Chapter 19: CLXXXI-CXC 1/2

Author's Note : Alright, peeps. Update rates are whenever I finish something, so if I write more for RR than I do Pawprints this will end up being updated more than the other fic. The more free-time I have, the more I write. Whichever fandom I'm currently into, dictates which fic gets work done.

I made a bit of a breakthrough with All Your Bases, so that's getting the bulk of the work at the moment.

Please don't ask me how many chapters to each fic, because my planning it will cause it to be exceeded. Don't ask me when I might update, they get new chapters when I finish them. Please.

I do now have fan-art, AndroidSoul made a stab at Sonya's image. It's over on DeviantArt, although you'll have to search for it due to profile links being disabled.

Edited (4/27/2017) - Minor grammar and name corrections.

Edit (3/21/2018) - Final formatting and minor corrections.

Edited (9/7/2018) - Minor corrections.

Russian Roulette : Reloaded

CLXXXI-CXC

CLXXXI (Saturday the 26th of August, 1967. Bologna, Italian Republic.)

Sonya mourned the low level of alcohol in her glass. "Please tell me you are joking."

"Mmm... well, it's mostly all just rumors. So, I can't tell you that." The very chatty bartender she had found informed her cheerfully, absently scrubbing at a whisky glass with a rag to dry the insides out quickly.

The thief was pretty sure he was just going through the motions so to appear busy. It was just them in the bar so far, and she wasn't sure why he was bothering with it.

"But Vongola's parties, they're fairly notorious." He continued as if she wasn't looking a moment away from lunging at the bottles of liquor at his back. "I think it's their Don's birthday bash that is the best, rumor wise. We always love hearing how those go, especially who ends up winning."

...how did one win at a birthday party, exactly?

Furthermore, was she really going to try braving such madness all to see a techy Mist brat she could probably visit just as well on his birthday?

Sonya had a weird little itch when it came to Shamal. She wanted to go check up on him at the very least, ensure he was doing okay after their sudden split-up, and the longer she went without doing so the worst said 'itch' got. Making her think of the kid more and more often, which then made her want to go see him more, and that cycle didn't seem to be short-circuiting any time soon.

Thus, why she was contemplating braving the lion's den just to ensure the brat of a Mist was doing alright... and ensure no one was trying to teach him stupid things.

It was ridiculous, because the hitman that was now in charge of the baby Mist's wellbeing wouldn't allow any kind of upset to happen to him. Not again. Shamal was Renato's now, and the man was a jealous, possessive asshole where his things were concerned.

She had only asked to see his gun once, interested in comparing it to Tatiana's backup weapon she won in Mafia Land years ago. Notably, it both didn't happen and Sonya had never asked again.

As for the stupid-teaching thing... well, the man was Italian. He had some weird expectations for other Flame users.

In fact, she had been mildly surprised to be asked to help with Shamal at all. It was for the best given how that had worked out, but at the time it was mostly curiosity that drove her to accept the slightly altered trade of favors that canceled out half her debt to the hitman.

Well... that curiosity and a wish to be firmly on the man's better side.

"Any reason you're asking, miss?"

"A... friend of mine asked me to go with him to a Vongola party, and I was wondering what he had asked me to." Sonya informed him blandly, sourly wondering when the asshole that asked her to go with him as arm candy thought she had time to shop for evening wear. "Now I'm just wondering if I should go or not."

She was not what one would describe as a people person. She had learned tolerance, forcibly in the past two years, from being Crina's draw girl. If Renato thought she'd do anywhere near decent in the little chit chat part of social gatherings, he was in for a rude surprise.

...and since she was already trying to plan on shopping for a dress and dealing with whatever difficulties came with attending a Vongola Christmas Ball, she should probably resign herself to going.

Sighing heavily, the Russian thief polished off her glass of what the bartender had called a 'Moscow Mule' and let the glass thump back onto the bar. "My thanks for clearing up a bit of my confusion."

"Well now... I didn't peg you as the type to be attending such things."

"They're not really my type of thing, but... he's a fairly good... friend." With a decent bit of luck, Sonya might get a couple questions answered. Probably any questions she'd get answers to would be Vongola orientated, but even that kind of information was still information she could likely use.

If her suspicions on Renato's eventual cursed baby fate held water, and she was more than sure it would be given she knew Skull damn well, then the hitman would probably linger with Vongola for however long it took for the curse to be reversed.

Decimo of Vongola coming to power and getting around to said reversing, however, was still about three to four decades away still.

That was a lot of time to span. Since she knew the man well, it was possible she'd get dragged into some of it.

"I wish you luck then." The bartender cheerily informed her, brightly enough to be a little condescending.

She wondered why he was wishing her luck, and that might have shown on her face because he continued as if she had directly asked him the question.

"There is usually a costume contest at the Halloween Ball, and a snowball fight battle royal at the Christmas one. Competing in them is generally the highlight of each event." He was grinning broadly now, and the thief belatedly caught on to the sly amusement the man had at her fishing for information. "I look forward to hearing how you do."

Sonya's eye twitched, because sure as fuck Renato hadn't mentioned anything like that to her.

"May I ask you something in return, my dear?"

"...sure. But I may not answer." Even if the man had been semi-forthright about the information she wanted.

"Your tattoos, they have a meaning?" The bartender's grin gained a slight edge, which she figured the answer was the 'real' price of the gossip she had managed to get so far.

"The cat means I'm a thief. Nighttime background shows the time of day I usually work." The Russian brushed her fingers over the corresponding parts, then tapped the next few. "Paw prints shows I wander for my work, and the roses... I need to color them in, but they show I am not afraid of killing."

He pursed his lips, taking a long look at her artwork. Which she pulled up the sleeve of her shirt, so he could see more of it. "Thank you, miss. Anything else?"

"No, that about does it for now." She should probably be getting back, before the bar's regulars started wandering in for the midday rush.

Convincing Crina to let her go for a morning hadn't been too hard, not with how badly she managed to unnerve the old bat in the last few weeks.

CLXXXII (Tuesday the 29th of August, 1967. Venice, Italian Republic.)

Cherep was perfectly happy to drag her along with him to go shopping in Venice, mainly for a new motorcycle.

Especially when a certain little letter from Tatiana reached Sonya.

The Sun had sent on the news Dimitry finally found an Inverted Storm, and the very real possibility that their baby sister's Storm Flames were not Classic but Inverted. Judging by what personality traits and ticks the kid was showing that matched up somewhat to what habits the she had, anyways.

It only meant the Storm-Cloud was likely perfection fixated.

Her work in Dying Will Flames research alone showed signs of that, she got frustrated and irritated when she kept running into things that weren't correct or that she had assumed wrongly until she fixed whatever it was in her own collection of information. Rewriting several books worth of information was a sign of obsessiveness, especially since she was striving to keep them all updated as much as humanly possible.

Realizing what drawbacks Clouds suffered when it came to physical fitness then fixing it with almost single-minded intensity was another. Chasing down what other drawbacks might happen with other types had been part of it as well, especially since she would never have much use for that information.

Supposedly, anyways.

It stood to reason that her book hoarding was likely another symptom of that. Maybe even a sign of her mixed nature.

Her territorial-ness over certain people was likely a Cloud thing, somehow.

Sonya appreciated the new tidbit to puzzle over and the news of Lisa's pregnancy going as well as could be expected... however, that tidbit about her Storm Polarization also meant Cherep probably won their little bet.

Which now meant she owed her foster brother a motorcycle. Rather, the funds to purchase one.

He was a bit too happy over that news, but she wasn't really bothered.

A year and a half of working at a communist circus wouldn't have amounted to a lot of money... but she had been mainly living off 'dirty' money she earned on Mafia Land. All the 'allowances' paid out to keep capitalist countries happy they had no major communist influences within their borders added up to a semi-decent amount.

Cherep's expression when she dropped that on his lap had been amusing enough for her to make up for losing that little bet. He wasn't that upset for long with her wiggling out of a few more years of circus work, especially not when with what she had given over.

With that, the price of a semi-decent second-hand motorcycle in cash at the very least, and what he had from his own shows and the sale of scrap metal from his old bike, the stuntman was dead set on getting himself a 1966 Triumph Bonneville. New.

She was trying to get him to delay a bit, because there was some very strident pressure on Great Britain to lower their side of the conversion of currency again, which meant if he held off for another month or two it might get as low as two and a half grand in British pounds instead of a grand over that.

"We would have a better selection to browse anyways, even if it would be within the Iron Curtain." She tempted again to get her brother to hold off spending an exorbitant amount of money he might or might not be able to afford.

It didn't look as if it was working.

"It might be more expensive now," Agreed her fellow Cloud lightly with a shrug, "but it will also be as expensive in time to wait for later. The show must go on, Sonya, and in order to do so...?"

The thief blinked at the back of his head, a little confused. "Why must it go on right away?"

"I might not have had a following of any strength, but I do have one. A reputation, you know... the one you're banking on me hiding certain things behind." The stuntman waved a hand around in the circle, as if trying to pluck the words he wanted out of thin air. "If I wait too long, it will look like I'm scared of getting back on a bike after the stumble earlier in the summer."

"Or that you actually have a sense of caution?" She countered a bit tartly, because... Sonya really didn't like Skull much.

Who the hell called a near-death experience a 'stumble', anyways?

"Exactly. And no one likes cautious stuntmen." Cherep finished with a nod, turning to look at the salesman waiting for him to make up his mind.

He was also a bit nervous, because little sister didn't seem very happy with him at all and that might affect the sale.

"I think this one will do." He informed the man in clumsy Italian, who suddenly looked very delighted even if it had taken the Cloud siblings a couple long hours looking over the different models available.

A Bonneville T120TT was what her foster brother decided on. she didn't understand what the difference between that one and a T120C or T120R model was but was sure he would just adore explaining it to her if she had to know.

"Very good, sir. Ah... you do realize they cost...?"

The stuntman rolled his eyes, then reached for the military surplus canvas bag his sister had been holding onto for him. "About three and a quarter thousand in British pounds, a little over thirty-eight hundred in euros, and almost five million in lira? We'll be paying in euros."

Walking around with a couple million in lira, even if they were in denominations of a thousand or more, had been something the thief had vetoed a little more stridently than was apparently needed. He had just been a little more than dubious over the exchange rates anyways, and he was a fan of a European spanning currency with what traveling he was going to be doing for the rest of his foreseeable life.

Sonya elected not to mention it was the mafia he had to thank for that one.

CLXXXIII (Thursday 31st of August, 1967. Undine, Italian Republic.)

The assumption that Vongola probably operated out of the southern end of Italy seemed to have been borne out, especially since the closer they got to Venice the more the Famiglia was gossiped about. Once past it, the gossip turned more from rumor to actual guesses of Vongola's strength or aims.

It made a bit of sense, historically.

Given that Sonya knew of a Cosa Nostra of another lifetime that spread out from the same general region, she wasn't surprised to learn of it.

What she was more than a little surprised to hear of was how little it seemed Vongola cared about how it was gossiped about even, likely, close to their home territory. Some of it was positive, but just as much if not more wasn't nearly so flattering.

Most of it was about Ottavia Vongola, better known now as Daniela of Vongola since she handed off the reigns of the Famiglia to her son.

The fact the Donna had kept in control of Vongola throughout the Second World War and refused to say just who her son's father was, made her a bit of a hot topic even long after the woman retired from being the Boss Vongola.

Nono of Vongola Timoteo wasn't being spared from the gossip mongers much either. While his mother favored a seemingly straightforward leadership style, at least until she seemed to figure there wasn't much of a way to get what she wanted like that, Nono had went in the opposite direction. He was described as favoring negotiation more than confrontation, at least by what a lone Russian thief had managed to overhear.

Which, again, made a bit of sense. Daniela had to lead through a time of war, so she generally had very straightforward opponents to face. Opponents that all probably underestimated her a little due to her gender. Timoteo had both the post-war economic boom as well as the building recession to maneuver around, so his opponents weren't so forthright.

She tried both Scotch whisky and bourbon whiskey, found she didn't really like either and preferred brandy if no vodka was available, while she gathered that little bit of gossip.

Since it seemed as if her current targets to listen in on were a bit more preoccupied trying to guess who Timoteo's father really was, the thief let her mind wander a bit as she contemplated her brandy glass.

Tyr the Sword Emperor, according to gossip, had been one of Daniela's people before she stepped down as Vongola's Donna. He had been left to her son's command, by appearances alone, as an enforcer if her son's own version of mafia diplomacy ever failed.

From the sounds of it, it had a couple times.

It was already to the point Tyr was more than a bit notorious, and there were the whispers of him taking up a leadership role for an entire squad of assassins.

Sonya assumed that was the Varia... and she now knew why Renato had been so surprised she had identified the Sword Emperor as the head of it.

The title was just shy of a year old. The hitman probably learned when he went to Vongola for help, and a Russian thief somehow knowing that before he could make any kind of mention or word of it to warn her not to piss the man off?

That was... she really needed to start thinking before she spoke. Maybe the man wouldn't ask, but she should probably start trying to think up of an excuse before he got around to trying to prod her sources out of her.

Actually... if Tyr was only recently made the head of an assassination squad...?

When Renato went to Vongola to both report a massive violation in Mafia Land's ruling syndicates and get help to uproot it the master assassin was detailed to assist. That had to mean the 'Varia' wasn't very large at this point of time. Likely, probably only around a handful or two members strong if their boss was taking jobs.

Then why did Timoteo send the man off with the hitman?

That spoke of a severe manpower shortage or a bored assassin, at the very least. The Sword Emperor didn't seem the type to allow boredom to happen to him, or to even care. From what little she knew, Sonya would put her money on a shortage of Mafiosi.

Which still didn't answer the question of why Nono Vongola humored a freelance hitman's request for a hasty reordering of the powers in charge of Mafia Land. It all happened within a month, from the point when Renato left the island with Shamal to her returning to it from China.

Said thief was still appreciative she didn't have to find out for sure what had been planned for her, but the entire reasoning behind the help was starting to baffle her.

If Vongola was suffering from a shortage of manpower, a show of strength or three would've been needed to keep anyone from thinking they could challenge its supremacy. The Second World War, in which it seemed as if Daniela had been a major player in keeping Italy from being subsumed by the Axis Powers and the rapid expansion of industry of the Italian Economic Miracle, had to have put a strain on Nono's available men.

Even if they were only trying to cover their expanding territory when the cities and towns developed more to handle the growing population, it would probably outstrip the available Mafiosi from the previous generation. Only around the next five years would the first of the post-war baby boom be of an age to pitch in, which left not just Vongola but several syndicates in various countries strapped for just men.

That was probably the 'why' behind Renato gaining the help he needed to prevent Sonya from venturing into probably lethal confrontations with Mafia Land's ruling syndicates.

A show of power, a reminder of what was and wasn't allowed in the free-floating haven to the underworld at large, and a showing of exactly how well connected Vongola was. Stripping themselves of the bulk of the CEDEF to replace the syndicate formerly in charge of Mafia Land's security was probably a cost Nono decided he could afford.

She eventually decided the hitman had some weirdly bipolar luck.

Lost most of his contacts, ended up a temp-Don and gained a kid. Had to entreat another more notorious Famiglia to help him protect said kid, was in just the right spot in the right time for said Famiglia to help him.

...almost like those radio dramas Crina liked to listen to when they were close enough to Romania to do so. Even the soap operas she could vaguely recall as Rachel.

CLXXXIV (Friday the 8th of September, 1967. Belgrade, Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.)

Instead of heading north to copy the route they took back to Moscow last year, the Groβes Volksfest headed for the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia.

Sonya was at least thankful they weren't going to go through Germany, either one, again. It might have been getting better, the West more than the East, but she still had mixed feelings about the entirety of Germany and its people.

Crossing a border into the Iron Curtain so far south was a new experience, and the Russian thief finally found a way into the Soviet Union she wouldn't mind taking it slow through again.

Although, she was somewhat sure a country named Yugoslavia hadn't existed at the time of Rachel's death... or wouldn't exist. Maybe it would be renamed?

It was a thought that distracted her from really appreciating a satellite state of the Soviet Union so well managed it was a popular country to visit, because it was also the point in which she realized what she had been doing had some drawbacks as well.

Ignoring Rachel's lifetime of slightly skewed history, that is.

She didn't recall how history had been supposed to go anymore outside the main points.

Which was both a good thing and a bad one.

On one side, she could learn the relevant history of this lifetime without recalling a different one's slightly altered reality instead. The Russian would also no longer have a worry of spilling state secrets a decade or two before they became common knowledge, and therefore making a big target of herself.

Flipside of that coin was recognizing something was a little off but being unable to tell what.

Sonya would no longer be able to plot out how things were likely to go and evade the worst of it.

She knew the highlights. 1989 would be when the Berlin Wall was to fall, a few short years after that the Soviet Union would follow, she would probably want to avoid the north-eastern part of the Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic until the scientists declared it safe, avoid Cuba and Vietnam entirely until a decade or so after the conflicts there were done, and maybe abstain from visiting New York at the turn of the millennium.

Silicon Valley was something to invest in. Google, AOL, and YouTube as well. The emergence of bigger brand-names from Rachel's lifetime should be watched for.

Sometime within that, she might want to find out if there would be a Rachel Victoria Stokes in this existence or not. If so, then what the hell she wanted to do about it.

Puzzling over it for a few good days merely gave her a headache, so Sonya decided that since she failed to take notes the loss of valuable information on possibilities was her own damn fault.

Not that taking notes in such a massively multilingual neighborhood would've stayed secure. Someone would've known English, even if Lisa didn't know it, so note-taking on another life's history had never really been an option.

All she could really do was hit the history books she had been collecting for years as soon as she could keep one with her without worrying about weather-related damage or it being on some country's banned list. Which she would do the moment her Mafia Land issues were handled, and she had a little amount of time before she had to check in with the Zolotovs and Dmitriy to see if they had anything major for her or if she could go free-lance for a few more years.

Sonya absently sidestepped Cherep, who had tried to throw an arm across her shoulders. "What?"

"You're not doing whatever it is you normally do." He informed her briskly, grabbing her coat from the pile of cloth in one corner of Crina's newly set up tent. "You're coming with me before I go back to stunt work, and we're going to go sightsee or people watch or just get ourselves lost."

She stared at him hard, trying to figure out if he was being obtuse over what she usually did or not. "...why?"

"Because you're probably going to dive right back into that 'world under', as Master Liam labeled it." The stuntman flashed her a grin, tossing her coat over her head cheekily. "So, I'm building up Sonya-time before you abandon me here."

"I am not going to-"

"Yeah, yeah. You'll visit, right?" Her fellow Cloud sounded entirely unrepentant as she pulled her head free of the heavy wool, and from the look on his face he was feeling something similar even with her glaring at him. "Still, I've got what? Three months? Maybe less? Of you here and not being sneaky and elsewhere. We're going to put it to some use."

The thief huffed but did pull on her coat. "It is not as if you will never see me again."

"But not every day. Or whenever I want."

"Well... no."

Sonya had to give him that. With the new spat of Dying Will Flame users Dmitriy was handling and her own thief-reputation to build up, she'd be rather solidly occupied with Soviet Russia for probably a few good months when not working for Mafia Land or anyone else.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his grime and oil stained 'work jeans', Cherep quirked a wry little smirk for her. "So, just like old times. We'll go gawp at the scenery, get ourselves a little lost, and maybe buy something local for dinner. You speak a native dialect, right?"

Comparing that to the option of going to sneak a bit of local gossip from stingy bartenders, who were probably on the lookout for any Soviet Union government agents trying the same thing with more dire consequences for what they learned, it didn't sound half bad.

They would only be in this part of the Soviet Union for about a week, anyways.

"I am not sure if Romanian counts as 'native'."

"It'll be a learning experience."

"...fine."

CLXXXV (Friday the 15th of September, 1967. Budapest, Hungarian People's Republic.)

It wasn't until they were mostly set up in Budapest, in the Hungarian People's Republic, that Sonya remembered.

Italy had been pretty much a non-entity when it came to World War Two. The Mafia Wars had consumed the country from the inside out, preventing anything communist from gaining a hold on them and the rise of Fascist Italy. Nothing really gained a hold on them, but nothing went out of it either.

It seemed stable now, more than she would've guessed since the underworld did affect the civilian side of the world without a major break in Omertà. If that was Vongola's efforts in bridging a gap to control the excess of violence or what was still questionable.

However, that did mean that anything Rachel would've known from World War Two was mostly defunct when it came to Italy or the countries nearby. The Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia and the Hungarian People's Republic were probably two such countries that might have had dealings with a Fascist Italy in one reality.

Which didn't in this life.

Her spotty education in this world's history was woefully inept for the purpose of answering 'then what happened' question. She had the idea to ask Crina, as probably someone that knew a hell of a lot more than she did about the subject. She had claimed to have lived through two world wars, so it was a safe bet.

The Russian asked during a short break the two of them took after setting up the actual tent they'd be entertaining customers within, but before they got around to decorating the two-man canvas enclosure for either them to live out of for a few days or for the gypsy to tell fortunes out of.

Which, judging by how white Crina blanched, had been a very bad idea.

"You don't have to answer." The thief hastened to tack onto her question in the old bat's native Romanian, feeling incredibly awkward and a little sorry for bringing the subject up. "It was just a wonder."

"Stop cringing, girl." The older woman snapped, almost under her breath as she regained a bit of color. "I wasn't expecting a question like that out of you, took me by surprise."

What was with people and lying to her face about what they felt?

She didn't understand it or knew of a way to call Crina out about lying to her, so she remained silent about the blatant mistruth.

She could counter the other one, though. "Why does everyone seem to think I'm some unfeeling, human-looking robot? I can feel sorry for upsetting you, you're pretty awesome for an old crone."

"Thanks... I think." Crina muttered with more heat, but the banter did put a bit healthier color into her skin.

Whether it was just simply a needed distraction or real amusement that did it was beyond the Russian. The results were fine enough for now, so she concentrated on the other issue.

The one that made the old gypsy look as if someone had stabbed her in the chest without warning.

"You really don't have to answer, I can find out some other way."

Crina snorted softly, casting a quick glance to the pallet Sonya slept on and usually had her liquor stashed nearby. "Didn't your history classes cover it in all its gory glory?"

"Err... Crina? My education was a bit more... targeted than that. History wasn't exactly what you could call a core class."

It was as close as Sonya would come to admitting the mafia of her homeland had homeschooled her, and it wasn't for something as small as a degree in world history. Her ability to steal the contents of someone's pocket was of more value than her understanding of historic events she could learn on her own time.

A sour look passed over the native Romanian's face, which was the first little hint the Russian had ever seen of her personal history bothering the gypsy woman. "Fair enough. What, exactly, did you want to know?"

"Just the basics of what happened in this region, for a general understanding." She would look up the rest herself, if only to not unduly bother her master in mysticism.

Going nearly grey in shock wasn't a good look for the nearly sixty or seventy something old woman.