otabek altin. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bringbackgold) wrote2017-02-22 07:42 pm
bringbackgold) wrote2017-02-22 07:42 pm
Catchall (for bespredel)
Fun thread-times with
bespredelFun thread-times with
bespredelFun thread-times with
bespredel
Fun thread-times with
bespredel
mafias
He was given a name, a photo, and a detailed report on what he would have to be doing. This Yuri was important. It would't be an easy kill, which was why they had set him up the way he had. He would be going on as the young man's personal bodyguard. Much to his chagrin. This would mean getting way more personal than he was comfortable with doing.
He'd have to be so very careful.
He'd have to make sure he never forgot what he was there to do.
He'd have to make sure he did it quickly, too. The sooner he got this job over with, the better. Too long would make it too easy to make mistakes. And Otabek Altin did not make mistakes on the job.
A meeting had been set up for him to meet Yuri. The young man he was going to be acting as a personal body guard for, and then - soon - killing him. He spoke with other members of security in Russian. They talked, he had to put on a show, laughing and smiling. He had to seem like he was so glad to be there.
Finally, an older man approached him. He wanted them to be formally introduced. After all, they would be spending a lot of time together. His expression got serious, and he nodded. He followed him to Yuri.
Once there, he offered him his hand. "Otabek."
The bonus of having the job he did meant that no matter how much damage he did at times, no one really knew who he was.
this tag is so extra he gets it from viktor
When children had been going to high school to learn how to function in a business centric world, Yuri had been learning the most painful methods of pulling out a person's teeth. How to bend a finger until it broke, how to fillet a human calf, and keep the victim alive through it all.
Yuri Plisetsky. He'd hardly been sixteen, when he'd killed his first man. Self-defense, sure- but a death on his hands, nonetheless.
That had been years ago, now.
In another lifetime his thin, lithe figure would have lent itself to dance, or gymnastics. Perhaps skating- in this lifetime, it was a vicious tool, every muscle honed to action, and reaction. An unapologetically deadly instrument; heir to one of Russia's most dangerous and greatest crime families.
And for that, he had thought himself untouchable.
No doubt there were dozens, perhaps even hundreds that would have wished him to see his end, but they had always been too slow, too clumsy. Not good enough. It may have gone to Yuri's head, just a little. But of course he would never admit to anything that might have been seen as a personal failure. Those insecurities had been locked away, buried so deep that most days Yuri could forget he had ever had them at all.
The thought, then, that he needed a bodyguard was laughable, at best. Insulting, at worst. Yet his dedushka insisted; and when had he ever been able to deny the old man anything?
It as a bold choice, meeting this allegedly hand-picked man alone- well, sort of. Otabek was lead through an extremely lavish restaurant, to a private booth where Yuri waited. Sprawled elegantly across the leather half-moon shaped sofa, running a black leather gloved finger around the rim of a frosted glass. It was easy to guess that the clear liquid inside he was savouring likely wasn't water; yet, it did nothing to dull his sharp, fierce eyes. The judgemental stare he immediately fixed Otabek with. Sizing him up.
He didn't take the other's hand. Instead, reached to the pocket of his tight, black jeans. His hair hung loose and messy around his face, a heavy loose fitting leather studded jacket thrown over a leopard print shirt so tight it seemed painted on. The sleeves of his leather jacket were three-quarter length, and the leopard print shirt underneath was rolled up around them, giving a ring of the pattern around the leather.
From his pocket, he flipped out a butterfly knife, playing with it with elegant motions of long, gloved fingers as he stared the other down.
"If I told you to slit your wrist with this, now, here, would you do it?" he demanded, snapping the knife out properly, moving his hand away from the glass of vodka, leaning forward towards the table between them, knife poised in the air beside his own face.
laughing still i love him
They knew that if they needed someone to not end up making a mistake, they would call him. Otabek was dependable. And he'd seem dependable for as little or long as needed when dealing with Yuri.
Until he found the perfect time to rid himself of him. He preferred sooner, but knew that it wouldn't necessarily be possible.
He dropped his hand when the offer to shake Yuri's was rejected. His eyes and body not flinching once when the other spoke to him. It wasn't an unfamiliar question, if he was being honest. He'd have to earn trust, and trust was hard to come by when you shared the particular company Yuri did - at least in Otabek's experience. He didn't really trust anyone.
Without a second thought, his eyes fell on the knife for a single moment, before moving to look Yuri in the eye. They were dark, piercing. He wasn't bothered by the fierceness of Yuri's own.
"Yes," he answered easily. Though he knew, really, if Yuri had asked him of it and meant it, he'd just as easily take the knife to the young man's throat. Then, a few words followed his answer. "A dead guard is of little use to you, though."