Oleg Of War

Diary

Misty Mountain doesn't forgive distraction, and Oleg wasn't distracted so much as calculating how much of Goro's stash he could pocket before the man noticed. The finger snapped clean on a wet rock, a small tax on a large ambition, and Oleg didn't scream so much as laugh, because pain confirming you're still capable of greed is its own reward. He wrapped the hand in a torn gi sleeve that once meant something under a different sky, back when discipline wasn't a joke he told at his own expense, and told himself this was the bottom, the turning point, the vow. Three days later the vow was a splint holding a dice cup steady at a table he shouldn't have been near, Goro's stash forgotten, a new mark already in his sights. Oleg doesn't apologize for what he is, doesn't explain the mountain or the man or the money, he just deals another hand with a crooked finger and a straighter smile than anyone in the room deserves.'