round 3 Irina Pavlova - Churches

[Chen]

((Church))

::Irina never went to church. She was raised Russian Orthodox, and after arriving in the United States her father continued to attend services, but Irina had not stepped foot in a church since leaving Russia. It just made no sense. Since her mother was killed, the whole concept of some happy and wonderful grandpa in the sky looking out for you just didn't work. Those lessons were relearned in Afghanistan and Pakistan, where Irina learned that nobody was coming to help her, and that if she was to survive, it would be only by her own wits, and no small amount of pure, blind, chaotic luck. The Taliban would kill her, or they would keep her around, entirely at their whim.::

::The night of the riots was like a return the combat. Irina was just passing through, on her way to New York. She had stopped in Ravensville for a cup of coffee and perhaps an ice cream for Katya, and the two of them were actually inside the Plaza Caglia when the excitement started as Irina had decided to have the oil changed in her car. It was actually what led to her job.::

::Many townspeople had taken refuge inside the restaurant/bar, and Irina, like them, had no plans to go outside or in any way get involved. When the windows broke and a group of aggressive young men entered the bar, however, all thoughts of waiting it out went right out that broken window. As the four men started trashing the place and terrorizing those inside, one of them made the mistake of looking at Katya for perhaps a second too long, and immediately found the baseball bat he had been holding ripped from his hand and then smashed into the side of his head. Irina proceeded to beat the living daylights out of all four, and then she heard the single shot from outside.::

::She remembered dropping the bat and upending most of the tables and ordering everyone to crouch behind them, while she peered over the top with her own pistol at the ready. Fortunately, after the shot was fired, things calmed down quickly.::

::She didn't know why she didn't just pick up her car the next morning and keep on driving, but for whatever reason, she had stayed in Ravensville. She rented a small two bedroom apartment, got a job keeping the peace at the very same bar, and since there was a large VA hospital just 40 miles away in the same county, she stayed. Now she was in a church, listening to descriptions of the police officer who died when that single shot was fired.::

Rascon: Hey, you're that bouncer who looks like Michelle Pfeiffer who kicked my [...] when I was drunk! Those were some cool moves. I totally felt them in the morning, so respect for slapping a drunken bum who should have known better back into line!

Pavlova: I've got a lot more moves where those came from.

::Irina completely put aside that they were in a church, as she had no real respect for such places anyway, and played along.::

Rascon: Do you know if Plaza Caglia is open? You don't just let something like this pass you by without raising some kind of a toast. If you don't have to work then you're welcome to join us and I'll shout you for a drink. It's the least I can do after... whatever I did that made it feel like you dislocated my leg last time.

Pavlova: We should open in about an hour, and I'll have vodka on ice.

::As someone started to move past him in the queue, Daz, gave them an elbow.::

Rascon: How about you, Kael? Joining us in the bar?

Thomas: Err, sorry?

Rascon: You've gotta have some stories to share about the big guy, right?

Thomas: Oh, a few.

Matthews: ::Coughing:: Hey Kael, Pavolva, nice to see you while I'm sober.

::Irina nodded, then backed away. Too many cops. She resumed her quiet stance near the exit, keeping an eye out for Leo. It was hard for him, she knew. The bullet was meant for him, and he knew it. It was a sort of guilt that all soldiers felt for those who didn't make it, worse if their loss was the reason for one's own survival. Irina knew the feeling well.::

::A drink would help, preferably far more than just one.::


Irina Pavlova
Bouncer