milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

katya,
rose lalonde

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Pavel was out running, earphones in his ears to block out the noise of the Academy students milling around him, and as he runs with his eyes closed at times, didn't exactly notice the change of terrain to Milliways' grounds. He does pick up on it rather quickly when he brushes past a tree that shouldn't be where it is, and picks up his pace as he comes closer to the building.

He only slows down upon coming through the door, straight to the bar to ask for a bottle of water and a towel, getting both. Feel free to bother him after he sits down.

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Sulu was already sitting nearby and grinned. He slid a bottle of water to the Russian not as the bartender but because he was in his fencing gear.

"Working out?"

"Da," he answers, looking up and grinning as he accepts the water, wiping his face off with the towel. "And you?"

"Yes." He cocks his head to the sword and facemask next to him, "In a different way, though it seems."

"Ah," he says. "Yes, I hawe seen you in ze gym. I am afraid I only run, at least consistently."

He does other things, but not generally in front of people.

"Ah." Sulu thought for a moment. "What's your specialty out of curiosity?"

"For now," he says, "transporter zeory. I am double-training in nawigation."

So, it seems that people also use this place to exercise. At least judging by the young man's attire, items, and demeanor. Rose adds another note to her mental tabulation of Uses To Which People Put This Bizarre Subworld Called Milliways.

She spends a few moments in indecision, before finally deciding to say "Hello," as he sits relatively near to her.

He looks up and smiles at the girl after he's wiped the towel over his face, damp curls sticking to his forehead.

"Oh, hello," he says, finding her white hair interesting. He doesn't often see that.

"Tell me, is physical exercise a common activity in these environs?"

It does seem that people treat this place as a home-away-from-home, but it still strikes her as odd.

"Da, yes, vell...I run, it vas how I got here," he says, with a fairly pronounced Russian accent making his voice thick as he translates to English. "I do not know for eweryone else."

"I suppose that is a fair assessment," she replies.

A Russian accent, how amazing. And here she thought that she would never hear anything like that again, outside the movies that she and her friends maintain on their computers.

Oh, no. He is actually from Russia, though he lives currently in San Francisco. Soon enough he won't be on Earth at all.

"It is a nice place to run."

"It seems to be a nice place for any number of activities; I have seen people engaged in a variety, anyway."

"Zis has more space to run zan the Academy grounds," he explains. "Fewer people are milling about to ze classrooms."

"Might I inquire as to the nature of this Academy?"

His words are a reminder that had the world not fallen to pieces around them, she would have been going to high school soon, and then probably university, hopefully at a foreign school, away from Mom and her passive aggressive displays of insincere affection.

Strange.

"It is ze Starfleet Academy," he answers. "In San Francisco."

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Someone reaches a hand down to pluck one of the earphones free and listen in on his music.

That someone may have rewarded him with vodka for his trouble.

What? The bottle was already open. Might as well share it, no?

And yes, that's Katya making a face at your music, Pavel.

He notices Katya when the earphone gets plucked out, and regards her with a sideways look while the rest of the goings-on happen, fingers grasping the shot glass loosely.

"You do not like it, hm?" he asks. He resists the urge to say 'then perhaps you shouldn't yank it out of my ear', but merely waits for her response.

"It is... it has not been right since the government changed." She huffs, waving a hand vaguely as she gives him back his earphones.

Of course, she's referring to the fall of Communism, but... details, right?

He pulls the other one out and turns off the player strapped to his bicep, shrugging. "You should hear what ze Americans play," he says. "Atrocious."

She gives him a look - duh, silly boy - before settling into the seat opposite.
"No tigers today, mmm?" She teases cheerfully, pouring herself another shot. "Or dangerous fishies?"

She is still deeply irked about that mermaid. It dared to hunt one of her humans. And she really does like sushi.

"No tigers," he answers back just a little dryly. "Fish?"

This one he hasn't heard about.

"There is a mermaid." She not-quite-snarls, the tone dark enough to make nearby waitrats scatter warily. "It seems to be hungry."

"So I vill assume svimming is out of the qvestion," he says, as lightly as possible. "Or is she a fast-learning mermaid?"

Yeah, he's really not keen on being eaten by anything. And thankfully his culture does mention this as one of the likely side-effects.

"One hopes it is an intelligent one - ..." Her analogy dies before it can escape her lips. After all. He doesn't know she would much rather have an intelligent vampire on her hands than an idiot, because at least the intelligent one might decide that beef's blood is an adequate substitute.
"Or security will have a hard time convincing it not to hunt."

And that, she has to admit, is a lame ending. Ah well.