Author's Note : Google people, google. Although I don't really mind this one, the justification isn't immediately obvious if you do the whole name and not parts.

Interestingly, 'kawahira' isn't just 'peaceful river' in Japanese. It can also, in some other languages, mean 'polite cave'. More specifically, in Arabic and the language of Māori tribes in eastern Polynesia if you look at it sideways and take component words alone.

Besides which, it's assuming that Kawahira named himself it and isn't just a name someone else (like a Japanese swordsman in the First Vongola Generation) gave him for refusing to give his own when distributing the Vongola and Mare Rings to Giotto's men and Sepira's children. Possibly through Talbot, instead of in person, but Mists.

If you're utterly confused, or know what I'm referencing to without knowing why I'm talking about it, allow me to remind you this is part 2 of a series. I didn't intend to split up my work, but after more than a million words and a hundred and ten chapters it was kind of needed. So there's a whole lot more to this story than what's to be contained here. Most of which, I highly recommend you read first.

You don't have to. But you'll be really lost at first. I did finish editing RR entirely, fitting in dates and locations. That was a headache and a half, given the first quarter of the story was scenes with only absent attention paid to dates than actual day-organized events. It was a mess in the middle there for a few hours…

AND! I said there'd be a time-jump. Apparently in the style of previous skims over some measure of time in this series, because again there's a couple loose ends I still have to tie up for us to move on to the next 'arc' of the story. So we'll get there, but it might take longer than expected.

And, I only thought about it well after the fact, but apparently I forgot to add in the 'Reloaded' part to part one.

...$#!%

Edited (9/26/2018) - Minor corrections.

Russian Roulette : Second Barrel

Chapter 1

(Tuesday the 21st of April, 1970. Principal's Office, Moscow School #3054, Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

"The militsiya have been in and out all last week, asking questions." Galina informed Sonya very pointedly as she handed over more than enough work to keep the woman in question in her seat for at least several hours on end, not really gaining any recognition aside a smoky huff. "They were equally as interested as everyone else where the hell our founder and principal was."

"I have no control over Viper. There was a long-standing trade set up, in order for Bjǫrn to be taught to handle money. The fact it finally happened is not my fault, take it up with them."

The Lightning took in a deep breath, ignoring the ribbons of ashy smoke from their boss' chain smoking as she tried and pretty much failed to make a measurable dent into a year's worth of paperwork for a fully functioning school in as few hours as possible. Apparently it didn't help the brunette much, given the immediate pinching of the bridge of her nose going on over there.

Peter 'Scruffy' McScruffy, otherwise known as Bordrov Jaroslav the basic science teacher locally, fidgeted with a somewhat more battered sketchbook than it had been when he received it from the diligently working thief. Turning to the eagle-eyed Storm user that showed up with their boss in a flair of Mist Flames right on the school's main steps two days ago and had been hanging around in the background ever since, the Sun tried for a friendly smile even if he really didn't feel it. "I don't think I got your name…?"

"Don't have one."

…that wasn't Russian. It wasn't English either. In fact, that sounded as some rather accented French he didn't actually know many words of was being spoken to him.

He, and probably everyone else in the room who might not know a lot of French, understood it perfectly fine because the Mists got tired of being called in to solve issues with heavy accents or mistranslations for the Chinese students. Through the Mist Flames they were supplying to enable free-exchange of information in spite of linguistic barriers while anyone was speaking anything within school grounds, it was really hard to tell to be sure what language anyone was really speaking to you.

"Um… do you mean you don't have one as in there's no need to give a name, or as in you can't remember your name?" Questioned the still somewhat thin Sun hesitantly.

The Storm, slowly and so the Storm-Cloud was fully aware of his motions, reached over and stole one of the cigarettes out of the pack set next to an ashtray and very carefully lit it the same way their boss did. "Don't remember it. The little lady and the Mist she was working with both claimed I did it to myself, so… yeah."

"…did what to yourself?"

"He asked a cabal of Mists to erase him. He means he doesn't remember anything. Who he was, where he was from, no one and nothing has anything on him. He's a blank slate. But," slamming an apparently empty pen into the wood of her desk, the second pen she wrote out of ink so far, Sonya glanced backwards to the two men with a frown, "apparently, he has just enough personality left to be a colossal pain in my ass."

"Technically, I suppose… I got what I wanted." Allowed the man, who had the good genetics to make guessing his age rather difficult but seemed a lot younger than him… or it was the inability to recognize anything as more than 'oh, that. I know that' making him seem younger than he was. "No past, only the present."

The thief they were speaking to was unamused. "Right… I'm sure whatever or whoever you were would delight in the fact you picked to follow the first person you saw once you woke up."

"It was you or that insane Mist you were working with." Pointed out the Storm logically around his stolen cigarette filter. "Pretty sure, no matter who I was, I'd appreciate not being used like a pawn by a fucking Mist for whatever he wanted the whole outfit for."

She just shot him a dirty look, before reluctantly going back to her mountainous paperwork when the Lightning found her a new pen and planted it directly on top of the waiting papers.

"Speaking as the last member of her staff to come without a name," Scruffy volunteered when it became apparent that part of the conversation was over, "you might want to pick one yourself. Otherwise you'll end up with something… 'descriptive'."

"In all fairness…" Chipped in the brunette woman, waving a finger at him admonishingly. "You were a little worse for wear when the boss lady dragged you home, 'Scruffy'."

"Anything's better than being known as Scruffy." Peter refuted with good humor, running a hand over his silver-touched close shorn curls.

"Like, say… 'Peter McScruffy'?"

Snorting a barked laugh he hadn't expected, the Storm fumbled his cigarette and nearly dropped the burning roll of tobacco into his own beaten looking duster's front pockets. "Is that really your name?"

"It is now."

"If the lot of you are not going to help, get the fuck out of my office." Sonya snapped shortly, discarding the file she had been working on only to pull another off the stacks waiting for her. "Peter, take my latest idiot dependent and go see what Master Yazou makes of him. Hopefully, he can figure out whatever hair-trigger reflexes he's got before someone else runs into it."

(ooo000ooo)

(Tuesday the 21st of April, 1970 continued. Principal's Office, Moscow School #3054, Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

"If none of my staff have seen the man in the last week, there's nothing new I can offer you." Sonya informed the militsiya officer blandly, taking a moment since she was distracted anyways to see what the date on this form was. "I've barely been here long enough to actually meet my employees."

"Yeah… speaking of, why the hell weren't you here? From the sounds of it, no one really knows who you are or what you're doing. Trying to hide something?"

"This is an international school." She stated bluntly, already annoyed and getting to the very limits of the definition of the term. "If you failed to notice, China doesn't really have a whole lot of teaching going on. Because of these little things called 'student riots'. In fact, what little they have is all outsourced. To places like here. Those sending their students here kind of like to know the money isn't going to waste and their brats are being taught something of use."

The man huffed, unconvinced. "That accounts for a month, Miss Bazanova."

"Shows what you know." Giving up on the paperwork, she'd only gotten to January in a few days so a few more would hopefully mean she could finish this marathon sometime soon, she leaned back in her ill-used office chair and gave her uninvited guest the full brunt of her glare. "Then there was connecting with another sister school's instructors, hopefully setting up a little… joint educational exchanges in the near or far future in return for a week-long guest lecture that ran a few days over. A bit of touring around others, ensuring what we've set up to replace the previous schools would keep up against capitalist efforts. Then there's my fucking life, because as much as I love my mother… I'm not good with pounding the basics into a child's head. Give me those that know the basics, and I do a hell of a lot better."

"So, you won't mind accounting for your movements the last couple of days, right?" Drawled out the law enforcement officer sarcastically, all but calling her a liar to her face.

"I'd be delighted to."

The packet of information Viper assembled for her was tossed to the desk, and the Storm-Cloud leaned backwards in her chair with a sneering smirk when he didn't even bother to glance at it.

He knew she wasn't 'legal', she knew he knew, and this was all just really fucking pointless until he could prove it enough to his superiors. Enough to risk trying to actually arrest her.

Nothing here was illegal aside the few gemstones that she stole, and those were mixed in with the ones they had receipts for if the police ever managed to find where they were hidden. They took very pointed pangs to ensure the school was as legal as physically possible, and some ways that were improbable thanks to the Mist ranks.

…and the government couldn't use illegal methods against anyone in the school because the vory were watching this place closely enough that their protection was obvious, not to mention Usov had already defied the KBG and she'd bet on his Misty madness more than any government organization.

Nothing good came from trying to knock over a school, either for protection money or the territory grab, except the ill-will of everyone involved. The militsiya couldn't 'win' this by force or direct methods anyways, even discounting the Flame users training here. Given the international students, they also couldn't keep it quiet because eventually the Triads would demand to know what the hell happened to their students.

Pointless hostile interrogations were not particularly fun to suffer through. Especially not diplomatically.

"Look, all I know of the incident is what I was told. I've maybe held one or two conversations with the man, and one was over the damn phone."

"And yet you hired him."

"Because he had the permits." Sonya, more than tired of this entire farce yet knowing she couldn't just blow off the man entirely because they couldn't afford an in-depth investigation for long, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the never-ending pile of them in her top left desk drawer and almost forgot the lighter tucked in next to them. "He had a history of teaching experience. We didn't have the full opening, but he didn't mind taking some of the sports teams to manage while waiting on the class expansions to allow full time for another set of literature arts classes. Most others given the same offer refused. Everything from records alone said he was a diligent teacher, yet now we have five fucking complaints of inappropriate behavior to some of the students. Three girls, two boys. If he showed up at all since the last one, as we were going to fire the asshole, then you might have cause to be a pain in my ass. Right now, you don't."

"That can be taken as a confession."

"Seriously, get a life." Leaning back with the cigarette for a momentary break, because she doubted Galina was feeling that generous after disappearing on her, she gave the man a completely deadpan stare down. "Or, preferably, do your fucking job so I can fire this asshole and get him off our damn records."

"You think you're real safe here?"

"I'd still bet on my father than your entire precinct."

The opening was seized upon with an almost pathetic quickness, as if the militsiya officer really thought she'd be the one to say that one thing they could finally nail to Arseniy. "You think your old man protects you, little girl? If at best, you're a means to an end."

"Obviously." Drawled out the thief sarcastically, because Arseniy really hadn't want a family at first. He went along with things because Lisa wanted it, and as long as that was true he'd put up with everything that came with it. "But, as long as I am a means to an end, I'm still more important than you."

"How long do you think that can last?"

"Long enough." Sonya dismissed sharply, more than tired of the entire conversation and his face. "Longer than you can afford. Are you quite done yet wasting my time?"

"Eventually your wicked little deeds will catch up to you, where will you be then?"

"In a country a hell of a lot warmer than this ice sheet."

With a very disgusted tisk, which she didn't give two fucks for, the man turned sharply on his heel and stomped out of her office.

No, good Soviet citizens did not bail out of their homeland. She was definitely not a good citizen in several ways, and with somewhat half-forgotten plans to get the hell out of the Soviet Union since childhood she intended to see through.

It had been for a reason, right?

Not just out of an American girl's delicate sensibilities?

(Thursday the 23rd of April, 1970. Flame Office, Zolotov Headquarters, Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

"My son would like a word."

"Son of a fucking bitch." Was Bazanova's immediate response to hearing the utterly unsurprising factoid.

"Who's the new face?" Milos continued while the girl in question was probably thinking not-so-nice or appropriate things about his heir and the next Zolotov Pahkan, who was about two days from formally taking the reins of the clan.

"Who the fuck knows, he sure as shit doesn't." That delightfully comprehensive if short dismissal given, the young buck simply lighting a finger with ruby red Flames to show why he was there under old man Zolotov's unimpressed look and a shrug when that didn't immediately deter him, the young blonde grabbed three things from a drawer to shove in a purse and stood up somewhat sharply from her desk. "Usov, your parents are ready… right?"

"Yes, we're ready."

Straightening up, she pointed a finger in the newcomer's face. "You, go with the Mist kid this weekend. You're going to Italy, you'll see why when you get there. Galina, start pulling together that list of 'possible' replacement teachers and future hires now we're almost done with a school year. Keep Peter in when he gets back, I might want to kick him out too. Are you coming with me, Pahkan?"

"I'm tempted." Although, he highly suspected she meant to go see his son and not to an Italian castle on the coast for at least a couple months.

"I would… appreciate someone to mediate." Allowed Bazanova after a moment of thought, not vacating her office but just looking straight at him.

"Likely, a very smart idea." Milos allowed, just a touch bitter and dry, even if it was mostly for appearance's sake. "I'd rather not lose my heir this damn close to finally shoving off."

She very obviously rethought whatever it was she was about to say without thinking really fucking fast and elected to remain silent as she gestured him to take the lead.

It only took half a hallway, one she cleared out herself due to none of the others wanting to be nearby an office that had mysteriously multiplying medieval weaponry being tossed out of, for her to grow somewhat suspicious. Her respect for him had her soldiering through two more before she spoke up, obviously finally thinking through his actual words and not just what was assumed from hearing them.

"…what did you really want, Pahkan?"

Milos came to a stop as well, turning around to see the woman peering at him semi-suspiciously. "I am aware Gedeon's not the ideal Pahkan you and yours would've liked to see, Bazanova. However, he will be."

"And?" She countered after a moment, looking somewhat puzzled now instead of wary. "I will have nothing to do with him due to 'irrecoverable differences', according to the rest of the Flame users."

"He is still due some respect, especially when you can't duck him anymore."

"Forgive my imperiousness," she offered almost immediately, "but Gedeon will never be my Pahkan. You are, and while I was satisfied with the status quo for a time… eventually there'd be growing pangs. Especially as other people will not stop finding their own reasons to tag along just for shits and giggles."

He blew out an aggravated sigh at the backhanded compliment, which she did nothing but blink at. Flattery was always a valid option to either get out of trouble or to get into it, he couldn't really find much fault in her statement to nitpick at.

If, when asked in the future, she had to comment on what she thought about the Zolotov direction for those digging up dirt to sling at his heir… it was entirely likely she was offering to repeat the same statement with minor variation. It was also entirely likely she'd use that to continually find fault with Gedeon as well, because while the son was somewhat like the father… he wasn't a carbon copy.

Gedeon was his own man, with his own faults and strengths. Future mistakes and successes to get into on his own. Forever being compared to his old man only to be found wanting would be infuriating, because it'd take him just as long to reach the level of competence Milos only now had at the end of his life.

Others assuming that while he could handle a budding master thief in the making, to the point both parties were content with the arrangement, it turning out Gedeon wasn't as skilled and so she left to find her own way was not particularly damaging to anyone's reputation. Others finding out his son mishandled a user of Dying Will Flames of Cloud so badly she was probably inches away from justifiable if suicidal homicide… less so.

"Pahkan, additionally… did Usov arrange a set or team of Mists to handle whatever he's doing for you?"

"That's all handled, Bazanova. You're still safe for a couple more days." Even if the tetchy brat informed him, deadly serious in a jarring contrast to how bouncily all over the fucking place he was normally, that if the Mists let go of their Construction shoring up his health it was highly likely he'd die on the spot if he had any further complications with his health.

Milos would take that gamble, just for a few days of healthy living to get this over with. He could die later, once he wasn't the lynchpin holding everything together.

It was really rare someone got to pass on what they built to a son in this lifestyle, it was more common to hand it off to another rising criminal mastermind. He didn't think it worked much differently the further out from the USSR you got, but he was at least semi-sure she'd fudge the actual percentage if asked just to mess with Gedeon.

"Does this mean I don't have to speak to your son?"

"I'm sure as hell not giving him the rope to hang himself with." He knew his son, he'd immediately try the very next opportunity to have a word with the departing head of the Flame department the moment no one could block him and get away with it. By then it'd be a moot point, aside the money Bazanova was as good as free and clear when he stepped down. "I would like your word that you won't overthrow him. Whatever happens, and whoever asks you to when being a woman isn't exactly a barrier to the rest of the vory."

The young woman went oddly, deadly still suddenly. It took a long second for her to actually respond, and by that point the slow curling smirk on her lips already told him a lot of what she was about to say. "…old man, I'm not the one you should be worried about. I've better things to do than dick around here holding the hands of those without a drop of common sense."

…fuck's sake. "Bazanova-"

"Gedeon will get exactly what he thinks he wants, only to realize it's exactly the opposite a touch too late, and I don't have to lift a damn finger for it." The ballsy woman cut him off, almost bored in both tone and expression aside the murderous little gleam of red in her normally grey eyes. "He's going to do it to himself, Pahkan. Although… he does have a momentary grace period to either prove himself or die horribly in the end. I know what I'm expecting, from what I've seen and the odds… he's not going to do it in time."

"If I had the capability to have a heart attack, I'd probably be suffering one right now." Given what she said, whatever she was counting on wouldn't be ready for some measure of years. Milos didn't exactly have the time to outwait and try countering whatever it was if it was already set up without her interference, although he'd damn well try because he already knew Gedeon wouldn't take the threat seriously enough if she was outright leaving. "Are you going to give any hints?"

Sometimes, occasionally, some of his opponents were that stupid. He had the sinking suspicions she wasn't going to be one of them, and not just because she had successfully negotiated with him before into things he didn't really want to give up.

"Why would I do that?" She asked, honestly fucking curious. "I have, specifically mind you, made it not my business. I'll even give you my word, Pahkan, I will not interfere. All of it, everything, will happen because it will happen and not even the one I'm speaking of realizes this. It's nature, especially in this society."

"…one of your Flame users?"

By the small and honestly amused smile that that nasty smirk turned into, he was entirely off the mark.

"Pahkan, the Flame users of the clan are my business right now. Besides which, it might very well be not a Flame-nature thing. I'm not going to count on that, because from what we've already learned Flame natures are just as mutating as human nature is entirely. No, it's going to happen because Gedeon's not really a good Pahkan candidate for what we really need as a thieves clan holding a significant number of Flame users."

"He's thirty-"

"Are you really that old? Thirty might seem young to you, but that's firmly in the category of 'middle-age' these days. A decade older than me. Yes, he might just have another half a century before him… but that's already three decades of life gone." Considering it, the blonde eventually shrugged. "At best, he'll get two decades. Less, if things go off the rails spectacularly in the next decade. And I? I'll… watch from afar when things finally implode. With popcorn and apparently a shit ton of mead."

…two decades wasn't actually all that shabby. Fifty should be around the time Gedeon finished looking for an heir of his own and started on training them up, as a matter of fact he should probably pull the old man card the moment he retired and start hounding his son about grandchildren.

The real question was if that would put a dent in whatever she expected or not.

Milos examined his last if unexpected political opponent of his career critically, trying to figure out what the hell she was counting on without directly asking and giving any possible plans to counter her away.

He hadn't really expected trouble from this corner, more fool him.

Apparently he hesitated a touch too long, because that unnerving red gleam disappeared and the woman offered a politely intent expression. "On to more… interesting subjects. Pahkan, did you have any particular plan to go out with?"

"Yes… but, why do you ask?"

"We have a few things we need answers for, and there's Usov's insanity goal to meet before he leaves." Bazanova offered pleasantly, although he didn't really understand what she was offering. "I need to somehow get all the heads of the various groups sending us Flame brats together without their delicate sensibilities getting in the way because I'm female and answer a few burning questions about our 'legal' limitations. Would you mind issuing the invitations, just sort of a last hurrah?"

"What 'legal'-" Cutting himself off this time, which he wasn't going to forget but now wasn't the time to cut her off and lose the information she might divulge, Milos eyed her curiously. "…oh. Oh, I like that idea."

It was unfortunate she'd probably not take the suggestion to wait for Gedeon to take his position well, nor would she play nice with his son if that eventuality. Not even when in front of outsiders.

…but he could use that. Entirely.

(ooo000ooo)

(Thursday the 23rd of April, 1970 continued. Principal's Office, Moscow School #3054, Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

"You again… did you find that asshole yet?" Sonya questioned in something that couldn't just be described as 'tartly', shooting a just arrived militsiya officer a nasty glare. "Or are you just here to waste more time?"

"I'm here to waste more of your time." Was the jaunty, jarringly pleasant reply from the broad shoulder man.

Peter couldn't entirely hide a wince when the neatly uniformed police officer turned that overly self-satisfied attention on him. "Um… yes?"

"Bordrov, correct?" Fishing a pad of paper out of his greatcoat's inner breast pocket, he flipped it open while also pulling a pen out of a trouser pocket. "When was the last time you saw Chikatilo?"

"Friday? The tenth of April, we were going to maybe go drinking again last weekend… but he didn't show. Which actually isn't too unusual lately," hurried on the thin Sun before another question could be asked, anxiously not darting a glance at the woman that helped him enter the country illegally, "he's been, ah… had been missing a few of them. Without telling me or Artemiy."

"Any reasons given for why?" Asked the man curiously as he jotted something he couldn't read upside down.

"Ah… not as far as I heard in so many words. Artemiy, Dyrbov, might know more as they taught the same subject and could speak more often."

He glanced upward skeptically, and while tempted to blather on… Scruffy kept his mouth shut.

Sonya had, sometime after she faked his paperwork trail, absently given a handful of tips to use if he ever had to speak with an official or a member of the local law enforcement. Galina added a handful of her own when the incident with Miss Fink was over with, and neither of them had 'ramble aimlessly' among what was 'acceptable'.

'Don't volunteer information' was one of Sonya's, the Lightning had chipped in the 'unless it is common information they can gain from another place or person' modifier.

"Nothing else to add, Bordrov?"

"Ah… we usually tally grades up on the weekends. Here. We, or at least I, expected him to show up Saturday… because the rifle club had a mid-week qualifier before the semi-final shooting competition at the end of the month." Yanlin had to do it, Sunday.

The Chinese Rain did at least live nearby and hadn't minded the imposition after their boss informed him of why his fellow co-coach was… indisposed.

"Why the fuck didn't you ask that Monday?"

"Missing persons cases generally take a bit longer than a few hours of missing work to be defined." Clarified the militsiya officer rather snottily, catching Peter's widened eyes and apparently mistaking the reason for it. "You know she's a criminal, right?"

"That's a bold claim." Observed the professional thief tartly, yanking a file from her stack of them to compare something to the set of papers already in front of her. "Although, when you creatively interpret laws, I suppose just about everyone is one. Even… why, you."

She earned herself a snort, before the law enforcement officer turned on the Sun again. "So, what didn't you say?"

"…Chikatilo was convinced we were covering something up?" Peter reluctantly offered, enough genuine distaste to his tone he hoped the other man wouldn't dig too deeply. "He ran into the remains of a group session held by the Chinese students attempting to adjust to living here, run by Yanlin. Then he started… asking around about something no one ever got a clear answer to."

"…interesting."

Sonya rolled her eyes at the semi-superior look shot at her.

"Have a different… interpretation for this, then?"

"I'm not doing your job for you." Stacking together whatever packet of documents was before her, including the file she pulled, that was set aside to start in on the next waiting her signature. "Why don't you try, I don't know… actually investigating something instead of strutting around like a rooster?"

The still unnamed militsiya officer turned around, thankfully dismissing anything further Scruffy would have to speak given he tucked away his little notebook. "Bold claim, what makes you think I haven't?"

"All five of those complaints I gave you explicitly stated 'Chikatilo would not accept their answers for what they were doing' at the time of each incident." Shooting him an utterly nasty little smirk, the woman signed off whatever she was on and dumped the papers into her 'finished' pile. "So obviously you're doing jack shit instead of… you know… your job, you would've had an inkling he thought we were some kind of front-thing before Bordrov had to tell you."

It took him a second to recall that was his name, and not the militsiya officer's. She had never used it after just informing him of what his assumed name would be for his time in Moscow, actually just defaulting to calling him 'Scruffy' if she couldn't or shouldn't call him 'Peter'.

Like when everyone decided to invent reasons to suddenly get all their paperwork for various classes recorded and tailed together for the final grades two months early, just to actually see and reassure themselves that they were hired by an actual human and not just some front company invention.

Calling the policeman by Peter's assumed name would probably help very little in the long run.

"Really? 'Thought' is the story you're going with?"

"If we were doing anything remotely interesting with the kids, I'd have less bullshit paperwork to go through and wouldn't be sitting here approving the purchases of fucking janitorial equipment long enough for you to bother." Claimed the thief flatly, taking a break to lean back in her office chair and just give the two men in her office her full attention. "By all means, if you can think to slap something on top of 'we fucking needed a damn school' in this part of the city… I'd be interested in hearing it. It might be good for a laugh or two."

"There is a damn-"

"Don't make me laugh." Sonya outright sneered back. "There's too many children in the local schoolhouse where I grew up for me or my siblings to attend it a decade ago, and this is a city. There are always more children to teach. More adults moving in to make yet more children. How the fuck do you think we can keep up without building more schools? So what if I had to go through my connections with my father to afford the place and the security, it's another fucking school. My mother can't do it forever."

"And that explains why the hell you've got Chinese exchange students, I suppose."

She didn't directly respond to the sarcastic question, merely lifted an equally condescending eyebrow back.

With an unconvinced hum, the man turned on a heel to stalk right on out of the office just as abruptly as he came in.

"…Peter. Assemble and pack up whatever you can't live without for a short while." Turning back to her still towering but significantly reduced pile of papers awaiting her attention, the thief sighed heavily before reaching for her next file. "I don't think they're going to let this one go."

He blinked blankly at her, confused. "What?"

"It's been a week, why are they still around if not to try and find some kind of dirt?" Glancing through the first one she picked up, she then picked through seven others and snorted softly at whatever she found in them. "So… either they locally decided to try knocking this school over or someone higher up is behind their more intent than warranted behavior. I'll go check which it is tonight, but I need all the vulnerable parts ready to move on short notice if things are that bad."

"Boss lady, does an investigation into a missing person differ any from an investigation into a murder or some other crime?" Cautiously inquired the Sun slowly, unsure if his sudden wonder had any bearing on the topic.

He wouldn't know, but she might.

"…I have no idea." Proving him wrong while drumming her fingers on her desk, she considered the files before her and then her office door.

Galina had gone to fetch them dinner, because for whatever reason even if she was in Moscow Sonya was disinclined to really interact with her employees. They'd seen her, and the fact the pile of paperwork was being decimated, which made the woman a hot topic for gossip. Which might really be the reason she was reluctant to meet her teachers more than just the basic greetings, especially as the principal's office was right outside of what had been turned into a teacher's lounge.

"I'm going to go speak with my father, tell Galina when she gets back I'll solve the rest of her 'make up' work tomorrow. But then, as the Pahkan's retiring Saturday, I'm not going to re-do the rest of the paperwork my mother already did once I no longer need a reason to stay out of the office in headquarters."

"Ah… when did you catch on?"

"About half the reference files have Lisa's signature on them." Observed the thief dryly as she rose from her seat, gesturing to the paperwork she was probably abandoning. "Besides which, a number of them are or look to have been time-sensitive. Lastly, although obviously Galina tried somewhat hard to gain an extra copy of the paperwork as they came in before Lisa could sort and deal with it… the watermarks and properly filed ones in the back file cabinet are still there."

…Scruffy lost the bet, then. Galina had been somewhat certain she'd catch on in short order but getting the thief to at least do a good portion on the work she left them to do was her goal.

"Still, if you can avoid raising suspicions, pack up."

Sonya slinked out of the office before he could think of something to say.

(Friday the 24th of April, 1970. Arseniy & Lisa's home, Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

"There's no real timeline." Arseniy informed her simply, absently taking another bite of his breakfast as Lisa very pointedly set a portion of her lunch before the youngest foster child. "It'll take however long it takes, for both murder and missing persons cases. Longer for the latter, most of the time."

"Will my sudden abandonment of everything tomorrow affect that in any way?"

"No." That was such a bold-faced and obvious lie even Valera gave their father a skeptical look from his chair, which really was Cherep's spot, next to her at the table.

"Sweetie, stop worrying and delaying." Looking up when fingers sunk in her somewhat longer hair, Sonya studied the older woman's very pointed look. "If you need to leave, then just leave. We'll handle everything else as it comes up."

"…I didn't want to leave things worse off."

"You're not." Lisa informed her strongly, so she'd know not to try arguing, as she finally took a seat herself. "The whole branch of the clan you've been managing is more inclusive and easier to overlook by one person now, Dmitriy should find it very easy to slid right back in. It's done, stop worrying."

That was somewhat easier to say than do, but instead of huff unconvinced the younger woman just started eating.

Lisa wouldn't let her leave until she did.

The vor presiding over the meal gave her a pointed look. "You will be home for Christmas."

"And now I don't need to attend the Vongola Balls anymore as Renato's human shield, I can bring Shamal and myself up sooner."

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch." Was Lisa's contribution before taking a neat bite out of the shchi so Valera could study and copy her in his new 'big kid' spot around the table.

Her brat of a little brother had decided he was too old for the old high chair and promptly let himself out of it when stuck in it, starting a couple days ago. Their mother had simply stacked a few of the couch cushions in Cherep's place at the table and let Valera eat from there as long as he tried not to make a mess.

There'd be a mess anyways, the toddler wasn't remotely coordinated yet.

"Besides which, now that your sister has copied you in dating an Italian man, won't Tats need to attend? Are you going to let her go alone?"

From the utterly aggravated sigh at the head of the table, Arseniy was not happy with that situation.

Sonya paused with her spoon in her mouth, and seriously thought about it.

On one hand, she really didn't want to do yet another stupid Ball thing. Especially without Renato, because the Mafioso was really the only one that had a reason to go network with a couple influential Dons of the Italian Mafia. A freelance hitman like him kind of needed to be able to gauge and weigh the balances of power in person like that, to know what kind of leeway was possible for his jobs.

On the other… again, she only had one sister and the last time she attended a Ball there was the little matter of flying knives going through her foot.

This was all rather moot of a point, however. The Vongola Christmas Ball was by invitation only kind of affair, and she highly doubted she merited an invite on her lonesome.

She informed her mother of that, only to earn a highly amused look in return.

…what was she missing?

(ooo000ooo)

(Friday the 24th of April, 1970 continued. Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

Culturally speaking, dining out in Moscow was kind of a once-in-a-lifetime event. Restaurants, not bars or a drinking house, were rare and getting into one required a significant amount of leverage or prestige. Currently, the very act of ordering something to eat that you or your spouse didn't prepare was seen as decadent and not something good Soviet Russians did on a day to day basis.

Milos got into more than his fair share, due to being the Pahkan of the Zolotov Thieves' Clan, which likely included taking his son along but… Sonya had only been in an actual restaurant three times in Moscow before this.

Not the bars which would also serve food occasionally if you knew how to ask, or the tiny teahouses which served snacks to take along with a cup of tea or coffee. Actual full restaurants that served food first and maybe something alcoholic second, that you had to sit down for or reserve a spot ahead of time, those were seen as something only the cream of the crop of Moscow society did regularly.

There was the restaurant that Arseniy really liked, where she took Renato after that opera-date night thing. Which was a hell of a lot easier to get into than civilian run affairs, especially for criminals. It was also kind of shifty in the extreme, and never really lingered in the same place for long before 'reopening' up in a different building. The hitman actually found it for her when he was just exploring the city at night, and when he asked about the very subtle signs that advertised its relocation she figured taking him at least once should be something to do since it was so rare.

The third time she ever entered a Moscow restaurant was just earlier this month, the 'last' professional gathering her Pahkan would throw just because he could and to show off his influences, and she hadn't really stopped to order anything.

This one was her fourth.

Old man Zolotov was enjoying the ugly looks shot at her, seated at his side and not as an uninvited plebeian forced to wait out her superior's dining experience. Sonya had actually ordered at random, not really all that interested in eating something she couldn't watch be made, while they waited for the restaurant to 'close' so they could all speak freely.

The kholodets she ended up with was okay, but she honestly thought Lisa made it better.

A lifetime ago, she would've probably skipped over the jellied meat entirely. It wasn't bad, in taste, but the texture was actually something that had taken her a moment to get over.

"Done?" Milos asked curiously as the restaurant's lights started ticking off until only the back corner they were seated in had any illumination.

"I'd advise you to eat what you want now, you're about to lose any kind of appetite." Allowed one of the man's thieves idly, recalling how shaken Galina and even herself had been the last time she saw a member of the Vindice.

"I'm finished." Observed the old Pahkan tartly, leaning back to instead cradle a glass of pure vodka. "I don't think either of us really care much for everyone else's appetites."

…point.

Sonya eyed the stack of paperwork first, but without Galina she really didn't know enough about whomever they named to be which group of men. Skipping that entirely, if they wanted the information they could damn well introduce themselves, she instead rose to her low-heeled feet holding just the one file currently in question.

The KGB files that Usov had liberated from around Moscow under her supervision.

The Mist in question was her 'aide' tonight but was disinclined to actually physically show up until the Vindice did. Something she wasn't particularly against, because with the topic about to be opened up 'hyperactive' didn't do the preteen Mist justice right now.

Flatly ignoring the fact a good portion of the men in the room were ignoring her, the Storm-Cloud instead lifted her head to address the ceiling. "Officer of the Vindice, we require some clarification. Your Laws state that Flame users are to police ourselves from government awareness, but what do we do with the information we acquire from the government? Turn it into you, or simply dispose of it if not particularly interesting?"

Usov appearing directly in front of her was the only real warning she got.

Silent, black as pitch chains snagged the file out of her hand and dragged it somewhere behind her. All sound, even the mummer of ongoing conversations and the clink of steel against china, suddenly stopped.

Sonya turned around, very carefully hiding the grimace that wanted to show when she recognized the Officer as the last Vindice that visited the last time a gathering like this occurred.

"Disposal is adequate enough." Spoke the creature, and even Milos couldn't really avoid the shudder the tortured voice caused all in earshot.

"In the question of avoiding political office," continued the thief warily as the floor beneath the white bandaged figure of a man turned pitch black and before the shadowy energy could swallow it, "the Mists would like to know if influencing them while avoiding their positions is valid."

They didn't, really. Usov had made absolutely no noise to that effect, she just really wanted it called before someone had to make a fairly awkward visit to a family to inform them their child had been arrested for reasons they weren't sure about.

The file she brought with and it looked like the Vindice Officer intended to make away with was softly slapped back closed, the eerie and utterly blank visage considered her a long moment before the next answer was offered. "Case by case."

…likely that meant there needed to be a reason for it, not just 'for shits and giggles'. Thankfully there was enough time that Usov could break that news instead of her.

"Lastly," Sonya pressed her luck once more, actually getting somewhat nauseous from what seemed to just been nerves the longer this 'visitation' dragged on, "in the case of civilian Flame users. If when found they do not represent a significant security risk for discovery by either government or militaristic organizations, may we leave them alone after passing on the Laws?"

She didn't get a verbal response, or even more than a moment of heavy consideration. The Vindice Officer merely held its blank face in her direction for a long moment, then sunk rather abruptly into the ground.

She stared at the spot in the rug the Vindice had picked to appear at, just feeling exactly how much her body calmed down by the removal of the dead Arcobaleno.

What was that?

The sensation?

It wasn't something a Mist could copy as effortlessly, and even felt through her Storm Flames?

Usov wrapped his arms around her hips, setting a pointy chin on a hipbone. "Well… that wasn't an introduction."

"You failed to speak up, it's your own damn fault." Stepping through him, because of course the little Mist brat decided to fuck off now that the 'interesting' part of this was over, she returned to her seat right next to the Zolotov Pahkan.

Milos, very thoughtfully to the point it was semi-suspicious, handed over another glass of vodka. "That's it?"

"I really don't fucking care if these assholes get the information they're here for." Sonya confirmed blandly as she ran the non-response and its possible meanings over in her mind a few times. "They can come over here and get it if it's that damn important to them."

"You did just use them all to clarify some long-standing questions."

"And as such, I won't take offense that the bulk of these assholes were trying some sexist 'superiority' bullshit on me." Countered the thief flatly, settling back after her first sip of the clear liquid. "I have no idea why any thought it'd work, Ziven said Dorokhov and I aren't really all that different in nature and the Khimki Cloud has already killed someone in your little stripper club powwows."

"For 'infringement', I believe you call it."

"He's younger than me by at least half a decade." She tacked onto his semi-statement with a small amount of amusement. "The older the Flame user in question, the less likely we're flexible when it comes to our 'quirks'."

The older man she was seated across from actually laughed, which was really fucking impressive given she couldn't yet shake the unease the Vindice Officer left her with. "You sure you don't want to stay, Bazanova? It'd be interesting watching for the first suicidal moron to actually press you beyond what you're going to allow."

"I believe that already happened." Sonya reminded him, only a touch tartly. "And no, Pahkan. You're one thing, I grew up under you. Gedeon's… entirely someone different, and Clouds don't do well with sudden changes."

After that delightful lie through her teeth, the first man with any kind of balls finally approached their tables. Milos gestured from the man to her, in a carefully absent gesture. "Bazanova, this is Mogilevich Semion. He… you could say, is networking a little in our part of the city."

So… not someone that had business with her. The thief slid her gaze back to her Pahkan curiously, wondering if she should manufacture an excuse to vacate the table for a short while.

"Fascinating to finally meet you, Miss Bazanova."

"…sure." Allowed Sonya carefully, utterly confused as to why he wanted to meet her and why the hell she cared if he did.

"I sent along one of my men, that you sent your delightful Lightning lady to deal with instead." Mogilevich helpfully informed her, taking a sudden and previously not-there seat at their table. "If you need the reminder."

"He didn't exactly say who sent him to me, and Galina didn't have much to say about him." Obediently responded the Storm-Cloud after a moment to connect that with the first of the random vory that found their way to her office. "No one did die, right?"

"Ah… no." Allowed the other man, who was probably a good two or three decades younger than Milos so that set him around her age. Tapping some heavy ringed fingers on the table to apparently show himself thinking, the possible-vor leaned in slightly as if that would help any attempts at a quiet conversation. "I'm more interested in the 'possible' Skies-"

"Allow me to cut you off there." Sonya very suddenly and very rudely interrupted. "No."

"No?"

"The one we do know about isn't an active Flame user, and by his age there's no point in trying to 'encourage' anything. The other one we know is somewhere around here isn't known of by anything other than his influences on the number of Flame users around his presence, and even if I knew who that was I'd still say no."

"…so, it does have some bearing to the last question you asked…"

"You're grasping at straws." She informed him pointedly, not biting that bait. "Why don't you put some damn effort into things if you think you know better than me? I'll keep the popcorn ready for when you massively fuck up."

Moglevich studied her expression intently. "Is that what you think?"

She got down to the same level he was, leaning forward to encourage his 'illusion' of privacy even in a crowd of professional crooks, only to give him a nasty smirk. "No, that's what I've seen happen time and time again around the world. But by all means, make up your own fantasy on how Flames work from your users. Good luck separating out the fiction from the reality, frankly we even haven't managed to fully do that ourselves."

"So why the resistance?"

"Because it's such a statistical anomaly to find and bond to a Sky that I'm uninterested in the 'fable' of the 'kingpins'. I'm more interested in what bonds two or more non-Sky Flame users can have." Sonya lifted her tattooed shoulder in a shrug. "But again, by all means. Carry on if you just want to ape our European brethren in their personality cults around Sky Flame users."

She'd leave a note for Dmitriy, that someone in his Sky Watch group had loose lips, but other than that she really didn't much care. Whatever happened would happen after she was gone, and Russia would just have to get along without her.

Draining her glass of vodka to get out of here quicker, she very nearly snorted the liquor out of her nose when the man turned to her Pahkan. "Mouthy was an understatement, I see."

"You're disgusting." Sonya drawled out sarcastically, glancing to old man Zolotov herself as she firmly set down her glass. "And I'm done being understanding about slights spoken in my face, Pahkan. Good luck, I think you're going to need it."

"Are you going to be at the retirement party, Bazanova?"

"No." She didn't want to get that close to Gedeon, frankly. "But I will check in with you before I leave Russia."

"Good enough." Decided Milos, as if that had any bearing on what she'd be doing tomorrow. "The files?"

"Usov will collect them whenever he deems acceptable."

"One last question, Bazanova."

"Fuck you." Tossed the Storm-Cloud over a shoulder, not stopping on her way to the bank of mirrors set against a wall. Anna very obligingly opened up the mirror to connect to her hotel suite, cutting short the entire process of stealing the Pahkan's driver to get home instead.

The Mirror Lady even graciously kept a portion of the portal open enough for her to hear Milos mention how utterly unsurprised he was that she left as she had, even if someone was talking to her.

After all, she had already put a burning hole in Moscow's streets for assholes getting fresh with her.

The fact Usov put the files she brought with her on the dresser in her bedroom, except the one the Vindice Officer made away with, almost immediately after she let herself into it did make her smirk as she set about disassembling her 'finery' for bed.

Well, she had warned the assholes she'd only attend such meetings twice.

It'd be interesting to hear what complaints Dmitriy would have for her when he got out of prison next month. If he got out with 'good behavior', otherwise Gedeon would have about half a year to run things into the ground.

(ooo000ooo)

(Friday the 24th of April, 1970 continued. Samuil household, Voykovsky District, Moscow, Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.)

"Oh good, you're home." Zinaida breathed out as her son picked to simply appear on his rather bare bed when she looked into the room. "Usov, you have the tickets… right?"

"I gave them to father." Usov reported cheerfully, scooting off his bed and following her into the somewhat tiny common room their apartment had. "Relax, mother. Everything is handled, we just have to show up tomorrow."

"I can't really help it… Italy's really far, Usov." Given the distance they really couldn't take the furniture with them, and even their household goods had to be paired down with only the promise of picking up locally made versions once they were in the country. "Maxim, do you have-"

Maximillian very pointedly placed an airplane ticket into each of the three passports in his hands, before setting them on their soon-to-be abandoned dining table. "Zina, calm down. Just sit down for a minute, before you forget your own head."

Knowing full well the two of them would gang up on her, Zinaida slowly slunk down into their very broken-in couch. "…what do you think Italy is going to be like?"

"Like here, but warmer?"

Usov snorted at what he claimed was their 'terrible imagination', sprawling out over her lap just to give her a bright grin. "It's a different country! It should be exotic and interesting, not the same-old!"

"Similarities are comforting." She pointedly informed her lapful of hectic child, poking him in the stomach to get his feet up so his father could take a corner of the couch too. "And we're not… very experienced with Italian yet. Just talking to someone on the street will be difficult enough…"

"I can help with that, and there's already two Russian speaking residents at the castle." Usov reported to her helpfully. "And we're not the only three going. There's this Storm man, who had his entire past erased yet somehow found Sonya to follow along with to her exasperation. Scruffy might be coming along!"

That poor Storm man. Zinaida bit her lower lip, wondering if her son had spoken of a 'Scruffy' before this so she wouldn't ask about the details that might be a bit intrusive of the other one he spoke about.

"He doesn't like criminal things, so Scruffy hides behind Sonya so he doesn't have to do anything like that." Volunteered her lapful of Mist, not even wincing when his father reached over and pinched the skin of his calf for dipping into the unspoken for questions to prattle on about. "Anna's coming, she's just going to be a bit late. She's got something to check in with on our way. Miss Galina and Sonya herself in anywhere from a few days to another two months, then there'd be a lot of people to speak to."

"What are you going to be doing, Usov?" Maximillian inquired thoughtfully, toeing their threadbare carpet she had gotten for getting married from her grandmother.

It was practically the only thing she wouldn't regret leaving behind, the thing was ugly. As it was a gift she couldn't really bring herself to throw it out, mostly as her grandmother had been proud of her find and she never did work up the courage to tell the older woman how much of an eyesore she found it.

"Security." Usov obediently reported, only to earn two dubious looks for the very prompt and unlikely answer. "Well, the Mirror Lady gets the bulk of it when it comes to visitors. I just get secret keeping and securing the entire castle against hostile intents left behind. Otherwise I'll be helping father. Do you think I'll make a good butler?"

"I think you'll be good at whatever you bend your mind to." Zinaida insisted a bit falsely, because her son wasn't really the kind of servant anyone should want to rely on. It earned her two widely different responses from both the men in her life, adoring from her son and exasperated from her husband. "But, don't you think being your father's 'strong arm' when it comes to collecting receipts and the like would be more fun? Miss Bazanova might not mind you terrorizing those late with them in your unique way then."

The Mist in her lap pouted outrageously, with a wobbling lower lip and the sheen of tears in his eyes. "You don't think I'd be good at it, mother?"

"Fishing for compliments isn't well done of you, son. And besides, you know you'd get bored attending to every little hiccup that arises in the upkeep of a castle and staff."

Any evidence that he looked to be a breath away from bawling disappeared in a startling blink, something that not even nearly five years of watching her son do made it any easier to get used to. "Very true. I suppose then, father, that I'll be your understudy."

"Alas," sighed out Maximillian tiredly, not even twitching when their son threw him a betrayed pout, "I'll be sure to reserve the worst for you then."

Rolling his eyes so hard he literally rolled off her lap, Usov then peered up at her curiously from the floor instead. "Is leaving Moscow really that hard for you, mother?"

"Not Moscow, but this…" gesturing around at the very barren rooms had both of them also looking around, "…this is where we had you, Usov. You were conceived here, and we raised you here. That kind of history, it is a little hard to leave behind."

Ignoring his disgusted face for the crime of mentioning his parents having any kind of relationship outside of simply being good friends that happened to live in the same place, Zinaida looked across the couch into her husband's warm brown eyes. "It's not particularly big enough for all of us, Zina. Especially if you would like another child."

"I still say Usov could've shared for a couple years." She defended herself slightly sheepishly.

"Usov needs the extra room to contain his ego." Maximillian drawled dryly, coaxing a laugh from her and a huff of faked insult from the child on the floor. "And, now we do know what was so strange about our first born as well as how to handle it, another child is more than likely."

Suddenly drawing himself up to his somewhat short full height, ten or not he was still a child and it was rather apparent, Usov stuck his nose in the air and started off to his bedroom. "Ew."

"You don't want to be a big brother, Usov?"

"I don't mind, but I don't need to know how you intend to gift me with such." Called back their son from his room, popping his head out through the middle of the door a second later. "Goodnight, mother. Father. I will pretend to be deaf and stupid for the rest of the night."

She snickered, sliding over to lean on her tiredly amused husband as the wispy Mist Flames faded from existence. "Ah… if only there were thicker walls… and we could trust his claim a bit."

"I think," Maximillian offered as he accepted her adjustment and pulled her closer to lay down with him, "I'm really just going along with all this for the thicker walls. A castle will have to have them, right?"

"And not just so you can be up at the same hours as us?" Zinaida inquired apologetically, because if they had just moved when he lost his last job then her husband wouldn't have had to take second-shift factory work to keep the roof over their heads there.

"And the mead. The mead is pretty much the biggest draw I can think of." Ignoring it when she thumped his chest in protest, her husband sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, I think we also need to go to sleep. If only to be on time tomorrow for our flight to Italy."

"Well… then we can restart the whole 'it's home' process in Italy. Hopefully Miss Bazanova won't mind too much."