r is for revenge | novak & yury

[MATTIO]

n o v a k . a d r i á n

You have a bone to pick with anyone in District Ten who thinks they can mug one of the newest initiates to your group and get away with it. Two young guys who think they're hot stuff took Emery's wallet and her silver necklace, a family heirloom of hers. She came into your home office in tears and with a scrape on her knee. It took two calls to ready the plan. First up was the sheriff, Yury, who you handpicked and saved from the Detention Center when you became mayor. Second are the Peacekeepers, who you needed approval from, but cashing in a simple mayoral favor was enough to do the trick.

Thanks to the recent community outreach initiatives, you know everyone in this District, even the ones who don't want to be known. You've made a list and checked it twice for any problems that need to be uprooted, and Mayor Novak isn't a jolly boy when he's got his sights set on revenge. Turns out, these two guys have a load of drugs down in their basement. You devilishly clicked your tongue when you first got that news. How inappropriate, and how illegal. Of course, you have some in your desk drawer as you hover over the radio connecting you to Yury on the ground. But nobody needs to know that. You and your sheriff's department are just doin' what's necessary to keep the people safe, y'here?

You tap the microphone and push down a button to speak to the sheriff. "Yury, I'd love for ya to keep us posted on what's going on in there. Keep your microphone on. And remember, those two're beating up on our littlest ones."

elegant

[Deleted]

yury       catastrophe

Instruction unclear: he brought two guns to a knife fight. 

"AYE AYE, CHEIF!" Yury shouts back gleefully - he's grown accustom to being useful recently. Didn't know he had it in 'em, personally. He's never amounted to much outside of crime; that's where he pulls out all the stunts, however. It's strange to be the pitbull for the good guy now, is it even crime anymore? The mayor's barking orders and he's just doing his civic duty, really. Adrien says jump, Yury says how high. Adrien says shoot, Yury says how many! 

...They're beating up our little ones. "I HATE when they do that!" His last yell before going incognito. Yury ain't ever been the quiet type, but Novak's taught him a thing about a leap of faith. They've turned things around from being dust dogs fighting for scraps - even if Yury still finds himself in the heat of things. He seeks it out at this point, and Adrien knows it. 

His boots are loud enough, but he still tries to cover his voice as he reaches out to the brains of the operation. "Should I go no confrontation? Sounds lame, but," hell might make things easier. 

[MATTIO]

n o v a k . a d r i á n

If there's one think you know about Yury, it's that he's good at taking orders. And lucky that he found you at the right time because you're good at giving them. You have your legs propped up on the ottoman beside you as Yury's level of enthusiasm rises with your words of encouragement. If anything, he's the hero and knight in shining armor as sheriff, and you're just the hype man hiding out in a tiny piece of technology in his ear.

"Should I go no confrontation?"

Oh what you'd give to have a video camera following Yury Catastrophe right now. You both know that a silent killer is an acquired taste that might leave little satisfaction in the name of vengeance. Still, though, you pause on the line. What can you ask Yury to do, within reason for your optics, that'll leave these boys begging for forgiveness?

"They're in the house from what the last patrol was saying. Make sure to catch 'em and then keep them still so you can investigate the house. Tie them up or something."

You look up to see Uncle Elio's hands in his face, clearly disapproving. He would've rather seen Emery suffer without the one lasting memory of her gran than encroach on enemy lines. But he's a weak leader, and you're strong.

People like Elio are so delicate, don't you think? Disappoint him once and he'll shatter like it's the end of the world.

You? Your governing hand is sturdy. And Yury? He's hefty as hell. "Don't hurt them unless they hurt you first. We just don't want them running off yet."

elegant

[Deleted]

yury       catastrophe

That's SHERRIF Catastrophe to you, motherfucker! 

He's warming up the hot irons, got the dogs on preheat as he tries to break in through a perimeter window. Yury's not got faith but dumb luck; blind, with Novak's comms as direction. He stalks the windows, approaching to find the right angle of attack before jumping straight into the fray. "Tie them up?" To-do list so far: find rope or zip ties, find family heirloom, DON'T kill the opposition, and draw first blood. 

That last one's just for fun ;). 

"ALRIGHT, I'm GOING IN!" He shouts to Novak through the mic before getting to work. Yury starts with ripping his shirt off, wadding his fist in the fabric before punching out a hole in the basement window. Using his boot, he sweeps the broke glass off the ledge before sliding down and into the building's lowest floor. The smell of smoke permeates through the old shack, but his ears perk up at the gruff, "what was that...?" that haunts into the basement. 

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Yury stumbles around the corner as he makes his way out of vision to the staircase, "I think they heard me. Not my best work, partner," he says into the mic before cutting the volume. For a minute, he holds his breath in the dark as the basement door opens and a man descends. Yury watches the bootsteps from underneath the stairs, eyes wide and mouth shut with his hands on his pistol. The man takes two looks around before hurrying back upstairs.

With a sigh of relief, Yury reconnects his mic as the he hears the door shut. "Cobra to Kai, I am officially in the house. Working on dispatching, out."

1-20

[MATTIO]

n o v a k . a d r i á n

There's a tear of fabric coming through like static in the microphone. You laugh at the visual of a shirtless sheriff kicking ass like it's some sort of silent film messed around and faded into blacks and whites. The people of District Ten find Sheriff Catastrophe's eccentric nature to be endearing despite some lack of professionalism. You know in these times when a disease has spread throughout the districts, that comedic relief can keep people smiling.

"I think they heard me."

Ok, and? You lean in, tapping your fingers against the metal edges of your desk. The best they could do was steal from a little kid. That's their confidence level. Even you could beat them in a tussle if push came to shove.

The static remains for about a minute before Yury comes back online, officially in the house and ready to execute the plan. The show is about to begin.

"Keep an eye out for anything we can nail them on. Substances, weapons, unapproved literature, all that shit." Normally, you wouldn't give a damn about any of these things. Mischief makes the world go round, and as long as you don't see it and it doesn't make headlines in the papers, it doesn't matter. "We're playing by the books today, like the good district officials we are."

elegant

[Deleted]

yury       catastrophe

He's a bob cat in the mist, stalking in the shadows of this basement as he processes Adrian's commands. Bark, bark, bark - that's all he hears. Like a dog, do this do that, yeah, yeah, yeah. Ever since Novak gave Yury his freedom back, he's gotten used to doing the mayor's bidding. All in all it's a good position, most nights he drinks himself away into oblivion in the smoke shack he calls a home now. 

"Got it! Over and out," Yury the Bloodhound goes a'sniffin', sneaking around the basement of the jilted shed these boys made into a base. Tsk, tsk, tsk. They should know better! Bad, bad kids - the cellar of a basement is pitch black, the only light source being the dim starlight of the window he kicked in. Luckily, he's always been good with his hands, searching around until he finds an electric lantern on a shelf. With a click, click, poof, he contains his excitement as a fluorescent yellow pours into the room. 

Let there be LIGHT! 

From there, he probes around the shelves and shelves of random junk. Pocketing a half smoked pack of cigarettes, he busies himself with a bundle of lariat rope next. "Hound to Mare, no drugs so far," a hushed update into his microphone. Now that he's out in the light, there's more risk to his usual daring approach. Yury thrived in a fight, but he had a casket of morphling to find beforehand - if they sniff him out before then, BOOM the whole mission goes up in the flames.

No pressure, no pressure at all. Underneath one of the industrial shelves, he finds a steel lock box a few feet long. Wide enough to hold a small body, with a pinpad lock on its lid. For a minute, Catastrophe fiddles around with different combinations -- 206, 953, 167, 666, 177 -- but no avail. Instead all he's met with are beeps and beeps of incorrect guesses and a flashing red light. Whatever's in there has got to be good, but no telling until he gets that code. 

He passes by an assortment of random objects, pictures and maps and sunflower seed pouches. Half of this had to have been left here from a past owner, just like the growing mold he found in the corners. "Ooooh," he can't help but animate as he finds a cask of "moonshine, baby!" POP goes the corkscrew top, and the whiff he takes is strong enough to almost land him on his ass. "Now this is that strong shit," unregulated. Technically illegal, but not quite the money maker he was hoping for. 

No, he needs to open that lock box. 

There's a determination that settles after stealing a swig or two of the moonshine. He hoists the bundle of rope onto his shoulder and holds onto his pistol holster as he makes his way up the basement stairs. Get ready, it's show time! Yury adjusts his mask before peaking his head around the stairwell doorframe, listening for which direction the faint whispers seem to be coming from. "Just two of them, right?" 

Sounds like three. 

Let's make it four, daredevil! 

[MATTIO]

n o v a k . a d r i á n

You're getting bored of all the waiting at your office desk. It's Yury after all, and while it's the right call to be cautious and methodical, you would've much preferred a prime kick in the ass at this moment. Communication is crisp; you can hear your sheriff's body shift around as he moves from wooden panels to the smooth stone flooring. The light click into the microphone tells you that he may have found a light switch to get better visuals of the area. But then, outside of the occasional static or beeping, there's silence.

Pressing the button to mute your end of the conversation, you look over to Uncle Elio, still with his hands on his hips and eyes rolling fifty years back. You point to the chess board by the window and begin unspooling Yury's communication wire. Want to play? you mouth, beginning to move over to the table. Elio lets out a sigh, following you over. During the late nights of your youth, he always challenged you to a game of checkers after long conferences and group meetings. As you got older, though, simple games such as those became too simple and unprovoking of thought. You selected chess as the common sense upgrade to your game nights. And you've been brilliant against him ever since you moved your first piece.

You move first. Pawn to B5. There are a few rounds before you make a risky move against one of Elio's knights. He criticizes you, moving toward a capture on one of your pawns. "Don't know why you like chess so much. You're so reckless, and the only strategy you know how to employ is the offensive."

Yury mentions moonshine over the radio. You unmute and give him some words of encouragement. That's my man! Atta boy.

As his turn ends, you immediately know the next move. Bishop to F4. He thought that he might be able to get you, but you're a pack of wolves circling a pack of deer. Still muted on your microphone, you chuckle. "All that matters is that I clear you from the board." You know how to utilize power. "Sorry, buddy."

Uncle Elio leans over the table in an instant and pulls on the collar of your shirt. The pieces rattle, and the king falls over. "Watch how you speak to me. Remember what I've done for you." You nod, putting your pieces back upright on the board.

Yury's voice reappears through the microphone. "Just two of them, right?"

You shrug at the interruption, pushing the button down to speak to him. "Two of them stole from our good friend. Could be more, though." You hope he can figure it out and be okay. Those fuckers in there will have an even bigger bone to pick with you if they hurt your prize-winning man, the sheriff himself.

On the offensive again, you shift your rook forward a few spaces.

elegant

[Deleted]

yury       catastrophe

"Could be more though," Novak says, casually.

Sunnova bitch- here he was hoping this'd be a simply 2 versus 1 situation. With his hot hands, he wasn't even worried, but now that's a toss up. How many chickens in my coop, he walks into the ground floor with his pistol drawn in his right, and swapping his lantern for a pipe wrench. Cluck, cluck, Yury steps gently towards the voices emitting from down the hall - 3 voices? 4? Oh wait, that last one was internal. 

That ain't bad! He's done good with worse, he catches the lasso around his shoulder before rounding a corner, peering into what looks like the den of the shack. SHITHOLE, a few bullet holes in the walls won't hurt nothing, this place's a piece of hell as it is. "Showtime," he whispers into the mic, before taking his first step into the limelight. It's center stage when Sheriff Catastrophe meets the ringer, and he meets it hot, with one shut eye and the other focused, lining the red tip of his revolver to that of one of the goonie's knees.

BANG!

"BANG! BANG! BANG!" He mimics, the boy he shot collapsing with a withering scream, agony settling over the room. The other two shout muddled commands at each other, the second of which pushes himself out of the way before jetting after the room - shit! Can't let him get too far, but his hands are full dispatching the remaining standing punk. Yury tosses his gun to the side, unable to reload in time, and swings his wrench over the head of the girl now charging at him. 

Swing and a missus. She punches him in the gut and nicks him with a pocket knife, drawing blood on his exposed chest. This is what I get for being sexy on the dancefloor! Yury kicks at her, stomping on her pelvis before pushing her back - the girl juts forward in desperation, stabbing the knife into the dense meat of his thigh. "HURT ME MORE!" He yells out on instinct, stepping forward with a struggle as he strikes the girl again, this time in the back of the head. 

The blood train's in town, Catastrophe stops to zip tie her hands together before stepping over her body. He pulls the knife out with a sickening grunt, but the pain is almost debilitating as he chases after the former goonie that escaped the room. Yury makes his way to the front door and peeks his head, squinting through the mask. 

[ searches for 3rd gang member ]
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"Me to you," he speaks lazily into the coms, "two down, one escaped." Yury drew first blood, might regret that when Novak chews him out, but he needed the jump to make this work. Even now he may have been too slow, hardly keeping track of his target. The dark night makes this no easier, but he follows the steps leading off and around the house into nothingness. Goddamnit, he heads back inside.

The girl is still blacked out and tied up when he returns, the boy still writhing pathetically. "Shut uuuuuuuuuup already," Yury says, stomping on the boy's bleeding shin. He squats down next to him, twisting his masked face into the boy's and yanking him by the hair to establish eye contact. "Code."

"WHAT, FREAK?"

"The trunk in the basement, what's the code?"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW-"

Yury shoves the knife that was once in his leg into the boy's face, not good enough, "5 seconds to figure it out." Count us down, choir man! He doesn't even make it to 3 before the boy squeals a three number sequence: 4-2-0. 

So obvious. "if that don't work, I'm skinning you alive with a butterknife," Yury says in his gruff voice, before dropping the boy to the ground and stepping over him. He walks with a faint limp, pressing his hand into the bleeding, pulsing stab wound in his thigh. The walk down the staircase is a bitch, but it's all worth it once he types the dumbass code in and watches the light flash green. There's a soft click before he's able to detach the padlock and lift the lid, and "holy mother of crack cocaine..." 

Jackpot.  

1-20

[MATTIO]

n o v a k . a d r i á n

An assortment of sounds blast through the speaker. It seems as though the sheriff has finally found the targets of today's expedition. Rounds firing repeatedly would be a cause of concern for you if it weren't for Catastrophe's playful onomatopoeias showing signs of life. Uncle Elio shuts his eyes and plugs his ears with his thumbs. You, on the other hand, tilt your head and close your eyes.

Does chaos amuse you more than the safety of your head sheriff worries you? Yes. Your trust in Yury Catastrophe digs deep, more than it does for most of the key players in your network. Most people that you're involved with can lie, cheat, and steal, but can they do it in such a dramatic way that it keeps your rivals at bay? That's what you desire for your image in Ten, and that's what Yury is able to bring to the table. Quite attractively, at that.

Your pieces continue to shift around the board as crashes of metal and grunts of pain ring nearly like static across Yury's microphone. Uncle Elio is still entirely distressed by the ordeal, his look of frustration more directed toward you than the situation itself. Pawns up, you inch your line of confrontation closer. Understanding his concerns, you appeal to him. "He'll be fine. If there's one person slippery enough to take on three hundred, it's the sheriff."

Elio shakes his head and takes one of your pawns with his bishop, much to your surprise. "I don't know where you got this sense of faith in these sorts'a-"

"I don't have faith."

He looks stunned at your interjection. Does the man who raised you know you at all? You're a bit flustered at the force with which your words fell through. Yury yells through the microphone, HURT ME MORE!

"People do horrible things in the name of faith n' god and act like it's an excuse." Suddenly, you don't feel like playing chess anymore. "I do what I do because I'm calculated. I'm not forcin' people to fight a battle I know they can't win."

There's a brief silence. Elio doesn't respond to you. Jumping up from the window's ledge, it's your turn to rattle the table. Stomping away with the microphone in hand, you go back to your desk and wait in silence.

Yury's voice comes through the static. "Me to you, two down, one's escaped." Not ideal, but you can handle it. There are a couple of other operatives waiting around outside to 'catch up' with any disgruntled or panicked people should they try and escape. A couple of threats later, Yury is able to crack the safe's code.

"Holy mother of crack cocaine."

You chuckle. Silly of them to give up everything so easily. For the first time in what feels like ages, you push the button to share another order. "You wanna take them into the sheriff's office? If you think that'd be appropriate." You don't really care what happens to them, whether they get the shit scared out of them or an arrest is made. "All up to you, bud."

Who needs faith when you have a glorious, catastrophic wrecking ball like this?

elegant

[Deleted]

yury       catastrophe

Horseman of war, that he is, Yury sighs now that it's all over. 

Fun-zo's done-zo, the hulking mass of Catastrophe takes a seat on the trunk once he closes it again. There's a second where it's just him - just how he likes it - tending to the wound in his leg. Fleshy fingers prying at a bloody crevice, pushing pressure into what'll surely be another scar on his toned body. It's like a reward, something like a prize from a hunt, he had only wished the climax lasted a bit longer. He grinds his teeth with the searing pain, reminiscing between the writhing on how the fight had gone. 

That boy upstairs don't shut up either, wailing and wailing loud enough to challenge Novak's voice coming through his ear. "You wanna take them into the sheriff's office?" HELL no, "if you think that'd be appropriate," Novak tacks on. 

Well, when ya put it like that, darlin'. Yury busies himself rocking through the pain, swearing that if he hadn't stopped moving it would have never caught up to him. "Yea, 'bout that," he says, trying his best to mask the bother of an injury that lassie left him with, "I don't think these folk are going anywhere, chief, but that one guy-" how he hated loose ends. Yury tunes back in, "ain't sayin' for sure, but I think that was Mickey. If I leave now, ain't a way I'll catch back up to him tonight," never ready to call it quits. His horse was whinnying out for him, audible through the shattered basement high window. Even horseback, there was no telling if he'd actually be able to catch up anyways. 

Yury turns back to the rapture of his thigh, "I'll detain 'em though, it'll be a bitch cornering Mick again, but I'll get her done later."