The Russian Beer Capital


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Scene Title The Russian Beer Capital
Synopsis A conversation is had about a hard truth someone learned, then an agreement is made to investigate what some locals say about St. Petersburg.
Date August 20, 2010

Nevsky Prospekt, St. Petersburg, Russia.

It's on the Neva River's left bank, and is the city's main avenue.

It's a good deal warmer than it had been when they arrived, though nowhere near temperatures on the east coast of their home nation, and it's still raining. Cat has the hood of her thin jacket up to keep the water away and boots which prevent it from soaking through to her feet as she makes her out of the gold and bronze decorated Metro station near the Admiralty on Nevsky Prospekt, overlooking the Neva River.

On this emergence an attempt is made to not look like a tourist or foreigner as she scopes out the landmarks on this, Piter's main avenue. She's interested in the historical aspects, it's true, but she very well might also be seeking a place to buy another balalaika or another classically Russian instrument.

"Catherine." It's offered from just to one side of her, she having been spotted by Benjamin Ryans. Drops of moisture drips off the brim of his fedora, the collar of his duster is turned up against the back of his neck to keep the rain off it. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his slacks, the duster pulled back to do so. It thankfully doesn't reveal the shoulder holster he wears.

His blue eyes are on the younger woman, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Enjoying the sights of Russia? Though it sounded like you were here prior."

"Ben," the 1.73 meter brunette replies with a light chuckle, also displaying something of a poker face. Brown eyes survey the man and his attire, coming to rest mostly on the hat. "I hope you're not a Cowboy fan, that hat makes you look a little like Tom Landry. Evil, evil man, he was."

"I am," she goes on to tell him, "enjoying the sights of Russia. It's the first time here in Piter, but not the country. First taste was nine months ago, in Ryazan." When her eyes move from him to the features of the Prospekt, she remarks "When you first came here, this city was probably still called Leningrad."

A small smile cracks through that neutral expression. "More of a Giants fan, since I grew up near the city." Ryans offers with a touch of amusement. "The hat… was my fathers." He reaches up to pull it off his head, turning the wet thing in his hands, before looking at her, ignoring the cold drizzle. "I wear it as a reminder."

The agents eyes drift out to the city, narrowing a little at the scenery. "I've been her a few times in my career. Been a lot of places." He comments mildly. "Never really get the time to really enjoy it. Always too focused on saving lives." Now is really no different, but the chance to relax before things go crazy again, is always nice.

Is that a touch of relief showing for a moment on Cat's features? He's a Company agent, which perhaps places a stain on his soul, but he can't be all bad. He's not a Cowboy follower, after all. "Being busy is a good thing," she wistfully allows, "it keeps one sane, prevents the mind from wallowing in recollection of unpleasant things too much." Brown eyes return to settle on his face again.

"Even when I'm not so busy, it's still an opportunity. Any moment, any new place, is a learning experience, a chance to create new memories and bury the bad. I've read, for example, Piter is sometimes called the beer capital of Russia."

Brows twitch up just a little, "Sometimes the bad memories are necessary, they make us who we are, but I can understand that. My family was where I got my good memories to counter all the bad I had to deal with." Blue eyes pull from the scenery, to the dark haired woman.

"I enjoy being busy." He admits softly. "Retirment never agreed with me. Too much downtime. I spent too much time having to watch the news and know… I could do nothing about what I saw, though I knew I was only seeing a portion of it and some of it distorted truths."

"Your family," she muses, as her eyes seem to go distant. It's like Cat is focusing on some distant point for a stretch of moments, attention not fully in the here and now. "I had a service bring me lunch Wednesday, the courier was a college student with red hair, called herself Delia Ryans. Wants to be a nurse, seems nice enough, but I was concerned about her. She acted a little skittish, was nervous whenever she saw cops in the area. If she's got troubles, she can maybe be helped, but the way she acted might catch the wrong attention." Then she switches topics, as if she believes the name was just a coincidence, but it might also be she knows exactly how Delia and Ben are linked; the mention may have been a way to advise him of possible trouble without needing to confirm or deny anything.

"Distorted truths and outright falsehoods, there've been too many of both in the modern world."

"I know." The old man rumbles out softly, the hate being placed back on his head, given a little push to seat it snugly on his head. "She is a girl who has learned a hard truth. It'll take time." Ryans looks out over the city again, face falling into that stoney mask again, his voice flat and emotionless. "I am not the one that can help her on this, she doesn't want it. I can only stand by her and protect her as I have always tried to do.

"I've discussed it with Abby as well. I plan to send her to Abigail in hopes that some exposure to the other side of things will help her… transition." hand push back the tails of his duster, so he can tuck hands into his pockets again.

"Either way… I feel confident she'll find the help she needs." His head turns her way a little, watching her out of the corner of his eye momentarily.

She listens, and simply nods, not feeling the need to speak further of Delia Ryans and her issues. There's nothing Cat could say which would alter the situation, his daughter will or won't accept assistance in her own time, with whatever reason it's needed. To communicate this belief non-verbally, the panmnesiac steers conversation in another direction.

"I think we should go find Abby, get food, and investigate this claim of Piter being the Russian beer capital." She pulls out some rubles and takes a few steps, then looks back toward Ben to check if he's shown agreement by following her. "I looked up the best places to eat and drink, I remember the reviews perfectly."

As if there was any chance she wouldn't.

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