Cavetown - Devil Town
Tatiana…
Meals at the Academy are a special exercise in torment.
I never dealt with the awkward hesitation in the cafeteria at school, wondering where I should sit and who I should avoid, so I have no idea what to expect here. Of course, comparing the dining room at the Academy to a school cafeteria is like comparing a golf cart to a Maserati. The dining room here in the main building is more elaborate than most of the Michelin three-star restaurants I’ve visited, with a full bar - a shining mahogany monstrosity with a bartender and hundreds of bottles of liquor - on one end of the massive room and white-coated servers taking meal orders. The arched mullioned windows look out on the ancient rock remains of Black Fort.
I survived on granola bars and the Academy’s room service menu until my fifth day, when Athena casually mentioned that everyone thought I’d sustained some sort of brain damage from the infamous Jankowski beatdown.
“Suck it up,” I tell my reflection, trying to shake the tension out of my hands. “You’re twenty, not twelve.”
Still, walking into the gorgeous room at lunchtime is terrifying. The tables can seat anywhere from four students to twenty, and I can feel the stares as I glance around the room, hoping for a nice single spot somewhere.
“Tatiana!” Mariya Morozova bounces up to me with her arms wide, giving me the traditional Russian three kisses. “I just heard today that you were here at the Academy, I’m sorry, I would have come to find you sooner if I’d known.”
“It’s so good to see you,” I said fervently, returning her embrace. “Knowing you were here was one of the very few selling points for this place.”
“Here, come sit with us,” she says, pulling me over to a big table with a scatter of girls, three or four I vaguely recognize, and five guys. They’re all staring at me like I’m a particularly interesting lab experiment and I’m rethinking room service and my cozy bedroom.
“Everyone, this is my friend Tatiana Aslanova,” she announces happily, briskly going through introductions so quickly that I only catch every other name or so. Looking down at the pristine white tablecloth and shining cutlery makes me want to laugh. The ridiculously high-style ambiance juxtaposed with these already battle-scarred and hardened twenty-somethings is sort of hilarious.
“I hear you’re training with Lucca Toscano,” ventures one girl - Camilla, I think? “That must be fun.” There’s a frisson of giggles around the table, while the guys groan.
“If this is going to be another session of the Toscano Slut Club, I’m leaving,” growls Aleksandr Rostova. I’ve known him since spending time during a couple of meetings in Moscow ten years ago when the Six Families got together for a Bratva summit. I suspect my father included me in the gatherings to… I don’t know, show me off as a potential match, or something. But Aleksandr was always nice.
“Well, that’s rude,” Camilla scolds him.
“We don’t slut shame at this table,” Mariya says primly.
Laughing behind my fancy cloth napkin just brings the attention back to me. “What?” I said defensively, “He could not make it more clear that working with me is about as pleasant as having his face smashed in with a brick. Trust me, other than barking commands at me and criticizing my feeble efforts in sparring, there is nothing happening. What’s the attraction here? Are you all blinded by his shiny white teeth and glaring toxic masculinity?”
The table’s gone silent and I feel a presence behind me.
“Get up,” Lucca says coldly, “we’re scheduled for gym time in ten minutes.”
Lucca…
I want to spank her ass so bad, my fucking palm is itching. Tear those tight yoga pants right off her and slap her perky little ass bright red until I make her cry. Lick the tears off her face and stick my fingers inside her and-
Fuck.What the hell is wrong with me?
Tatiana is walking with me as ordered, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the path. Gleaming white teeth and toxic masculinity? She definitely needs a lesson in respect today. The bruising and swelling around her eye are nearly gone, though that vicious-looking blue-black bruise I’d seen on her thigh is going to take a while.
She’s a terrible fighter, still flinching every time I come at her, and taking her down is painfully easy. I have to admit though, she won’t give up. Maybe it’s her Russian stoicism, but she gets up every time I knock her to the mat.
“Get in position,” I said sharply. The four guys leaving the gym suddenly decide to hang around when I bring in Tatiana.
“I’m sure you’ve got something better to do,” I glared at them.
“No, not really,” shrugs Mateo, “maybe she could use a hand. I could teach her a couple of moves.” The douchebags with him chuckle.
This is the time Tatiana chooses to be brave, which is a huge mistake.
“I already know about the dangers of STDs from manwhores and the heartbreak of premature ejaculation, so thanks, there’s really nothing you can teach me.”
“Whoa…” cackles the entourage of assholes.
“Cagna,you bitch! Who do you think you’re talking to?” Mateo hisses.
