An Ordinary Evening

Novikova's cot is still taken up by Yulia while her shrapnelled leg heals. Maschenko's been up every few hours to check on it, except during one stretch of hours where he was gone to help outside. When that became a useless endeavour for the increasingly thick hell of smoke and fire streetside, he comes back down the basement steps, coughing behind a thick piece of cloth wadded up at his mouth.

Sokolof is only now coming back down to the basement after a venture outside. He was rounded up to help the labor crews with fortifying the AA gun positions. He comes back looking dusty, exhausted and shaken. Which is par for the course for him these days.

Novikova will live. She doesn't seem too put out. Her hair is frizzy though. She hums and carries in a bucket of water. Seems Novi has been running her endeavors outside too. She has her collar pulled up around her mouth and nose, to keep away the smoke. A light cough here and there. She tries not to shake off the dust at everyone but smiles and pulls her collar down. "Hello, comrades," She greets them warmly and sets the bucket down near her cot.

Traffic jam at the door. Maschenko nearly runs into Sokolof's back as he gets off the last stair, his eyes dry and gritty from the acrid haze outside. "Ef-…" Cough. "Efim." He reaches out and claps the teacher's shoulder, scooting past him. Outside, the sirens are starting to wail again, muffled by the basement cement. "Good, you made it back. Zoyenka, come. Close the door, it sounds like they'll start again."

Sokolof pauses to clasp Maschenko's shoulder briefly in return, shuddering at the sound of the sirens. He's not slept for more than a few hours at a time since all of this started, and it's showing. "Luka. "Comrade Novikova." He coughs some himself, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face as best he can, and near-collapses into a chair.

There's a sound of a huge yawn, from the corner area of the basement that has been conquered in the name of the Malakhov. Mikhail sits up now, looking around for a few moments, "They're continuing to make noise out there?" he asks, a bit lightly. "Tell them they've woken me, that ought to make them slow down."

Beam. Blink. Traffic jam! She nods and Novi obediently closes the door. "Da, they are awful about that. I did get a bucket of water on my way home," She notes. She smiles at the two. And a Mikhail! "I think if that were the case we'd all take naps until they gave up," She jokes lightly at Mikhail. She looks over them after closing the basement door. "I'm glad to see you all back though."

Maschenko gives Mikhail a dry look. "Slow down? Heh. They've been going at this for days. Or what I think is days, shit if I can tell anymore." He coughs again into the rag, spitting into the cloth and crumpling it into his pocket. His steps turn for the cot where Yulia's resting. "You can't see halfway down the block up. So much smoke."

"I did not think the fascists had such endurance. Damn them for it," Sokolof mutters lowly, plucking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it. It takes him a couple of tries to get it going. He's still trying to calm his nerves, and his match misses the mark on the first try. A look over at Yulia. "How is she doing?"

Mikhail shrugs a little bit, "Usually, people tend to do such things when I'm trying to sleep," he explains, before he nods quietly at Sokolof's question.

Novikova listens for a moment. She nods, "Yeah, it was really hard to see," She admits. "But I got some clean water best as I could. I felt like I should help out." Yulia gets a concerned look. "I hope she gets well soon," Frown. "I think it's been days. At least, I feel so. But it always feels longer when you're unhappy."

"She's much better," Maschenko tells the curious. He leans over, putting the back of his hand against the sleeping woman's forehead. "The wound's healing and there's no fever. She'll be walking around tomorrow, I think." Straightening, he exhales loudly and looks over Sokolof's way, making a 'give' motion with his fingers. Cigarette please. "Oh, Zoyenka. Tse…" His hands pat around his pockets and draw some cloth (clean, unlike what he spat into earlier) from one. Her scarf, crinkled from being quickly washed and let air dry, then jammed away. "Look what I've got. It doesn't smell the best, but like anyone notices that now, eh?"

Sokolof wordlessly passing a cigarette to Maschenko. No further request other than the gesture is required. Then he gets back to his own studious smoking. It seems to have helped his shaking fingers a bit. Or at least given him something to do with them. A grim nod to Novikova. "Misery stretches the days into weeks, Zoyenka. A feel a year older since the fascist planes have come."

"It's been days, at least," Mikhail offers, before he glances around for a few moments. Looking a little lost in thought. "I guess there will be lots of work for me when this is all over and done, though." Spoken a bit absently, the construction worker in him seems to find something positive, at least.

"I'm glad to hear she's getting better," A pause and Novi looks to Maschenko. "Oh thank you! And eek. I hope no one is sniffing my hair…" Her eyes widen. "But are you sure you don't need it to wear over your face or anything?" headtilt. "Doctors use a lot of cloth." She seems grateful enough, but concerned. "That's very true," Novi offers to Mikhail. "Hopefully I'll get to go back to class." Optomistic, but not really.

Maschenko waves his hand dismissively. "Take it. If we need it again then you'll have it, ni?" He seems easy enough about this, his attention now on the cigarette that Efim's got for him. "Thanks." He lights it off one of the candle flames, as he's taken to doing as his matches stash has dwindled, smoke puffing and curling from the side of his mouth. He barks a mirthless chuckle at Mikhail. "Saying they're doing us a favour, comrade? Well I suppose so, I always thought they should rebuild Mira Street." The humor's thin and forced.

Sokolof smirks at Maschenko, snorting a soft chuckle. Humor is lacking and even that effort is somewhat forced, but he tries. "I rarely thought this city pretty. But…it is a strange thing. It seemed more…solid than this. I did not think we would be so quickly made to rubble in so many quarters." He smokes deeply.

"Sure thing," Novikova beams and takes it back. Yay scarf. She tilts her head. "I do not think it is the fault of the buildings. Even the toughest man can only take so many punches, even if they're weak," She notes. "And I bet the rebuilt stuff will be very nice," She hopes. Maybe some nice brick buildings? New roads? Riiiiiight? "And the construction workers will probably be very busy a long time." Nod.

"Comrade Nowakowski said they will bring their tanks after this," Maschenko exhales smoke, sounding incredulous. He extends his arm, indicating ceilingwards with a widely vague gesture. "Where the fuck will they roll them? They'll have to drop them in from their damned bombers just to get them on the streets."

"It'll be a job getting them past the Volga," Sokolof says between puffs of smoke. "We've the river as our friend still, at least." He sighs heavily, sagging his head back against the wall. "I feel twenty years older than I did a month ago, Luka Andriyevich. And I did not feel so young to begin with."

"Efim, my friend," Maschenko replies, sinking into one of the other battered chairs near the teacher. "Some days I don't believe you were ever a young man." He scrubs his hand over his stubble-covered jaw.

Sokolof cracks a shadow of a grin at that. "My grandmother once said I was hatched middle-aged and over-serious. Well. I never thought it to my detriment. We came of age in times that were not simple, men of our generation, Luka." A couple more swift drags on his cigarette. "I have been thinking much of my youth these last days. Well. Not childhood so much. The Civil War. It is strange. For years, I thought little of it. It seemed a thing from another lifetime."

Elise arrives from the South.
«Game» Elise moves into Basement.

"Hatched." Maschenko repeats the word with a wry grin. He drags slowly on his cigarette while Sokolof talks, wringing every bit of the seconds he can out of the thing. "Twenty years ago. It might as well be another lifetime…it has been, you know?" His tired eyes flicker to Novikova, doing her thing over there. "She isn't even old enough to remember it. Can you imagine."

Sokolof snorts a chuckle, though it still has a rather humorless note about it. "She was a woman of many apt turns of phrase." His eyes sweep the basement, pausing on its younger occupants. "I only remember it dimly. I was but a boy then. Too young to understand the implications of it all. The talk around the hearth in our home is what I mainly recall. My parents both had high hopes it would make things better for us. The Revolution, and all that came after. I can still remember the day my father left our home to go and fight for the Bolsheviks. He was so proud. So full of fire. A brave man…"

Elise comes down the stairs, dirty and weary after yet another shift on the guns. "Evening, comrades," she offers to anyone who's listening.

"You're lucky, my friend," Maschenko says, without any bitterness in his voice. "That he had to leave to fight. In Kiev it came to us." He pauses to take a drag on the cigarette, leaning his head back tiredly against the broken back of the chair. "Bolsheviks. Then the Cossacks." He turns his head to spit obligingly at the mention. "Then the Bolsheviks took it back. Then the Cossacks. Then the Bolsheviks forced them out again. The streets were red. Many more ways than one." His voice has quieted. At the sound of another voice he clears his throat and sits up again, cigarette spiraling smoke over his shoulder. "Comrade Elise." His tone snaps back to normal easily. "Shoot down any more Fascists?"

If nothing else, Novikova is a good audience. With her crumpled scarf back atop her hair to mercifully hide some soot and frizz, her hazel eyes are a bit wide as she listens. At least you can /tell/ when you have Novi's attention. She looks sad at some of the stories. "Cousin!" She smiles at Elise, perhaps relieved she made it back safely. "I am honored to hear all of your stories."

"Pyatigorsk was a small place. Not one many cared for much. I hope it is much the same in the view of the Fascists today," Sokolof says in a low tone. He quiets as well as Elise enters, looking up at her and offering her a polite, if not overly warm, "Comrade. You've our thanks. You and the others on the guns are giving the Fascists some scares, at the very least."

Elise shakes her head with a sigh. "Not today, Comrade Doctor. Though we were strafed again." She tugs at a fresh rent in her trousers. "Too close, that one." A weary smile is turned to Novikova. "Hello Cousin. How are you?" Sokolov gets a quiet nod in response to his praise. "Thank you, Comrade. I only wish it could be more. Were you talking of the revolution?" She butts in.

Maschenko gives Sokolof a slight nod. His blue eyes then turn back to Elise and he moves his hand, ashing his cigarette on the hard floor. "Strafed? The little fighters are back, are they? I hope you blow them all out of the sky." He thins his lips, then nods. "Yes, anyway. The Civil War."

"I hope so too," Novikova hopes for Sokolof oo, perhaps, not wishing the Facists on anyone. She smiles at him. Then a look to her cousin. "Do we need to sew that for you? Though maybe we should save any thread for people?" Hmmm. She shrugs at that. "I don't know you could change them between purposes but…" But string is string and if someone's about to come undone… She shrugs at Elise, "Well enough. Brought in some water. The weather is just awful though. Cloudy with a chance of Facists," Sigh. She looks to Maschenko.

"We were speaking of the past a bit," Sokolof replies to Elise, though he's more reticent to talk of such things with the girl than he was to Maschenko. "It was long ago, and I was but a boy then." More smoking it done, long fingers grasping the cigarette with some tightness. "Another lifetime it seems now."

"Thanks, Zoya, but it's nothing. Best to save what we have," Elise says with a grateful nod. "Water?" she asks, perking up a bit and looking around for it. "I hope we do as well," she says to the doctor. A nod to Sokolov. Picking up on his reticence she doesn't prod further. "Sorry to interrupt."

"Don't worry about it, Comrade Elise," Maschenko shakes his head. "We have another war to fight now. Never quite fucking stops." He gives Sokolof a thin smile, then shakes his head to Novikova. "Sewing thread isn't right for injuries. It breaks too easily, gets stuck in the wound. You go ahead and mend things if you need to."

"Okay," Novikova nods. "And yeah," She motions to the bucket near her cot. "It was kind of weird to run with a bucket and not dump it all over myself," She admits with a pout. A deep breath. Novikova is sitting in the basement, talking to the others. "Ah oh?" She peers at Maschenko. "Well, that's good to know then." Learn something new every day! "I wonder what they will call this war when it's all done. The Eternal War doesn't seem quite right."

Lumped in together with the tenants of this building, Yvan's stuck himself to the corner of the room and has been there for awhile, trying to re-smoke what resembles more a lump than an overused cigarette. Then again, after a few tries with a failing lighter he gives up and tosses the stump into the ground, stepping on it.

"Will it not do in a pinch?" Elise wonders to the doctor. "I mean, if we run out of proper supplies." She's apparently braced for the worst given the week they've had. "I don't know," she says to Novikova. "Eternal War sounds about right just now." She goes over to refill her canteen with water. "Thanks for getting this." Her task takes her near to Yvan, and she offers him a polite nod. "Comrade."

Yvan stands two inches shy of six feet. He has black hair, blue eyes, a set jaw and Slavic features. He is athletically built and has a deep baritone for a voice. Like most Stalingrad Red Army soldiers, he is clad in his military uniform with pins on his shoulders determing the rank.

"What she'll need to fix your trousers won't save a life no matter what, Comrade Elise," Maschenko replies, resigned to that fact at least. "Let her do it." He's sitting in a terribly broken chair near Sokolof, working on a broken cigarette himself. Dirty and covered in soot and blotches of brownish-red that might be someone's blood. "What they'll call it?" He snorts. "Europe's had so many damn wars they'll have to start using letters by now. 'Great Fuck-Off War A'. 'Great Fuck-Off War B'." The humor, as usual, is somewhat tense. He cranes his neck, blue eyes looking over at the military man. "Comrade."

"Think nothing of it. I feel sort of bad - well, in a way frustrated," The helplessness gets to you. She nods. Then a sad smile. "Alright. I guess I will fix them when you're ready. And ah? Hah," A smile at Maschenko's joke. It even has bad words in it! Yvan gets a look and a polite smile. She tilts her head. The soldier gets a wave too. She falls quiet to listen and hmmms. "Well, I can repair your pants cousin, when you are wearing other clothes. I mean, -" Flail. novikova just looks flustered a moment.

"Hello," the Comrade intones from his corner, flashing them a reassuring smile as he states, "Don't worry. Soon the Command will get us extracted from here or they will stop the bombings. Either or." And, despite the reassuring statements, the expression on his face is troubled. Maybe he doubts his own words.

"Little changes, much as men try to change it," Sokolof returns to Maschenko with a thin grin back that doesn't touch his eyes behind his thin-framed glasses. "Such was another saying of my grandmother's."

Elise nods to Novikova. "I understand. It is maddening just sitting around waiting." Which probably explains why she spends most of her spare time hanging around the gun positions. A smirk to Yvan. "You are optimistic, Comrade. I fear this is just the beginning. The Fascists won't have wasted all these bombs for no purpose." A glance to Sokolof. "Your Grandmother sounds like a wise woman." She takes a drink of water and then says to Novi, "Thank you, Cousin. I'll try to find something."

Very little that Maschenko says isn't laden with bad words. The Ukrainian and verbal propriety don't seem to get along. He grunts at Sokolof and gets a last drag off his barely-functional cigarette, dropping it to the hard floor and grinding his sooty bootheel onto the embers. "Extracted. Heh. Really?" He gives the Red Army soldier a dry grin. "They'll be prying this city out of cold dead hands, my friend. Not taking it behind our backs as we run away." He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, and nods to Elise's turn of the situation. "They've still got to get past Stalingrad to get what they want. They're not done yet."

"Extracted? I heard otherwise," Novikova admits, eyebrows furrowing. "But - I don't know. Even though I sort of ended up staying by accident… It's hard to just abandon home," She admits, wriggling the tips of her feet. And a nod. "She does sound wise," A smile at Sokolof and Elise. "Don't worry about it. I just felt it might be rude to sew them while you wear them." Or to have poor Elise run around pantless. Yikes! "Whatever happens, I doubt this city will be given over eassily," A headshake.

"Well, rest assured that Comrade Stalin and our motherland's glorious Red Army are working restlessly to devise plans and defeat our foes. And yes, as you said," Yvan seems to agree with this, patting his Mosin Nagent, "If the Germans want this city, they'll have to pry it out of our cold dead hands. I promise."

Sokolof snorts at Yvan. "If they planned to evacuate us, would they not have done it already? Nyet, my friend." He sounds a mix of bitter and…grateful, for some reason. Shaky as his hands are, he's still here. Assisting in digging the rubble into fortifications and other such tasks. A short nod to Maschenko. He's more agreeing with the 'cold dead hands' part at this point than with any real sense of optimism.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).

"Nobody's going anywhere. Not in this shit, anyway." Maschenko's chin juts up just as the ground starts to rumble overhead. He slides out of his chair, kneeling down closer to the floor on sheer reflex.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).

"Not done by far," Elise agrees. She doesn't comment on the evacuation, but a grim expression shows her agreement with Sokolof. Novikova gets a sad smile when she talks of being left behind. "Glad to have you about, Cousin." She finds a blanket and says, "I can just sit under this while you…" she trails off as more explosions start and looks up for a moment before crouching down as well.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Yvan curses under his breath as he lies down and curls up against the corner of the room, waiting.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).

A look at the gun as Yvan pats it. Novikov nods slowly. She just smiles at the fellow feebly. "Yeah…." A deep breath. "Good luck unless you have a very good umbrella," She jokes weakly. She is moving towards her blanket when she pauses. A sad smile back. It's not really a tragedy so much as a bad bit of luck. Oh well. "It's good to have you here too Cousin." And the Novipillar returns. Seems her reaction to artillery is to become like a cocoon. Harder to squish than butterfly? "Sure." She nods. Share and share alike.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage rips through Communal Apartments to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage rips through Communal Apartments to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).

Elise takes cover near her cousin, keeping low and watching the roof overhead shake as artillery batters the apartment building. "They never let up, do they," she comments darkly.

Maschenko winces as the explosions from shells up top batters that little street-level window again. Wood cracks and splinters for about the tenth time in the last two days. Least there's no more glass.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Center (5 4).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Stalingrad - City Square (4 3).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage rips through Communal Apartments to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
Sokolof curses, biting it off sharply but under his breath, and it doesn't carry far over the shelling. He drops his cigarette as he dives into cover. He'll mourn that later.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage rips through Communal Apartments to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!
«Artillery» Artillery barrage at Communal Apartments has lifted!
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Shiver. Novikova stays under her Blanket Fort(TM) near Elise. "No, I think they all need new hobbies," Novi murmurs darkly. She is grateful to be in the basement and not above. She tries not to shiver too much. That noise will never be normal to her.

"Hope nobody'd gone up there," Maschenko says under his breath, glancing up towards the basement ceiling. He licks his dry lips, casting a last look at the broken pieces of wood guarding their heads from the street outside, and then down as the acrid scent of smoke gets in his face. He picks up Sokolof's dropped cigarette with his fingertips, brushing dirt off the end and handing it back towards the teacher. "Lose something, Efim?" His voice is a little shaky.

"I hope so as well," Elise agrees with the doctor. She reaches out to pat Novi on the back of the shoulder, trying to be reassuring. "It'll be finished soon," she says hopefully.

Daw. Novi is still going to be an official Novipillar in her blanket, but her face peeps out. "Bet so too," She nods. Then a sigh. "I hope that too. I doubt it though, most of the work crews are home by now," She considers.

Sokolof pokes his head up when the shells stop falling. Still shaking like a leaf. Even after days of bombing, the man's nerves have not developed a taste for it. He looks down at where his cigarette fell. Sighing.

To the sounnd of artillery shells, it appears Yvan has fallen asleep. The Mosin is tightly clutched onto, however, and he stirs from time to time. Light sleeping is pre-requisite in wartime.

Maschenko has Sokolof's cigarette in hand. And if the teacher isn't going to take it back then hell — he's going to smoke it. He climbs back onto the very edge of his seat, sticking cigarette in his mouth for a drag off the now-dirty thing. "We're getting closer to something," he muses, scratchily. "Just don't know what."

Elise sits next to Novikova in the corner. She seems pretty calm, but does draw her knees up to her chest as she sits. A sympathetic look is given towards Sokolof but she doesn't know what to say. To Maschenko she says, "Closer, you think?"

Novikova blinks at Yvan. "That's impressive. I am jealous," She admits. She is calming down as the artillery has slowed. She looks to Sokolof too. Daw. "Hey you can sit over here if you like," She offers. She takes a deep breath and goes quiet for a moment.

Sokolof is still so vaguely dazed he does not even catch Maschenko trying to return his cigarette. Well, no matter. It is left in the doctor's capable hands. He closes his eyes, laying his head back against the wall. Trying to collect himself the old fashioned way. Well, without nicotine assistance, at least. Perhaps he'll be able to catch a few hours of fitful sleep eventually.

Maschenko shrugs one shoulder at Elise. "To whatever comes next, I mean. they can't fly all their troops over this smoking shitheap; they're going to have roll some through. That'll mean men. Though…" He snorts faintly. "Where they're going to go is beyond me. They won't get anything on wheels through very far."

"I wish I had that knack," Elise agrees with Novikova, eyeing the sleeping Yvan. Then she nods to Maschenko. "And to what end? To occupy a pile of rubble?" She snorts derisively. "Damn them."

Yulia is jerked out of a light sleep by the voices. She'd fallen asleep sitting against the wall and her back and injured leg are both complaining with stiff pain. Blinking sore eyes, she runs a hand lightly over her dusty, unkempt hair, and sighs. "Comrades," she says, "is there any vodka left?"

Novikov watches poor Sokolof for a moment. She takes a deep breath. "Do tanks have wheels?" Ponder. "Some did once, btu I am not sure. I think they bomb out of spite. Because if they came at a full city…" Well, even a civvie like Novi can tell you the city is full of hidey places, traps and darn hard to dislodge determined defenders from. She blinks at Yulia. "Hey, you should be on my cot."

Elise shakes her head to Novi. "Not wheels. Tracks. But even they won't be able to get over all this mess, I don't think." She sighs. "Spite, da. They'll try to break our spirit, but I think they'll find it harder than they imagined." When Yulia stirs Elise gets up. "I'll see if I can find some. How are you feeling Comrade?" She goes to start rummaging.

"Better than before, but the pain…" Yulia's voice is pretty scratchy. She frowns and looks at Novi while thrashing about in an attempt to stand. "I should be, shouldn't I? I'm not sure how…" she lets the sentence die, mystified. A vague memory of getting up in the dark to use the 'bathroom' comes to mind, but she obviously didn't get very far afterwards.

"Um. I can help you up," Novi offers to Yulia. "It might be cleaner than resting on the floor," She notes. Still jealous of Yvan's talent! She nods at Elise, "That's one good thing I guess. I'd hate to see a tank in person," She admits.. A deep breath. "I think you're right." Nod at Elise. At least Novikova is still impresonable.

"Da, let us help you," Elise offers as well. A nod to Novi, "Da, a tank I could do without. I found some vodka at least." She sets it near the cot before stepping in to help Yulia if she wants.

Yulia nods stiffly and allows the two to help her up and move back to the cot. This is of course much preferable, but she can't help but feel a bit guilty. "It is your cot, comrade Novikova, you ought to use it as well," she mumbles helplessly.

Novikova will help Yulia to her cot. "Oh, I've been using it. I can use it later, no worries," Beam. Novikova is easygoing at least. "Just have a bit of a drink and rest until you're better. It's not really wise to be hurt and dragging it out in these conditions." It's better to get well faster, right?

Elise nods. "Best we get everyone back on their feet as soon as possible. You'll be needed soon enough," she says grimly. After helping Yulia back to bed and handing over the vodka, Elise says, "If you don't mind mending those now, cousin? Then I think I'm going to try to sleep a bit myself."

Yulia drinks for a good ten seconds. There, that should be enough to at least put her back to sleep and ease the pain twanging at her leg. At least she heals while sleeping, and doesn't feel as useless as when she is awake and not able to do much except hobble about like a gimpy babushka. "Thank you," she offers to both Novi and Elise, putting the bottle down. Just before she decides to roll back to sleep, she asks, "Have either of you gone up today?" Yulia raises her chin towards the ceiling.

A nod at Yulia. "I did some work and fetched some water," Novikova smiles. She looks to Elise, "Not at all. Sleep tight, cousin." She smiles. Novikova will hunt for the thread and needle, oh so precious in these times. "It's not very pleasant up there. The smoke is very think," She notes to Yulia.

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