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Buildings

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Coordinates : 3 3

The interior rooms of Pavlov's House have largely been cleared out. Most of the interior walls have been smashed down, making it quite a large and airy space inside the building. Rubble and corpses lie scattered around.

It is currently daytime.

Sub-Rooms :

1. Rubble pile

A dozen and a half soldiers up top and several dozen civilians in the basement means doctor and nurse have been running ragged up and down the flights of stairs. After stitching up Novikova and Sokolof, Maschenko made another run to the basement and then came back up here to the southern side of the top floor. There was a soldier here with a terribly septic chest wound, who'd made it through last night somehow able to shoot, but now he lies just beyond the pile of rubble in the middle of the room, dead despite the doctor's effort. The man's face is covered by his jacket, as it will be until someone comes by to grab and use it themselves.

Maschenko is sitting by the wall about ten feet from the dead body, knees drawn up to his chest to give his arms something to rest on. A cigarette burns in his left hand, palm keeping it shielded from the window.

Elise is on her way up the stairs too, rifle held at the ready. She notices Maschenko there, and there's a shift in her expression. Uncertainty. If he looks up, she'll give him a nod in greeting, but otherwise doesn't bother him for now. She heads instead for the southern window, to relieve the soldier previously on watch at that location. There's a brief exchange of status reports and then the other fellow takes his leave. Elise leans against the wall, behind cover as much as she can be while still being able to look out.

Maschenko might be asleep. If one can sleep with one's eyes open, which in Stalingrad some people may have learned to do by now. He's not really looking at anything besides some patch of space by the far wall — until footsteps go past. His eyes come back into focus like a slow camera lens, looking at the soldier departing and then Elise by the wall.

Elise watches the other soldier go, and then her gaze drifts back to Maschenko, only to discover him looking at her. Caught! "Comrade Doctor," she greets softly. A pause, noticing the body under the jacket. "Elstin didn't make it." It's as much grim statement as it is question.

Maschenko looks away from her, at the motionless lump. Still there. "N-…" His throat is so scratchy that his voice cracks, and he strains down a swallow of not nearly enough moisture. "No." His thumb flicks the back of his cigarette. Ash tumbles to the floor, caught up right away in a cold gust of wind. A few seconds' pause. "Are Zoya and Efim still…?" Alive, is the unsaid word.

Elise nods. "They're holding on." Her eyes linger on poor Elstin, whom she didn't even know beyond speaking a few words to him as he lay dying last night. "I'm afraid for them." It's a flat statement, given the emotion described, knowing that there's nothing to be done for some fear. Even voicing it doesn't seem to help much. She takes her canteen from her belt and offers it to him silently.

"They're strong," Maschenko says under his breath. A moment later adds in a slightly softer tone, "So are you." He takes the canteen, dirty cigarette jammed between dirtier fingers as he unscrews the cap. The swallow he takes is bigger than he probably should, but the relief of the water on a dry mouth is just that overwhelming.

Elise doesn't mind him taking the water, waiting while he drinks his fill. Her mouth presses into a thin line at his praise. Unconvinced, but grateful for the compliment. "Thanks. So are you." She glances briefly to the northern doorway, then back to the thirsty doctor. "I pray for them." It's a soft, somewhat hesitant admission. "For all of us, really, but especially for the wounded."

Willpower alone stops Maschenko from draining the whole thing. A drop of water threatens to escape off his lip as he lowers it, which he catches on the tip of his tongue swift as a predator after prey. He screws the cap back on and puts it down, withdrawing his arm back to his legs. His eyes stay down, cigarette end flicked again in the brief silence. "You were raised with the church?" Under his breath, this. Not that anyone else is close, but it's not something anyone takes chances with.

Elise nods slightly. She keeps her attention split between Maschenko, the window, and an ear turned toward approaching footsteps. Not a conversation she wants overheard. She keeps her voice low. "Da. Lutheran. My father was one of the Volga Germans."

"Pray, then." It's impossible to tell whether Maschenko approves or not; his voice is too low. Though for some reason, those two words prompt him, finally, to add on just as quietly. "I got your note."

The indeterminable reaction perplexes Elise a little, but it's better than abject disapproval, so she'll take it. When he mentions getting the note, her lips press together, again disconcerted that she can't read his expression. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into your business. I just saw the picture, and I was angry - I thought you'd made up the story just to patronize me." The apology comes out in a rush, something she wanted to say the first time she brought it up, before they were interrupted. Her voice is very soft as well, but there's a mix of sincerity and hurt in the tone.

"If I've struck you as that kind of man, then I've more than failed," Maschenko replies, very softly. He takes a slow, shallow drag off the cigarette, only a little smoke escaping his nose as he breathes back out. "I shouldn't have told you so much. I forgot that was…sitting out. Now you have a burden you shouldn't have to have, and for that I'm sorry."

"And if I've struck you as the kind of person you have to worry will stab you in the back…" Elise shakes her head slightly, turning her gaze back to the window. She can't forget the expression on his face when he brought it up. "It's not a burden," she says softly. "I'm glad you told me the story. It made me feel better."

Maschenko is silent for a time. He takes a breath and opens his mouth, about to say something, when a pair of heavy steps comes tromping up to the door and a hoarse voice calls out for the doctor. The Ukrainian's eyes shift to the doorway and then back to Elise. "Later," he says under his breath. Presumably there's something more to be said about all this, but now ears are too close. He starts to stand, grabbing his satchel and crushing the cigarette out. "Be careful on watch, alright?"

Elise tenses at the footsteps, then nods slightly to the doctor when he gets up to go. "I will. Take care, Comrade Doctor." She resumes her vigil at the window.

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