A Hawk and A Sparrow

The Beginning and End

The atmosphere outside was dark, and rather cold. Stand still for more than a moment, and the cold would already be nipping at your ears and nose. It was cloudy, if the skies were clear you'd be able to see the starry sky, infinite upon infinite galaxies. However, it was the middle of the Siberian winter, and the weather tomorrow called for snow, along with every other day of the week that followed. And just to be honest, every day the previous week as well.




"If you stand out here much longer, you might freeze here until spring comes and thaws you out..." The Russian lilt filled his ears; he turned and gave a slight chuckle.




"Please Stephan; if I was to freeze, I doubt there would be a thaw. Spring never travels this far North," he paused," the more logical idea would be I either become a perfectly preserved specimen of masculinity for your guest to marvel at, or a decaying corpse from frostbite." Stephan scoffed, stuffing his hands in his Tuxedo pockets.




"You were always one to take things rather seriously Nic," Stephan patted the back of his shoulder," come inside soon, yes? Our guests will be arriving right about, wait for it, now." The man smiled, his beard tugging up at the corners. He was smiling and joking, but there wasn't a question in his eyes. The grip on his shoulder was quite firm. It brokered no argument.




The two men looked out from the front balcony, beneath was the gravel drive that circled around a fountain, flash frozen in mid-stream. It pierced the sky, the jagged spire lit from within by weak lights. It was showcased by the angel centerpiece holding a vase, the edges laced with pale icicles, desperately holding themselves above damnation. Arctem had been 'invited' by his boss, and it would be rather rude to decline, wouldn't it.




The crunch of gravel and dim yellow lights alerted the two that more cars were arriving, high class of course, dreadfully American, as the Russian Automotive industry had yet to climb back on its feet after the collapse. The cars were still elegant, streamlined design and colors, sleek glistening blacks and snow whites, glimmering chrome detailing, precious metals woven through the doors in graceful swirls and arcs. They were all cries of attention, demanding that their power and wealth be recognized. The Mobsters were showy and petty, if nothing else. The facade he had become for this iteration suppressed a sneer. Such displays were foolish, making lavish targets to be shot at. It would take very little to tear apart this human organization, just a few cut wires and a rumor or two. Pitiful. Still. Arctem never actually intended to join the Russian Mafia, it was purely accidentally, however it didn't surprise him. These situations developed as he lived, it was a fact he had resigned himself to long ago: There was no rest for the wicked, no peace for the dead.




"Let's go Nikolai! It is getting much too cold to be standing out here! Plus you must meet my wife Vivian; she is such a sweetheart, delicate and humble, much like yourself!" He frowned. His host was getting impatient, stamping his expensive shoes in the cold. Arctem had started turning until he saw an unmistakable flash of color in his peripheral vision, exiting a lone midnight black Rolls Royce.




A singular flame against the inky black, a radiant spot of light in an otherwise dismal world. Her.




"I'll be there in a second Stephan," he called, shrugging the man's iron grip off of his shoulder. He turned back and the flame was gone, the Royce was pulling away toward the valet parking.