✧･ﾟ:*･✧
azalea monroe just
wanted a normal,
relaxing summer.
robin buckley just
wanted to save money
at her $3 an hour job.
and they were both
about to get more than
they bargained for.
✧･ﾟ:*･✧
STRANGER THINGS
season 3 - completed
season 4 - ongoing...
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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*･✧
Azalea sucked in the insides of her cheeks, staring down the wall to the left of her, refusing to make eye contact with the three Russian guards in front of her.
She could feel a bruise forming on her jaw and a small dribble of blood from her mouth.
The main guard was losing patience with her, and his tortuous way of questioning wasn't getting him any further.
He pulled her to face him by her hair and the back of her neck. She gasped in pain.
"I said," He spat, thick accent muffling his English, "Who do you work for?"
I'm a terrible fucking lifeguard who's gonna get fired for missing work again. She thought.
But she didn't say anything. They wouldn't believe her anyway.
"Who do you work for?! How did you find us?" He was screaming, strings of saliva spluttering from his mouth.
Azalea glared at him, resolute in silence.
She was usually cool under pressure, so she could have answered well, but her possibility of spilling about her dad or something of that extent was too scary. She didn't want to get her dad or her friends in any worse of a situation.
So she remained silent.
The main Russian man nodded to the guard beside her. The man punched her firmly in the stomach making her yelp in pain.
"Maybe putting her with the other two will make her talk," The tall guard by the door offered.
The main Russian got close to her face, "Will watching your friends bleed make you talk, сука (bitch)?"
Though the idea terrified her, Azalea kept her face stony.
To think hours ago she was planning a future in Europe with the girl she liked. Now both of them were going to die in a Russian bunker.
The large door to her right cracked opened, another Russian guard coming into the room.
He spoke in hushed tones in Russian to the main guard.
Their conversation was quiet, but intense. Azalea glanced between them confused.
But her confusion soon turned into alarm when she heard her own name intermixed with the Russian words.
"мальчик говорит, что ее зовут Azalea Monroe,"
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
They know who she is.
Tuning fully into the conversation, she tried to pick out words she knew.
She heard the boy, her own name, father, American, and how.
