Some Rusame Drama
Alfred steps into the warehouse with a cocky little grin matched by that oh-so-sure swagger. Behind him the wind howls, his breath curling from his lips like smoke as he dusts snow from the fur of his jacket.
“Good evening.” A deep voice intones from the shadows.
Alfred jerks his chin. “Likewise. I’m glad you finally realized your options.”
There is a silence between the men that Alfred takes to be proof of his statement. After two years, long days that trained Alfred to never leave his home without a now-familiar weight against his hip, Ivan was going to concede.
“Tell me, boy,” Ivan steps forward so that the dull light allowed through the blizzard cuts across his face. “What do you do when you come to the conclusion that you are playing by rules you can never win?”
Alfred’s smile falters. “…you change the game.”
And the door behind him slides shut with a bang.