This Cold Empty House Full of Secrets - Soviet Union Short

Part 6 - Russia

Ivan had disappeared again.

Maybe not disappeared, not entirely, but that was how it seemed, to the rest of the world at least. He knew that anyone looking for him would not find him. Not that many people ever looked for him, save Natalya, and she was acting strange these days anyway.

So here he was, in the next town over, his boots leaving soft imprints in the ankle-deep snow on the icy roads. He trudged along, eyes trained on some point on the horizon, breaths puffing white in the cold Russian air.

It didn't take long for him to reach the tavern, which was often the center of criminal activity in this area. That didn't really bother him, though, seeing as he was the one who'd made it that way. Pushing open the cracked oak door, wind blowing in before the door slammed shut, he stood in the cluttered atmosphere of the tavern. It was dark, lit only by old-fashioned torches on the wall, all the furniture made of wood. Ivan thought that this place really was trying too hard to be medieval, but he didn't really concern himself with silly things like interior design anyway.

"The usual?" the bartender asked with a sigh, leaning on the counter. Ivan nodded, saying nothing.

As he waited, Ivan held his head in his hands. He was so tired, yet he never found the will to sleep. He didn't doubt the dark circles under his eyes were becoming more visible, but no one noticed. Maybe they would figure it out if they squinted hard enough, but no one ever did.

No one wanted to get within ten feet of Ivan Braginsky.

Looking back up, Ivan sighed. He really shouldn't mope, especially not out in public. To get his mind off of his thoughts, he observed the people. The bartender was a black-haired, blue-eyed young man, in his early twenties, but he looked tired and bleak as he rubbed a nonexistent dirt spot on one of the glasses absentmindedly. The actual customers weren't very fascinating either. A middle-aged man and his friend, accompanied by a few younger girls laughing at some joke they'd just made. Another young man focusing intently on his game of darts. Someone back in the corner surrounded by shot glasses, surely passed out by now. And a few others. 

No one really caught Ivan's eye, except one. Now, he was interesting. Possibly alluring, even. His messy silver-white hair, shifty scarlet eyes, and pale skin all contrasted sharply against the dark of the tavern. He was wearing a grey winter coat, paired with black gloves and a scarf. He was only a few seats down from Ivan on the bar, but didn't seem to notice anyone as he held onto a mug of beer like it was his only lifeline.

Ivan tilted his head curiously, inspecting this oddity. Resting his chin in his hand, he was perhaps being a bit more obvious than he would have liked, but the man didn't seem to be very mentally present, so he supposed it was okay.

"What're you staring at me for?" Ah, no. He'd noticed. Ivan put his hand down as those eyes flitted to his. "Am I really that interesting? I s'pose the white hair does draw some stares every now and again, though, so it's fine."

Ivan smiled. "I apologize. I have not seen you around, though, so I assume you are new here."

The man chuckled. Ivan couldn't help but notice that it seemed more bitter than sincere. "Somethin' like that."

Ivan knew when not to press a topic. He turned back to the bar. "I see. Still, I believe I would remember had I seen you before."

The man smirked. "Is it the hair, or the eyes?"

"No. It is... your aura."

"Aura? I didn't know I had one." he said placidly.

Ivan shifted in his seat. "Everyone does. Some are simply more noticeable than others."