Participants:
| Scene Title | What Country Am I In |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Winters' house seems to see a lot of strange visitors, this one decides to enter through the fridge. |
| Date | May 5, 2011 |
Eltingville Blocks : Brian's House
Home sweet home is quiet today. Truth is, it's been quiet all week. Samara and Brian, the two adults who occupy the house have been playing catch up after a month or two of separation and Koshka, the resident teenager, has been very typically keeping to herself. After a run in with several of those hunterbots, an experience that could have been avoided had she heeded the adults in her life and stayed home rather than daring to cross the fence, she's been even more withdrawn. It's a pride thing; if she'd have listened no one would have gotten hurt.
But for this afternoon, the teenager has returned home from school, still pretending nothing happened. In fact, in the houseful of quiet, she's tended to the half cauterized laceration through the meat of her thigh, just visible through a tear in her jeans, and started on homework. She's perched at the kitchen table, a pencil clenched between her teeth while she glowers at an opened math book as though personally insulted by the assignment. A couple other papers are scattered over the table, another book, history it looks like, lays opened with yet another sheet of loose leaf covering the pages.
Luckily, Koshka won't have to deal with that insulting math problem for long. Nor will she have to deal with the oppressive silence, because at that moment, the light above her flickers, and the refrigerator explodes open, as food and leftovers go crashing all over the floor.
And with it seems to be a strange man, flat on his back and looking dismayed and confused and disheveled. Dark bangs sweep crazily above his blue eyes, thick jawline bespeaking of his older age. Older, but not old. He's wearing a long-sleeve cotton black shirt and a pair of jeans, but just socks on his feet, but most notably, he's chattering in Russian. "«For the love of god, what is happening! Where am I now? Oh, god, this is bad! First Moscow and now this — »"
The strange man scrambles up and starts trying to pick up the food, but as he's stacking things in his arms, he looks up and spies Koshka at the table. "«I — I'm sorry! I don't know what's happening! I didn't mean to intrude! I'm not on drugs!»"
A start from the explosion snaps the pencil and pulls Koshka's attention from her books. The jerking from the fright draws a belated wince and groan of pain, one hand dropping protectively to her leg. Then, eyes opening again, she squints toward the fridge. And Luka. Wariness spikes, and for a long moment she doesn't react further.
Lucky for the strange man, there isn't much by way of food in the fridge, a couple of seen-better-days apples and half a loaf of bread.
Koshka stares at the stranger, mouth slightly ajar, listening to him rant about strange things happening and… Moscow? The use of Russian eases some of the tension, and his unexpected appearance isn't like the unwelcome precog who'd shown up a couple weeks before. Where that fellow seemed intent on taking things, this guy seems truly lost.
"«I'm sorry,»" the teen begins in the same Russian language, trying tentatively to interject. "«I— »" She lets out a sigh and very nearly rises from the table, freezing when she meets Luka's gaze. "«Are you okay?»" It's a stupid question, she can tell that he isn't, or doesn't seem to be. But what else is there to ask?
The man stares dumbfoundly at the teen for a moment, then turns to stuff the food back into the fridge (for certain degrees of stuffing; can't have been too hard with so little!), and he takes the time to make sure it's well arranged and all before he closes the door carefully and extends his hands to the fridge as if to say, okay. Stay. Staaay.
With that he turns and looks at Koshka, scratching his head. "«I'm sorry, yes — no — I… I don't know. This has been the worst week. This is going to sound strange. I am very sorry. What country am I in?»"
"«America,»" Koshka replies, caution leaking into her voice. She settles back into her seat slowly, easing herself back into the chair without removing her gaze from Luka. "«What country were you in before? How did you… Where did you come from?»" She already asked that question, sort of, but it's a more specific query. Only flicking her gaze away from the stranger once, she closes her books, giving only mild care that the papers she's written on don't get folded up.
"«Who are you,»" is the girl's next question. It's put mildly, rather than sound like an interrogator. "«I'm… People usually call me Koshka. And… I live here.»"
"«America…»" the man repeats slowly. That seems to be a mix of relief and discomfort. "«It is… a long story. I don't much understand what is happening. I came from Moscow, and I was…I was torn apart and put back together again through Miss Deliya's television? And it happened again, only I have come through your icebox. I…am sorry. What region of America am I in? I was last in New York City…»"
The strange man doesn't move toward her or anything, merely stands awkwardly in the hallway, scratching at a bandage wrapped around his left ring finger. "«I am called Luka. Ulyanov. You are…Koshka?»" He chuckles a little there. "«Nice to meet you, Koshka. I am very sorry to intrude.»"
"«It is a nickname since I was little,»" Koshka explains. She motions toward the chair, offering a place to sit if he'd like it. Rather than be rude and force him to continue standing. "«My real name is Bethany Ruslan.»" There's a twist to her features as she pronounces Bethany, apparently not caring for her given name. "«My adoptive father calls me» Melinki Koshka «Since I was very young.»"
Folding her hands on the table, Koshka glances toward the fridge then back to Luka. "«I know Delia. You are still in New York City. Just a few streets from where Delia lives.»" There's a pause and then a look toward the door. "«I could show you, if you need to go back. Would be safer than trying to go through the icebox again.»"
Luka regards the teenager, and then the seat, and cautiously steps forward to take his seat. "Bethany…" he tries, and it trips a little on his tongue. "«Yes, I like Koshka better.»" He seems a little awkward at this foreign table, and a little at a loss. But when she mentions he's not far, he does brighten a little. "«Yes? That is good at least. It was very bad to go from Russia all the way here. And I would prefer the … the normal way. I'm not… I don't understand how I went through the icebox in the first place.»" He presses a hand to his temple and then brings it down over his eyes to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "«They will be looking for me, back in Moscow. They will have questions…»"
A nod of agreement follows. "«Koshka is better. More fitting.»" She grins slightly, still uncertain but a step away from the wary reservedness she'd displayed moments before. "«Are… have you never…»" She pauses and considers, trying to formulate into Russian the SLC expressiveness. "«You have powers that… I manipulate dust. I make it move, like a whirlwind or a cloud.»" Changing tactics seems far easier.
Luka blinks for a moment, as if that had never once occurred to him. "«Evolved?»" he hazards, using the Russian equivalent for the concept. "«I never… I never tested for it. I didn't think I had to. I am 35! I am too old to express it. Or…so I thought…»" He scratches his head, brows knitting almost comically. "«Am I Evolved, then? Is that…is that what's happening to me? Am I manifesting a strange…electrical affinity or something?»" Blink blink. He just shakes his head. This is beyond his comprehension. He looks down at the table for a few long moments, seemingly lost in thought, before he regards her again. "«You are Evolved, then?»" he asks, and by the plain expression of interest on his face, it's not something he condemns, but merely is something he is curious about. "«What is it like to be Evolved in…New York City? After the bomb, and all…»"
"«I am Evolved,»" Koshka confirms, a small hint of pride to it. It's short lived, the question of how Evolved living in the city causing not only her grin to fall but a sadness and worry replace it. "«It could be better,»" she admits. There's no reason to lie, the sparsity of the furnishings in her home, definitely not near so lavish as those in the house where Delia lives, tells of their side of the story. Eltingville Blocks isn't necessarily the happiest place on earth. "«It is difficult sometimes.»"
"«Ah… it is similar in Russia,»" Luka concedes with a shrug. Probably similar all over the world, frankly. Humans never do well with the unknown. "«Do you think it would be wise to go to the Russian Embassy? Will they detain me?»" Of course, this is an odd question, maybe, to be asking a teenager, but his current Russian-speaking entourage are both teenagers anyway. Ah well.
"I— " Koshka clears her throat and looks up at Luka. "«I— If you did not know you were Evolved, you were never tested? You are not registered?»" Her brows knit together, deep concern and worry, nearly fear evident in her expression. "«It might… be a bad idea. I… I'm here because I was not.»" Registered. "«I am not allowed to leave the community.»"
"«Ah…I see. I am not registered, no. They have no lenience for newly manifested?»" Luka frowns at that, looking a little daunted. "«Then… I will not go to the Embassy. I suppose if I am not registered, I can't go on a plane either.»" The man frowns more, deep in thought for a moment. "«I am not even sure I could go back the way I came. They will have questions for me, though. I must find a way back.»"
He is silent for another long moment, before he sighs. "«I am sorry. I am sorry for intruding and I am sorry for interrupting your studies. I am not sure what to do now, and I don't know any English except, eh…» How-dy, where is bathroom? I speek Russian." Heavily accented, of course. He looks embarrassed.
She looks apologetic, remorseful, at being the bearer of bad news. "«Since last August, everyone is required to register,»" Koshka explains, "«and you get into a lot of trouble now, if you aren't.»" She shifts in her chair slightly, the movement producing a tightening around her mouth from pain, but she lifts one leg slightly. With an exhale, she draws back her pantleg slightly, the denim moved aside shows an anklet of the sort likely used for home arrests. "«Lots of trouble.»" It goes without saying she likely tried to avoid the law for some time.
Turning to sit more properly in her seat, Koshka looks down at her school books. "«Just homework. I do not like it, math is… something my father usually helped with.»" His english words manage to produce a grin, whether that was the intention or not. "«I learned Russian when I was a baby. I do not remember how to learn it, but English shouldn't be much different to learn.»"
Luka looks contemplative, as though picking through his thoughts carefully, mulling each one over to examine it. "«Well…if they put me back here, at least I already know where I can stay. And there is… no one waiting for me back home.»" He grimaces, and exhales. "«I think I will try, and explain my situation, perhaps. Maybe they will understand that I'm not a criminal. I worked for the Russian government; I am a good man. I will think about it. But I have heard many things about America, not all of them good, so I hesitate…»"
As she goes on, he chuckles. "«Yes, your Russian is very good. But hopefully I will not have to learn English.»"
"Yeah, «good luck with that.»" Koshka can't keep the slight tone of sarcasm from her words. "«I am not a criminal, and I am sixteen. And I was put in here, and I am monitored.»" Of course, part of that could have to do with her trying to run from the police when they decided she was going to Eltingville. She sighs and looks at her books again. "«Forgive me. It has been… difficult. Being here.»"
Looking up, after a moment, Koshka watches Luka quietly. "«We are under martial law, and there is curfew. Here, there are robots that hunt Evolved that try to escape that are… tagged like me. It is… something you should really think about.»" She manages a small grin at the compliment, a tiny thanks. "«I can speak Russian with you, if you'd like. I do not speak it often anymore, but I know it.»"
Luka frowns, as she tells her story, and then nods slowly. "«I will…think very carefully about it,»" he concedes. "«I will also ask Miss Deliya and the other girl who lives with her. She also speaks Russian! Which was very helpful. I think Deliya thought I spoke Spanish? I do not understand.»" He chuckles and shakes his head a little. But her offer gets a little smile. "«I am glad to have made friends here, at least. I am grateful to you for your kindness to a lost, tired old man. Perhaps I can return the favor someday. For now, though, perhaps I should get back to Miss Deliya's house before they wonder where I've gone. I have frightened them enough for one week." Sigh.
"«It is good to get other thoughts,»" Koshka agrees. She fixes another small grin to her expression then pushes herself upright. "«Stranger things have happened than an old man coming out of my icebox. I met a dragon in the sewers once.»" Which is a story for another time. She motions Luka toward the door, and limps heavily along behind. "«It was very good to meet you, though. And I'll take you to Delia's home.»"
Luka lifts his brows thoughtfully. "«A dragon? My wife and I… have… helped many Evolved in Russia, but I don't think we have come across a dragon.»" He stands, and starts toward the door, but even a man as empathically dense as Luka can see she's limping. "«Ah — maybe you should just give me directions?»" he hazards with a frown. "«You're limping.»" (Luka's secret superhero name is Captain Obvious.)
The teenager nods, her grin growing marginally. "«An ice dragon. I saw it underground, in the sewers.» And something about her tone implies that she's speaking truthfully. But when her limp is pointed out she hesitates. "…«It's nothing.»" Which is obviously a lie, but Koshka's demeanor shifts instantly toward an unwillingness to discuss it. "«I am hoping to encounter Doctor Sasha, and I have to walk to school.»" To stave off further argument, she pulls the door open once reaching it, turning a mildly forced but still pleasant smile up to Luka.
"«You will have to tell me this story sometime,»" Luka says curiously, but when she insists, he seems to readily accept, and he steps outside with her. It may be noticed that he keeps careful pace with the girl, despite being a fairly tall, fairly blocky dude. But maybe he would do that anyway, even if she weren't limping.
He seems nice enough for a mystery man, at least.