I see you (Abel, Svetlana, Rasputina)
Apr. 10th, 2010 03:32 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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darker_londonConventions, Abel decided, were created by someone who enjoyed pain. He had been sitting in lectures for three days, listening to people droning on about the future of law enforcement even though everyone knew the chances of anything changing quickly were slim to nil. Nothing ever changed with his job except for technology. Things were the way they were, and he hadn't needed to travel from Bath to London to find that out.
On the Saturday of the convention, Abel gave up on it, and he skipped out on a lecture about filling in reports properly. He felt he had filled in enough reports to justify giving that one a miss. It was for his sanity. While he was in London, he wanted to actually see some of London. The weather was warming up and he didn't want to spend his entire weekend trapped inside.
Of all the sights in London he had planned on seeing, his foster sister from when he was 11 was not one of them. She was there, though, pushing a pram on the embankment as if she wasn't a fugitive wanted for the murder of more than one person.
When Abel caught sight of Svetlana Kavenskaya, all six feet and five inches of him froze and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. She was near him, and though he recognised her, she didn't recognise him. He had been eleven when she had snapped and killed a monk in their family's upstairs reception room. He was a man of twenty-six now, and nothing at all like the boy he had been then. She looked very much the same, only she was smiling. And she still made him feel like the air was slowly draining away from the universe when she was near him. There was just something about her. He had kept tabs on her since assuming his position with the Bath local authorities. He knew she had killed since arriving back in London and she remained at large. Apparently walking pleasantly among the Londoners without a care in the world.
And then he heard her. She was singing something in Russian to the baby in the pram. And that was what did it. Svetlana Kavenskaya was a lunatic who belonged behind bars, not pushing a small child around while she sung foreign lullabies. He had no way of even knowing if the child was hers. Abel reached for his gun, and found an empty pocket.
He wasn't in Bath. This was not his jurisdiction. And in a genius move he had left his mobile in his hotel room so as not to be contacted in case his absence was noted at the convention.
There was nothing he could do here in public. If he tried to take Svetlana down, she could hurt a random passerby. She could hurt the baby. She had snapped a man's neck with her bare hands and put his family through hell. It wasn't safe. And so Abel Robson dashed away from the embankment, headed for the nearest police station.
Someone had to stop her.
On the Saturday of the convention, Abel gave up on it, and he skipped out on a lecture about filling in reports properly. He felt he had filled in enough reports to justify giving that one a miss. It was for his sanity. While he was in London, he wanted to actually see some of London. The weather was warming up and he didn't want to spend his entire weekend trapped inside.
Of all the sights in London he had planned on seeing, his foster sister from when he was 11 was not one of them. She was there, though, pushing a pram on the embankment as if she wasn't a fugitive wanted for the murder of more than one person.
When Abel caught sight of Svetlana Kavenskaya, all six feet and five inches of him froze and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. She was near him, and though he recognised her, she didn't recognise him. He had been eleven when she had snapped and killed a monk in their family's upstairs reception room. He was a man of twenty-six now, and nothing at all like the boy he had been then. She looked very much the same, only she was smiling. And she still made him feel like the air was slowly draining away from the universe when she was near him. There was just something about her. He had kept tabs on her since assuming his position with the Bath local authorities. He knew she had killed since arriving back in London and she remained at large. Apparently walking pleasantly among the Londoners without a care in the world.
And then he heard her. She was singing something in Russian to the baby in the pram. And that was what did it. Svetlana Kavenskaya was a lunatic who belonged behind bars, not pushing a small child around while she sung foreign lullabies. He had no way of even knowing if the child was hers. Abel reached for his gun, and found an empty pocket.
He wasn't in Bath. This was not his jurisdiction. And in a genius move he had left his mobile in his hotel room so as not to be contacted in case his absence was noted at the convention.
There was nothing he could do here in public. If he tried to take Svetlana down, she could hurt a random passerby. She could hurt the baby. She had snapped a man's neck with her bare hands and put his family through hell. It wasn't safe. And so Abel Robson dashed away from the embankment, headed for the nearest police station.
Someone had to stop her.
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