09-03-2013, 07:50 AM
It had been so long since Tony had been outside in a crowd it nearly overwhelmed him. The stranglehold he had on the power was the only thing that stopped him from scurrying back between the cracks the lost and forsaken people of Moscow fell through, never to be seen again - alive at least.
The dark avenues and eyeless corners had been his home for so long that the 'normal' life made his back itch as slinking through the dangerous underground world would an honest citizen. There, life had been simple. He had power, and power was life. In the open - at least on the surface - the law and morality ruled the day and no amount of power could save him from the CCD hunting dogs.
Despite all of this, he felt alive. The events of the past few days had woken something in him that he had thought lost forever. A desire to achieve, to strive, to survive. A fragment of his old life amongst the elite of Moscow. Of course, he could never return to the spotlight, but there was something he could do. Jaxen had reminded him of that.
So he walked along the streets of Moscow, drinking in the bustling life of street side shopping. The massive coat he wore was a bit too small around the waist - he had to borrow it from Michael since he had no decent clothing to wear out.
With a faint smile that had not faded since he had awoken, Tony spotted the National Bank of Moscow's dreadfully dour eastern branch. Two armed security guards eyed him as he strode through the reinforced sliding glass doors.
The interior of the bank was nondescript. Professional and austere reflecting the pompous self-importance he had seen so often in the high echelons of CCD society. He smiled at the tidy middle aged woman behind the bars of the help desk. She frowned at him, taking in his somewhat less-than-perfect appearance.
"Good morning, a pleasant day,
" he said with some of his old flare re-ignited. She didn't smile - that was disappointing. His skills had grown rusty over the years, and he wasn't the charming rich kid he had been.
Oh well.
"I would like to make a withdrawal,"
he dropped the smile and got down to business. Was it the world that had darkened with him, or was he jaded from years of despair?
The woman pursed her thin lips, the lines of her frown pronounced with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Tony had tried with his own hair this morning - it was thick and long, he hadn't had it cut in years - but it felt like someone was pulling it out of his skull. Perhaps the woman simply liked pain - at least she was in the right profession.
"Sir, the National Bank of Moscow is reserved for the most privil-"
Tony cut her off, weaving a small trick to making his presence dominate the room. Not threatening - he did not want to alert the guards - just dominant. "I know where I am, my sight is not so bad."
he said through clenched teeth. He found he did not have the patience to charm these bastards as he once did. "If you would allow me to speak, I would offer you my credentials."
The woman shut her mouth with a satisfying audible clicking of teeth. She looked at him differently - perhaps he was a rich kid come off a drinking binge.
Which was almost the truth.
Tony pulled out the card from his pocket. It had the name Martin Gorbcheisky embedded in it. He couldn't use his family's name, but back in the early days he had been smart enough to siphon some of the wealth into a fake account with the help of some officials he had befriended once upon a time. He handed the card to the woman who took it with a perturbed expression.
"How much would you like today, Mr. Gorbcheisky?" she said after a moment at the computer. The respect was an addition that only served to piss him off further.
"Twenty thousand CCD,"
he replied in a flat tone.
***
Two hours later Tony adjusted the cuffs of his new jacket, a fine piece of tailoring. It was unlike the silky smooth suits of his youth. The black coat was stiff and precise with gold threaded through with fluid accuracy. His family had a crest - the crown of the Tzar's, a foolish attempt at grandiose. He did not use it, but give them the right amount of money, the tailors could work as fast as lightning.
He had created a new crest. Simple, stark and bold. The golden threads wove a pattern of rebirth, fire and passion. The Phoenix was the symbol of the new Tony risen from the ashes of the old Tony Soloyov. Hardened by pain and death, he was made anew, and nothing would stop him from pursuing his goal.
Edited by Tony Soloyov, Sep 3 2013, 07:52 AM.
The dark avenues and eyeless corners had been his home for so long that the 'normal' life made his back itch as slinking through the dangerous underground world would an honest citizen. There, life had been simple. He had power, and power was life. In the open - at least on the surface - the law and morality ruled the day and no amount of power could save him from the CCD hunting dogs.
Despite all of this, he felt alive. The events of the past few days had woken something in him that he had thought lost forever. A desire to achieve, to strive, to survive. A fragment of his old life amongst the elite of Moscow. Of course, he could never return to the spotlight, but there was something he could do. Jaxen had reminded him of that.
So he walked along the streets of Moscow, drinking in the bustling life of street side shopping. The massive coat he wore was a bit too small around the waist - he had to borrow it from Michael since he had no decent clothing to wear out.
With a faint smile that had not faded since he had awoken, Tony spotted the National Bank of Moscow's dreadfully dour eastern branch. Two armed security guards eyed him as he strode through the reinforced sliding glass doors.
The interior of the bank was nondescript. Professional and austere reflecting the pompous self-importance he had seen so often in the high echelons of CCD society. He smiled at the tidy middle aged woman behind the bars of the help desk. She frowned at him, taking in his somewhat less-than-perfect appearance.
"Good morning, a pleasant day,
" he said with some of his old flare re-ignited. She didn't smile - that was disappointing. His skills had grown rusty over the years, and he wasn't the charming rich kid he had been.
Oh well.
"I would like to make a withdrawal,"
he dropped the smile and got down to business. Was it the world that had darkened with him, or was he jaded from years of despair?
The woman pursed her thin lips, the lines of her frown pronounced with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Tony had tried with his own hair this morning - it was thick and long, he hadn't had it cut in years - but it felt like someone was pulling it out of his skull. Perhaps the woman simply liked pain - at least she was in the right profession.
"Sir, the National Bank of Moscow is reserved for the most privil-"
Tony cut her off, weaving a small trick to making his presence dominate the room. Not threatening - he did not want to alert the guards - just dominant. "I know where I am, my sight is not so bad."
he said through clenched teeth. He found he did not have the patience to charm these bastards as he once did. "If you would allow me to speak, I would offer you my credentials."
The woman shut her mouth with a satisfying audible clicking of teeth. She looked at him differently - perhaps he was a rich kid come off a drinking binge.
Which was almost the truth.
Tony pulled out the card from his pocket. It had the name Martin Gorbcheisky embedded in it. He couldn't use his family's name, but back in the early days he had been smart enough to siphon some of the wealth into a fake account with the help of some officials he had befriended once upon a time. He handed the card to the woman who took it with a perturbed expression.
"How much would you like today, Mr. Gorbcheisky?" she said after a moment at the computer. The respect was an addition that only served to piss him off further.
"Twenty thousand CCD,"
he replied in a flat tone.
***
Two hours later Tony adjusted the cuffs of his new jacket, a fine piece of tailoring. It was unlike the silky smooth suits of his youth. The black coat was stiff and precise with gold threaded through with fluid accuracy. His family had a crest - the crown of the Tzar's, a foolish attempt at grandiose. He did not use it, but give them the right amount of money, the tailors could work as fast as lightning.
He had created a new crest. Simple, stark and bold. The golden threads wove a pattern of rebirth, fire and passion. The Phoenix was the symbol of the new Tony risen from the ashes of the old Tony Soloyov. Hardened by pain and death, he was made anew, and nothing would stop him from pursuing his goal.
Edited by Tony Soloyov, Sep 3 2013, 07:52 AM.