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Post by Chess on Jun 7, 2012 15:43:43 GMT -5
Aleksandra stood moodily behind the bar, polishing a glass. She hoped that her replacement would come in sooner rather than later. The bar was loud and obnoxious and the men here were utterly ridiculous. They always gawk at her and act like she was some sort of alien because of her silver hair. It wouldn't be a lie to say a number of patrons lost more than a few teeth by her hand. The stupid fuckers didn't know when to keep their mouths shut. She set the glass down and glanced up to see if there were any patrons just begging to be served. There weren't.
But someone did catch her eye. A young, dirty look guy sitting not too far off. He seemed a little too young to be in this bar, much less any bar in town. She moved closer to him, her green-grey eyes unimpressed. She spoke in a low voice, her accent harsh, picking up another cup to polish and give her hands something to do. "You seem a little young to be here."
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Post by Bucket on Jun 7, 2012 16:12:08 GMT -5
"By your hair, you seem a vittle old to be here," the voice replied. The boy's head tilted up just a few degrees so that his one emerald green eye could lock gazes with Aleksandra. His expression immediately changed to one of vague recognition. "Vait, do I know you?" he inquired, his accent as thick as hers.
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Post by Chess on Jun 7, 2012 16:28:03 GMT -5
Aleksandra froze a little at the boy's voice. It was not at all common to hear another Russian in these parts. She studied the boy's face and resumed cleaning the glass, obviously a little shaken. "Unless you've spent a few years in an insane asylum or in maximum security prison, I would doubt, though I've been all over the country. Anything is possible. I've only been here a short while."
[/color] She hesitated and set the glass down, wiping her hands. "So, then, where are you from, exactly? Certainly you didn't come all the way from Russia to here."[/color] She leaned on the bar, studying his face with an almost curiosity, her demeanor otherwise cold. It was just too weird to hear that all too familiar accent again. In some ways, she was mesmerized by it. The last time she had heard it was before that fatal night. [/blockquote] |
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Post by Bucket on Jun 7, 2012 16:41:51 GMT -5
The boy scoffed in response to the bartender's question, then answered in Russian. "I came here from Moscow. Funny that we have not met. Your face, it seems very familiar. Are you sure you were never in the motherland? No, it does not matter. No reason for it to. Now, if you don't mind, I would appreciate a taste of home," the boy stated, tapping the bar with two fingers. He doubted that the barkeep would throw him out or ask for an ID, but if she did he would just show her his fake one. It didn't even have his real name. The only thing true about it was his picture, which be had manually added to some John Smith's driver's license after they passed out in an alley.
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Post by Chess on Jun 7, 2012 16:51:50 GMT -5
An only half amused smile formed on her lips as she turned and opened a bottle of vodka for him, setting the bottle and the now polished glass next to him as she spoke quietly, replying in Russian. "I never got to see the motherland, sadly. My parents immigrated not long before I was born, but they brought pieces of the motherland with them. Now, what are you doing here in this scrap of a bar? I hope you aren't trying to find something here. Everyone here is useless."
[/color] She gave a small wave of her hand towards the crowd, gaining glares from people around her. They knew she was talking about them, and they assumed from her mean attitude it wasn't good. They weren't wrong. She poured herself a glass of the vodka and took a drink of it. "You've come a long way. I hope you've managed to find somewhere to stay in this little town. It can be... Quite treacherous."[/color] [/blockquote] |
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