08-14-2018, 05:47 AM
[div style="margin: auto; width: 50%; font-size: 11px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify;"]/ ok, two things! 1 - i got permission from sheo for a contract to be placed against scarecrow! 2 - instead of writing in actual russian, i'll be using the translations, just so its easier to read!
you were used to dimly lit rooms. keeping to the shadows and staying silent, propping your rifles on dark window sills as you aimed your sights at your targets. though, this dimness was unsettling. in fact, it couldn't even be considered dim, there was just no light in this room.
"Privet, Markov.[sup]1[/sup]" came a soft voice, a woman's voice, addressing you by name. only your higher ups knew your name, so this came as a surprise you you. you didn't move from your chair, didn't make any noise, just tried to place the voice.
"U menya yest' kontrakt dlya vas.[sup]2[/sup]" the woman was standing, walking around your chair. she must be able to see you somehow. you assume she was on goggles or something of the like. "Chelovek nazyvayetsya pugalom. YA slyshal, chto on nakhoditsya v mestechke pod nazvaniyem 'Flintlok-lodzh'[sup]3[/sup]"
scoffing softly, you shook your head. scarecrow. what kind of name was that? "I vash platezh?[sup]4[/sup]" you inquire, slowly crossing your arms, and suddenly, you feel a blade against your neck. you stiffen, realising you have no weapons on you.
"Vy mozhete sokhranit' svoyu zhizn'.[sup]5[/sup]"
despite being practically raised in russia, you hate snow. as you trudge through the snow, your toes feel numb, and you can hardly feel your gloved fingers. raising your hands to cup around your mouth, you blow hot air into your palms in an attempt to retain even a little heat. this contract seemed like more than it was his worth, but it was his life, and that was his most valuable possession.
growling in frustration, you lift a leg in an attempt to shake snow from you boots, only to lose balance and fall face first into the snow. deciding that you'd rather just freeze so that bitch didn't have the chance to kill you, so you roll over onto your back and stare up at the starry sky, shaking your head. "chto ya delayu?[sup]6[/sup]"
[sup]1[/sup] Hello, Markov
[sup]2[/sup] I have a contract for you.
[sup]3[/sup] the man is called scarecrow/bugaboo (russian version of scarecrow i guess?) i heard he is in a place called ' flintlock'
[sup]4[/sup] and your payment?
[sup]5[/sup] ill spare your life / you'll live / something along those lines
[sup]6[/sup] what am i even doing?
you were used to dimly lit rooms. keeping to the shadows and staying silent, propping your rifles on dark window sills as you aimed your sights at your targets. though, this dimness was unsettling. in fact, it couldn't even be considered dim, there was just no light in this room.
"Privet, Markov.[sup]1[/sup]" came a soft voice, a woman's voice, addressing you by name. only your higher ups knew your name, so this came as a surprise you you. you didn't move from your chair, didn't make any noise, just tried to place the voice.
"U menya yest' kontrakt dlya vas.[sup]2[/sup]" the woman was standing, walking around your chair. she must be able to see you somehow. you assume she was on goggles or something of the like. "Chelovek nazyvayetsya pugalom. YA slyshal, chto on nakhoditsya v mestechke pod nazvaniyem 'Flintlok-lodzh'[sup]3[/sup]"
scoffing softly, you shook your head. scarecrow. what kind of name was that? "I vash platezh?[sup]4[/sup]" you inquire, slowly crossing your arms, and suddenly, you feel a blade against your neck. you stiffen, realising you have no weapons on you.
"Vy mozhete sokhranit' svoyu zhizn'.[sup]5[/sup]"
- - -
despite being practically raised in russia, you hate snow. as you trudge through the snow, your toes feel numb, and you can hardly feel your gloved fingers. raising your hands to cup around your mouth, you blow hot air into your palms in an attempt to retain even a little heat. this contract seemed like more than it was his worth, but it was his life, and that was his most valuable possession.
growling in frustration, you lift a leg in an attempt to shake snow from you boots, only to lose balance and fall face first into the snow. deciding that you'd rather just freeze so that bitch didn't have the chance to kill you, so you roll over onto your back and stare up at the starry sky, shaking your head. "chto ya delayu?[sup]6[/sup]"
[sup]1[/sup] Hello, Markov
[sup]2[/sup] I have a contract for you.
[sup]3[/sup] the man is called scarecrow/bugaboo (russian version of scarecrow i guess?) i heard he is in a place called ' flintlock'
[sup]4[/sup] and your payment?
[sup]5[/sup] ill spare your life / you'll live / something along those lines
[sup]6[/sup] what am i even doing?
[align=center]
AND NOW I SEE THE SUNLIGHT
I FEEL GLORIOUS, GLORIOUS