[Salone]

Lev Gurevich strode arrogantly through the foyer of Zaccheus' Synod. After the outside, it felt good to be indoors. The heat was something he was used to, but comforts were still comforts. He wore several layers, and the weight of his many possessions did nothing to ease the warmth and sweat. He wore a rather thick duster to keep himself protected from the elements, but layers of dirt and bullet holes had found their way in to the tattered flight suit he wore underneath. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in the slightly cooler air, pressing against the ragged kevlar vest he wore underneath it all. The vest was rather new, something he had stolen away from a very recent victim he had caught unaware. Using the nail of his finger, he picked a bit of skin from between his teeth. He wiped what was left of that person on his leg, and continued inward.

Each step he took caused a faint clinking sound of metal brushing metal, due to the sheer amount of armaments on his person. Various belts, straps, and holsters draped across his body, each tucking a sidearm or packet of ammunition away on his person. They continued on down to his legs, where the pockets on his tattered flight suit bulged with various objects. A large bolt-action rifle strapped to his back hung at a slight angle, the butt of the gun knocking against the more compact sub-machine gun at his waist.

To put it short, the man was a walking arsenal.

Lev ran a calloused hand through his shaggy brown hair. It had been a while since he had found a way to cut it, and it was starting to grow to a length longer than he was okay with. Hard eyes looked up and down the foyer, searching for the appropriate chamber that he had been told to come to. Finding the audience chamber, he casually entered.

He paused for a moment after he entered, taking the scene in. He was not familiar with this 'Lord Zaccheus' that had issued the call to all hired hands, and the man that sat before him in odd clothing was not what he had expected. He cleared his throat, listening to the odd sound of his voice as he spoke. It had been some time since he used his voice.

"Nasikia kuna kazi? Er...I hear there is work? Um, Ya slyshal, chto yest rabota?"

He spat out the question in the languages he knew, just to be safe. The words felt odd coming out of his mouth, as if he knew what they meant out of memory instead of 'knowing' them so quickly, like everyone else did. Language had always been odd to him. In his mind it was simpler, he could think to himself, and it was easier to communicate there with who he did know. He chuckled quietly to himself, as if he had just heard someone say something funny. He showed the slightest of a smile, and then it was gone.