let the bodies hit the floor [anya]

[VADIM ISAAK PETROV]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 366x; height: 190px; padding: 10px; background-color: #dcd4c7; border: #eae4d8 10px solid;] ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. A sick smile crawled across the pierced lips of Vader Petrov as he watched the head of Harry Styles, one of the more annoying members of British boy band One Direction, suddenly become considerably less pretty as the bullet from his gun made contact with the center of the other male's cardboard forehead. Another few shots to the singer's head, and it went flying off into the distance behind the body causing a satisfied grin to form on Vader's features as he shouted "The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed!". When his sister had texted him before he had even managed to completely exit his flight requesting that he retreive for her human shaped targets, he hadn't exactly known where to get them on such short notice. Not only that, but the boy had never even seen Boston before, let alone went wandering off into it to find a sports store that would sell him and ungodly amount of things to shoot at. Naturally when he had seen the music store with several colorful cardboard cutouts in the window, it seemed to be an acceptable substitute. In the place of outlines with target values written in, there were pop sensations and something called Cody Simpson. Whoever he was, Vader didn't like the looks of him, he was far too blonde and looked far too pleased with himself. The cutouts had been staged at various points throughout the room for them to fire upon, and this was actually considered bonding time between the male and his older sister. When she had first taught him how to fire a gun, he distinctly remembered screaming in a combination of panic and being startled by the noise. Now, he could take the head off of Harry Styles without even needing to pause to reload. Still, however, not that he had mentioned or admitted it to his sister, he had still never actually fired his gun at an actual living person. If he was being honest, the closest that he had ever come was when he and Lev had decided to wreak havock on some busted mannequins that they had found in a dumpster outside of a department store. Even then, it didn't exactly sit with him the way that the plaster blasted in all directions like a great cloud of dust when his bullet pierced through the cheek of one of the brunettes. This was easier, this was just a piece of paper stood up with a paper sound. To him, this felt a lot less like he was practicing to actually kill someone. It wasn't even that he wasn't a good shot, in fact he had always been briliant at shooting even when he was first learning. Ironically, he was naturally brilliant at it, and he was the son who would have rather traded in his bullets for a set of acrylic paints. His father had never approved of his son's artistic streak, which was why Vader had grown so close with his mother and his sister. He'd attempted looking at it many ways, even went as far as to picture that shooting was some type of art. Maybe if he discovered a way to fill hollow bullets with paint he could fire them at a wall and make something beautiful, something that wasn't completely drenched in human blood. His insecurities didn't show on his face as he continued to blow holes in Harry, his electric blue eyes concentrated and narrowed as the hole in his heart grew bigger the more bullets pierced through. "So is this what you are doing all day?" Vader asked his sister smoothly, glancing over at her before aiming now for Zayn. He licked his lips to moisten them and paused briefly to reload his gun, the clip sliding neatly into place as he tilted his head sharply to one side to crack the bones in his neck and exhale quickly through his nose. It seemed to him like every time he saw Anya, something inside of her was growing darker, closer, less connected with the real world. Right now he was just trying to have at least some type of a normal conversation, though it wasn't exactly the kind of conversation that normal siblings had after being apart for a considerable amount of time. Normal siblings might have asked how work was going, how relationships were, if anything was new. No, instead Vader was asking her if she spent all of her spare time blowing holes in One Direction. "What is it that you are doing for fun, or have you forgotten the meaning?" Admittedly, his English had never been perfect, but now that he was in Boston he was certainly attempting to make at least some kind of an effort to speak it rather than hiding behind Russian. WORDS: IDK IT'S 2 AM . TAGGED: ANYA . RUSSIANS REPRESENT.

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[anya czarina petrova]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 420px; border-top: #772244 8px solid; border-bottom: #772244 10px solid; background-color: #ffeedd; background-image: url(http://i739.photobucket.com/albums/xx40/tippykazoo/Caution/24o0v2t.png);] [atrb=width,400] if you dare come a little closer Her hazy blue eyes mirrored the Atlantic waters in color, as similar as the seemingly endless depths with the frigid cold, unforgiving sea. Gazing at the selection of firearms before her, she mulled over her choice with a quiet seriousness before choosing her loyal .357 magnum revolver still spattered with the blood dying dogs and cats from the animal clinic. Anya was never a fan of keeping pets, she didn’t see it as a loss rather an extermination of pests from her city. She reloaded the gun and turned to face the new additions to her target range and she didn’t know of them, but by her younger’s brother amusement to shoot them she gathered they were a band of some sort. She didn’t have a preference on who she aimed for and she was silent as her finger pulled the trigger to shoot a boy with brown hair, weird eyebrows, and she didn’t quite fancy the nose on the lad. Her gun fired off, hitting him in the chest and she wasted no time hitting him in his head between his eyes and another through his mouth. It was only mildly satisfying her need to cause havoc in the city, she was allowing the city to replenish itself after her tirade of terror. She glanced at her younger brother, inspecting him in the sort of fashion the evil stepmother would judge her child. Boston made her cold, there was once a time where the youngest would have known his sister with a ray of sunshine in her eyes, an amused giggle, but she was a child then. She was a leader now, and she hardly felt happiness out of a fashion of pride when she consider herself the victor of any argument. With her brother, she noticed he still had a fashion of happiness to him and she was indifferent to him. One could say she was “happy” to have him here, but it was more that she was pleased he accepted the offer. He would serve well for her as an errand boy – she was waiting until she was sure if anyone knew her face they would forget. Working at the pharmacy was a risky enough endeavor as it were and she never left unarmed in case she had unexpected hiccups in her plan. She held on to the job for that thin thread of normalcy she needed to keep herself sane, yet it was fraying. She was hardly any fashion of sane now, as it were. From afar she was silently harassing and torturing a wealthy business woman for her cut or else they would kill the pretty little ballerina she kept in solitary confinement in a cell opposite the shooting range. She was envious of the younger woman’s beauty over her own, Anya never knew such a pettiness existed inside her to be concerned over terms of beauty. Yet, she enjoyed being one of the only women in the mafia, the other being some useless whore of a cook that she never gave the light of day to or ate her food. Anya was self-efficient, she cooked her own meals and ate them: she trusted no woman with her food. The others of the mafia could eat the meals, but Anya would not. Perhaps it did all come down to an underlying pettiness that she disliked any woman she assumed was prettier than her. She felt that way about the cook and she felt that way about the little Italian whore whose boyfriend or sugar daddy Konstantine killed and she burned by the force of his hand. “No.” She answered to her brother’s question, because shooting wasn’t all she would do this day or all she had done. She awoke early, only sleeping a mere four hours and started in with her harassment of Charlotte Murphy. She wanted the damn ransom money and she knew the woman was too weak not to give into her consistent harassment. This was her friend’s little sister and there was no way that they were going to come up with that sort of price tag. She was waiting for the money and if she had to send fingers and toes to prove her point than she would. “I’ll torture, harass, and belittle people as well. Perhaps get laid, I never know until I do things now.” She shrugged her shoulders simply. Listening to him ask her what it is she did for fun or if she forgot the meaning she paused before taking the head off one of the cardboard cutouts. “Is this not fun? Is having sex not fun? Perhaps I have forgot the meaning or how to do it, but it’s not as if fun is a necessary function to live. I get along just fine without it and torturing men and woman alike is fun to me. I know what fun is. Fun in pain in others.” She reloaded, shot and then turned to him – having fun that wasn’t some fashion of evil never occurred to her. She didn’t think Vadim would ever understand that. “I brought you down here for a purpose, no to have fun. You can have fun on your own terms.” She finished with her magnum and set it down, picking up another gun and inspecting it. It didn’t hold the memories the magnum did, that gun could warrant the word favorite. “You did not bring the crazy whore Alina along with you, did you brother? Trust me if I do run into her it will be the last anyone ever knew of her. I do not like her and I do not want her in my city.” She glared. “Am I understood?” tag: vadim word count: 850 notes: a few brief words.

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[VADIM ISAAK PETROV]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 366x; height: 190px; padding: 10px; background-color: #dcd4c7; border: #eae4d8 10px solid;] ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. Leaving Russia behind was one of the only decisions that Vadim had made over the past couple of months that he had actually considered to be easy, easier in fact than picking which kind of bagel to eat in the morning or even where to bring Alina out on some sort of a date. The fact of the matter was, even if he didn't want to admit it, he felt at least some shade of protective over Anya simply because he felt that someone had to be. In fact, he felt some degree of protective over each of his siblings though he, in fact, was the baby of the Petrov family even though he didn't actually care to own up to it. Flying to Boston meant that he could keep an eye on her, even if Anya didn't believe that she actually needed some sort of a bratty babysitter that felt he needed to make sure that she wasn't doing anything too stupid. That and perhaps the male truly did just need a change of scenery. His father had never approved of his lack of interest in what could jokingly be titled the family business, though the presence of family was actually intended to be some sort of a jest towards the Irish with their strong bonds. Vadim, however, somehow found it difficult to believe that the Irish would really put a thought into the matter and probably didn't care exactly who was firing bullets at them and would probably be more concerned with getting out of the way. This was his chance to prove to not only his father, but his entire family that he had a much thicker skin than he actually let on. If anyone had even taken just a moment to even look at the boy's artwork rather than dismiss him off as soft, they would have seen exactly what kind of a storm was brewing inside of Vadim's head. His compositions usually consisted of dark colors with shades of red splattered through the darkness, always foggy and dismal and just a bit violent without actually depicting any gore. Everyone had their means of dealing with the darkness inside of them. Anya's was through being a complete bitch, Lev's was through Nikita, and Vadim's was through art. Listening to Anya's words, Vadim couldn't help but roll is his eyes in annoyance at his older sibling, his eyes coming to rest on her as he waited for her to finish her little speech. With a sarcastic scoff he turned to look at her, placing his gun down on the table to pull a cigarette from behind his ear, placing the cyllinder between his lips as he took in a long exhale and allowed the smoke to release in her direction. There was no doubt in his mind that Boston had changed her, he could see it in her eyes and even hear it in the tone of her voice. If there was one thing that he hadn't uprooted his entire life for, it was to fly out just to listen to Anya ramble on like she was some kind of a Russian princess. Maybe she had seen that film Anastasia too many times as a child, or maybe putting a gun into the female's hands and giving her the title of leader had given her a God complex that even family couldn't bring down to size. All he knew was that as the moments ticked by he was becoming more and more annoyed with her, annoyed with how she was speaking to him like he was just one of her little worker bees rather than her blood. Maybe that was how she saw him, just another cog in her murder machine, but as far as he was concerned, no one controlled him. Her words might have rolled off of his shoulders had he not heard the mention of Alina, his breath catching for a moment as he allowed the cigarette to burn to ashes. Vadim didn't love Alina and he knew it, he just loved the idea of her. She was someone who was completely dedicated to him and wasn't going to abandon him, she was there to his beckoned call and knew better than to test his patience. Alina, however completely psychotic and obsessive, was one of the only things that was tethering the boy to his humanity. As he licked his lips and looked his sister over, he could feel his blood boiling, feel for the first time that he wanted to lash out at her, wanted to hit her, and he had never wanted to strike a woman before in his life, let alone his sister. "Listen here Anya." Vadim hissed through his teeth, the malice clear in his voice that he wasn't at all amused with her little comments. "Just because you've had your gun jammed up your fucking ass so long you don't recognize what a dick feels like anymore, doesn't mean you can run your fucking mouth about my relationship. At least someone fucking loves me. Who loves you? Your gun? Bet if I took your gun it wouldn't love you so much anymore. Bet it doesn't love you back once you stop being able to control it." Tossing his cigarette to the warehouse floor, he reached for the table and picked up her discarded Magnum, fingers running along the surface as he weighted the weapon in his hand and skillfully twirled it like a performer with a baton. "I love you, Anya. But I'm required to love you, it's not something that you've earned. You've become heartless, cruel, and quite frankly a pain in my ass. Don't talk about Alina. If she's a fucking whore, then I don't know what that makes you. At least she fucks out of love, not boredem or to try to get ahead." With a disconnected and cold sounding laugh, he raised the gun and pointed it in her direction, his face showing no signs of jest or humor. He raised it to level with her face, cocking it off to the side at the last minute to send his bullet skimming by the side of her head. "Watch your fucking language. You're supposed to be a lady." With a grunt, he tossed her gun back onto the table and retreived his fallen cigarette, making his way towards the door. WORDS: IDK. TAGGED: ANYA . RUSSIANS REPRESENT.

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[anya czarina petrova]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 420px; border-top: #772244 8px solid; border-bottom: #772244 10px solid; background-color: #ffeedd; background-image: url(http://i739.photobucket.com/albums/xx40/tippykazoo/Caution/24o0v2t.png);] [atrb=width,400] if you dare come a little closer There may have been a time where she was not the cold and ruthless woman she rapidly became when she took on the title of leader, but she couldn’t find that woman that once existed. That woman was the woman that Vadim knew, she was happier and she lived a more fulfilling existence in terms of normalcy. The Petrov siblings all found a fashion of release to cope with the horrors they unleashed on the world. Anya chose to become the heartless monster she felt when she killed, to carry herself with little remorse for her actions. There may have come a time where she would have thought on the severity of her actions, but that time was passed. She hardly felt a sense of warming to be joined by her brothers. Rather she questioned their true worth to the cause and their loyalty, she hardly trusted Lev despite knowing he was well trained. Something about the switching of his personalities didn’t settle well with her. Whether or not it was a wise choice, a thought that always came after she decided upon things, she was accompanied by her brothers. She once looked forward to spending time with the brother she felt closest to. Vadim was young, only twenty and to her he stilled seemed like a child. She knew that he wasn’t, the last time she flew over to Russia they went to the bar and it was all she could remember from drinking with him. The morning after her head screamed in pain and their father lectured her for being irresponsible among her complete lack of care to join the bratva under Natalia’s rule. There was luck in her decision to avoid joining prematurely, with now all of the former bratva passed on after Connor Selwyn shot and burned their bodies (with all but the exception of Konstantine Kir). In that time, she was still under the separate Anya she created to pass the time she waited for her rightful title. It was times when she looked at her younger brother and remembered that version of herself, the one that didn’t want to be the leader. She could have lived that life, she tried to refuse Konstantine but she gave in to this miserable life. In the privacy of her room, she would spend sleepless nights debating on whether or not this was the right choice for her. Her words angered Vadim, she could tell by how he tensed at the words she spoke. Anya saw Alina for what she was, a waste of her time. Vadim didn’t love her, he loved the idea of her and what she brought to the table. Anya didn’t want the woman around, she didn’t want the annoyance. As it were, she dealt with other female members within the bratva that she didn’t care for. It wasn’t because Anya waned to be the only female, it was because she didn’t see herself as a whore. She slept with men to torture and she would sleep with them to show her dominance. If she slept with them it was to gain something, but it was never to get ahead. She didn’t sleep with men of good financial standing for their money or what they could give her. If she wanted their money, she knew other tactics of extraction. This words were cold, she was amused that his little artist could spew such venom. Yet a slow burning anger fueled in her, she had little tolerance for men. There was some sort of superiority they felt to a woman and when he spoke of love, a part of her snapped. She didn’t need love to function, it wasn’t a direct factor into her happiness. The whole thought that love equaled power and happiness, a whole fulfilling life was a sham. She wouldn’t allow the thought to weaken who she was. Women didn’t need love, they were force fed the gender role form their early childhood throughout their life. Anya didn’t need it and she could see it just as that. For her brother to assume that because she didn’t and wouldn’t have love made her less of a person enraged her. Then he pulled a gun on her, she didn’t blink or give him a reaction. If he was truly to shoot her over words than he was not cut out for this life. She was cold, Boston molded her to be that way, and she didn’t want to change now. She enjoyed herself and the lifestyle she was living, she wasn’t the same that she was before but she couldn’t be. The Anya Petrova that Vadim knew was lost among war torn Boston. She was never returning and if he were to kill her here and now, this Bratva would surely fail. She didn’t believe her brothers had it in them, they weren’t trained the same way, and they weren’t as devoted. They saw the bratva was something of a burden – Anya saw it as her life’s work and the only thing she cared about. The bullet whizzed by her head and her eyes sharpened into a glare, without much thought she grasped the gun closest to her and brought it up to level with his shoulder with speed and ease. Pulling the trigger, she felt no remorse as the bullet lodged into Vadim’s shoulder, she smiled. He needed to know where he stood when it came to his new life in Boston. She stalked over to him, crossing her arms as she picked up her favorite gun. She wouldn’t let him use it against her again, but she knew it was just as replaceable as any other she owned. “Oh, but Vadim do you think I care about love? Do you think I need love to be human? Is that what defines me as a woman? I need a man’s love to be complete? I never thought of you as the narrow-minded sort, I thought you had that artistic brain going for you. I don’t need love and I don’t want it. I’m content with my life, I’m not in love with the idea of someone. I will say and do as I please, I am the pakhan and you are bound to obey. If that does not settle well, try to overthrow me, but please be prepared for next time I shoot you it will be a fatal shot.” She chuckled, inspecting the wound lightly with her eyes. Her eyes were lit by amusement, she loved the pain, the misery even when it came from her own flesh and blood. “Welcome to Boston, little brother.” tag: vadim word count: 1104 notes: a few brief words.

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[VADIM ISAAK PETROV]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 366x; height: 190px; padding: 10px; background-color: #dcd4c7; border: #eae4d8 10px solid;] ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. Never before had Vadim felt such malice towards his older sibling or even felt the amount of disgust that he was feeling for the woman who was standing before him, or what he considered to be less of a woman. In his opinion it seemed like Anya was wrapping herself in a shroud of misery to avoid being seen as human, probably because she felt as if she had something to prove simply because she was, in fact, a woman, and to make things even more difficult for the eldest Petrov, she was a beautiful woman. Vadim wasn't oblivious to the prejudice that his sister had to face as being both a woman and a leader, but at the same time he felt no pity for her seeing as how this was the life that she had chosen for herself. In the end, it was Anya's decision to become the person that she was now, in that very moment, and there was no one to blame but her. Maybe it was true that he wasn't cut from the same cloth that she was, and perhaps it was even more true that the male wasn't capable of performing the same practices that his sister was. If you asked him, that didn't make him less of a man, it made him more of a man to own up to the belief that they were doing something wrong, to admit to being a piece of shit and a criminal. Anya and Lev however, seemed to find their ways around actually owning up to their actions, and that above all was what set him off. She was right in one aspect, Alina was a huge waste of time, Vadim knew it, Lev knew it, and of course Anya knew it, but that was for him to say and not for her. Vadim would never marry Alina, he would never even ponder the thought even if she was actually carrying his child which at this point and after many false alarms, he knew that she wasn't. Still, even though Boston was his means of escape, he couldn't bring himself to let the woman go, probably because he was horrified of what she was capable of and couldn't handle the burden on his conscience if something happened to her because of him. Other Russians seemed to believe that love made you weak, that it was nothing more than a distraction. Other people, like Anya, believed that love was useless and that sex was used for personal gain. He knew that fucking Alina gave him absolutely nothing to gain, but the fact of the matter was that she was damn good at it. Why did Vadim fuck? Because he loved the sounds Alina made while she twisted beneath him, loved the way she gripped at the sheets when she wanted more. Mainly, he liked being the one with the power, and sex gave him power purely because he was well aware that he was pretty damn good at it, which was why she had always seemed like such a reasonable match. There was no personal gain in sex for him, he fucked simply because he wanted to fuck. No motives behind it. Still, it was nice in a strange way having someone who actually missed him when he was gone, someone who would notice if something happened to him. Aside from being away from him for too long, Alina hadn't wanted him to leave because she was horrified that something was going to happen to him. Who would have really cared if something happened to Anya? Anyone? Of course he would care, but as he thought before, it was her own choice to get herself into these kinds of situations and her own decision to be the kind of person that she had become. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became, and the more he listened to Anya talk the more he despised her. She sounded just like a woman, griping about how he supposedly thought that she needed to be loved to be a woman. Everything with her seemed to revolve around her gender, about how men expected her to be something. He didn't expect her to be human because she was a human, he expected her to be human because she was a human. Vadim didn't think that he was better than Anya because of what he had hanging between his legs, he knew that he was better than Anya because he still had some type of humanity left inside of him. Who was truly the cruel one? Anya and Lev who found their own ways to block it out, or Vadim who embraced it and allowed it to make him stronger? No sooner had his cigarette once again touch his lips did it spill once more to the concrete, a burning sensation like someone had just touched him with a hot poker erupting through his shoulder. For a moment or two he simply just stood on the spot dumbfounded, Anya's words suddenly sounding as if she were speaking to him from outside of a pool while he was under water. "What the fuck!?" The male exclaimed, cautiously raising his hand to the spot where a wetness was gathering against the black t-shirt that he'd shredded to pieces into some sort of an over sized male tank top. His fingertips met with the wetness, the shining crimson gathering on the tips as everything seemed to move in slow motion. He stumbled, his steps slowing before he felt himself shaking, a searing pain spreading through his chest and down his arms to the tips of his fingers. Inside of his head he was howling out though on the outside, he probably still had that same look of complete surprise. For a few more feet he stumbled, his back finally connecting with the wall of the warehouse as he leaned against it and breathed heavily, watching as everything swam in front of him and the pool of blood on his shirt grew larger. "Fuck." He said breathlessly, blinking hard as he tried to focus in on Anya's face. "Fuck." Vadim repeated again before he felt himself sink to the floor and everything went dark. WORDS: IDK. TAGGED: ANYA . RUSSIANS REPRESENT.

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