The Contract 2/?
Title: The Contract
Warnings: Murder, Slash, deliciously underage Alfred, AU
Pairings: Russia/America, France/England
Genre: Romance/Crime
Summary: Alfred thinks it's safe to say that getting involved with the mafia was not how he wanted to start his Saturday morning.
Chapter Two
"So basically what you're saying," Alfred said around a mouth full of burger, "is that if I clean up your apartment before your sisters get here, then you'll forgive the accident?"
Ivan nodded happily. "See?" he asked. "It is not as bad as you thought, da?"
Alfred blushed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Ivan laughed a bit. "You screamed when I opened your car door," he said pleasantly as he unscrewed a tiny bottle he'd taken from his pocket and poured half of the clear liquid into his steaming coffee.
Alfred narrowed his eyes. "I did not."
"Da," Ivan took a sip, "I think you did."
"Did not."
Ivan's jaw tightened ever so slightly but Alfred did not notice.
Alfred took the bun off of his burger and grinned when he found two pickle slices. He peeled them off and wrapped them around a french fry and popped it into his mouth.
Ivan averted his gaze as Alfred finished his meal; Alfred's table manners were as horrid as his driving skills.
"Anyways," Alfred began, then paused to run his tongue over his teeth to check for lettuce. He took a big gulp of Coke and continued. "I really appreciate the meal but if that's all then I'm just gonna dip out if you don't mi-"
Ivan placed his coffee cup down so quickly and so forcefully that the saucer beneath it rattled and a bit of the coffee spilled over the edge, dripping down his hand. It was still scalding hot but Ivan gave no indication that he'd felt anything.
Alfred made a face and looked down at Ivan's hand, noticing for the first time that he had tattoos on his fingers. He blinked, surprised, then looked back up. "Anger issues much, dude?"
Ivan was still smiling that same frigid smile. Alfred wondered if his face ever got stuck like that.
"We have not yet discussed a schedule," the older man reminded, his tone as if he was speaking to a small child. "Of course I do not wish to interfere with your schooling or your extra-curicular activities so you will have to let me know when you are available."
Alfred rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh before shrugging and polished off his Coke. "Anytime after six, I guess," he said.
Ivan nodded. "That would be most convenient for me as well."
Alfred looked at his phone; it was nearly one. "Look man, I should really get going," he said, inching towards the edge of his booth.
Ivan nodded again. "I understand. If you will just give me your contact information and your address-"
"Whoa, whoa. Dude." Alfred waved his hands, cutting Ivan off. "I don't want you like, stalking me or something. Just text me."
And with that Alfred gave Ivan his cellphone number and waltzed towards the door, before remembering something and turning back around. "My drivers license?" he enquired, holding his hand out expectantly.
Ivan gave a little laugh. "You will be getting that back when you fulfill your end of the deal, Eto panyAtno?"
Alfred made a face and sighed. "Whatever, see ya."
"I am glad to see that we are in accordance," Ivan said lightly. "You are dismissed."
"Gee, thanks," Alfred said, giving a mock salute.
"And Alfred?" Ivan called. "Do not try to get out of our nice arrangement, da?"
Alfred smiled. "Bite me," he said sweetly before flipping him off and leaving.
Once he had left, Ivan compared the number Alfred had just given him to the number he already had stored in his contact list. He raised a brow and chuckled, infinitely amused by Alfred's attempt to out-smart him by giving him the wrong number.
Did the boy take him for a fool?
Ivan's cellphone began to ring. He answered it, not needing to look to see who it was. "Alló brat," he said. "You will not believe whose son I have finally become aquatinted with..."
-
"Man what an idiot!" Alfred laughed as he drove off. Did that stupid Russian really expect him to play maid? He had given him the wrong number; there was no way Ivan could get in touch with him, or worse, tell his dad what had happened. Alfred had just gotten off scott free!
And as for his driver's license, he could always go to the DMV and-
His driver's license.
His stupid driver's license had his address on it.
And he'd given him a fake number too so if he was really serious about keeping up with their little deal, the only way he'd be able to get ahold of him would be to.. go to his house...
"Fuuuuuck," he groaned, hitting his head on the steering wheel. Alfred just know that he was going to be grounded for the rest of his life.
-
"Did you just now get home?" Arthur asked from his seat in the living room as Alfred tried his best to shut the front door quietly. Alfred sighed, stopped walking, and glanced over at his father. It was well past midnight; his father was sure to yell, especially after how he left that morning.
Surprisingly, he didn't. Arthur sat nursing a glass of brandy, the first two buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up. It was obvious that he had had a very trying day; he looked completely exhausted, both mentally and physically.
"Yeah," Alfred said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Then to change the subject, "Where's Francis?"
Arthur snorted and took a swig of his alcohol. "Hopefully rotting in a hole somewhere," he muttered. "If his children didn't live under my roof I'd change the locks on the doors."
Alfred chewed at his lower lip, unsure of what to say. He had expected to come home and be yelled at. He hadn't expected to come home to this. Arthur and Francis fought on a nearly daily basis but their fights rarely escalated to this level.
Alfred wanted to ask what was wrong, hoping his dad was just exaggerating, but he wasn't sure how to talk to Arthur like that. They didn't talk about personal problems. They didn't talk period.
So all he said was, "Oh," and went upstairs and all Alfred could think was that his dad was sure to have another reason to drink if Ivan Braginski came knocking.
Alfred sighed again and, without knocking, let himself into Matthew's room and flopped down on his bed.
Matthew, sitting at his desk on the computer, glanced over at his unannounced guest.
"Hey," he said quietly.
Alfred didn't bother to pick his face up off the mattress. "Sup," he mumbled in reply.
"They had a fight," Matthew said.
Alfred didn't reply.
"They were... really worried about you, too."
Still no response.
Matthew turned back to his computer and didn't say anything for a while.
After a few minutes Alfred sat up and picked up a book. He rolled his eyes. Ice Hockey: A History. It figured. He began to flip through the pages, half-heartedly reading the captions of the photographs he came across.
"Arthur thinks that Papa is cheating on him," Matthew said, not looking away from the computer screen.
Alfred looked up from the book. After a moment he said, "Do you think he is?"
Matthew shrugged but didn't respond.
-
Ivan sat in his apartment, absentmindedly flipped through the channels on the television when there was a knock at his door. He glanced over, having a feeling he knew who it was, and went back to watching TV. Ivan did not feel like dealing with anyone at the moment, least of all a young upstart trying to move his way up in the ranks through lies and deceit.
There was another knock at the door. Evidently he didn't know how to take a hint.
Ivan sighed and turned the television off. He walked to the front door and peered through the peek hole. Sure enough Andrei Bushmanov, a boy no older than twenty three, stood outside his door. A few months ago Zima had deemed him worth of receiving his stars, something that had surprised everyone. The Council had ok'ed it though and Ivan had respected their decision. But ever since then Andrei had slowly been attempting to convince everyone that Ivan was a traitor. There was no founding for this of course; Andrei was simply foolish, impatient, and threatened by the power that Ivan held.
Andrei had visited him a few times under the pretenses of the two of them becoming better aquatinted, but Ivan knew that he was just working up the courage to try something.
He opened the door and smiled. "Please, come in," he said. "I was not expecting you my friend, how are you?"
Ivan wondered if today would be the day.
Andrei clapped him on the back a few times in a show of comradeship before taking a seat. "I am well. It is good to see you again, Truba. How have you been?"
Ivan procured a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses from the side table and brought them over to his guest. "I have been well, Andrei. Very well." He smiled again and poured two shots. They both drank.
"What brings you to my home?" Ivan asked, genuinely curious to see what he would say. He did not sit down.
Andrei set his shot glass down on the coffee table before him. "Have you thought anymore on what we last spoke about?" he enquired.
Ivan moved to pour another shot for the both of them but stopped when Andrei asked that question.
He smirked. So this was how Andrei wanted to play the game. The last time he had come for a visit he had attempted to show his "loyalty" to Ivan by confiding in him that some of the others were beginning to question Ivan's faithfulness to the bratva when it was he himself who had tried to spread that lie.
Ivan decided to follow along with Andrei's plan, curious to see where he took things.
"No, There is no need to. Those rumors are unfounded," he said. "Though I appreciate your concern, I'm sure things will blow over." He refilled Andrei's shot glass and offered it to him. Andrei did not accept.
"I don't think they will, Ivan," he said, voice clipped.
And there it was. Andrei's impatience was beginning to show. Ivan was sure that it would be his downfall.
Ivan lowered his hand and raised a brow. "Do you think that I am disloyal, Andrei?" he questioned lightly. "Do you think that I would betray my own father?" His words were calm and clear; he knew that it was only a matter of time before Andrei grew agitated.
Andrei scoffed, as if the answer was obvious. "Of course not. But look around you. You do not exactly live like a Vor. It is no wonder that people ask questions."
Ivan laughed. "Everyone knows why I keep this apart-"
Andrei stood, face red. "They say your sister will be visiting soon," he said, cutting him off.
Ivan smiled. It hadn't taken Andrei very long to lose his cool. It was a pity, really. Andrei had such promise. Too bad he had let his anger and selfishness get the best of him. He wasn't even doing a very good job of hiding his deceit anymore.
Ivan nodded. "Da, Natasha will be here next week. For business."
"Yekaterina as well," Andrei added hotly. "And what business would a little farm girl have here, hmm?" His question was accusatory and Ivan did not miss the undertone of a threat.
Ivan's smile grew wider. Andrei really shouldn't have brought his family into this.
"Yes, Katyusha as well," he said, casually stepping closer. "And do you know what else?" he asked.
Andrei, not one to back down, tilted his head up to meet Ivan's gaze. "Wha-"
Ivan slit his throat before he had the chance to finish speaking. Andrei fell to the floor, blood steadily pooling around his head like a crimson halo.
"I dislike killing children," Ivan said pleasantly as he pocketed his knife. "Really Andriusha, you should have kept your mouth shut."
-
The next two days went by painfully slowly for Alfred. Francis had yet to return, Arthur decided to spend his days off at the bank, and Alfred stayed in his room, growing more and more nervous by the minute, wondering when, or even if, Ivan Braginski would contact him.
Every time his cellphone went off with a text message Alfred thought he was going to have a heart attack. But by the fifth time of hearing a little chime and then screaming like a lunatic Alfred figured that it was probably time to pull himself together. It was stupid to freak out anyways; Ivan didn't even have his phone number!
And really, what was the worst that could happen?
Ivan had told him that he wouldn't have to pay for the car. And even if he had it wasn't as if Ivan could prove that he had been the one to hit him since a police report had never been filed. All he could hold over him was the fact that he had his license, and really, what did that prove?
Nothing.
And anyways what sort of person drove up to someone's house demanding a cleaning service?
Yeah. As far as Alfred was concerned, Ivan could kiss his a-
Alfred's phone began to ring and he couldn't help it, he screamed again. Reminding himself that he had nothing to worry about because Ivan didn't have his number, and even if he did he could totally still take him, he answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Alló, Alfred," Ivan said. "I hope you are not busy next week?" There was a pause but Alfred was too shocked to say anything. How had Ivan gotten his real number?
"I will be needing your services Tuesday evening," Ivan continued.
Alfred finally snapped out of it. "How did you-"
"Do svidanija, Alfred. I will see you soon."
-
"Well Miss," Arthur glanced down at the file before him, "Kovalchuk, you're much... earlier than we expected you, but it's a pleasure to have you with us none-the-less," he said, reaching across to desk to shake the hand of a petite woman with jet black hair.
"I'm sorry if it's an inconvenience," she said graciously. Her voice was soft and pleasant to hear, with the slightest hint of an accent. "I have some family matters that I must also attend to in town so my original plan was altered a bit," she explained. "I thought it would be beneficial if I started sooner but if it is an inconvenience I could just-"
Arthur silenced her with the wave of his hand. "Don't be silly my dear, we're happy to have you. And besides, Mrs. Steele will be able to take her time explaining things. Although," he flipped through her file for a bit till he came to the page he was looking for. He gave an appreciative whistle and nodded. "I have got to say, this is a very impressive resume, Miss Kovalchuk, you'll have no trouble fitting in, I'm sure."
She smiled and tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear. "I do enjoy my job," she said.
He nodded again. "Good, good. I remembered when I transfered to this bank I didn't know a soul, but you said that you have family in the city?"
At the mention of family Miss Kovalchuk's smile only grew wider. "Yes sir, my brother," she said.
Arthur knew that he was making mindless small talk; he had all of this information already. But it was either this or take his lunch break... And if his secretary notified him one more time saying that a Mr. Bonnefoy was here to see him he would not be held responsible for his actions.
It was already looking to be another one of those Monday's and it wasn't even past noon yet.
Arthur nodded, slowly losing interest in the conversation. "That must be quite lovely, being as far away from home as you are," he remarked.
"Yes sir, it is," she said. "We get along very well. I love my brother very, very much."
-
-
Translations:
Eto panyAtno- is this clear?
Alló brat- hello brother
Alló- hello
Do svidanija- goodbye
Zima, from Zi-ma (зима)- winter. Two guesses as to who that is.
Truba- Pipe; Ivan's nickname for obvious reasons
Vor- thief.
Bratva- brothehood
Notes:
I generally dislike creating OCs if I can't at least base them off a country, but I couldn't bring myself to kill off Hetalia characters, so...
"Zima had deemed him worth of receiving his stars." If a person has star tattoos on his shoulders it is symbolic of his dignity and honor and that he lives by a certain code.
"You do not exactly live like a Vor." Honestly that entire conversation was in Russian so I could have just written "thief" but Vor has a certain connotation to it in this context. Andrei is referring to the Vory v Zakone or "thieves inside the law." This is a code that all Vor follow. One of the laws is that you must not own significant property, though I don't think an apartment would be that big of a deal...
"Really Andriusha, you should have kept your mouth shut." In Russian, as with most languages, people use diminutives as a sign of endearment. When I was looking into this I found out that there are millions of nicknames that can be derived from a person's name. For example, Ivan could be changed to Vanya, Van'ka, Vanechka, Vaniusha, Vaniushka, and Ivanushka. Talk about a mouth full. In this case, Ivan used it in a demeaning manner.
I would also like to thank danka_mls for being such a big help!
Warnings: Murder, Slash, deliciously underage Alfred, AU
Pairings: Russia/America, France/England
Genre: Romance/Crime
Summary: Alfred thinks it's safe to say that getting involved with the mafia was not how he wanted to start his Saturday morning.
Chapter Two
"So basically what you're saying," Alfred said around a mouth full of burger, "is that if I clean up your apartment before your sisters get here, then you'll forgive the accident?"
Ivan nodded happily. "See?" he asked. "It is not as bad as you thought, da?"
Alfred blushed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Ivan laughed a bit. "You screamed when I opened your car door," he said pleasantly as he unscrewed a tiny bottle he'd taken from his pocket and poured half of the clear liquid into his steaming coffee.
Alfred narrowed his eyes. "I did not."
"Da," Ivan took a sip, "I think you did."
"Did not."
Ivan's jaw tightened ever so slightly but Alfred did not notice.
Alfred took the bun off of his burger and grinned when he found two pickle slices. He peeled them off and wrapped them around a french fry and popped it into his mouth.
Ivan averted his gaze as Alfred finished his meal; Alfred's table manners were as horrid as his driving skills.
"Anyways," Alfred began, then paused to run his tongue over his teeth to check for lettuce. He took a big gulp of Coke and continued. "I really appreciate the meal but if that's all then I'm just gonna dip out if you don't mi-"
Ivan placed his coffee cup down so quickly and so forcefully that the saucer beneath it rattled and a bit of the coffee spilled over the edge, dripping down his hand. It was still scalding hot but Ivan gave no indication that he'd felt anything.
Alfred made a face and looked down at Ivan's hand, noticing for the first time that he had tattoos on his fingers. He blinked, surprised, then looked back up. "Anger issues much, dude?"
Ivan was still smiling that same frigid smile. Alfred wondered if his face ever got stuck like that.
"We have not yet discussed a schedule," the older man reminded, his tone as if he was speaking to a small child. "Of course I do not wish to interfere with your schooling or your extra-curicular activities so you will have to let me know when you are available."
Alfred rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh before shrugging and polished off his Coke. "Anytime after six, I guess," he said.
Ivan nodded. "That would be most convenient for me as well."
Alfred looked at his phone; it was nearly one. "Look man, I should really get going," he said, inching towards the edge of his booth.
Ivan nodded again. "I understand. If you will just give me your contact information and your address-"
"Whoa, whoa. Dude." Alfred waved his hands, cutting Ivan off. "I don't want you like, stalking me or something. Just text me."
And with that Alfred gave Ivan his cellphone number and waltzed towards the door, before remembering something and turning back around. "My drivers license?" he enquired, holding his hand out expectantly.
Ivan gave a little laugh. "You will be getting that back when you fulfill your end of the deal, Eto panyAtno?"
Alfred made a face and sighed. "Whatever, see ya."
"I am glad to see that we are in accordance," Ivan said lightly. "You are dismissed."
"Gee, thanks," Alfred said, giving a mock salute.
"And Alfred?" Ivan called. "Do not try to get out of our nice arrangement, da?"
Alfred smiled. "Bite me," he said sweetly before flipping him off and leaving.
Once he had left, Ivan compared the number Alfred had just given him to the number he already had stored in his contact list. He raised a brow and chuckled, infinitely amused by Alfred's attempt to out-smart him by giving him the wrong number.
Did the boy take him for a fool?
Ivan's cellphone began to ring. He answered it, not needing to look to see who it was. "Alló brat," he said. "You will not believe whose son I have finally become aquatinted with..."
-
"Man what an idiot!" Alfred laughed as he drove off. Did that stupid Russian really expect him to play maid? He had given him the wrong number; there was no way Ivan could get in touch with him, or worse, tell his dad what had happened. Alfred had just gotten off scott free!
And as for his driver's license, he could always go to the DMV and-
His driver's license.
His stupid driver's license had his address on it.
And he'd given him a fake number too so if he was really serious about keeping up with their little deal, the only way he'd be able to get ahold of him would be to.. go to his house...
"Fuuuuuck," he groaned, hitting his head on the steering wheel. Alfred just know that he was going to be grounded for the rest of his life.
-
"Did you just now get home?" Arthur asked from his seat in the living room as Alfred tried his best to shut the front door quietly. Alfred sighed, stopped walking, and glanced over at his father. It was well past midnight; his father was sure to yell, especially after how he left that morning.
Surprisingly, he didn't. Arthur sat nursing a glass of brandy, the first two buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up. It was obvious that he had had a very trying day; he looked completely exhausted, both mentally and physically.
"Yeah," Alfred said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Then to change the subject, "Where's Francis?"
Arthur snorted and took a swig of his alcohol. "Hopefully rotting in a hole somewhere," he muttered. "If his children didn't live under my roof I'd change the locks on the doors."
Alfred chewed at his lower lip, unsure of what to say. He had expected to come home and be yelled at. He hadn't expected to come home to this. Arthur and Francis fought on a nearly daily basis but their fights rarely escalated to this level.
Alfred wanted to ask what was wrong, hoping his dad was just exaggerating, but he wasn't sure how to talk to Arthur like that. They didn't talk about personal problems. They didn't talk period.
So all he said was, "Oh," and went upstairs and all Alfred could think was that his dad was sure to have another reason to drink if Ivan Braginski came knocking.
Alfred sighed again and, without knocking, let himself into Matthew's room and flopped down on his bed.
Matthew, sitting at his desk on the computer, glanced over at his unannounced guest.
"Hey," he said quietly.
Alfred didn't bother to pick his face up off the mattress. "Sup," he mumbled in reply.
"They had a fight," Matthew said.
Alfred didn't reply.
"They were... really worried about you, too."
Still no response.
Matthew turned back to his computer and didn't say anything for a while.
After a few minutes Alfred sat up and picked up a book. He rolled his eyes. Ice Hockey: A History. It figured. He began to flip through the pages, half-heartedly reading the captions of the photographs he came across.
"Arthur thinks that Papa is cheating on him," Matthew said, not looking away from the computer screen.
Alfred looked up from the book. After a moment he said, "Do you think he is?"
Matthew shrugged but didn't respond.
-
Ivan sat in his apartment, absentmindedly flipped through the channels on the television when there was a knock at his door. He glanced over, having a feeling he knew who it was, and went back to watching TV. Ivan did not feel like dealing with anyone at the moment, least of all a young upstart trying to move his way up in the ranks through lies and deceit.
There was another knock at the door. Evidently he didn't know how to take a hint.
Ivan sighed and turned the television off. He walked to the front door and peered through the peek hole. Sure enough Andrei Bushmanov, a boy no older than twenty three, stood outside his door. A few months ago Zima had deemed him worth of receiving his stars, something that had surprised everyone. The Council had ok'ed it though and Ivan had respected their decision. But ever since then Andrei had slowly been attempting to convince everyone that Ivan was a traitor. There was no founding for this of course; Andrei was simply foolish, impatient, and threatened by the power that Ivan held.
Andrei had visited him a few times under the pretenses of the two of them becoming better aquatinted, but Ivan knew that he was just working up the courage to try something.
He opened the door and smiled. "Please, come in," he said. "I was not expecting you my friend, how are you?"
Ivan wondered if today would be the day.
Andrei clapped him on the back a few times in a show of comradeship before taking a seat. "I am well. It is good to see you again, Truba. How have you been?"
Ivan procured a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses from the side table and brought them over to his guest. "I have been well, Andrei. Very well." He smiled again and poured two shots. They both drank.
"What brings you to my home?" Ivan asked, genuinely curious to see what he would say. He did not sit down.
Andrei set his shot glass down on the coffee table before him. "Have you thought anymore on what we last spoke about?" he enquired.
Ivan moved to pour another shot for the both of them but stopped when Andrei asked that question.
He smirked. So this was how Andrei wanted to play the game. The last time he had come for a visit he had attempted to show his "loyalty" to Ivan by confiding in him that some of the others were beginning to question Ivan's faithfulness to the bratva when it was he himself who had tried to spread that lie.
Ivan decided to follow along with Andrei's plan, curious to see where he took things.
"No, There is no need to. Those rumors are unfounded," he said. "Though I appreciate your concern, I'm sure things will blow over." He refilled Andrei's shot glass and offered it to him. Andrei did not accept.
"I don't think they will, Ivan," he said, voice clipped.
And there it was. Andrei's impatience was beginning to show. Ivan was sure that it would be his downfall.
Ivan lowered his hand and raised a brow. "Do you think that I am disloyal, Andrei?" he questioned lightly. "Do you think that I would betray my own father?" His words were calm and clear; he knew that it was only a matter of time before Andrei grew agitated.
Andrei scoffed, as if the answer was obvious. "Of course not. But look around you. You do not exactly live like a Vor. It is no wonder that people ask questions."
Ivan laughed. "Everyone knows why I keep this apart-"
Andrei stood, face red. "They say your sister will be visiting soon," he said, cutting him off.
Ivan smiled. It hadn't taken Andrei very long to lose his cool. It was a pity, really. Andrei had such promise. Too bad he had let his anger and selfishness get the best of him. He wasn't even doing a very good job of hiding his deceit anymore.
Ivan nodded. "Da, Natasha will be here next week. For business."
"Yekaterina as well," Andrei added hotly. "And what business would a little farm girl have here, hmm?" His question was accusatory and Ivan did not miss the undertone of a threat.
Ivan's smile grew wider. Andrei really shouldn't have brought his family into this.
"Yes, Katyusha as well," he said, casually stepping closer. "And do you know what else?" he asked.
Andrei, not one to back down, tilted his head up to meet Ivan's gaze. "Wha-"
Ivan slit his throat before he had the chance to finish speaking. Andrei fell to the floor, blood steadily pooling around his head like a crimson halo.
"I dislike killing children," Ivan said pleasantly as he pocketed his knife. "Really Andriusha, you should have kept your mouth shut."
-
The next two days went by painfully slowly for Alfred. Francis had yet to return, Arthur decided to spend his days off at the bank, and Alfred stayed in his room, growing more and more nervous by the minute, wondering when, or even if, Ivan Braginski would contact him.
Every time his cellphone went off with a text message Alfred thought he was going to have a heart attack. But by the fifth time of hearing a little chime and then screaming like a lunatic Alfred figured that it was probably time to pull himself together. It was stupid to freak out anyways; Ivan didn't even have his phone number!
And really, what was the worst that could happen?
Ivan had told him that he wouldn't have to pay for the car. And even if he had it wasn't as if Ivan could prove that he had been the one to hit him since a police report had never been filed. All he could hold over him was the fact that he had his license, and really, what did that prove?
Nothing.
And anyways what sort of person drove up to someone's house demanding a cleaning service?
Yeah. As far as Alfred was concerned, Ivan could kiss his a-
Alfred's phone began to ring and he couldn't help it, he screamed again. Reminding himself that he had nothing to worry about because Ivan didn't have his number, and even if he did he could totally still take him, he answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Alló, Alfred," Ivan said. "I hope you are not busy next week?" There was a pause but Alfred was too shocked to say anything. How had Ivan gotten his real number?
"I will be needing your services Tuesday evening," Ivan continued.
Alfred finally snapped out of it. "How did you-"
"Do svidanija, Alfred. I will see you soon."
-
"Well Miss," Arthur glanced down at the file before him, "Kovalchuk, you're much... earlier than we expected you, but it's a pleasure to have you with us none-the-less," he said, reaching across to desk to shake the hand of a petite woman with jet black hair.
"I'm sorry if it's an inconvenience," she said graciously. Her voice was soft and pleasant to hear, with the slightest hint of an accent. "I have some family matters that I must also attend to in town so my original plan was altered a bit," she explained. "I thought it would be beneficial if I started sooner but if it is an inconvenience I could just-"
Arthur silenced her with the wave of his hand. "Don't be silly my dear, we're happy to have you. And besides, Mrs. Steele will be able to take her time explaining things. Although," he flipped through her file for a bit till he came to the page he was looking for. He gave an appreciative whistle and nodded. "I have got to say, this is a very impressive resume, Miss Kovalchuk, you'll have no trouble fitting in, I'm sure."
She smiled and tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear. "I do enjoy my job," she said.
He nodded again. "Good, good. I remembered when I transfered to this bank I didn't know a soul, but you said that you have family in the city?"
At the mention of family Miss Kovalchuk's smile only grew wider. "Yes sir, my brother," she said.
Arthur knew that he was making mindless small talk; he had all of this information already. But it was either this or take his lunch break... And if his secretary notified him one more time saying that a Mr. Bonnefoy was here to see him he would not be held responsible for his actions.
It was already looking to be another one of those Monday's and it wasn't even past noon yet.
Arthur nodded, slowly losing interest in the conversation. "That must be quite lovely, being as far away from home as you are," he remarked.
"Yes sir, it is," she said. "We get along very well. I love my brother very, very much."
-
-
Translations:
Eto panyAtno- is this clear?
Alló brat- hello brother
Alló- hello
Do svidanija- goodbye
Zima, from Zi-ma (зима)- winter. Two guesses as to who that is.
Truba- Pipe; Ivan's nickname for obvious reasons
Vor- thief.
Bratva- brothehood
Notes:
I generally dislike creating OCs if I can't at least base them off a country, but I couldn't bring myself to kill off Hetalia characters, so...
"Zima had deemed him worth of receiving his stars." If a person has star tattoos on his shoulders it is symbolic of his dignity and honor and that he lives by a certain code.
"You do not exactly live like a Vor." Honestly that entire conversation was in Russian so I could have just written "thief" but Vor has a certain connotation to it in this context. Andrei is referring to the Vory v Zakone or "thieves inside the law." This is a code that all Vor follow. One of the laws is that you must not own significant property, though I don't think an apartment would be that big of a deal...
"Really Andriusha, you should have kept your mouth shut." In Russian, as with most languages, people use diminutives as a sign of endearment. When I was looking into this I found out that there are millions of nicknames that can be derived from a person's name. For example, Ivan could be changed to Vanya, Van'ka, Vanechka, Vaniusha, Vaniushka, and Ivanushka. Talk about a mouth full. In this case, Ivan used it in a demeaning manner.
I would also like to thank danka_mls for being such a big help!