Opposites Attract

Even though he had found the bravery amusing just seconds ago, Artem obviously had his limits. He was more understanding than his friends clearly were, but he was still used to being respected. Feeling disrespected by someone like Bart, when he had no real right to act so arrogant at the moment, did make the Russian's smile disappear quickly, replaced by an unimpressed and annoyed frown.

"It wasn't really on our minds to pack you a nice little bag, Bart. So no, we didn't fetch your clothes. You'll have to borrow some of mine," he responded after taking a few seconds out to calm himself down. He was reminded instantly that the two were clearly different sizes when getting to his feet and being faced with that, but it wasn't his problem. Either Bart wore a baggy shirt that was too long for him, or he went without and stayed in his unclean clothes. The choice wasn't something Artem needed to stress about. Frankly, it was the least of his concerns.

"...If you try to run once we're out the basement, Denis or one of the others will shoot you. I recommend being a good little boy and not trying anything stupid, got that?"
 
The threat immediately shut him up, his cheeks reddening a tad at the harsh treatment. It was all incredibly foriegn so the sudden harshness in contrast to the brief kindness was like whiplash. Nervously avoiding the eye contact towards the thugs that seemingly grew silent the moment Bart emerged from the basement which only caused him to grow even more nervous. He was used to crowds of people around him, the difference was that these men were trigger happy, he figured.

"Thanks," He murmured once pushed inside the bathroom, taking it in. "I... yeah. It's, uh.... I get no privacy? You're just going to wash me bathe?" He confirmed warily, his eyes now having been locked on the gun in the other's holster.
 
"I don't think there's any other option. I don't want you scrambling for freedom out the window, so I'd rather keep watch," replied Artem as he took a seat on the floor beside the door, setting his gun down close to him for the visual threat it possessed. He had no desire to use it against Bart, having already emphasised the detriment hurting him would cause, but he was at least happy to scare the other with its presence. Hopefully it got the message across without Artem needing to say another word.

"Denis will get your bed made while you take a bath and the clothes will be there when you've finished up here," he mumbled, the toughness around him fading a little when he realised how hard he had acted. It wasn't an act, it was part of who he was, but he could also put it aside and be far more gentle if need be. Bart was difficult to deal with, but he didn't deserve to be constantly terrified; that wasn't going to make the plan go smoothly.

"...So, you were here on business? Your father's many things but I appreciate that he's worked hard for it all. Must be tough to be an heir to his empire, you know? I... get how that feels. My father wants me to take over his business, it's... pretty scary, trying to live up to what he created. I dunno. Maybe that's just me; maybe you're dealing with the pressure brilliantly."
 
" 'Business'? What business do you have?" He questioned as he fiddled anxiously with the bath. Bathrooms were one of the many reasons he hated to travel since he more often than not didn't know what to do in foreign hotels. While this was no five star hotel but the sentiment was still there. It didn't help that there was also a gun dangerously close to Artem's side.

"I... assume that 'business' isn't legal," he murmured as he stared down at the tub, actively avoiding the other with a nervous laugh. "This is all pretty illegal, so..."
 
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"Obviously not, but is that really any surprise to you?" He countered with another roll of his eyes, albeit a playful one to try and keep the atmosphere light. He could be intimidating, sure, but that wasn't what he was going for... even though he also doubted he was giving off anything but the intimidating air. In an effort to counter that, he smiled as brightly as he could and folded his arms to try and cover up as many of the blood stains as he could.

"It's not very legal but that's... we don't really get in trouble for what we do in Russia. It's why I can't hurt you. There'd be international pressure. It's better to not hurt you, which is what I'm sticking to. The gun's just for show around you, I guess. I don't intend on using it," he eventually admitted, shrugging again as he glanced at it. "...My Dad's in the drug business, mainly. But he does a lot of stuff, has his hands in plenty of pies... It's hard for me to try and live up to that and carry all this on when he retires or whatever. I'm... I don't think I'm as tough as he is. If he was me, you'd be terrified of even talking. I don't terrify you that much, do I?"
 
"If I'm to be honest, I'm scared shitless right now," he quickly responded before sinking into the bath. He locked his eyes on the small window above the tub, immediately realizing it was way too small for him to slip through. Closing his eyes, he dunked under the water to at least get.a little bit out of his hair. It was no £30 bottle of shampoo but even getting it a little wet would give the feeling if making a difference.

"If it makes you feel better, I know there's no way in hell im going to compare to my father. I mean... I can't even go on a business trip alone without fucking up. How am I supposed to run a company? And just between you and me, I don't even want to do any of this. I want to be s musician but here I am, kidnapped in some random place in Russia because my father is... an idiot."
 
If he was in the mood to be deliberately cruel, Artem could have taunted the other on the insecurity he harboured. He had no doubt that that was what his friends would do in his situation - play on the fact Bart would always live in his father's shadow just to chip away at his self-esteem and make him easier to spook and manipulate.

Even if he had the desire to do that (which he definitely didn't), he would have been distracted by the mention of music anyway. everyone knew he had a passion for it, and that, if he hadn't been sucked into the dark world of crime because of his father, he would have spent every second trying to make it in the music industry. Hell, he had often dreamed of moving to the States as a child, being too naive to realise back then that his father's ideas for him came into direct conflict with that dream... and inevitably, his father's will overruled his own personal desire.

Clearly, he had that in common with Bart. They both had fathers who were pushing them into following in their footsteps when they both had other dreams, specifically in music. Finding that similarity with someone he thought he had nothing in common with was strange-- but not at all in a bad way.

"...You like music?" He asked softly, his head tilted in his undisguised curiosity. "I... like music too. I shouldn't admit this but... I always wanted to be a rapper, you know? My Dad humoured me when I was a child, and then he told me I had to get involved in the business and music was just a silly dream-- I guess it is, but still. This wasn't the life I would have chosen if I had a real choice, Bart-- maybe. I dunno, there's no point thinking about it, I can't change this."
 
"A rapper? I mean... I don't think I could ever do that. I'm not poetic enough nor do I have very good verbal flow or whatever," he admitted, thankful for their sudden connection as he nervously crossed his legs. "My father strictly raised me on jazz, so... rap is a bit weird to me, yeah? As I said, though... it's not going to happen. Maybe when my father dies I'll be able to do something I want to but... it's fine," He babbled, though quickly pursed his lips tight.

"Sorry, ah... can't you do whatever you want? You're a gangster, you can just kill whoever disagrees with you and... I don't know, threaten people? I don't know,@ he murmured, fiddling with his hands a tad. "It's just a dream. It'll never happen, especially when I might get killed..."
 
"You make it sound easy. It is easy, I guess, but it's not like I can do everything I want to do. I've been in prison - clearly I don't have free reign of the city to do what I want without punishment. Sure, I could kill you-- but I'd get imprisoned for it and I don't want to go back there. Nor do I really want to hurt you, that's... it wouldn't achieve anything. You're respectful and behaved, so why would I hurt you? I'm not a sadist, or unhinged. I don't just massacre people because I feel like doing so," he corrected with a small smile, leaning against the bathtub with a brief sigh, having come to the realisation that he felt sorry for him - and he didn't think that was an emotion he really ought to be feeling.

But it was difficult not to sympathise with someone who was going through something similar. Contrary to what outsiders thought, Artem wasn't a sociopath; he had feelings and he was empathetic, even if he sometimes wished he wasn't.

"...Your father's not the boss of you. You should do what you want to. My circumstances are different, but you could make it if you wanted to-- I'm sure you're talented?"
 
"Technically he is, he's my employer," he corrected. "... ah... sorry to interrupt but do you have soap? I don't feel much better just sitting here in water. You're not going to get mad with me saying that, right?" He warily questioned, his brief moment of relaxing ending. After all, he was still being kindnapped by Russian gangsters.

"... I'll give you some info when I get out," he reassured before offering a wary smile. "I don't know much but I do know enough that might... help? Oh, god... what if my father never calls? Then what? You won't get bored and kill me right?"
 
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"If you're father never calls, you'll get to realise he's a piece of shit. I'm sure he will. He won't risk his reputation to the world's media. I'd imagine he's already consulting with lawyers and the police to get you home," he encouraged slowly, leaning back with his mobile in hand. It was untraceable; just a cheap phone he had bought for him at a market stall so he could toss it away once he was done with it without anyone bugging it and listening in on his conversations. It did come in handy whenever his father messaged him about work-- or if he was simply passing along a message of support, as he did in that moment.

"...My Dad says hi? I'm sure he's trying to intimidate you-- he's not involved in this, this is my plan, but he always sticks his nose into my business," he grumbled, albeit with a clear sense of playfulness behind his words. Unlike Bart, his relationship with his father wasn't strained nor particularly difficult. Hell, his father would always make sure he had adequate protection around him, even if Artem could clearly take good care of himself. "He won't meet you, don't worry. I wouldn't let that happen, he's... trigger-happy and I don't want you hurt; I give you my word on that."
 
He should have taken relief at the other's insistence that he'd be unharmed... but how could he really? This whole thing could be bullshit to lure him into a false sense of security. He wouldn't complain, instead keeping quiet. Watching the other, he eventually cleared his throat.

"I'm ready to get out," he whispered, his eyes avoiding the Russian. "Did you throw out my clothes? I should have some in my suitcase. I promise I'll go back to the basement, I really don't want to walk about naked."
 
"I don't mind you walking around naked, I have no problem with people wanting to be free of clothes and all of that naturism stuff. Though you're probably right, it wouldn't go down well with the others, they're rather closed-minded," the gangster grinned, attempting to break the tension as best he could be being playful and light, though he knew putting his gun away at the same time as he tried to be jokey hardly helped his cause. Awkwardly reaching for a towel to let the other dry off, he unlocked the bathroom door and glanced down the corridor, just to ensure nobody was around to make the other feel uncomfortable.

He needed Bartholomew to help him, after all. He needed him to admit to any secrets his father had, to get the plan really rolling along nicely. If Bart was happy (as happy as he could be, at least) and not made to feel uncomfortable, he'd be more willing to think and hand over the required information.

"Come, follow me. I told you, we don't have your clothes. You'll borrow something of mine. I don't have that many clothes here, this isn't my house-- of course, I suppose you knew that. This is just the house we use for... business," he murmured, deciding it was best not to mention that people were brought here for violent or murderous reasons. Leading him down the corridor, he unlocked another door and ushered him in, grimacing at the plain, practically empty room he was calling his own for a month or two, until this plan was complete. "Have a look in the closet, take whatever you want."
 
Wrapping the towel around his waist tightly, he avoided the gaze of Artem's brutes, his cheeks beetroot in embarrassment. He hadn't really had many people see him naked, preferring to keep himself covered, obviously. These strangers, those of whom were speaking in a language he couldn't understand, were significantly tougher than him, they had proven. He only relaxed once alone in the room with the other.

It wasn't appropriate in that moment to grimace at the clothes presented towards him what with the chance of being beaten, hence trying his best to keep his expression flat. Tugging out an attempt at a cohesive outfit, he shyly peered over.

"Look away," he demanded. He had already been seen naked but he didn't want to continue that trend. "Ah... I mean, I know I'm eye candy but I prefer some privacy," he tried to tease despite his flat tone.
 
Rolling his eyes to himself (albeit with a clear smile on his face), he obediently turned his back on him to give him his desired privacy, staring at a few old blood stains on the wallpaper instead. He had no intention of adding to them anytime soon, especially not with Bartholomew. He had no desire to hurt him anymore than he already had, even if he knew his word wasn't going to be any comfort to Bart right now. He figured the boy wouldn't trust him, and he was fine with that - he just needed him to realise that Artem was the only one int he group who would treat him this well.

"...I know it's not a suave suit or anything, but they're comfortable clothes," he began as he turned around, grinning before he could stop himself at how cute the other was in his sweatpants and baggy t-shirt.

"I think you look fine. They're warm and comfy and that's all you need; you hardly need to look fancy and fashionable right now."
 
It was rare for Bartholomew to wear anything considered 'comfortable'. When he wasn't working he was usually with powerful people, those of whom wouldn't appreciate him in sweatpants. Looking down at himself, he openly cringed... though hid just how comfortable he was.

"Thank you - for the compliment and the clothes," he whispered, taking his time to absently feel the fabric. "It wouldn't look good ok a runway but like you said, it's very warm," he admitted with a nod.
 
"So now you've had your bath, I think you owe me what you promised. Information on your father; something he'd hate the world to know. Is he having an affair on your mother? That would be valuable information to hold over head, but it'd be just my luck if your father was loyal. It'd be too easy if he was a philander," the Russian sighed as he pushed himself up onto the desk in the corner, swinging his legs thoughtfully.

"Just think of something or your time here is going to last an awfully long time. I'm sure you want to go home, yes? Then you'd better start working those brain muscles and remember something about your father we can blackmail him with, Bart. Nobody's perfect, he must have something."
 
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