Forward Motion Friday: Time Loop 2.0
Apr. 5th, 2024 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosanicusSo some of you may recall about two months ago when I posted that time loop ficlet during the Time Loop Boom. Well, as of this evening I have started expanding it just slightly...
A sharp clatter from the street woke Erich from an uneasy dream.
The ache of a night on a thin, narrow mattress settled into his bones as he rose, already dressed. The sash window was securely shut. He stood at an angle which would not reveal his profile to the street below and peered out; a worker carried a heavy metal rubbish bin across the empty pavement towards the refuse lorry.
Erich sat on the edge of the mattress, strings cut.
His rendezvous with Yeltsin and his thugs was set for later that morning. The documents he had been ordered to hand over were secure and ready for transfer. His pistol was loaded and ready in the inside pocket of his overcoat. The weather was clear and dry.
His hands shook. Erich looked down at them with detached curiosity. His head ached, which was hardly unusual.
The steady ticking of his watch echoed in his ears. He covered it with one hand for a moment and breathed deeply. He had over an hour before he would absolutely need to leave, but if he walked from the hotel he could leave immediately. The air would hardly be clean, but it would be an improvement on the odd, stuffy feeling he had sitting in the hotel room.
A phone booth stood sentinel on the corner of the street. It was a seedy area of London, and the notice board above the ‘phone itself was arrayed with cards offering any number of sordid services. Erich idly wondered just how erotic a tarot card reading could possibly be as he waited for his call to connect.
“Klaus,” came the voice on the other end. Yeltsin had a curiously high voice for such a large man; not feminine but piercing in a way which made Erich’s already sore head twinge. “What a pleasure to hear your voice.”
“Sasha,” said Erich, clamping the receiver between his cheek and his shoulder. He disliked making public calls. There were three glass walls surrounding him and he could not shake the idea that someone would divine his true purpose merely from the sight of his threadbare overcoat and uncovered head. “Likewise. Wait for me by the river.”
A code, of course. One of the pointlessly complex ones which Erich had long despised; its use only reminded him once more that he was several rungs below Yeltsin on the ladder.
“Of course,” said Yeltsin. “Let us pray the weather holds.”
Erich rubbed at his forehead as the call disconnected, then hung the receiver back on its hook.
It was a pleasant enough walk along the river to the warehouse which held Yeltsin’s operation. Erich had been ordered to assist them for the foreseeable future, sent across to England in a transparent test of his loyalty. He had suffered through several of them in the past few months, ever since the disaster in Jamaica had left him under suspicion. Zorotov had accused him point blank of sleeping with the enemy.
A ludicrous charge. Anyone could see that Bigglesworth and his department despised what Erich had become.
His life would doubtless be much easier if Erich still returned those feelings.
The river made its sluggish way through the estuary before him. Erich stood with his elbows crooked over a rusted handrail and watched a small family of ducks fishing for their breakfast as clouds drifted by above. It struck him, oddly, that he had thought he would never see such an ordinary thing again.
He didn’t know when he’d thought of it. He saw ordinary things every day.
Yeltsin greeted him with a firm handshake before he took the documents. He handed them off to an associate, apparently unconcerned with checking them himself.
“Stay for a drink, won’t you, comrade?”
Erich’s stomach lurched oddly. “I’m afraid I have a prior engagement,” he said. The back of his neck itched. He had a dreadful urge to look behind him for a reason he could not discern.
“Nonsense,” said Yeltsin. He grinned. “Surely you can make a little time for me?”
Another man came in through a side door. The entire warehouse had been fitted with partition walls, hasty and not quite flush with the floor. Erich shifted just enough to watch as the door swung shut behind him. A shout came from the corridor, agonised, before it was cut off just as abruptly as it started.
Yeltsin was, at least, distracted by the message which the man delivered to him. He read the note with a crease in his forehead. Then he looked at Erich. All the false cheer had vanished.
“I really do insist,” he said. He took a step forward. He didn’t loom over Erich; they were of a height. Even so, Erich felt a pang of fear at the lack of expression in his eyes. “Come. We have much to talk about.”
A sharp clatter from the street woke Erich from an uneasy dream.
The ache of a night on a thin, narrow mattress settled into his bones as he rose, already dressed. The sash window was securely shut. He stood at an angle which would not reveal his profile to the street below and peered out; a worker carried a heavy metal rubbish bin across the empty pavement towards the refuse lorry.
Erich sat on the edge of the mattress, strings cut.
His rendezvous with Yeltsin and his thugs was set for later that morning. The documents he had been ordered to hand over were secure and ready for transfer. His pistol was loaded and ready in the inside pocket of his overcoat. The weather was clear and dry.
His hands shook. Erich looked down at them with detached curiosity. His head ached, which was hardly unusual.
The steady ticking of his watch echoed in his ears. He covered it with one hand for a moment and breathed deeply. He had over an hour before he would absolutely need to leave, but if he walked from the hotel he could leave immediately. The air would hardly be clean, but it would be an improvement on the odd, stuffy feeling he had sitting in the hotel room.
A phone booth stood sentinel on the corner of the street. It was a seedy area of London, and the notice board above the ‘phone itself was arrayed with cards offering any number of sordid services. Erich idly wondered just how erotic a tarot card reading could possibly be as he waited for his call to connect.
“Klaus,” came the voice on the other end. Yeltsin had a curiously high voice for such a large man; not feminine but piercing in a way which made Erich’s already sore head twinge. “What a pleasure to hear your voice.”
“Sasha,” said Erich, clamping the receiver between his cheek and his shoulder. He disliked making public calls. There were three glass walls surrounding him and he could not shake the idea that someone would divine his true purpose merely from the sight of his threadbare overcoat and uncovered head. “Likewise. Wait for me by the river.”
A code, of course. One of the pointlessly complex ones which Erich had long despised; its use only reminded him once more that he was several rungs below Yeltsin on the ladder.
“Of course,” said Yeltsin. “Let us pray the weather holds.”
Erich rubbed at his forehead as the call disconnected, then hung the receiver back on its hook.
It was a pleasant enough walk along the river to the warehouse which held Yeltsin’s operation. Erich had been ordered to assist them for the foreseeable future, sent across to England in a transparent test of his loyalty. He had suffered through several of them in the past few months, ever since the disaster in Jamaica had left him under suspicion. Zorotov had accused him point blank of sleeping with the enemy.
A ludicrous charge. Anyone could see that Bigglesworth and his department despised what Erich had become.
His life would doubtless be much easier if Erich still returned those feelings.
The river made its sluggish way through the estuary before him. Erich stood with his elbows crooked over a rusted handrail and watched a small family of ducks fishing for their breakfast as clouds drifted by above. It struck him, oddly, that he had thought he would never see such an ordinary thing again.
He didn’t know when he’d thought of it. He saw ordinary things every day.
Yeltsin greeted him with a firm handshake before he took the documents. He handed them off to an associate, apparently unconcerned with checking them himself.
“Stay for a drink, won’t you, comrade?”
Erich’s stomach lurched oddly. “I’m afraid I have a prior engagement,” he said. The back of his neck itched. He had a dreadful urge to look behind him for a reason he could not discern.
“Nonsense,” said Yeltsin. He grinned. “Surely you can make a little time for me?”
Another man came in through a side door. The entire warehouse had been fitted with partition walls, hasty and not quite flush with the floor. Erich shifted just enough to watch as the door swung shut behind him. A shout came from the corridor, agonised, before it was cut off just as abruptly as it started.
Yeltsin was, at least, distracted by the message which the man delivered to him. He read the note with a crease in his forehead. Then he looked at Erich. All the false cheer had vanished.
“I really do insist,” he said. He took a step forward. He didn’t loom over Erich; they were of a height. Even so, Erich felt a pang of fear at the lack of expression in his eyes. “Come. We have much to talk about.”
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Date: 2024-04-05 09:45 pm (UTC)