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Missak Medzarents, from Anthology of Armenian Poetry, ed. & tr. by Diana Der Hovanessian and Marzbed Margossian; "Twilight"

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She is familiar, but with her face half hidden under a mask and smear of paint, Viktor doesn't venture a guess. When the blonde speaks, though, the voice does give him a clue; namely that she isn't a local. He opts not to let on, accepting the honeycake with a smile.

"You didn't like it?" He asks, taking a sip from his drink and letting the vodka warm his throat before he takes a bite of the cake with a shrug that says 'suit yourself'. "...My mother never learned how to make them. I only ever had them from the village ladies."

Eyes trailing to the bonfire, he considers her question for a moment. "With a running start, perhaps. But I'm not keen to try it now. Too many people to see me if I fail." He looks back at her then, curious. "Could you?"

>  >    𝙴𝚇𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃  𝙳𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚂  ...  2000  hours  @  town  square,  the  old  quarter,  krovograd    ...    [  warning  ...  2/3  others  in  line  of  sight  ]

preparations  for  vesna  night  had  started  some  three  to  four  weeks  ago  ─  she  had  been  walking  through  the  square  dressed  as  a  civilian  rather  than  an  agent  when  one  of  the  old  women  had  beckoned  her  over  with  a  wave  of  a  wrinkled  hand  and  mălina  had  been  helpless  to  refuse  the  test  run  of  honey  cakes  or  the  demand  that  she  join  the  other  women  in  the  renactment  on  the  night  itself.  (  you  were  a  dancer,  yes  ?  she  had  looked  up,  mouth  full  of  black  bread  and  churned  butter,  to  nod.  it  seemed  almost  criminal  to  do  anything  else.  good.  we  need  someone  strong  to  lift  up  daria  here.  yes  ?  her  gaze  drifted  over  the  girl,  taking  in  the  sunken  cheeks  and  feverish  bright  eyes,  and  knew  there  was  no  other  answer  except  to  nod  again.  )  if  she  had  known  that  it  involved  costumes,  years  old  expired  concealer,  old  poster  colors  from  a  children's  paint  set  and  a  mask  that  fitted  oddly  over  her  forehead,  she  might  have  put  up  more  of  a  resistance,  but  the  part  had  been  played  and  her  reward  had  been  pressed  into  her  palms,  still  warm  from  the  fire. landing  down  with  a  heavy  grunt  onto  one  of  the  empty  chairs  situated  in  a  half - circle  around  the  bonfire,  she  dragged  the  mask  over  her  head  and  pinched  at  the  cake  half - heartedly,  though  the  first  bite  reminded  her  of  the  ones  she  had  already  tasted  in  the  days  leading  up  to  it,  burned  or  undercooked  and  shoved  into  the  mouth  to  avoid  wastage,  and  the  memory  served  only  to  make  her  flinch  away  from  the  sweetness,  holding  out  the  treat  to  the  person  closest  to  her. ❝  ...  here.  i  only  pinched  a  bit  off  that  corner.  ❞  mălina  looked  a  little  green  around  the  gills  ─  the  funny - smelling  paint  that  had  been  streaked  across  her  cheeks  did  little  to  help  with  her  appearance.  ❝  it  feels  wrong  to  just  toss  it,  considering  ...  ❞  this  was  all  some  of  them  had.  she  swallowed  around  the  honey - soaked  cake  and  offered  the  other  person  a  smile  and  a  change  in  topic,  hoping  her  words  had  not  offered  insult  where  there  was  none.   ❝  i  distinctly  remember  my  father  saying  something  about  jumping  over  a  bonfire  once,  but  that  could  be  another  festival.  do  you  think  you  could  clear  that  ?  ❞  chin  lifted,  pointing  towards  the  crackling  fire  pit.

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For most, the cold and frost would sting and prickle at their skin, but Viktor barely feels it now. It's the cold he's always known, the kind that runs in his blood. Despite the pall that hangs over them like the bonfire's smoke now hangs over the town square, the cold barely penetrates. He's been listening for the most part, absorbing the tenor of conversation in a way that's become second nature, and he almost doesn't notice Nika so close until he feels her collide with his chest. Instinctively he reaches out to steady her, hand on her shoulder, and he flashes a thin smile.

"No, I don't think so," he assures her, looking down as his thick leather jacket. "Don't worry about it." As he takes her in, he can't help something that softens in his expression, Viktor clearing his throat. "...I won't ask how you're doing. I imagine you're tired of answering that question." It's a feeling he knows well, a life of loss creating a deep sense of familiarity. "Can I get you anything? Another drink?"

location: town square thread status: open ( 0 / 5 )

the proximity of the bonfire brings tears to nika's eyes, the skin of her cheeks uncomfortably tight from the heat. all her gaiety from past vesna's nights is gone. this year there is no sister to dance with or steal honey cakes from — even their mother is conspicuously absent, opting to stay home instead of celebrate the occasion. as the flames dance before her, nika works hard to swallow the lump in her throat.

she steps back from the fire, eager to banish her self-pitying thoughts, and her back collides with a solid mass. "oh shit!" the cup she's holding sways precariously, but somehow she saves it from toppling. "i am so sorry. i didn't get any on you, did i?"

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“A beast can never be as cruel as a human being, so artistically, so picturesquely cruel.”

— Fyodor Dostoevsky, ‘The Brothers Karamazov’ (via xshayarsha)

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VIKTOR LVOVICH BOYATA. FIELD OPERATIVE, BLACK VEIL.

❄️  (  john david washington.  cis male.  he/him/his  )  in  krovograd  ,  survival  is  a  test  of  both  skill  and  morality  —  will VIKTOR  LVOVICH  BOYATA  withstand  the  horrors  ,  or  will  the  city  break  them  ?  over  the  comms  ,  their  voice  cuts  through  the  static  :  “I'M AN INSTRUMENT. I HAVE NO TIME FOR FEAR.”  our  records  confirm  they  are  a  40  year  old  FIELD  OPERATIVE ,  assigned  to  BLACK  VEIL  for  SEVEN  YEARS.  field  reports  describe  them  as  QUICK-WITTED  AND  DISCIPLINED ,  though  firsthand  accounts  suggest  they  are  equally  UNBENDING  AND  ABRASIVE  under  pressure.  there’s  something  about  them  —  something  in  the  way  they  move  ,  speak  ,  or  fight  —  that  brings  to  mind  PRAY FOR ME (  THE  WEEKND  AND  KENDRICK  LAMAR  ).  maybe  it's  just  a  coincidence.  or  maybe  ,  it  says  everything.

DATA.

Full Name: Viktor Lvovich Boyata

Age: Forty (b. 2 September 1965)

Pronouns: He/him

Orientation: ?

Affiliation: Black Veil (beginning c. 1999)

Occupation/Rank: Field Operative

Place Of Origin: Krovograd (prev. USSR)

Ethnicity: Black (Congolese)

Languages spoken: Russian, Swahili, French, English

Known family: Leon Boyata (father); Antoinette Elenga (mother)

TIMELINE.

1961 - Leon Boyata and Antoinette Elenga, immigrants from the Democratic Republic of the Congo, are students at a Soviet university. They begin a relationship, and are married before the end of the year.

1966 - Their only child, Viktor, is born in Krovograd, where Leon works in one of the research facilities as an engineer. He is given a Slavic name and a patronym, observing the culture of their new homeland.

1972 - Leon dies in a factory accident. Antoinette is forced to take on work to support herself and her young child.

1983 - Antoinette dies of cancer, leaving her son as an orphan at seventeen years old.

1984 - Viktor joins the military, training and achieving the rank of sergeant. He continues to make a military career, serving primarily in the district close to Krovograd.

1991 - With the fall of the Soviet Union, Viktor's army service comes to an end. He begins a career with the police and joins a local militia to fill the void, and to attempt to bring some order in his home town.

1999 - After several years of resistance, Viktor opts to join the Black Veil, initially considering it it an opportunity to continue defending the only home he knows.

2005 - As a field agent, he plays an instrumental part in the Black Veil's action to seize the underground. If he has any reservations about what the organization is doing, he's never spoken about it.

2006 - Viktor has little left to him except his duty to the Black Veil. He still tells himself that it is necessary to keep Krovograd safe from the encroachment of outsiders

INTERVIEW.

001.  WHAT'S  YOUR  STORY?  ARE  YOU  KROVOGRAD-BORN,  NEWLY  DEPLOYED,  OR  JUST  ANOTHER  POOR  SOUL  WHO  ENDED  UP  IN  THE  WRONG  PLACE  AT  THE  WRONG  TIME?

“Krovograd-born,” he answers easily, though he knows it probably shows just from how he speaks. He's calm, his back ram-rod straight as one finger taps against his thigh. “But if you're asking how I got here: my parents came to the Soviet Union to attend school. Seeking stability when they left their homeland.” He scoffs, the notion obviously ridiculous to all parties in retrospect. “Imagine, looking for stability. In a place like this.”

002.   THE  CITY  IS  A  WARZONE,  CRAWLING  WITH  THINGS  THAT  SHOULDN'T  EXIST.  WHAT'S  YOUR  TAKE  ON  ALL  OF  THIS?  FEAR,  DUTY,  OR  SOMETHING  ELSE  ENTIRELY?

“I am doing my job,” he says shortly, his eyes glinting in the dim light as they speak. “It's not my job to ask questions. Only what I need to know.” He pauses a moment, then shakes his head. “I'm not afraid. I wouldn't have made it this far if I was, would I?” Though his expression is dispassionate, he looks away for a moment. “I do what needs doing. That's all.” 

003.   OUT  HERE  STRENGTHS  KEEP  YOU  ALIVE,  WEAKNESSES  GET  YOU  KILLED.  TELL  ME,  WHAT'S  YOUR  BEST  ASSET  IN  A  SURVIVAL  SITUATION?  AND  WHAT'S  GOING  TO  BE  YOUR  DOWNFALL?

Viktor sighs, growing irritated by the questioning now. “I'm prepared for anything,” he says simply. “And I appreciate challenges. As for my weakness?” He smiles wryly, a challenge in his dark eyes. “...I don't play well with others.”

004. DESPERATION  MAKES  PEOPLE  DO  UGLY  THINGS.  WHERE  DO  YOU  DRAW  THE  LINE?  OR  SHOULD  I  ASSUME  THERE  ISN'T  ONE?

“My livelihood comes from doing ugly things,” he points out as he stands. “Someone has to do the ugly things, sometimes, if they want anything to change.” He leans in close, looming, his voice low. “You would be wise not to make assumptions about me. Or anyone in this city. The people of Krovograd have all done what they needed to survive.”

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Tenet (2020) dir. Christopher Nolan