. Ivan was good with his hands; almost as good as he was at engineering, a hobby of his. He usually did this kind of work anyhow.
He set off to work. It was monotonous and it made his arms hurt, but it beat staying in the house all day. Plus, he really was used to this work. Fixing things and such was how he earned his money these days. Granted jobs were limited and mostly seasonal. Somewhere between his fourth foot deep, Ivan realized that Arthur Kirkland was probably getting laid with this 'Francis' whoever she was. Life was so unfair. (Never mind that Panagea's female population found Ivan creepy, with the exception of, to Ivan's horror, his little sister.)
After a few hours, Ivan was gritting his teeth as he tried to repair the fence. It looked like someone accidently crashed into a fence backing up. Probably a mournful and drunk relative of one of the residents. Ivan shook his head, using the wire-clippers he brought with him. Then, accidently, Ivan's fingers slipped and the sharp metal scraped against his thumb.
"Chort!*"
Bringing the bleeding finger to his mouth, Ivan stooped down to pick the clippers up. But then he felt the same presence he had felt before, of someone being there. It was much heavier than before. And he could feel where it was coming from. Just as he suspected earlier, it was definitely coming from the catacombs' entrance. Ivan walked slowly to the entrance, now much closer to it than he had been for. When he got to the rusted sign in front of the entrance, Ivan stopped dead. The padlocked door was closed shut yet he could swear he felt something coming from there. Ivan shivered and quickly made the sign of the cross.
Braginski wasn't…scared of the corpses. However, growing up with his grandmother, a very religious and superstitious old lady, made him scared of things that follow corpses around, the evil spirits.
Therefore, it was against his better judgment that he took his shovel and bashed it against the padlock. The padlock broke easily because of its age and rusted state, and clattered to the ground. Ivan pushed the door and walked to the rotten planks laid across a hole that seemed to be the entrance to the catacombs. He kicked them aside with a leg and stared down into the black, seemingly bottomless hole. It was so black, this abyss, and Ivan got constant shivers looking down at it.
He tightened his scarf around himself, the pink wool giving him some comfort as he stared straight down. "If I have lots of time left until Kirkland returns. And what will happen if I go down? I have my flashlight and cell phone with me." Cautiously, the tall man let down a long leg and placed it down on one of the ladder's bars, finding it sturdy. And so Ivan grabbed a hold of the ladder and climbed down into the awaiting catacombs. As the light from Ivan's flashlight dimmed, the wind turned the padlock's remains over, revealing a magical inscription.
The catacombs were waiting. Or something in them was.
Blue eyes snapped open when they felt those iron bars being stepped on by something not only living, but something conscious. The animals of Pangea had long learned to avoid this part of the hill, the humans learning their lesson too late. And since then it had been awfully..lonely in this part of the catacombs, surrounded by food too dead to eat and no one to talk to.
Thoughts, millions of them swirled around them in his mind, it could be called. He stretched his rotting limbs out for the first time in decades. At least he thought they were decades, after all, time passed by both so slowly and so fast when you were forever living. Alfred would have to somehow get power to repair more of it than he could now. And find out what year it was as well, if the entrance to the catacombs was finally broken.
That blasted lock on the entrance kept him sealed and away from the town. He had hoped that the slip of paper would disintegrate with time, but to his chagrin it was renewed with each new crypt keeper he cemetery had. The recent one, that fellow with the magic that spoke of rituals and grimoire, was rather powerful. Though not enough to stop him once he was powerful, no, dark as the boy's maybe, Alfred would over power him easily.
The cadaver cackled. Finally. They had ruined his fun last time, the humans, but now he could be free again. Now he could live. Oh and now he could feed. And feed he would, oh yes indeed. He licked his shrunken lips in anticipation as the rotting flesh repaired itself in eagerness for snatching the fool who let him loose upon the world once more.
Translations/Story Notes: (Russian shall not be in Cyrillic in the story unless I have a reason to not be lazy and go use it. But I am so, bleh. If you don't want to read long ass author's notes, skip it.)
May 21st, 2011 happened to be the date of 'the end of the world'. I found it appropriate (and I started writing this on that day).
Ivan's username: Sneg na Polyu/ S-Neg (like leg) Nah Pol-you; Snow on the field
Cuba/Pedro's username: speaks for itself. For the record, my big pipe in Russian is Moya Bolshaya Truba.
Go outside man, look if anyone left their clothes and LOOT. Automatic loot function and you aren't even on a team.: A nerdy MMORPG/WoW jokes. I'm a dork.
Baba/Bababulya/Babushka: All terms for Grandmother in Russian. We love our babas 3.
Malchik: Boy.
Privet: Hey. More informal than 'Zdrastvuyte'.
Pasasi Moi Khuy: …..please don't say this expression around any Russian-speakers. Cursing is big deal in Russian, and looked upon much more strongly. This expression means 'suck my dick'.
Chort: Devil! A common curse in Russian, used like damn. Random Russian fact, there is a word corresponding to Devil in Russian, Chort is just much more commonly used and means 'Demon'. Looking at the root, it comes from the root 'Chorn', which (when combined with things) means black in Russian.
Do I have to come over there and inspect your faucet?: At some point when editing this I realized how completely sexual (and how much like a porn cliche) it seems. It made laugh. Just pointing it out for the lulz.
Author's Notes: Okay, not sure why Cuba's name is Pedro Vasquez. I like the name. And I like Cuba's character, who gets so little love in the fandom, I had to make him Ivan's best friend. This is really more of teaser, since the story actually involves a whole lot of people in the town, and I've already mentioned some. Yes, Alfred is some weird, cannibalistic spirit thing. If you want to give him a proper name, he's a wendigo. His back story (and Ivan's) will be elaborated on. Also, I usually write Ivan a little more..mentally unstable yet intelligent, but this Ivan's not going to show that until later on in the story. Next chapter will include the catacombs and a little more into Ivan's history, courtesy of his completely elegant and charming psychiatrist.
Quick AN: The beginning of this chapter uses chat format for a short time. Occasionally, parts of the story shall be written in things other than third-person omniscient. Sorry if that offends you.
Story: Top of the Hill
Rating/Warning: 14+ in this chapter, for crude language and macabre humor and mentions of sexual activity. Yes, I do make necrophiliac jokes. Hush. Also, the name 'Francis' which brings up bad images anyhow. Late chapters will be more explicit. -le sigh-
Pairing: AmeRus/RusAme, FrUk, One-sidedBelaRuss, more to be added later.
Top of the Hill
Chapter 1: Shiver Up the Spine
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Snegnapolyu (Ivan Braginski) is online.
Snegnapolyu: It's six pm, suck it.
Migrandecigarro (Pedro Vasquez): Go outside man, look if anyone left their clothes and LOOT.
Migrandecigarro: Automatic loot function and you aren't even on a team.*
Snegnapolyu…A MMORPG joke? Ped, u are so freaking bored.
Migrandecigarro: Admit it made you laugh.
Snegnapolyu: Nyet. Also, lol, besides my baba, no one here is that faithful.
Migrandecigarro: Mi Abuelo is the same way. Dude wanted me to be a priest.
Snegnapolyu: xД Padre Pedro.
Snegnapolyu: Blasphemy.
Migrandecigarro: Si, si, get molested by your sister yet?
Snegnapolyu: Do I have to come over there and inspect your faucet?*
Migrandecigarro: You should change your SN to whatever mybigpipe is in Russian.
Migrandecigarro: Then we'd match.
Snegnapolyu: That's why I'm keeping it the same.
Migrandecigarro: Cabron.*
Snegnapolyu: ^j^
Migrandecigarro: Come over. I wanna drink and we still have some tequila left from the last time.
Snegnapolyu: Can't. I have a job, night shift. (You man-whore, encouraging my alcoholism)
Migrandecigarro: WHAT.
Migrandecigarro: The fuck? When did this happen? Not telling your amigo you have a new job. (I don't need to encourage you. You drink enough by yourself.)
Snegnapolyu: Just started today, at the cemetery. (You know what? Go enjoy the heart attacks you'll get from the ice cream you're eating right now)
Migrandecigarro: You serious How'd you get a job there? (Frozen strawberry yogurt at the moment, u mad?)
Snegnapolyu: the guy there, Kirkland, posted an ad on craiglist.
Migrandecigarro: The occult guy who gets drunk in Tino's every Sunday? You sure he doesn't want to sacrifice you for some satanic ceremony?
Snegnapolyu: I'm sorry mama, I forgot I'm a little boy.
Migrandecigarro:
That place has weird rumors about it, ukno?Snegnapolyu: It's a cemetery. It'd be strange if there were no rumors about it.
Migrandecigarro: No. no. It used to be an Indian graveyard way back when. People just continued burying things there once they settled here.
Migrandecigarro: then in the 30's I think they found catacombs but couldn't excavate it. I think it was real shaky or something and someone died brutally.
Snegnapolyu: Mm, da, so? Why do I care?
Migrandecigarro: So since when have you decided that you like dead girls?
Snegnapolyu: g2g and stfu
Migrandecigarro: Say hello to all those DUIs and ODers you find there, Ivan. And remember, just because she's dead doesn't mean she's clean.
Snegnapolyu: fuck you.
Snegnapolyu (Ivan Braginski) has signed off.
Driving your mother's beat-up old van isn't remotely cool; Ivan Braginski knew this all too well. But as his van bumped on the very rocky and twisted road to the cemetery, Ivan felt accomplished. He has a job. He has a fucking job. Way to be a man, Vanya! Well, he was a man. Being extremely tall and rather handy with your fists made him a man to others. Not so much to his elder sister, mother, and Bababulya* who still called him 'Malchik'* when annoyed with him. At least his mother would stop being annoyed with the fact he wasn't doing anything now.
Each turn he made on the wheel was punctuated with a widening smile. Sure the job wasn't well-paying; a gravedigger and night guard probably wasn't the most best-paying thing anyway. But he could get tips for digging grave. Plus, there was a certain mystique and cool factor about working in a graveyard. And, being a very large cemetery and the only in the county, Panagea cemetery saw lots of new… residents.
He pulled into the little plot of gravel stone that he guessed was the parking space and parked. He could see the familiar figure of Arthur Kirkland leaning on the fence, made of the rather cliché cast-iron bars, smoking a cigarette in his trademark little top-hat and black trench coat, effect only ruined by the bottle-green wellington boots he wore over khaki pants. The short(er) man nodded and stubbed out his cigarette on the gravel as Ivan locked his car, raising his hand in a half-hearted wave.
"Braginski."
"Privet*. So, about this job-"
"I told you all those details on Facebook, Braginski. Skip the official procedure and follow me to sign the contract. I hope you brought your certificates."
Ivan almost growled, angry at being cut off. He walked behind Kirkland with slightly clenched fists, counting in his mind to control himself. It was a habit from years of meeting with his counselor after picking fights with kids. He'd make Ivan count up to 200 in the corner until the ash-blond boy had calmed down. The trick worked and Ivan used it most of the time. Kirkland seemed to not care and briskly walked up to the entrance to the graveyard, his boots making crunching noises with each step. Ivan suddenly noticed that it was colder here than in town, mostly because it was higher up, set on a hill. And there seemed to be a mist of some sort hanging above the cemetery, making it harder to see the mausoleum they had further up on top. The two climbed up some stairs before reaching the small, forlorn office building, which they entered. Ivan paused to gape at an old sign which read, "Two for one burial special. Relations not need apply."
"Tea?" asked Arthur, turning on his boiler. Ivan shook his head and sat down, looking at the titles of the dusty textbooks Arthur had 'hidden' under scraps of paper. "The Grimoire of Armadel" and "Identifying Malevolent Spirits". Loose diagrams, an opened pack of tarots, and weirdly enough, what looked like an unfinished hot pink scarf laid on the desk. Arthur shuffled through his desk and gave some papers for Ivan to sign.
"For if something happens, we hold no accountability. Like grave robbing. So if it happens we hold you responsible. I'm sure you're not thick enough to try it." Ivan just smiled widely, imagining Arthur's face on pavement and one of Ivan's faucet pipes smashing it down repeatedly. Yes, this was a normal visualization for Ivan. He didn't deny that he was a violent person. Arthur completely avoided the look and handed him a pen and a paper. Within a few minutes the paper work was finished and Arthur got up and took a shovel from the wall and walked over to the mausoleum. Ivan exited the office and began looking around. Robert Pangaea, the founder of the town they lived on, was kept in a stone coffin inside. Apparently founding the town had been a feat deserving of a mausoleum. Ivan had never cared for the town's history, probably one of the reasons he'd never come here. Also, it was just creepy here.
"Come on, Braginski, I haven't got all night."
Suddenly, Ivan's gaze was pulled to the right, where he could see a few old "Do Not Enter" signs and tape plastered over an entrance to the ground. A sign, mostly rusted and obviously extremely old told him that it was dangerous to enter because of unstable ground. An eerie feeling came over him, as he sensed a shiver come over him. It was a familiar feeling to Ivan, almost like the one of being watched, but more like feeling someone else's presence. It seemed to stem from the closed off entrance to what Ivan could only assume was the catacombs his Cuban friend had spoken of. He felt slightly drawn to it, curious by nature, and wanted to go see what was there, especially if there was someone inside. He almost took a step towards it but was soon cut off by the irritated voice of Arthur.
"What the bloody fuck are you looking at? Get your bleeding ass over here, Braginski." The green-eyed man snipped as he poked his head from the mausoleum door. Slightly stunned, Ivan shook his head. "I'm being ridiculous." he thought. "There isn't anyone in the cemetery besides Arthur and me. And lots of dead people." That thought didn't make him feel any better and he slowly entered the dark mausoleum. It was very dark, except for two or three candles scattered around the coffin room. Briefly, Ivan remembered Pedro's question of whether Arthur wanted to use for some black magic ritual and looked fleetingly towards the door, making sure it was open in case he needed to get the hell out of there.
"Isn't there any light here?" asked Ivan, looking at the walls for a light switch. Arthur shook his head.
"No. Only the casket room is wired for electricity. A bit too hazardous to light anything in this room." Said the Brit, rubbing the old and grey stone coffin with Robert Pangaea's named inscribed into the lid. His face looked rather sinister illuminated by candlelight and Ivan once more looked at the door.
"Your shift ends at 4 am. I will arrive by then. Each night I'll tell you where to dig a grave by," and here Arthur reached into that trench coat and removed a printed copy of the map of the graveyard. The map was marked with a grid and numbers. "Coordinates. Each grave is to be six feet deep, four feet wide and seven feet long. No more, no less. The shovel I have now measures exactly six feet, and is marked by foot on the handle. Use it to measure."He threw Ivan the shovel and the taller man caught it.
"Set of rules, Braginski. One, don't fuck with my stuff. Everything on my desk belongs to me and you don't need an office anyhow. Two, you can use the coffee machine and the mini-fridge as long as you replenish it. If I come in and find no more coffee left I will flog you so hard you won't even need your bollocks anymore. Not that you do now." Oh, seriously, did this guy want to die?
"Pasasi moi khuy.*" mumbled Ivan under his breath.
"Sorry, you say something?" said Arthur as he marked up the map with a black sharpie.
"Ny-no, I didn't."
"Moving on then. Third of all, you will not contact me unless something is screwed up. And it better be worth my time, I'm a busy person."
Ivan couldn't resist this chance to insult someone, a habit earned from years of saying what he wanted since no one dared raise fists against 'that psycho Russian kid'. "Since when? Joined a coven or something?" Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm not a bloody Wiccan, you nitwit. And no. A former friend decided that paying rent is beneath him and dropped in to my house, without invite. That's the only reason why you have this job."
Arthur mumbled something about frogs and Ivan raised his eyebrow. Kirkland had friends? Most of the town was a bit too creeped out by the man to approach him. At that moment Kirkland's cell phone began to ring. Ivan recognized the ringtone as "London Calling" by the Clash. Arthur groaned and answered it.
"You git, stop raising my phone bill! Yes, I'm about to head home. You did what? You perverted son of a-! Watch what happens when I get home Francis, I'm throwing you out! Fix it right now!"
Arthur's voice got angrier as the conversation continued and the Englishman soon hurried out of the mausoleum. Craning his neck, he shouted back to Ivan.
"I have to go. The coordinates are on the map. Don't screw up." He then resumed cursing 'Francis' on his way to his car.
Ivan sighed, picking up the map and bringing it to the light. He had two graves to dig today and a fence to repair. That was fine with him. Ivan was good with his hands; almost as good as he was at engineering, a hobby of his. He usually did this kind of work anyhow.
He set off to work. It was monotonous and it made his arms hurt, but it beat staying in the house all day. Plus, he really was used to this work. Fixing things and such was how he earned his money these days. Granted jobs were limited and mostly seasonal. Somewhere between his fourth foot deep, Ivan realized that Arthur Kirkland was probably getting laid with this 'Francis' whoever she was. Life was so unfair. (Never mind that Panagea's female population found Ivan creepy, with the exception of, to Ivan's horror, his little sister.)
After a few hours, Ivan was gritting his teeth as he tried to repair the fence. It looked like someone accidently crashed into a fence backing up. Probably a mournful and drunk relative of one of the residents. Ivan shook his head, using the wire-clippers he brought with him. Then, accidently, Ivan's fingers slipped and the sharp metal scraped against his thumb.
"Chort!*"
Bringing the bleeding finger to his mouth, Ivan stooped down to pick the clippers up. But then he felt the same presence he had felt before, of someone being there. It was much heavier than before. And he could feel where it was coming from. Just as he suspected earlier, it was definitely coming from the catacombs' entrance. Ivan walked slowly to the entrance, now much closer to it than he had been for. When he got to the rusted sign in front of the entrance, Ivan stopped dead. The padlocked door was closed shut yet he could swear he felt something coming from there. Ivan shivered and quickly made the sign of the cross.
Braginski wasn't…scared of the corpses. However, growing up with his grandmother, a very religious and superstitious old lady, made him scared of things that follow corpses around, the evil spirits.
Therefore, it was against his better judgment that he took his shovel and bashed it against the padlock. The padlock broke easily because of its age and rusted state, and clattered to the ground. Ivan pushed the door and walked to the rotten planks laid across a hole that seemed to be the entrance to the catacombs. He kicked them aside with a leg and stared down into the black, seemingly bottomless hole. It was so black, this abyss, and Ivan got constant shivers looking down at it.
He tightened his scarf around himself, the pink wool giving him some comfort as he stared straight down. "If I have lots of time left until Kirkland returns. And what will happen if I go down? I have my flashlight and cell phone with me." Cautiously, the tall man let down a long leg and placed it down on one of the ladder's bars, finding it sturdy. And so Ivan grabbed a hold of the ladder and climbed down into the awaiting catacombs. As the light from Ivan's flashlight dimmed, the wind turned the padlock's remains over, revealing a magical inscription.
The catacombs were waiting. Or something in them was.
Blue eyes snapped open when they felt those iron bars being stepped on by something not only living, but something conscious. The animals of Pangea had long learned to avoid this part of the hill, the humans learning their lesson too late. And since then it had been awfully..lonely in this part of the catacombs, surrounded by food too dead to eat and no one to talk to.
Thoughts, millions of them swirled around them in his mind, it could be called. He stretched his rotting limbs out for the first time in decades. At least he thought they were decades, after all, time passed by both so slowly and so fast when you were forever living. Alfred would have to somehow get power to repair more of it than he could now. And find out what year it was as well, if the entrance to the catacombs was finally broken.
That blasted lock on the entrance kept him sealed and away from the town. He had hoped that the slip of paper would disintegrate with time, but to his chagrin it was renewed with each new crypt keeper he cemetery had. The recent one, that fellow with the magic that spoke of rituals and grimoire, was rather powerful. Though not enough to stop him once he was powerful, no, dark as the boy's maybe, Alfred would over power him easily.
The cadaver cackled. Finally. They had ruined his fun last time, the humans, but now he could be free again. Now he could live. Oh and now he could feed. And feed he would, oh yes indeed. He licked his shrunken lips in anticipation as the rotting flesh repaired itself in eagerness for snatching the fool who let him loose upon the world once more.
Translations/Story Notes: (Russian shall not be in Cyrillic in the story unless I have a reason to not be lazy and go use it. But I am so, bleh. If you don't want to read long ass author's notes, skip it.)
May 21st, 2011 happened to be the date of 'the end of the world'. I found it appropriate (and I started writing this on that day).
Ivan's username: Sneg na Polyu/ S-Neg (like leg) Nah Pol-you; Snow on the field
Cuba/Pedro's username: speaks for itself. For the record, my big pipe in Russian is Moya Bolshaya Truba.
Go outside man, look if anyone left their clothes and LOOT. Automatic loot function and you aren't even on a team.: A nerdy MMORPG/WoW jokes. I'm a dork.
Baba/Bababulya/Babushka: All terms for Grandmother in Russian. We love our babas 3.
Malchik: Boy.
Privet: Hey. More informal than 'Zdrastvuyte'.
Pasasi Moi Khuy: …..please don't say this expression around any Russian-speakers. Cursing is big deal in Russian, and looked upon much more strongly. This expression means 'suck my dick'.
Chort: Devil! A common curse in Russian, used like damn. Random Russian fact, there is a word corresponding to Devil in Russian, Chort is just much more commonly used and means 'Demon'. Looking at the root, it comes from the root 'Chorn', which (when combined with things) means black in Russian.
Do I have to come over there and inspect your faucet?: At some point when editing this I realized how completely sexual (and how much like a porn cliche) it seems. It made laugh. Just pointing it out for the lulz.
Author's Notes: Okay, not sure why Cuba's name is Pedro Vasquez. I like the name. And I like Cuba's character, who gets so little love in the fandom, I had to make him Ivan's best friend. This is really more of teaser, since the story actually involves a whole lot of people in the town, and I've already mentioned some. Yes, Alfred is some weird, cannibalistic spirit thing. If you want to give him a proper name, he's a wendigo. His back story (and Ivan's) will be elaborated on. Also, I usually write Ivan a little more..mentally unstable yet intelligent, but this Ivan's not going to show that until later on in the story. Next chapter will include the catacombs and a little more into Ivan's history, courtesy of his completely elegant and charming psychiatrist.