2/2

She had always been able to do pretty much the same things always, ever since getting a grip on her Cloud Flame born strength. Sonya's Storm Flames might have, but they had seen more use… didn't they?

Well… wouldn't her strength be a continuous use of Cloud Flames as well?

She abused the fuck out of that, all Clouds did.

Sonya knew she wasn't getting any 'stronger', no matter how much she used or didn't use her inner Flames, she was getting… "I have a lighter touch with Flames, I think. I don't use more than I have to anymore."

That was, apparently, news to the other two Flame users.

"Explain that." Galina demanded, straightening herself upright and waving Bjǫrn off when he tried to follow her movements to finish bandaging her left pinky.

The thief gave her a mildly reproving look, because damn it all the teen was her Lackey and he wasn't going to be mistreated for shit. "Storm Flames, and even Cloud Flames if I must be honest, overwhelm. It's pretty much how they work. I want something either bigger or made again, I either pour the Cloud Flames I need into something to make it grow or pool my Flames into a similar shape right next to what I want duplicated. Storm Flames? Just obliterate, I had to actually learn that soft touch just to stop destroying everything it brushed against."

The Lightning frowned as she absorbed that bit of news. "Well… if constant use doesn't make us stronger, that what would?"

Willpower, probably. It had to be called Dying Will Flames for a reason, right?

Sonya posed that to the Rain and the Lightning, but that avenue of discussion eventually petered out without any of them having something new to add.

(Friday the 7th of June, 1968. Mafia Land.)

Sonya returned to Mafia Land at the start of summer with two new stones, one of which didn't match the color of her Flames at all.

Galina had taken her theory on industrial stones possibly reacting differently than jewel quality ones and ran with it, using the bulk of the diamonds and other jewels they now had in excess to hawk. Mostly to pay off the clan's 'fees' for hiring a thief for stealing the gems for them in the first place, but also in order to buy up a few testing lots of semi-precious and industrial stones.

Much to their exasperation, there were an uncountable number of those compared to jewelry grade ones.

No, industrial sapphires didn't really act much different than jewel sapphires. They just crumbled into dust faster. They also weren't as… stable.

Which was saying something.

A bit of green feldspar called Amazonite, which got her the clearest results for her Cloud Flames, and a piece of Cinnamon Stone garnet, for her Storm. One was a semi-precious rock, the other a gem.

She was going to send Galina her geology books, to see if the Lightning could narrow down the 'why' to any physical property of the rocks giving different results. There had to be some kind of difference between the various bits of garnet for her to get wildly different results from two different pieces.

A garnet would actually match the red stones of a Storm Ring, at least. However, there were apparently at least two different types of garnet that gave similarly different results. Possibly more.

The Russian showed Bjǫrn Tatiana's still empty apartment, promising to take the teen shopping for the bits of things he'd need to live there for a year or two later and left him to make plans for the next few hours.

Instead of anything else she really should've been doing, Sonya wandered over to the café she met up with a certain hitman at. It was mid-summer, it was freaking hot, and all she really wanted was an hour or two of non-exploding-gem risking sitting time.

She really had to rethink these bracers, leather in hot weather didn't equal comfortable wrists.

He greeted her with four little words. "You forgot Shamal's birthday."

"I did not…" …yeah, yeah, she did. Pursing her lips, and feeling incredibly sheepish, she glared at the smirking hitman. "…what does he want?"

"Really? Sonya, you bitched at me about not forgetting the damn date last year." Renato huffed at her, cradling his espresso between his long fingers and still smirking up a storm. "And you are the one that forgets?"

"I, Renato, am more like his damn aunt. I can forget and send really expensive presents as a way to make it up." She returned shortly, slumping down into her usual chair with a sigh. "Now, what the fuck does Shamal want for his slightly late birthday present?"

"Slightly late? It's June."

Shamal's birthday was at the end of February, meaning she had missed it by a couple months.

Quarter of a year, actually. "I was busy, and in Spain, for his birthday."

"Excuses, excuses." The hitman dismissed with a prissy sniff, folding the newspaper he had been reading into quarters and setting it on the table. "You're not the one Shamal pouts at."

Sonya glared at him again, moodily wondering what she could get tetchy Mist brat that would give the asshole a migraine to deal with.

"He wants you to visit."

"I was just there!"

He rolled his eyes at her. "He's five, it's not like he has any great grasp on time constraints or needing to work just yet. Shamal would like you to visit him, it's all he said when I asked him what he wanted."

Sighing, she cradled her forehead in her hands and winced as her right protested. "Aw… hell's fire. Really?"

"Yes… Sonya, what did you do to your hand?"

"I burned a hole through it." And then tried to Propagate a fix over it, she really wouldn't recommend anyone else try it. "Think you can heal it? I would ask Tatiana, but she's working right now."

"Then you should've gone to the damn hospital to get it fixed. Give it here." The Sun gingerly sized her reluctantly extended wrist, inspecting the lavender Flames that could be seen through the cracks of her little patch-job when she so much as flexed the area. "…what the hell is this?"

"Cloud Flame skin, it is not what I would suggest relying on if one had to." Sonya willed it to fade, or more to the point stopped willing her Flames to cover the injury, wincing when the inner part of her hand stung viciously when exposed to the salty sea air.

The Propagated flesh had a bad habit of winking out of existence on her, when she got distracted or slept or even occasionally when she was trying to remember there was a hole in her hand. Sometimes she didn't notice until it started pouring blood on everything. It made her respect the hell out of whatever Cherep was doing to himself with his own Cloud Flames, especially since she sucked so badly at trying to copy him.

"There is a hole, in your hand."

"Yes, I said that."

"Sonya, it's about a teaspoon worth of flesh missing hole."

"I burned it, I said that too."

Renato shot her a dark look for that, pressing a finger to either side of the gaping wound in her palm.

"This is what happens when you try to use sapphires at our level." Sonya informed him blandly, trying not to let her hand twitch under the Sun Flames pouring into her injury. Itchy. "I do not recommend it."

His dark eyes fell to the slowly closing gap in her palm, inspecting the rate it was closing off closely. "Noted. Was that what had you so distracted you missed baby Mist's birthday?"

"Something like that. We needed more stones for empirical testing purposes as well as the usual reasons. We're trying to find something that would give a uniform response for each Flame type." The thief commented tiredly, thinking back to the five in a row heists she did from Spain to France to Switzerland. Thankfully she only had to do those five, ten probably would've burned her out or something. "And since I am the jewel thief…?"

"Shamal will be thrilled to learn he takes second place to sparkly rocks."

…that sounded like blackmail. She shot him a suspicious look, and indeed the Italian was smirking at her again as he let go of her newly healed hand.

"Next year, don't make me late for his birthday too." He informed her, plucking his espresso cup back up.

The Russian flexed her right hand, feeling the difference between Propagated flesh cover and actual Activation healed skin, scowling. "…give me a month to get two contracts for Mafia Land over with, then I will go see Shamal."

Bjǫrn could probably use the time to settle in and learn his way around a bit before starting in on managing her Mafia Land business. The bits he could handle as her Lackey, anyways.

"Be prepared to deal with pouty little Mist brat, then."

(Saturday the 8th of June, 1968. Mafia Land.)

There was a bazaar in Mafia Land that was, quite frankly, bizarre.

All those random things thieves hid their smuggling within had to be sold somewhere, and if it wasn't sold off again in bulk to the civilian sector immediately when it reached the island or used by the island's maintenance workers and staff, it was sold in the open-air markets.

Sonya was pretty sure all of it wasn't the results of only just the thieves of Mafia Land, because the bloodstains on a couple items didn't look like they came from any thief. Did the hitmen and assassins use the same service for their own work?

What for, grisly trophies?

Proof of kill?

Actually, the latter sounded more likely. Especially in their lives, with how suspicious and backstabbing a great number of them could be.

…eww.

Aside materials needed for questionable smuggling reasons, this was also the dumping grounds for anything the fences needed rid of to make room or for the island's various services to sell off unneeded or old supplies. Everything was basically on sale all the time and, as long as you could ignored the questionable bloodstains that would never come out or the occasional knife or bullet hole, a decent place to find anything you might need ever.

"Right. I would suggest you be very wary, and clean the fuck out of, anything you get here." She informed Bjǫrn, digging out her Mafia Land charge card from her jeans back pocket and handing it over to her Lackey. "I highly doubt you could reach the end of my credit in any possible way, so get what you know you need no matter what it ends up being."

She had actually exceeded the max amount allowed of business credit in as little as three months, or so the woman who confronted her in the Thieves' Hall informed her. The island had chipped off an extra twenty percent off the top, before their fees were taken off of course, but she got most of what went over back. Now she had a shiny new bank account as well as maxed out credit with the island, the account which she intended to split in half at least the next time she got to Switzerland.

Keeping a bank account on an island full of criminals just seemed… ill-advised. A Swiss account sounded so much better.

He accepted the card curiously, likely never having seen one before.

It was basically a forerunner to the credit card, but American Express didn't exactly have a branch office in Mafia Land. It was also made out of metal, painted over to be mostly white with raised black lettering.

"The merchants will make an imprint of that on a sheet of paper, then you need to sign it with the name you're registered as my Lackey under. You don't want to know what would happen if you tried to sign the receipt any other way."

Sonya would get the bill at the end of the month and pay it off then, but this at least prevented them from being mugging targets.

"Additionally," she continued before the kid realized she had basically given him a small fortune to spend on his temporary apartment, "that is yours to hold onto. I prefer to pay in cash, but I can actually make anyone attempting to mug me regret it greatly. With that, you can buy anything you might need or want here without walking around with a thieves' target on your back, but I will be looking over what it is you're buying every month. Ensure you can justify it if you spend it."

The Icelandic teenager looked like he couldn't decide between being scared of the card, scared of her, or excited over the fact she had basically given him free-reign to live how he liked on her dime. Within reason.

He did, eventually, start wandering away to see what was available, so Sonya found herself a bench nearby and lit up a new cigarette.

Bjǫrn would either be an impulse spender or an extremely frugal kid, according to Lisa. Since the thief did now have the money to blow, they'd see what kind of marks his life on the streets had left him. She could afford it, and then she'd know to either put strict limits on her credit line or if she wouldn't have to worry about the kid living on an island full of shady swindlers and other criminal types.

She had her money on him being frugal, if only because debts had been how the teen's father ended up under the thumb of a local faction of the mafia. It wasn't exactly a certain thing, hence why she just gave him a large amount of money to go spend.

She spent most of the time she was waiting people watching, even if that was a risky kind of thing to try in Mafia Land. Sonya wouldn't be needed as muscle, the merchants had ways of ensuring deliveries reached where they had to go… especially if that address was on the island.

In the end, it turned out she and her foster mother were half right.

The teen was frugal with her money, but everything he had scraped together from either living in Moscow or from tagging along after her had been spent when he found something he wanted.

That couch needed a deep bleaching session and might change colors to eventually be less of an eyesore, but who the fuck was GoldStar?

It was obviously a company that made color television sets, which the Icelander had blown most if not all his personal money getting for himself.

TV, great. It was a very nice set, she supposed. Clunky and blurry and entirely a piece of technology of this particular era.

When did she turn into such an electronics snob?

She barely used anything like them anymore.

While Sonya was dubiously staring at the, powered off, television set, Bjǫrn had finished shoving the rest of the random things he bought into their approximate spots. "Dama Sonya? We would normally turn that on before staring at it."

Her Lackey was becoming a smart-ass. The Russian thief was now sure it had been her that rubbed off on Cherep, and now this teen.

"Tomorrow, eight in the morning, I'm taking you into the Thieves' Hall. I'm picking out the next couple contracts, and you'll watch me do it, so eventually you can line things up for me while I'm gone."

She also needed a check-up, too. At least she managed to get her damn haircut, in Paris.

Why was it called a bob?

A little too short for her liking, but it would grow out again.

"Is that what I am to do for you, then? Mainly?"

"Yeah. I would prefer it if you could slot things in a row to hit either on my way out or back. Oh, but leave the weeks before and after, as well as the week of, Christmas free for the foreseeable future. And," because she didn't intend to forget ever again, "the last week of February and the first week of March."

Sonya would probably get an ear-full from Tatiana if she nixed going back to Moscow for Christmas and for Valerian's birthday. Also, Renato bitching at her for forgetting Shamal's birthday should never happen again.

Ever, thank you very much.

Bjǫrn dove for his notebook, hastily scribbling down something. Either her orders or ideas, whichever.

"If you can find related mafia gossip or news about whichever area I am to be stealing from as well, I would greatly appreciate it."

The teen gave a few nods, still scribbling down what he wanted. "Um… Dama? Anything else I should know of before starting?"

"Avoid China for the time being, I don't want to go back there. Italy too, I know the people likely in charge all over there and don't intend to piss them off. And… avoid most if not all of the Middle-East. Muslims are… just no. Religious police are a headache I don't want to deal with."

She would have to dress up as a male again, which… she wasn't entirely sure she could do without major padding to mask her curves or bumps. Major padding in a desert was just way too hot to contemplate.

"Anything else we'll have to see about in the near or far future. Any more questions?"

The gangly blond teen looked contemplative, then gave a slow nod. "When you're not here, and I have time of my own?"

"I don't care what you do. You can literally go anywhere in the world from here, see anything you might ever want to gape at, and probably get yourself killed doing anything too stupid." Sonya admitted with a shrug. "As long as every year until you're eighteen you go into the hospital for a check-up, you don't overrun whatever little vacation and make me wait more than a week or two, and don't spend all my money, you can do whatever you want."

"Really?"

"I will eventually find out what you're up to. I handle the bills, kid. Either get shameless or be smart about it, because I will know."

Having put a damper on any wild kiddy-plans to tour the world, the thief made for her Lackey's front door.

"I… am going to the hospital for my own check-up. You have the rest of the day to yourself. If I'm not at the hospital, you'll find me at the condo we spent last night in."

"Have a good day, Dama."

She flicked a wrist in a farewell, musing on if she could get Tatiana to give her the physical she needed or not.

She counted, right?

Tats was a nurse.

(ooo000ooo)

(Saturday the 8th of June, 1968 continued. Saint Julian's Hospital, Mafia Land.)

Sonya didn't really like hospitals.

They smelled, for one. No matter how much bleach or ammonia was used, it still smelled sickly and had the faint tinge of blood and bile lingering around. Fluorescent lighting was irritating too, they sometimes buzzed in her hearing and flickered annoyingly when they needed to be changed.

Bland color schemes, very few things to look at, shiny tiles with dull walls and weird fake ceiling foam tiles made it all very depressing.

The thief had known all that from spending time in Mafia Land's hospital when Lisa was pregnant with little Valerian, this time around she found more things to hate.

She didn't really like the doctors and their touching. Getting poked and prodded with needles was fine, blood-pressure measuring cuffs were irritating. Stethoscopes, when used properly for their original intended use, were cold. Those ear and nose lights were odd, as well as the fact she had to be blinded in both eyes by a pen light.

The reflexology test was just stupid, however. "Look, you really do not want to do that."

The doctor's little examination room was cramped, the likelihood of her kicking something through a wall or two was high.

"Miss Bazanova, it is required." The hooked nosed doctor insisted shortly, waving his little ax of rubber around as if that could magically change her mind about it. "I must test your reflexes, and this is how it is done. Stop controlling your involuntary reflexes."

Sonya merely glared at the ass, having already said her piece.

"Doctor Kappel, I think you shouldn't-"

At least she knew German too, having learned it with Tatiana herself.

"Nurse, enough. We are not going to reward difficult behavior from any patient." He snapped at the thief's foster sister, even more irritable than he had snapped at her. "Now, Miss Bazanova, let us try that again."

Doctor asshole bent gingerly, then tapped Sonya's right knee just above the kneecap.

The thief kicked his counter, which sat across from her, smashing it through the wall and into the next little office room. A broken brick teetered precariously before it tipped just a tiny bit too much and joined the rest of the broken masonry that made the two examination rooms a bit less than sterile.

"…yes. Well. I see." Clearing his throat uneasily and tucking away that little rubber ax into a lab coat pocket, he refused to meet her eyes. "Excuse me a moment, nurse, Miss Bazanova. I must see the maintenance workers for a nonce."

Tatiana held it in until the man left the room and sharply shut the door to the little physical office behind him. She burst into giggles, trying to smother them with one hand ineffectually. "You did that on purpose."

"Maybe." The thief admitted in Russian, looking at her now bruised and swelling toes. That really hurt, but strangely not as much as Propagating her own hand had. "Tats? I think I broke my foot."

Bouncing over to the doctor's rolling chair, the nurse lifted her little sister's foot into her lap to lavish it in Sun Flames. "You probably shouldn't have done that, but thanks. I needed a laugh."

"Is he always as much of an asshole as he seems?" Sonya asked, idly watching plaster and another brick fall out of the hole she made in the wall and impact the little pile of rubble on the floor with a puff of grey and red dust. "Because I probably would've either killed him by now or broken a fair few more bones. Preferably his."

"Doctor Kappel is a bit of a self-important asshole, sure. But he really knows his stuff, instead of merely assuming he knows it. Kind of strict, and he's right about how you went about refusing to do a test. You really should've told him you were likely to break the walls in it instead of just refusing." Tatiana shrugged the questionable nature of her assigned doctor off, tugging each of the thief's toes and pressing against the ball of her foot to ensure she got all the breaks. "He learned his stuff through most of World War Two, he defected from the Nazis and joined the Allies in the war. But, since he started out as a Nazi doctor, and defected? No one else would hire him once the war was over."

"You sound kind of…" Gushy. Was this another crush?

Like Dmitriy and Nicolai?

"He's also one of the fair few doctors that doesn't think I'm here as eye candy at best and an occasional extra hand at worse." She admitted, only a bit sourly. "So, I'd rather keep this doctor, if you don't mind."

"No brutalizing or scaring Doctor Kappel. Got it."

"I'm delighted to hear it, ladies." Said doctor announced through the hole in the wall, in perfect St. Petersburg accented Russian. "May we then finish Miss Bazanov's physical? Without further structural damage to the hospital?"

Right, the other door had been open. He probably heard all of that.

Tatiana coughed sheepishly, likely embarrassed to be caught gossiping with her sister about the man himself.

Sonya merely shrugged. "We have the room now for reflex testing, so sure. Why not?"

Kappel didn't look at all amused at her flippant comment, peering over those half-moon spectacles she wasn't even sure he needed to see with.

"Sonya, Miss Bazanova," The elder sister corrected herself, clearing her throat under the man's still unamused look for the informal mode of address, "is what is referred to as a Classical Cloud user of Dying Will Flames, doctor. Extreme physical strength, an unfortunate habit of not relying on their musculature, and a very ornery outlook in regard to orders she doesn't agree with or are given by those she doesn't respect. Mainly, anyways."

The German doctor looked a bit more interested than irritated or annoyed now. "Another one? I had heard Flame users were rare, yet it seems as if more and more of you are showing up every day."

"Surprise." The thief shrugged unhelpfully again, having thought the same thing ever since the Vongola Christmas Ball.

Maybe it had just been because Soviet Russia's underworld was a bit isolated?

Well… Lisa had said there had been a dip in reported users, hadn't she?

Then there would likely be a pick-up in Flame users appearing, too. Urg, she should probably have a plan for that, or pass it on to the Rain back in Moscow to give him a bit of a head's up.

"Right, well then." Doctor Kappel took a few ginger steps over the pile of destruction the younger Russian had wrought on his office, ducking the upper lip of the damage and taking up the spot the redhead had been in only moments before he started to move. "Again, then. Without the kicking of holes in walls, if you please."

…she was coming to hate that little rubber ax.

She was proven right. Her reflex test would've ended with the hole in the wall anyways.

Kappel's fascinated look at the flick of lavender Cloud Flames his light hit caused down her calf probably didn't mean anything good for her, on the other hand.

Tatiana sold Sonya out shamelessly, informing the former Nazi doctor that the thief was the one to clue in on possible drawbacks a Flame user might encounter. For the younger Russian herself, she just really wanted her pants back before getting drawn into any discussions that didn't need to be made while she was in a hospital gown.

"I would like to be your main physician, if I may." Kappel informed her at the end of her check-up, noting down a clean bill of health for her medical records. Both the one the hospital maintained and the doctored up 'civilian' version. "I think someone should probably document the health impacts these 'Flame' things cause. And, as your physician, you will not encounter the same issue twice. I can be taught, unlike some of my contemporaries."

"There are seven types of Dying Will Flames of the Sky." With possibly weird mixes of one or two or more that would cause different issues if it did at all. "I have three; Cloud, Storm, and Sun. Mostly Cloud, can use Storm Flames, and never gotten the hang of Sun."

"Understood. Your answer, Miss Bazanova?"

"He is a really good doctor, Sonya." Tatiana chipped in, as if she hadn't sold her sister out just minutes before. "You might end up with someone worse next time."

Shrugging, the thief buttoned her jeans under her flimsy hospital gown then stripped the paper clothing off. "Fine."

"Sonya! Put a shirt on, or at least a bra!"

"He's a doctor, he's seen it all before Tats. I don't think I've got anything he hasn't seen yet."

"Not the point!"

(Monday the 24th of June, 1968. Mafia Land.)

There had been a reason why Sonya hadn't really contemplated living on Mafia Land before Tatiana suggested getting an apartment together.

Occasionally, once or twice a year or so at the least but upwards of every other month sometimes, the island of criminals was invaded.

Cue various amounts of destruction, hyped up criminal types, and delays all over the place.

After so many years ducking in and out during the winter months, or just not being here for it, the Russian had forgotten about it. Forgotten how annoying it was, how destructive it could be, and the general way most of her fellow mafia members tended to respond to it.

She was not entirely amused to be stuck in the dockyards for this next round of idiots trying to take over the island. Especially since they decided to attack by boat. Right after she disembarked from her transportation, which was also a boat.

She was very, very not amused to be nearly hit with a bullet either as she walked into the site of the latest idiot flavor of the month attempting a hostile takeover.

Sliding her gaze from the bullet hole next to her head in the beige painted concrete wall to the idiot that decided to try intimidating her, the thief cocked her head. "Is that it?"

"Look, lady. I ain't sure how they do it where you're from," slick and greasy informed her haughtily, "but where we're from? Dames usually hit the deck when the bullets start flying."

That was… no one talked like that anymore, right?

What was he, an import American but not a native?

Trying to impersonate Elvis or something?

Sonya was not remotely impressed with the man, the outfit he was with, or the fact they had come from her old birth country. She tossed her paperwork on the ground, dropping her purse on top of it to ensure it would still be there when she got back.

Then she turned, planting her hands on her hips and considered the ass thoughtfully. "So… are you... what? Some kind of impersonator? That's a very… bad, Bronx accent."

He might've been trying to sound like he was from Chicago, actually. Badly, but… maybe she was just unused to American accents now?

Slick and greasy developed a tick over one eye, and he took a deep breath and smoothed one hand over his greased hair. Flicking oil off his hand, he re-cocked his gun and leveled in squarely at her chest. "Ain't telling you again, lady. Get on the ground or feed the fishes."

"Cute…" There was no way in hell he was actually prepared to deal with a Flame user, she bullshitted with Propagated speed and slammed the hammer end of her suddenly full-sized Bec de Corbin into that gun before he could aim right.

It fired once, while shattering under the force of her blow. The bullet hit the wall behind the Russian while slick and greasy's hand pretty much splattered all over the floor.

"Where I am from, sugar, threatening someone invites reprisal." She informed him calmly as he clutched at the ruin of his right wrist to try and stop the blood spurting out, her fingers itching for her smokes but unwilling to actually turn her back to these idiots to fetch them. "And since you did threaten me, I own your damn fingers. Payment is due, jackass."

She flicked her, likely glowing purple, eyes to the other gawkers. Half of who looked to be slick 'n greasy and missing his hand's close and personal buddies.

They had probably been left behind to secure either their way into the island or their hasty exit plan. The bulk of whatever fighters they had with them were probably already trying to work their way into the island.

"Who else wants some?"

The best they were armed with, now with the gun in shattered fragments?

Switchblades, a baseball bat, and a few pairs of brass knuckles.

Against her warhammer?

Sonya was almost disappointed, really.

What were they, the dregs off New York City's streets?

A bullet almost impacting her left calf attracted the Russian's attention to the fact these younger brats hadn't been left without a babysitter or two. Mister Babysitter was still a shoddy shot, his hand was shaking way too much to actually get a bead on her even standing still.

She easily evaded the first shot, almost avoided the second, and drove a double-handed swing of her hammer end into his stomach.

…whoops. She didn't mean to break the man's spine. Tats could heal that, maybe.

Lightly kicking the broken man, just to see if he was alive or not, netted her a pained sounding inhale-gasp thing. With a shrug, he was alive and that was all she really cared about, Sonya stomped down on the second gun to render it into non-use as well.

It was really bad for her boots, though, so she only did it once to flatten the barrel.

Absently rubbing at the fresh, bleeding nick across her right shoulder, the thief turned back to the really young criminal babies guarding a boat. "Anyone else, gentlemen?"

(ooo000ooo)

(Monday the 24th of June, 1968 continued. Mafia Land.)

Bjǫrn marked down a few more lines of reminders in his notebook, while he wandered to find his patron's sister.

'Check the hospital or nearby eateries', he had been told. If he needed help, the nurse was a better bet than trying to gain aid from the Zolotov vory that were on the island or the related people with them.

It was around lunchtime, the Icelandic teenager found Tatiana Primakova at a strangely set up salad bar restaurant. It wasn't French, it actually looked American in style.

She looked highly amused at the little jewel Sonya had left with him and told to try out while she went to complete a contract she picked up.

Bjǫrn hadn't quite understood, until it started to sparkle with lights that didn't come from the sun or lamps around him. With his patron gone off on business, the only one that might know what she wanted him to do with it was her sister.

"Lightning Storm, hmm?" The red headed nurse commented idly. "Sonya was betting more Lightning than Storm, but she had also bet Rain would be more apparent too."

"Is… that good?" Was not being a Rain cause for concern?

"You are what you are." Tatiana offered unhelpfully, flicking a hand to dismiss the issue. "Sonya will be pleased to know the white sapphires do work to identify new or possible users."

That did not help him very much, other than at least knowing he had succeeded with what his boss had wanted from him. She was a very difficult person to please, and if he wanted his quality of life to continue improving he probably should ensure the Russian was pleased with him.

This island of criminals proving to be better to live in than the streets of Finland was probably very ironic but really, he was just thankful for that. It was even better than Russia, in that he was no longer the outsider but one of many Lackeys doing their patron's errands.

"You'll crack it if you keep doing that." Tatiana pointed out, her leafy fork jabbing in the direction of the mostly clear but naturally tinted blue stone in his fist.

Bjǫrn almost dropped it, but the nurse snatched it out of the air with a quick snap of her hand. Showing the speed and skill she had as a thief of the Zolotovs, even if she was not one any longer.

The white, slightly blue, jewel suddenly threw off a bright yellow light… and developed a crack down one side even as he watched.

"See? Oh, don't worry. I'll tell Sonya I cracked it." The nurse reassured him, tossing it to the table and picking up the fork she had dropped to snatch the jewel from the air. "You'll break a lot of gems in the near future. We all have. Sonya still pops spinel ones all the damn time when she feels like being threatening, I had to stop using mine for healing because that was getting expensive even if I can heal more with one."

"Ah…" Well… as long as Sonya wouldn't be too irritated with him, he didn't mind.

"Sonya will sit you down and tell you all the risks and benefits for continuing with this," Tatiana nudged the now cracked stone sitting innocently on the table, "but for right now… when was your last check-up, Bjǫrn?"

"Last year…?"

"So, you need a new one done." She continued, inspecting him closely. "Well… Doctor Kappel did wonder what the difference is before and after a Flame user becomes active. He'll be delighted to have a subject to study."

What?

"Come on! Let's go to the hospital!" Tatiana gleefully abandoned her lunch, sized him around the bicep with one hand and snagged Sonya's stone with her other.

…at least he had his boss' charge card on him still. Hospitals were expensive… but she had told him to get a yearly check-up, so hopefully she wouldn't mind the cost.

A siren went off, startling the Icelander and making him walk right into the nurse's back when she slammed to a halt just before reaching the restaurant's doors.

"Bjǫrn, when was Sonya due back?"

"Today? Sometime either today or tomorrow." He admitted warily. It had been two weeks, and that was what she had claimed to need for a theft involving a mostly unoccupied manor/vacation home and several paintings.

"Ah… well, fuck." Tatiana spoke, her voice almost drowned out by what seemed to be an island wide proclamation in various languages, announcing 'free-violence' towards the 'American Genovese Crime Family'.

"Is this a bad thing?"

The redhead let him go to ruffle her loosened hair thoughtfully. "I don't know. Hey, you saw her after a fight, was she… Cloudy?"

Bjǫrn blinked at the woman's back, entirely baffled. "…what?"

"Do you remember anything odd about Sonya when she rescued you?"

"Other than she was very calm? No."

"Great… well, let's hope no one pushes her buttons." Tatiana informed him with a wry little smirk. "I don't particularly care to try cleaning up after a berserk Cloud's rampage."

"Is that…?" A real concern?

"I have no idea. Sonya's always been very self-controlled ever since I first met her." She admitted with a careless shrug. "I think she might be due for a complete breakdown of that self-control, if these idiots do managed to press her buttons in the worst way possible."

He still didn't understand very well, but knew they were talking about a very bad thing happening. "Maybe she's not here yet?"

"Well, we can hope." The nurse admitted as metal shielding suddenly slammed down from outside of the glass windows and the doors they had nearly gone through. "Come on, we're going to have to take the long way around."

…there was a long way?