Chapter 3: Act 1 Ch 2

In the dreary morning at the Solntsevskaya Lark house, Mikhail was in a seemingly placid mood. It has been many years since he was taken from the orphanage. Mikhail felt the scars on his hand ache, reminiscing on the experiences of the past. There wasn’t much he could remember of his childhood at this point. Yet…

A gentle touch of a warm hand. 

Shivering in the snow, happy to have been taken outside. 

The matron’s hand disappears. 

Before him was a menacing dark shadow. 

A gate that surrounded his home. 

A stern looking man. 

Barking at him to follow. 

Panting breaths, trembling in the frost of winter. 

A sudden sensation of weightlessness. 

Darkness. 

Of which extended to countless years of pain and undeniable suffering.

 

Mikhail had survived as a member of The Lark.

Many of his cohorts had fallen. Yet Mikhail survived through it all–in the eight years that followed. Turning his mind away from his thoughts, Mikhail peered through a window.

The shivering cold blue sky encompassed the world in all its glory. The city of Moscow was somber at this early morning hour. 

However, he knew better than to trust this false sense of tranquility. From the highest peaks of the Kremlin to poverty stricken Tolyatti, there was nowhere that the Solntsevskaya hadn’t sunk their claws into. Countless underground casinos continued to operate as per usual. Customers continued to flood in, drawn in by the promises of riches only to return penniless. And so their mourning labor would continue.

Hungry mouths threatened to overwhelm their guilty hearts. Clouded minds that lose hopes for their futures. Desperation. Desperation– a blight across “humanity.” “Poverty is not a vice…” and more so true. “Drunkenness is not a virtue.” Fyodor Dostoevsky. Drunk on debauchery and the present. Unwilling to dare to dream for the future. Lacking ambition. Self compassion.

 

A wry smile crossed Mikhail’s face– before immediately shifting back to his usual bright expression. 

 

How decadent. 

 

Not daring to dream. 

 

No. They were dreamers. Dreamers of earnings enough to provide, of feeding those hungry mouths, of going to sleep having tucked in their children. Their lovers warm embrace; welcoming them as they’re finally free from poverty.

 

Am I the dog?

 

 A mere beast lulled into self satisfaction…yet Mikhail had enough of his rumination. 

The boarding house was currently empty. His work within the clinic required an early shift in comparison to the schedules of the other members. Soon, the tense atmosphere of his reserved cohorts will overwhelm the peaceful mood of the house. The strain was always palpable, so much so Mikhail felt as if he could positively cut it with a knife. Sighing internally, headed for the exit. 

He was dressed in his usual garb consisting of a scrub and a spotless white coat. After a bite of kasha, buckwheat porridge that he bought along the way, he prepared himself to commute through the underground subway station.

 

 

 

As he walked through the entrance, he spotted Dmitri busy at his desk as per usual. The languid man frowned through a microscope, his tied disheveled hair contrasting with his piercingly sharp golden eyes. Wearing a pair of scrubs with countless layers of grime, it seemed as though the man had worn the same clothing for days on end– which Mikhail had no doubt he had. 

 

Dmitri merely gave a nod towards Mikhail’s presence before continuing to busy himself with his research.

 

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Mikhail gave a refreshing smile, his mood alleviated. He realized the sky wasn’t as dreary as he believed it to be.

 

It was a rather pleasant morning, with the calm beautiful sky acting as a backdrop for Moscow’s gorgeous beauty.

 

All would be a picture of serenity…if not for an injured mafioso staring at them both in disgust and disbelief.

 

“Dmitri, I believe you have a patient”

 

Mikhail curved his eyes, happily notifying Dmitri.

 

“I do?”

 

“Yes.”

 

With a mess of a broken leg, the pitiful  man seemed to almost turn comically purple at their calm interaction. This happened quite often at the clinic, in which Dmitri would become so engrossed in his research that he forgot his main occupation– an underground doctor for the mafia. 

 

“But, I just managed to collect this tissue sample… Mikhail, you handle it.”

 

“...”

 

The man was now an outraged shade of red.

 

After seeing Mikhail’s displeased expression, the man could no longer stand it anymore. With a face of molten lava, he exploded like a volcano.

 

“Fuck! What the hell is with you!” 

 

 Oh my, Mikhail thought to himself. Sighing internally, he readied himself to deal with his understandably pissed client. Dmitri’s antics and persistently calm mood was something Mikhail had long gotten used to. 

As the man continued to complain, Mikhail sat before the man and gently handled his injured leg. After a few palpitations and considerations on the area of pain, Mikhail lowered the limb.

“It seems that the mechanism of injury was due to the swiveling of the foot, which led to intense pressure to be placed on the fibula of the leg. Due to the tibia however, it seems that this fracture was not immediately detected. As such, the recommended treatment is simply a cast and monitoring for progress. After the scans yesterday, we reasoned the bone has not compressed nearby blood vessels or caused major harm, neither has is tore through the skin.”

With a light smile, Mikhail explained the injury as he brushed his platinum blond hair behind his ears. Preferring to keep his hair down, Mikhail was not a fan of tight hairstyles. It gave him a rather boyish look– which Mikhail found suitable for letting down the guards of strangers. His long bangs frame luminescent sea blue eyes. The patient stared at them as he concentrated on his injury. From above, the man could see Mikhail’s bountiful lashes that shimmered in the morning sunlight. He could only think of one word to describe him perfectly. Adonis– beloved by the Greek goddess of love herself.

With a small blush, the man gave his thanks after Mikhail treated his injury.

Peeking from the side after hearing his diagnoses, Dmitri cursed silently in his heart. As it seems, life is unfair. Both a perfect student born with high intelligence, and a reserved man given the  guise of an angel. 

But Dmitri silently brooded. Mikhail was also the most reserved person he has ever known in his 50 some years of life. Despite spending years with this boy, he was never able to understand him. His background, along with the many other adopted children in the mafia, was a hidden secret. Trained under brutal conditions, betrayed at every turn by their fellow cohorts, it was no surprise to him that Mikhail had become isolated in such a way. When Dmitri was scouting from one of these gifted children, he was more than happy to take on Mikhail due to his persistence and strong desire to learn. Yet the doctor was never able to form a bond with him. And was confident he couldn't with anyone else.

The doctor narrowed his eyes in displeasure.

Dmitri had seen glimpses of his vulnerability when he was younger, and had believed he simply needed to develop him in this way. Yet in the years that followed the young child’s initial desperation, Mikhail had never let down his guise of perfection. All he was able to discern was gratuity and good will. 

“Whatever. As long as he’s good with his work.” 

Dmitri muttered underneath his breath. Grumbling to himself in annoyance of getting distracted, he went back to his research.

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