Animalcules Wait For No Man

Though battered by shelling and fighting, this part of the factory was spared enough that work is still ongoing here. The heat from the furnace and near-deafening noise of production are ever-present, and laborers slave on schedules that make the soldiers' lives almost seem easy to keep the engine of Soviet production running.

The sounds and smells are the clatter and burnt oil of heavy industry, littered with the human and mechanical waste of warfare. Massive sliding doors allow access between the modular grey iron blocks of the Red October factory. Everything is in blasted shades of grey, from the bare iron rafters far overhead, to the painted grey staircases which zig zag up from the main factory floor to the elevated walkways which bypass the chaos below.

It is currently dusk.

Maschenko has been off among the wounded most of the day, settled for the last ten minutes by a young man whose breathing slowly degenerated into a gasp or two between long pauses of silence. And then, nothing more. The doctor puts his fingertips into the hollow of the man's throat, waiting about fifteen seconds before pulling part of a torn blanket up over his face. This intensely familiar ritual done he stands up, picking through the pile of bodies on his way back to where his supplies sit, satchel crumpled by a crate. A small pile of rubber bits lies in a strange heap by another spot, wrapped up in someone's torn pilotka.

Novikova returns herself. She hums softly. Her patrol partner smiles, nods and goes off to his own spot. She unslings her SVT from her shoulder and moves towards where she and Elise normally nest. She politely greets the others, "Comrade." And a smile at Maschenko. "Doctor!" She beams.

"Hmm?" Maschenko looks up from a suturing needle that he's trying bravely to unkink. Someone might've stepped on it. "Zoya. Pass me that pair of pliers right there, will you please?" He indicates the tool on the floor by pointing a long index finger that way.

Elise heads off North.

"Da, sure thing," Novikova smiles, picking up the pliers and brings them over to Maschenko. "Are you thirsty or hungry?" She offers. "I was thinking of writing a note to someone here but that seems wasteful," She considers. A shrug at that.

"No, I'm fine…" Maschenko takes the pliers and looks down, fixing the bottle nose ends to the needle. He turns his wrist carefully, wrinkling his nose as he works on the delicate needle. "A note of what?"

Novikova nods and watches Maschenko. When he asks about the note, her eyes widen a little. "Um. Nothing. Important." Fidget. She's a terrible poker player. She smiles at Maschenko, "What cha fixing?" She leans over, preferring to find out about what he is doing.

A brow twitches, the only indication that Maschenko heard her stuttering. He doesn't look up from his bending, fingers finally making an awkward twist that straightens the tiny section of metal. Now it looks like a proper fishhook. "These are suturing needles," he explains. "Extras from the office. They got trampled in the fire…so now they all look cat's claws, ni?" He slides the curved, sharp thing between his bent fingers, tipping his hand forward. "Fsst fsst." Cats spits like that, somewhere. Surely. He turns the needle over and arches a brow towards a candle sitting nearby. "If you want to help me you can get that. Sterilize these for me as I finish them."

Phew. Novikova nods and look sover at the explanation. "Kind of yeah," She smiles. "Good for hooking in," She considers. She giggles at his cat impression. She obviously thinks it's good and/or amusing. "Hopefully not the kind who likes to climb legs," She considers. A look over to Maschenko. "Sure. Probably wiser than wasting paper or being idle. Cousin's not here, so." No need for her to sit and offer an arm. She'll settle in, "Want me to do it over there or move the candle?"

Maschenko looks up from under his brows, glancing at the spot Elise usually sits in. "She got up?" No matter. He makes an ambivalent motion with one hand and holds out the bottom of the needle for her to take. "Whichever. Three seconds, and watch your fingers. Hold it in the side of the flame, not over the top." Not that the needles will stay remotely sterile (if this even gets them sterile), but it's something.

Nod. Novikova replies, "I think she wanted out of here for a bit. She and I are a lot alike in that we tend to handle captivity bad," She shrugs. She will move the candle and herself close to Maschenko so he can take the needles after she sterilizes them. "Okay." Nod. She's got this. "Just like in lab whenn they showed us those little pond bugs," She looks thoughtful. "Mine were always wiggling. I wish I had a flagella sometimes, I'd just propel myself merrily about. But I'm no paramecium," Ponder. She smiles at him.

"Paramecia don't have flagellae," Maschenko digs through the rather dangerous pile of broken needle bits until he finds another that looks like it can be forced back into a useable shape. "So…" He holds up the needle, turning it over in the dim glow of the candlelight. "…I don't suppose that's a problem." Pliers clamped onto the hook end.

"Oh, right. The other little guys," Novikova waggles fingers, "I did great in other classes but all the little germs are beyond me," Sigh. She will take up some of the bent hooks and begin to heat one. 3 seconds, move away! The metal glows for a moment then fades. "Where should I set the clean ones?" She asks. She looks to Maschenko.

"Mmm. But you do have cilia, you know. So, you /could/ be a paramecium if you put your mind to it." Maschenko's voice is no different than it usually is, though he used to smile a lot more. He hasn't yet once tonight. "Do you know who the father of microscopy was, who first saw all that?" He holds out his hand for the flamed needle, exchanging it for the one he just bent. "Here, I'll take that."

Heehee. Novikova smiles at that. "I think I could, but parameciums are pretty selfish aren't they?" She considers. That wouldn't go over well here. "Antoni van Leeuwenhoek, right? Fellow with the red blood cells? He looked at them and -" It's hard to say sperm. Novi's mouth opens, closes. She exchanges the now cooled needle for a new one and heats it up. There we go. "Sure thing." She smiles. "I'm glad to help."

"Mmmhm." Maschenko picks some debris off the nose of the pliers and starts sifting for another piece of metal to crick. "Red blood cells, rainwater, many things. When he first saw bacteria he called them 'animalcules'. The old days of science when one man's curiosity could mean the whole world." He makes a noise under his breath, that would've been a chuckle if he'd smiled. "I don't suppose writing a note would be a waste." The non-sequitur is completely seamless.

Aw. A smile. Almost. Novikova is grateful for what she gets, though she looks a bit concerned. The second hook is heated and passed back. "Did you like the microscopes when we had them around more?" She asks quietly. "Perhaps. But I see hi— err, them every day." She shrugs. "If there are leftovers." Smile. "Have you gotten to write? I think I found something for you," She remembers. Unless she's handed metal, Novi fishes into her little pack.

«Game» It is now night time.

Maschenko has the new needle between index and thumb, and he reaches over to take the flamed one betwen pinky and ring. It's deposited with the first, already racking up a new host of beasties. "I did," he replies, as to the microscopes. Or maybe he meant getting to write. "'The most powerful microscope or the most powerful telescope, which would you rather have?'. Someone asked me that once. And which would you take, Zoyenka?" His faces screws up slightly as he pushes the edge of the needle back into place, wiggling it. And then again, until *snap*. "Shit."

Novikova watches Maschenko quietly for a moment. She nods, pleased. "Hmm. That's a tough one. My heart would like to see the stars, but my mind knows that it is wiser to know what little creatures make a commune on Novikova," She is obviously making a jab at herself. "And that hurt people or just - are." She is thinking. "I suspect the telescope, I was terrible with a microscope and I'd waste everyone's time," She finally settles. She flinches at the snap. "Oh… sorry," but then she hunts in her kit again. "Ah hah," She finds it. "It's - well, I found a cigarette wrapped in this old poem," She remarks. "It was stashed between bricks. I was looking at the wall while my partner went to the bathroom because I promised not to look," Nod. "I can't read it though," She admits.

Maschenko flicks away the broken pieces, into a ripped swatch of cloth that'll probably get tossed in a furnace. Back to the drawing board, fingertips poking through sharp objects. Needle in a needlestack. He picks up a new one, clamping the pliers to the metal. "The question wasn't about ease, it was about what draws your mind to it. The specks beyond or the grand in a nutshell…however much difference there really is in the end." He's mumbling slightly, most of his concentration on not breaking another needle. His blue eyes finally flicker up, from under his brows, as she talks of paper. "Why can't you read it?"

Novikova watches and nods, "I see. Which one would you pick then?" She peers at him. "And I don't think it's in Russian," She admits. She hands over the cigarette, wrapped in its note. It's Ukranian. It's simply an ode to a cigarette. And that if its owner had not returned by this date, to take it and use it because - hell, why not? There's a fairly bleak, but wry tone to the poem. A last wisecrack, if one wishes to think of it that way. Drinking the pleasure of that last burning ash. Novikova is uttely stumped. "Either way, I can't use it and I feel bad hanging onto something I can't personally use," She shrugs and smiles at the Doctor. "Though I feel bad encouraging smoking."

Maschenko frowns and reaches for the note and its wrapped prize, looking down at the cyrillic writing. A few heartbeats' worth of silence, and he crumples the note over his thumb, shaking his head. "Handwriting's shit," he says under his breath, in a tone that's tough to decipher. He holds the now wrinkled-folded paper back at her, between his fingers. "Rub out the front. You can use the back for your note."

Novikova will sit in silence as Maschenko reads, looking at him steadily. She hesitates to speak. A blink. "Are you sure? I hate to wipe away someone's note, even if I can't read it," Novikova considers. For all she knows, it's the Ukranian Shakespeare at work? She accepts it though, "If you say so. Thank you," She bobs her head. "I'm sorry if that was a bother, it just seemed odd. I should be careful messing with loose bricks though or I'll be squished."

"Zoya, a piece of paper is not a bother. It is a piece of paper. Just use it." Maschenko's voice has a dull edge to it, not quite short but unusually close to it. The cigarette's put in a safe spot by his knee and picks the pliers up again, a beat going by before he speaks again. Tone right back to normal. "I think there's a pencil by Comrade Yulia's bag. Go on, comrade Taktarov will appreciate it."

Novikova nods. She lets it go at that. "Thank you." THen a pause. He saw right through her? Her eyes widen at Maschenko. Novikova opens her mouth, jaw slack. Closes it. "Yeah." Is all she manages, smiling stupidly. "Well, let me finish helping clean things first." It seems to ease her conscience a bit.

Maschenko turns the new needle over in the end of the pliers and holds that out for her to take. "That'll be the last one, there. The rest are dull, I'll need to see if I can sharpen them first. Watch your fingers."

Novikova takes the newest needle, and nods. "I'd hate to bleed on your new needles," Novikova agrees and smiles wryly. She heats the metal until it glows faintly red, patiently waiting a moment and then handing it back. "Would you pick the telescope or the microscope yourself?" She considers. "I didn't remember your answer…" Sadface.

Maschenko takes the needle gingerly, mindful of the hot metal. "A microscope, a long time ago." He shakes it gently, then lays it down by the others. "Right at this moment? There are things I would rather see beyond." He wraps up the needles, stashing them in his satchel. Right on time; they'll probably all be used before the morning ends. "Alright then, Zoya. Good work."

"Thank you," Novikova smiles. Then a nod, "I'm always glad to help you." She stands to hunt down that pencil. It's taking some doing but she finally finds it. Ta da! "What was your favorite class in school then?" Headtilt.

Maschenko smirks slightly. "I've spent a good twenty or so years of my life in school, Zoya. What part of school do you mean?" He starts to get up onto his knees to he can secure all his supplies into nooks and crannies, picking up the woefully stale cigarette.

"That's a lot," Novikova considers and smiles at the smirk. "Any of it. Though the naps when I was very little were pretty nice," She admits. She watches him for a moment, thinking. "Although university's been really interesting."

"Naps?" Maschenko repeats, blankly. "Why were you sleeping in school?" He picks up the candle, lighting the cigarette on the end of it. The smoke is stale and especially acrid, though not that many people can smell it anymore.

"Perhaps because it was the only way she would stop talking?" a new voice supposes, as Taktarov makes his way in from the room to the north. A grin touches his expression as the skinny young man looks around.

Whoops. "It wasn't voluntary," Sadface. "I just sleep when it's really warm. I'm like a lizard." She also got /swatted/ like a lizard. Though Novikova pauses. "Or did you just like all of it in its place? That seems like a more sensible thing then having a favorite," She consideres this. She doesn't notice the smell. Hmmph. "Hey! That's not fair," Pout. "Ambushing me like that." She smmiles after the pout though, "Comrade."

"Ah." Maschenko pauses a moment as he puts all this together in his head. "You were in school when you were very little?" Smoke curls as he puffs on the end of the cigarette. "Well, I suppose that was the '20s. Things had certainly improved. That's good…" He looks up as the third voice joins in. "Morning, comrade." It's not /quite/ morning, but it's closer to dawn than the dead of night by now.

"Comrade Doctor," Tak greets cheerfully. He forces the smile from his face to regard Novikova sidelong. "*Comrade Novikova*," he greets with pretended distaste. His expression cracks into a grin before long though. "I do not have to be fair.. that's in the rules somewhere.."

Pfft. Novikova sticks her tongue out at Taktarov, "Da. I was lucky mostly. And I am sure the babushkas got tired of me fast." One can only /imagine/ the terror of Novi the Toddler. She snorts at Taktarov, "I am shocked you stopped making bad jokes and finding giant shoes long enough to /read/ the rules." She starts to move back to her usual spot and grins back at Taktarov. "Besides, I was talking to Comrade Doctor about favorite subjects."

"I'm certain the subject will hold for another time, Zoyenka," Maschenko interjects quietly. He braces his heel against the side of the crate he'd settled on, using his knee as a shelf for his elbow. Ash tumbles from the end of the very stale cigarette, which he watches get caught up in a cold eddy of wind.

"I was more efficient," Taktarov explains to Novikova with a proud smile. "I started making bad rules instead of jokes, and *you* found the shoes for me.. So I had time to read." The topic of favorite subjects brings a curious tilt to his head. "Subjects? From school, or.. subjects like food?" Maschenko's comment is met with the words, "I don't wish to interrupt.. well- interrupt *more*."

"Alright," Novikova nods. She doesn't push more on maschenko. She laughs softly and smiles at Taktarov, "That is very clever. And from school. No, it's fine. I am certain I am driving him loopy nattering away at him," For once, Novikova looks abashed and goes quiet a moment. "I'm just glad to see you both. How was your patrol?" She looks to Taktarov.

"You haven't, comrade Taktarov." Maschenko ashes his cigarette and stands up instead, grabbing his satchel along the way. "It wasn't terribly timed, I have comrades I should have checked on ten minutes ago. Animalcules wait for no man." This might've been humor but it comes out a little too seriously. He still hasn't smiled yet this evening — his farewell, though light, isn't promising to change the status quo. "Zoya, be lovely and let Comrade Yulia know that rubber's for her boot, if you see her."

«Game» It is now dawn.

Taktarov answers amiably, "The patrol was terrible. It was cold, and boring, and… that's about all. Very cold and boring. It could not have been better, really," he concludes with a grin. "Because there are only bad patrols, and boring patrols. So I will be glad to be bored." Maschenko's parting words cause the young man clear confusion. "…Animal clues?" A confused wave is given in parting. "If not waiting for men, then maybe for other animals?"

Novikova smiles at Maschenko, catching the joke. "I am sorry I kept you. But I appreciate your company." She nods. "I promise I will," She replies. She's staying here. "Thank you for finding it for her." She looks to Taktarov and grins back. "I know how that goes. And the man who first saw things with a microscope called them 'Animalcules'," She explains.

Novi's explanation, full of detail and precise terminology is answered with an eloquent: "…What?" from Aleks. "Who looked at what and called it animalclues?" He grins, suspicion dawning, "Or are you just making up words to fool me?"

Blink. Novikova shakes her head and smiles. "Nyet, it was Anthony van Leeuwenhoek. He is the man who first observed things like blood cells, little pond creatures and such under a microscope. But he did not know that - like the red blood cells? Were just cells, part of a bigger thing. So he called them animalcules. Little parts of animals," She explains, wiggling fingertips if only to fidgets.

Taktarov's confusion only grows as she cites the unfamiliar name. Realization isn't far behind however, "Ah! You mean scientists.. Microscope, ah-ha! I see, I see.. That was confusing," he admits with a laugh. "But.. wouldn't that mean they would wait for every man? Since.. they're always there?"

"Right. He was the first scientist to see those things. And huh? Would what wait?" Novikova blinks. She looks confused now. It's spready. Her eyebrows furrow and she rubs the back of her head. "No … he just meant that he had comrades to tend to. We can always talk later," She smiles. "It's an expression."

Two people trying to catch up on discussions moving in opposite directions. It results in Tak and Novi staring at each other perplexed for a moment. "…What?" Abruptly he laughs, shaking his head. "You look funny when you're confused, Zoya. I'm glad to be seeing you looking so funny." He winks at the talk of how funny she looks when confused.

Buh. When dorks pas in the night. Novikova's eyes cross. She huffs. "I do not. No more than you anyway," They uncross after a moment. She grins, seeing him wink. "We were just talking a bit. I'm kind of worried. Even the Doctor smiles once in awhile, but not this evening. I think something is bothering him, since that night with the guards," She squints. A sigh. "Oh well, I am bad with that sort of thing." She shifts subjects a bit, "I'm glad patrol was boring for you. It beats actually /finding/ Nazis."

Taktarov says "Exactly!" Tak declares to her last words, before nodding twice and relaxing his exhuberance on the more important subject. "Comrade Yulia was not so happy after the Comrade Officer left, but she was smiling after a bit. Comrade Doctor just doesn't smile as much.. I think he calls it 'bedside manner'. But ..you know- without any bed.""

Novikova nods and frowns. "Da… I wonder what's going on," She looks to where the guards once were. "It's like something has them worried. But no one can say what," But then even Novikova is catching on that some things are just not mentioned. "I don't know. I know Comrade Maschenko isn't the warmest and cuddliest of people, but it feels off. You know?" She shrugs. "It's probably best not to gossip abotu it, but something is eating at me." Like something bad is being hidden away. "Oh well. What are you going to do?" A helpless sigh.

"Well.. Zoya- there *are* fascists everywhere," he chuckles. "Quite a lot of them, in fact. Even if we are getting used to it, it is still worrying, yes?" Not looking too deeply is like laughing. He doesn't want to stop either, just yet. "You have it all backwards, Zoya.. *You* are supposed to eat *things*, not the other way around."

Novikova smiles at his chuckle. "Oh, I know. They are awful neighbors and bastards." She sighs softly. She grins, "It's like when you have a bug bite though. It itches, but you only scratch so much or it gets worse." Then a snort. "I don't know. If I could eat the worry I have, I'd be the fattest woman in Stalingrad. But now that you're here, I shall chatter at you. For all eternity! Ooooh-" She wiggles fingers. Taktarov goes to heck and is stuck with Novikova, Princess of Dimly Lit Furnace Rooms.

Taktarov affects a look of panic, complete with a vocalized, "Ack!" at the finger wiggling. "Oh no- I will be- ..Wait a moment. I *like* you chattering at me. Ha-HA!" he crows victoriously. Grinning easily as he lets a breath out, the skinny young man muses, "Mmm.. Roast worries, with potatos and cabbage? Are you *sure* you're not a cook? Thats sounds very good."

Novikova gasps. She's undone. "Curses! I am defeated by the wily Aleks," She smiles, conceding to him. His grin warms her heart a bit. But then she laughs softly. "I am sure. The last time I tried to make borscht, everyone left the apartment a few hours because it smelled bad and I almost caught fire." She wrinkles her nose. "I feel so bad. It's really just not something I can do well." Which must be painful at times. "Oh well. Maybe I will have to try to learn to cook again someday."

Taktarov laughs lightly at the description of the borscht debacle. "Well.. you grow things! That counts as making food, right?" he theorizes with a chuckle. A decisive nod. "And if someone else must turn food into a meal? That is only fair!"

Novikova considers that. "I suspect that is true. It's not fair to take on a whole BUNCH of jobs is it?" Novikova looks to Taktarov, who to her must seem a bastian of wisdom when it comes to working. "I guess that's why factories work in lines, so everyone has something to do and it all goes faster?"

"Exactly," Taktarov declares proudly. "To try and do everything is selfish. So be proud of your burnt borscht! It makes you a good communist," he grins with the conclusion at which he has arrived. A chuckle follows.

Novikova smiles at that. "Oh, I see. Well, I don't know. Everyone had to leave for a bit." She laughs softly, but his grin keeps her smiling and so does his chuckling. "But I think you are right. I will just bring home vegetables." She pauses, "You should at least come sit over by me here. It's a little warmer. I'd hate to see you frozen," She admits. "Because /I/ would have to be the one to carry you outside."

"There you are: vegetables," Taktarov nods decisively. He grins again, glancing at his boots for an instant as she tells him to sit with her. "Well, if it will spare you some work.." Aleks grins, as he shrugs off the rifle to settle into a seat close beside Novikova. Closer than he had in prior days. "What is you favorite vegetable, Zoya?"

Novikova smiles at that. "Da. I guess that's that," She looks to his boots as he does. She tries not to go red. She bobs her head, "And one frozen comrade less." She looks grateful as he sits close to her. Though there's a shy happiness, the awkwardness of it. "Mine? It's hard to say. They all have their pluses and flavors. I think for now, though - any one of them not in a can?" A wink at Taktarov, "I am sorry. Let me think. I suspect potatoes are a good one, you can make a million things without knowing much about cooking. How about yours?"

"Bah! 'Not in a can'," Aleks scoffs, with a laugh. "Potatos are very good, yes," he agrees leaning his head back to rest against the wall behind them, turned so that he regards the girl beside him. "You can eat them with a bit of butter, or salt. You can eat it whole, with the skin on, or slice it into potato coins.. or smash it all up, or cut it into pieces and boil it with cabbage.." He grins anew, "Cabbage is good too- but there isnt as much to do with it.. but you can eat it with *anything*."

Novikova laughs and smiles at Alesk' scoff. Her hazel eyes are a bit brighter listening to him and she turns to look over. "That's true. I like cabbage too," She nods. She lets her smile grow into a grin. Then she yawns, "But I might nap soon. I missed dinner and I'm on patrol soon. You're um, welcome to stay sitting- but- now I remember. Did you get to write a letter home? There's still a tiny bit of paper left."

"No, I didn't," Aleks admits with a small smile and shrug. "I know no letters can get to Dar Gora, right now. Soon enough, though," he nods once. "If you need to rest, close your eyes. I'll know you're asleep when you stop talking," he grins, calling bavck to the former joke. "And.. if you lean on my shoulder when you do, I won't complain."

"Okay, I-" She looks awkward at that. That's right. Novikova smiles at him, "I'd like that." She snorts at the former joke. She sighs softly and lets herself - wills herself- to sleep. Eventually Novikova will lean in her sleep on Taktarov. Totally sleeping there.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 License.