07-28-2013, 06:32 AM
"Constantine, Krasivolkya", she heard herself say curtly to the Security Officer.
"Access Granted, Ms. Constantine", he replied.
This was their dance. Every morning at 4:30am. She made it to the side entrance, met the man who was the most regular in her life, and entered into the building that housed her soul.
She worked in The Kremlin. That never grew tired or banal for her. All of her studies and hard work and dedication. All of her sacrifices had led her here. To this. To be at the Heart of the political beast that sat astride two continents and ruled the Earth with a benevolent, but strong hand. And she, Krasivolkya Constantine, was a part of it all. Part of a nation that proved Right meant Might, and not the other way around. Part of a governing structure that wasn't afraid to flaunt its wealth or power or its benevolence.
Krasivolkya walked to the Liaison's Office. Her security card and retina scan allowed her to Pre-empt security for those who would come later; her staff (who she allowed to come to work by 5:30 am), other officials, politicians, government staff, VIPs, officers and executives. All whom would come into this world, needing, requesting, demanding and obliging her help. Her support. Her finesse. Her involvement. This was what she was meant for. No, actually, this was a foretaste of what she was meant for. One day, she would be able to provide these services, her superior intellect and problem solving abilities, and her knack for discerning people's motives and desires, to the most important office in the world. The Ascendency of the CCD.
Just as she knew when she was assigned to the Liasion's office 5 years ago, that she would one day be running it; so she knew her destiny lay at the center of the Kremlin. She would make herself indispensable to him and his governance.
Krasivolkya smiled as she padded across the lush blue carpeting. Past the fishbowl of offices that served her support staff, down the hallway and the offices of her top lieutenants and to the big, stainless steel door that led to her inner office. Cut out of the stainless steel and backlit with LED light on the door, "Office of the Chief Liaison of the Custody of State" and beneath it, a simple black enameled plaque with silver etching, "Krasivolkya Constantine".
The morning was the only time this office would see her smile. She didnt make it to this office by smiling, and she wouldn't make it out by smiling either. She coveted these early mornings. No one was in the office before her. She wouldn't allow it. Last year some newbies, up and comers, tried to get in at 4:00. Thanks to her arrangement with the Security Guard, he kept them busy in holding until she could get there. He had sent her a text, apprising her of the situation, and she had sped up her arrival as quickly as she could. She had arrived 18 minutes after 4 and had made it to her inner office, caught her breath and called Security to allow the ambitious new staff in. When they had arrived and saw that she was already there, they had reeked of surprise, and even fear. Krasivolkya could literally taste their fear and shock. Strangely, she had found herself almost salivating ...
After that, she was in the office by 3 am. It only lasted two weeks before the staff gave up trying to beat her to the office. In defeat, they returned to their 5:30 start time, and Krasivolkya resumed her morning ritual.
That reaction to the newbies fear, was one of the things Krasivolkya didn't quite understand about herself. She had a series of reactions and instincts she knew were a part of her, but didn't know why or what they were. Her father had known, she knew. He had helped her acknowledge some of them, and given her strange instructions and advice he made her promise to keep and heed. It had begun after her illness, almost 15 years ago. She had feared she was being struck with The Sickness, but she never got sick in the way usually associated with that strange affliction. Instead she had had moments where she was catatonic and unresponsive. Night after night of insomnia for a solid week. And she could almost feel voices in her head, voices or images really, from far away. So faint were they that she couldn't make them out and could easily ignore them. They were fleeting, but she knew they were there, and somehow knew they were real. He had never explained what had happened. He simply gave her firm instructions on what to do. "Krasivolkya," he had said, "Never talk back or think back to the voices. Avoid rural areas and forests. Be very wary and in control of yourself during the Full Moon. Keep your instincts and insights to yourself. Do not share them. Promise me." She did.
"And if you ever notice your eyes getting lighter, wear these." And he had given her a special pair of contacts, dyed a light brown, to match her eye color. She had not understood, but she loved her Father, and was an obedient daughter. She saw the fear and anxiety in his eyes that day, and trusted his vast intelligence. He had never led her astray, she had no reason to question. She obeyed, and had obeyed after moving to Moscow and even after he passed away two years ago. Yet she never quite understood.
She had not been aware of any voices since moving to Moscow. She still had insomnia once a month, that seemed to correspond with the full moon, her eyes only lightened on occasion, and when they did, she dutifully wore her contacts. But her sense of people had grown, increased and developed. It had helped her, she knew. Her strange talent for reading people. Sometimes she seemed more prescient of what they were thinking than they themselves were. It had helped her discern those who meant her well, and avoid those who jealously wanted to take her down. What passed for workplace "friends" were cultivated carefully based on her instincts. And more than one enemy or rival had been cowed by her before they could act against her ... All based on her insight and odd sense of "smelling" emotions. She couldn't explain it, and didn't need to. It was a tool she had, and she used it to her advantage. Just as she used every tool at her disposal: her reputation, her looks, her height, her staff; all of it. All were tools to help her get to where she wanted to go, to be who she knew she was destined to be. Tools.
Krasivolkya settled into her leather chair, placed directly in front of her door and in plain sight of the front of the office. She would watch each and every staff member come in. Making eye contact with each one, like a ritual, as they entered. No one escaped her notice. This was her domain. She was Alpha here, and they were her tools. She would hone them, whet them and use them.
The office almost received a second smile from Krasivolkya then. But that would have been out of routine, so she didn't. Instead she began to go through the papers and reports neatly displayed on her desk and credenza, and get to work, waiting for her first staff to arrive, some 45 minutes later.
Edited by Krasivolkya, Jul 28 2013, 08:50 AM.
"Access Granted, Ms. Constantine", he replied.
This was their dance. Every morning at 4:30am. She made it to the side entrance, met the man who was the most regular in her life, and entered into the building that housed her soul.
She worked in The Kremlin. That never grew tired or banal for her. All of her studies and hard work and dedication. All of her sacrifices had led her here. To this. To be at the Heart of the political beast that sat astride two continents and ruled the Earth with a benevolent, but strong hand. And she, Krasivolkya Constantine, was a part of it all. Part of a nation that proved Right meant Might, and not the other way around. Part of a governing structure that wasn't afraid to flaunt its wealth or power or its benevolence.
Krasivolkya walked to the Liaison's Office. Her security card and retina scan allowed her to Pre-empt security for those who would come later; her staff (who she allowed to come to work by 5:30 am), other officials, politicians, government staff, VIPs, officers and executives. All whom would come into this world, needing, requesting, demanding and obliging her help. Her support. Her finesse. Her involvement. This was what she was meant for. No, actually, this was a foretaste of what she was meant for. One day, she would be able to provide these services, her superior intellect and problem solving abilities, and her knack for discerning people's motives and desires, to the most important office in the world. The Ascendency of the CCD.
Just as she knew when she was assigned to the Liasion's office 5 years ago, that she would one day be running it; so she knew her destiny lay at the center of the Kremlin. She would make herself indispensable to him and his governance.
Krasivolkya smiled as she padded across the lush blue carpeting. Past the fishbowl of offices that served her support staff, down the hallway and the offices of her top lieutenants and to the big, stainless steel door that led to her inner office. Cut out of the stainless steel and backlit with LED light on the door, "Office of the Chief Liaison of the Custody of State" and beneath it, a simple black enameled plaque with silver etching, "Krasivolkya Constantine".
The morning was the only time this office would see her smile. She didnt make it to this office by smiling, and she wouldn't make it out by smiling either. She coveted these early mornings. No one was in the office before her. She wouldn't allow it. Last year some newbies, up and comers, tried to get in at 4:00. Thanks to her arrangement with the Security Guard, he kept them busy in holding until she could get there. He had sent her a text, apprising her of the situation, and she had sped up her arrival as quickly as she could. She had arrived 18 minutes after 4 and had made it to her inner office, caught her breath and called Security to allow the ambitious new staff in. When they had arrived and saw that she was already there, they had reeked of surprise, and even fear. Krasivolkya could literally taste their fear and shock. Strangely, she had found herself almost salivating ...
After that, she was in the office by 3 am. It only lasted two weeks before the staff gave up trying to beat her to the office. In defeat, they returned to their 5:30 start time, and Krasivolkya resumed her morning ritual.
That reaction to the newbies fear, was one of the things Krasivolkya didn't quite understand about herself. She had a series of reactions and instincts she knew were a part of her, but didn't know why or what they were. Her father had known, she knew. He had helped her acknowledge some of them, and given her strange instructions and advice he made her promise to keep and heed. It had begun after her illness, almost 15 years ago. She had feared she was being struck with The Sickness, but she never got sick in the way usually associated with that strange affliction. Instead she had had moments where she was catatonic and unresponsive. Night after night of insomnia for a solid week. And she could almost feel voices in her head, voices or images really, from far away. So faint were they that she couldn't make them out and could easily ignore them. They were fleeting, but she knew they were there, and somehow knew they were real. He had never explained what had happened. He simply gave her firm instructions on what to do. "Krasivolkya," he had said, "Never talk back or think back to the voices. Avoid rural areas and forests. Be very wary and in control of yourself during the Full Moon. Keep your instincts and insights to yourself. Do not share them. Promise me." She did.
"And if you ever notice your eyes getting lighter, wear these." And he had given her a special pair of contacts, dyed a light brown, to match her eye color. She had not understood, but she loved her Father, and was an obedient daughter. She saw the fear and anxiety in his eyes that day, and trusted his vast intelligence. He had never led her astray, she had no reason to question. She obeyed, and had obeyed after moving to Moscow and even after he passed away two years ago. Yet she never quite understood.
She had not been aware of any voices since moving to Moscow. She still had insomnia once a month, that seemed to correspond with the full moon, her eyes only lightened on occasion, and when they did, she dutifully wore her contacts. But her sense of people had grown, increased and developed. It had helped her, she knew. Her strange talent for reading people. Sometimes she seemed more prescient of what they were thinking than they themselves were. It had helped her discern those who meant her well, and avoid those who jealously wanted to take her down. What passed for workplace "friends" were cultivated carefully based on her instincts. And more than one enemy or rival had been cowed by her before they could act against her ... All based on her insight and odd sense of "smelling" emotions. She couldn't explain it, and didn't need to. It was a tool she had, and she used it to her advantage. Just as she used every tool at her disposal: her reputation, her looks, her height, her staff; all of it. All were tools to help her get to where she wanted to go, to be who she knew she was destined to be. Tools.
Krasivolkya settled into her leather chair, placed directly in front of her door and in plain sight of the front of the office. She would watch each and every staff member come in. Making eye contact with each one, like a ritual, as they entered. No one escaped her notice. This was her domain. She was Alpha here, and they were her tools. She would hone them, whet them and use them.
The office almost received a second smile from Krasivolkya then. But that would have been out of routine, so she didn't. Instead she began to go through the papers and reports neatly displayed on her desk and credenza, and get to work, waiting for her first staff to arrive, some 45 minutes later.
Edited by Krasivolkya, Jul 28 2013, 08:50 AM.