The Day Lasted Forever

Communal Apartments (5 3)

Sirens have been wailing up on the street for the better part of the morning and afternoon. Earlier, the front of their complex was nearly shattered by a bomb, the air around the city block clogged with smoke drifting from fires upwind. Maschenko is sitting on the floor in the dank basement near a large box that someone threw some kitchen provisions into before rushing down here, his back braced against the cold wall. His light blue watching the ceiling with some mild irritation, his face and clothes still streaked with soot and dirt from earlier. One sleeve is torn.

Snoring, in the basement, Reznov's snoring is enough to drown out bombing, nuclear strikes, and tank columns, the old Veteran seems to be quite content on a cot he managed to set up in a dank corner, and with his fur lined cap covering his eyes, he's sleeping, occasionally he mutters in his sleep, and turns over, when he came in, or how, doesn't matter, so much as..he's loud when he snores.

The woman stumbling down into the basement looks… exhausted, grim… really, really pissed off. Wearing the uniform of the Red Army, wearing the patch of the 1077th Anti-Aircraft Regiment, she yanks off her cap and collapses onto the nearest burlap sack. "Pisda, the bastards just don't -stop-," she mutters.

Maschenko's eyes drift closed once, and he scratches the back of his dark hair against the wall. A long exhale through his nose. From somewhere up above, something rumbles on the ground as artillery slams it, muted by the basement walls but making something up on the first floor shatter. The Ukrainian's eyes drag back open — one of them anyway — fixed on the ceiling again. "Assholes," he mutters. His fingers rub into his eye and the open one turns towards the basement stairs.

The snoring stops and a groggy voice rings out, Reznov's voice. "Eh!? Yes Comrade, Za Stalin!" he says, apparently, not really remembering where he is. "Of course Comrade Commissar yes.." he says, before rolling over, off his cot, and yells out. "Fuck, Am I still in Stalingrad?" he asks the apparently only other alert person, Maschenko.

Vladmir is sleeping in a crumpled heap, covering himself with a jacket. His eyes flash open at the sound of Reznov falling off the Cot. He raises his fists, looking for a fight. He spots the man on the floor and scowls. "Get up Comrade, we're all still here." Talk about Grumpy.

Maschenko leaves a streak of soot across the bridge of his nose before his hand drops back down, arms rested on his bent knees. "Little early to be going insane, don't you think, comrade?" Muttered Reznov's way, tone dry. He coughs a few times, still feeling the burn of the factory smoke a few hours ago.

Having dozed off, Novikova is tucked quietly into a blanket and her lucky fur coat. She looks almost kind of like a pea in a pod just bundled up. At least, until she hears talking. One hazel eye opens blearily and she protests with a squirm. Reznov. "Huh? We're in Stalingrad…" Yawn. She notices Vladimir is blanket-less. "Did you not get a blanket?"

Galina just rolls over and yanks a nearby blanket over her head. She's got four hours to sleep. Joy.

Reznov moves, with alot of creaking, to re occupy his cot. "Ahh, fuck off." He says at the ceiling before re-lowering his cap over his eyes. "If I was thirty years younger, I'd still be a father to most of you." He says, it seems Reznov doesn't entirely make a lot of sense. "I remember, in the great first World war, back when we still had Tsarist scum, we were in a basement like this, and we found some bottles of Brandy, ahh, that was a good battle against the common foe named Sobriety.." he drones on in his deep voice.

A tinkle of glass comes from another corner, and Yulia emerges with a few bottles of … well, something. She inspects them dubiously, not entirely sure what they are, considering the labels had been peeled off back when the bottles were dust-free. Nevertheless she takes them back to where the group has congregated and eyes the elderly man. "Well, it's not brandy, but this will have to do," she says, lifting up both bottles in either hand. She's not gonna be the one to open them though and potentially poison someone, so she plonks them down for the taking.

Maschenko's eyes roll slowly up towards the ceiling, in a more pointed gesture this time. He presses his cold palm against his forehead and sits up straighter, scooting back to press his whole back against the wall. "You alright over there, Zoyenka?"

Vladmir stretches his back, popping his spine. "No Comrade, I didn't; but I'm not complaining. If our Comrades in Leningrad can survive without a blanket, Why can't I?" Vladimir is in a very Patriotic mood. He moves forward, grabbing a bottle from where Yulia. "Don't mind if I do Comrade."

Reznov hears the bottles, it's like a sixth sense, for liquor, his boots are swinging over, and planting on the floor, and he moves with a surprising agility to retrieve a bottle, opening it with a practiced hand, but he doesn't gulp, instead, he smells it. "Wait Comrade, we had better make sure it is Vodka, and not bleach, or chlorine." He says, waiting a few seconds before taking a tentative sip, then swishing it in his mouth, and swallowing. "Well, if an old man of my age can stomach it, so can any one else." He says, offering the bottle to Yulia. "So Comrades, where is our beloved Commissar eh?" He says, seemingly becoming slightly more sane.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).

Blink. Zoya stirs slowly. She tilts her head at the older man. "Really?" She seems willing to listen to Reznov. good to listen to old peeps right? Right. She smiles though, hearing Maschenko. "Da, well as can be. I'll make another look for blankets or share when I am awake," Best to sleep alternately maybe? She sits up and offers Vladmir hers for awhile, "Well, here. We can take turns then." She offers. She's not unsympathetic. Then a wince, "Oh - are they at it again?" She sighs. A smile at Reznov's bravery. She looks back to Maschenko. "How about you?" She peers. For now, Yulia gets a glance and the bottles too. But she prefers to abstain for now. Weird.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).

Maschenko smirks, letting his head rest back against the wall again. The physician doesn't move to grab for brandy immediately, letting the others go for it first. "It's the middle of August, we'll be fine. The fucking Germans can well fuck off before we need to sleep under furs." His eyes tip up as more rumbling trembles the walls, even down here at basement level. "I'm fine, Zoyenka. Listening to this fine, fine fascist symphony."

Vladmir drops to his knees, as soon as he hears the shells incoming. With a wince, he stands back up. As more shells land, he seems to get a bit more edgy. He opens a bottle, taking a drink; a cough as another shell lands. He waits for a moment, listening. "Are they..Done?" He frowns, "That was short.."

Yulia accepts the bottle from the old man, but pauses with her arm outstretched as the artillery takes up its basso drumming. Her blue eyes peer up at the ceiling momentarily, but after a second she sits back and looks longingly at the bottle. After taking a tiny swig, she offers the bottle to Maschenko wordlessly.

Reznov lets his eyes look up, to ensure the basement is about to collapse on him, and his eyes drift towards this other female. "Do not worry about blankets right now, the vodka will stave off the cold, and once they stop shelling, it would be wise to start bringing in more supplies, once more of us get in here, you'll find this basement is quite warm, if not a bit rank." He laughs before his murky eyes dance towards the Vladmir. "Eh, I do not think they are done, but they aren't shelling any real targets, they're just trying to demoralize us." He says, standing up, and pounding on the wall. 'Well fuck you, and your mothers Fascist dogs!" He says defiantly before sitting down, removing a wrapped black sausage from his great coat to munch on..

"Maybe they had to reload." Maschenko makes a short laugh of that, not really one of amusement. "If we're lucky they'll miss the gun and shove it up their own arses instead." He doesn't get up as Reznov gets up to abuse their walls, rolling his head on the wall towards Yulia. His dirty hand comes out for the bottle with a grateful nod. "Thanks, comrade nurse. Doing alright?"

Nod to Maschenko. Still apparently Zoya likes to sleep waaaaaaarm. "They are out of tune," She smiles gently. "But I'm glad you're alright." Nod. friendly kid, if a bit doofy and impish. "Then again, I think Germany stole most of its music from Austria didn't they?" Ponder. A shrug and she looks to Vladmir. "They take a deep breath and then start screeching again." She too looks towards Yulia now, perhaps wordlessly asking the same question.

"I am, comrade," Yulia mumbles. She settles her frame against the wall, closing her eyes in what would have looked like calm repose in any other situation. Yet there's something grim about her colorless face, even more pale than usual. She crosses her arms and squeezes her biceps at regular intervals that seem to match the booming artillery. "And you?" It's the most politeness she can muster at the moment.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).

"Well as can be." Maschenko glances up towards the corner of the basement, where someone nailed some wood over the high, narrow windows at ground level. They'd better hold. "And I don't really know, Zoyenka. Enough, if not most. If Beethoven were still about today, he'd be one of the fascists as well, so I can't say I really care." He unscrews the bottle, taking a drink from it, and extends it back to Yulia.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Grigory makes his way down the steps quickly as the shells stop landing. He looks around the basement, "Sons of bitches, they are." He has a seat on the floor, shaking his head.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).

Nod. Zoya looks hopefully to those wood beams. "Me either," She admits. She looks to Yulia. A little smile. "Do you want to sit on this cot or anything?" She is noticing how pale the poor woman is and perhaps offering a nicer seat. She squeaks and hunkers down as the artillery hits the apartment. She pulls her blanket over her head. If she is going to die, she prefers not to see it coming.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Sovetskaya Street (6 3).

Vladmir falls to the ground as mortar shells slam into the Apartment complex. "Fascist bastards!" He shouts with a angry scowl. He stands back up, picking up his dripping bottle. He takes a swig, and is promptly knocked to the ground when another shell hits the building. "Ok, now I'm Pissed." He says with a growl, but stays down on the ground. He closes the bottle, muttering under his breath.

«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» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Maschenko sucks his teeth as the floor begins rumbling in earnest. "Never liked that couch up there anyway…" He's just sitting up when a shell lands on the street right by that window, the wood crashing inwards with a spray of splinters and broken glass. "Ah, shit."

Reznov seems rather uncaring about the direct hits, I mean, nothing is penetrating the basement. "We had better make sure the basement isn't..blocked." he says, striding towards the exit, to peer up the stairwell, which with his eyes, who knows if he can even see past the stair well. "Ahh, who wants to volunteer to go and wave a white flag and tell the Fascists to shell down the street so we can drink Vodka in peace ,eh?" he says joking, to alleviate tension.

Grigory slips his hat off and puts it inside his coat. He runs a hand over his head and laughs at Maschenko, "Eh, I'm not even sure that couch is going to be up there any more." He smirks and stands up from the basement floor, looking around for somewhere new to sit.

"Fuck the couch." Maschenko rolls onto his knees on the hard floor and stands up, his back making an irritated cracking sound. His jacket is somewhere upstairs, leaving the physician in a vest to cover the pair of worn suspenders. It, like his sleeve, is torn. "Any wood rolling about down here? Need to get something back up there before they decide to try the block again."

Eyes closed, Yulia hears the young woman's voice, offering the cot. Nice of her to do, but Yulia isn't in the mood to move. Instead, she squeezes her arms closer to her sides. "No—-" Any further words get drowned by by the smash of breaking glass, and she instinctively shields her face with her forearms from the incoming debris. "Damn it all," she growls, opening her eyes and glaring towards the ceiling as if she could make eye contact with one of those Fascists. The things she'd like to drop on -them- given the chance… Maschenko's question giving her some constructive purpose to move about; she gets up and begins collecting larger bits.

"It was an okay couch." She jerks as the wood crashes inwards. Novikova tries not to squeak again. She peeps out from the blanket as Maschenko asks about the wood. "I -" Hmmm. She'll move a bit to help. "I can get my chair. If we broke it up, the wood might be useful," She offers. Zoya is quiet though. She's still fairly bright, but all this artillery takes a toll on even a cheery spirit.

Grigory scratches at his beard and has a seat in a random chair. He slips his flask out and takes a quick swig of it's contents before saying, "So…what do we need wood for?"

Galina is just swearing up a storm at this point as she rolls instinctively to the side. "I don't even get a chance to sleep, the bastards," she growls as she looks around helplessly. She's got a gun that could help… But it's anchored to the ground somewhere that -isn't- here. She starts snatching up bits and pieces of wood to help prop up whatever might be crashing back down when she spots Grigory. Her eyes widen a little, but she doesn't move or speak yet.

Maschenko jerks a thumb up at the broken street-level window. "That piece of shit. Shell just got to it." He braces his hands on his hips, giving the dirty basement a thin-lipped look. "No, Zoyenka, don't go up there. There's got to be something down here we can board it with. See anything, Comrade nurse?"

Reznov is starting to venture into the stair well, and waving his arm in front of his face, a lot of dust. "Fuck wood, we need brick, rock, stone to block up the windows, and stuff the edges with rags or some thing. Ahh fuck Comrades, you stay here, Grandpa Reznov will go look, he's going to die of old age before we ever get our rifles.." he mutters. "Oh and ahh, Za Stalin! Za Rodonia!" He says, before going up the stairs boldly, or intoxicated, but the whole time, they can hear him humming some old Cavalry song, and eating that infernal black sausage.

Grigory just continues sitting in his chair, sipping at his vodka. He peers around the room aimlessly, until his spots Galina. He averts his eyes, trying to hide his affection from any Russian authority who might be in the room.

Yulia drops her pile of the larger debris by the physician and dusts her hands off. "We can cobble that together, but when the next shell comes…" She gets a quick vision of being impaled by a billion pointy shards of wood and nails, and frowns. That frown turns a bit downward even more as the old man tunefully heads upstairs. "Should he be doing that?"

A dutiful nod at Maschenko. "Alright. Hm." Zoya will ponder this and what to look for. But then she sees Reznov start upstairs. "Er, comrade Grandpa that's a bad idea just yet!" She moves after the old fellow, blinking owlishly as she flops over. Novikova burritos do not travel well. She squirms a bit, looking almost like a caterpillar with a weight problem before scootching after the old fellow.

Maschenko leans down and picks through the bits that Yulia found, pushing aside the most battered pieces until he comes up with one. It won't completely cover the broken part of the window, but it's the biggest one there. "Go look at what?" He grouches at Reznov. "It's a damn street. On fucking fire by now, not a nice place for a Sunday stroll." He looks up at the window and then down at Novikova. Or what was Novikova. "There you go. Just trip him."

Sokolof passes Reznov on the stairs. But while the old man is headed up, he is headed down. He stares at exiting Reznov but does his best to stay out of his way. His main concern is getting into the protection of the basement.

Reznov is already starting to explore the apartments overhead, well, whats left, when he finds tinned food, he shoves that into his pocket, but he's mostly looking for a toolbox, and destroyed stove pipes of the like, some thing iron, and heavy, that can be smashed into place and nailed into a wall, any one following him will find him, likely, in the process of raiding a destroyed kitchen of tinned food..

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Grigory stands up and yells something out in German as he storms up the stairs after the old man.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.

«Game» Grigory moves out of Basement.

«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).

Grigory runs over to the crazed Russian and grabs him to turn him around. He points up and shouts, "Bad things are coming! Get your ass back to the basement!" He will try to drag him back inside by his sleeve.

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

Sadly, Novikovas are not really built for moving like caterpillars. After some squeenching, Novi finally wriggles free of her blanket. "I hope if I am that old and crazy someone is kind enough to just vodka me to death." She scampers after Reznov. "Comrade Grandpa come back!" She bolts along with Grigory, although the man seems to be faster than her.

Vladmir is moving up the stairwell, chasing after the two calling as Artillery rocks the building, "Comrades get back here it is not safe!" He climbs up himself, running after Grigory. He moves to help drag the man back to the basement. "Come on you old bastard!" he hollers.

«Game» Vladmir moves out of Basement.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Maschenko gets the wood bracket in place, barely, and ducks back away from the window as the shelling starts pounding back their way. "Shit, shit." He drops back down to the floor, turning around as half the basement goes running UP the stairs. "What the fuck?"

Yulia gets a slight indentation between her brows, her frown still fixed in place. "What are those idiots doing—?" She suddenly drops to the floor, covering her head as the artillery begins slamming the apartment building again.

«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).

«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).

Sokolof goes to huddle on the floor in whatever bit of corner is left. Flinching at the sound of the bombs falling. "Get back, fools…!" he shouts, as much stunned that they're venturing out as anything else. He shudders. "Madness. Utter madness."

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

«Game» Novikova moves out of Basement.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage rips through Communal Apartments to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!

Reznov is still stuffing his pockets when he spots a toolbox in some half destroyed storage space, seemingly, defying death as shells rain down, instead, he's trying to free the toolbox. "Ahh come on you bastard.." He says tugging it free with a sudden jerk before surveying the area, toolbox in one hand, pleas to return now heard, and making more sense, as he begins to pick his way back towards the basement, which can become problematic when a door way that existed a mere second ago, is now collapsed inward.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Grigory is thrown through the air, and smashes against a wall as a shell goes off near his feet. He lays on the ground, shaking as more shells fall.

«Ground Combat» Novikova moves into Basement.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.

"You crazy old grandpa! What is your problem!?" Novi cries at the old man. She moves to tug Grigory back in though, screaming at his injuries. "oh g- Oh no!" She grunts and moves to pull the injured man.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).
«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

«Ground Combat» Reznov moves into Basement.

«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!

Vladmir suffers 1 wound damage to his right arm.
Grigory suffers 4 wound damage to his right arm.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.

«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Vladmir is blown back by the explosion. He falls back, losing conscience for a moment. He awakes with the next shell burst, gasping for air. He looks around, dazed, spotting Grigory. "MEDIC! COMRADE MEDIC!" He shouts. He attempts to grab his comrade, only to get blasted against the wall again. He promptly gets up, and runs for the basement. What a pansy.

"Grigory!" Galina screams, not seeming to care about anything else. She runs after the man. "Grigory, NYET!" Ignoring everything else, she runs and finds the man in bad shape, and chokes back tears as she helps drag him back inside where he ought to be.

«Ground Combat» Vladmir moves into Basement.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Maschenko has to say it again, as it bears repeating, "What the fuck." He drops the rest of the wood, ducking his head as he sprints towards the basement stairs. The artillery is still rumbling around them, things smashing up street-side.

«Artillery» 90mm mortar artillery barrage batters Communal Apartments ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Communal Apartments (5 3).

Yulia clenches her teeth so tight her jaw begins to ache under the cover of her arms. Well, there it goes. She hears the wood board just fixed up by Maschenko go bust, and feels a pepper of dust. "Damn Germans!" she shouts between her arms. The cries for a medic silence her, and she looks up at the physician, and follows.

«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).

Vladmir falls into the doorway of the basement, sliding down the steps, while swearing like a devil. "Damn Fascist Bastards! If I ever see Hitler I'll-" the rest of his comments are drowned out by the shells landing. With a Grimace, he moves over to a cot, laying down holding his wounded arm.

Reznov is coming back down, and if there's any one still out there, he'll help drag them in, especially Grigory. "No dying today Comrade, we haven't even gotten issued our rifles." He seems vaguely aware he caused people to well, get hit by shells, but then again, at his age, it's amazing he isn't wearing rubber pants, yes?

By now, even Novikova looks annoyed. "How the hell did you survive a Great War like this?" She shakes her head at Reznov. "You got people hurt and you feel no shame?" He's hit a nerve. Novikova rubs a bruise and pouts, moving back to her corner.
Grigory is dragged in by the soldiers. He hasn't passed out, but he'd probably be better off that way. He's just mumbling things about old people and Fascists.

"You fucking idiot," Maschenko spits the words at Reznov as he grabs up the few medical supplies he managed to drag down here. "You don't /go outside/ when they are fucking shelling us." He yanks some gauze out of his bag, heading for Grigory. "Is he breathing?"

Galina comes down helping to carry Grigory back down. "Shhh, dorogaya moya," she whispers to him, holding the writer's hand tightly. "Shhh. Don't talk. Just let the doctor work." She turns then and spots Reznov. A very dark look crosses the young woman's face and she -launches- herself at the old man's face, slapping clawing and spitting. "You crazy bastard! You killed my Grigory, I'll kill YOU!" Okay, so Grigory isn't dead. But that doesn't matter. It's a miracle. And therefore, Reznov must die.

A complete look of professionalism has whisked away Yulia's previous anxiety: expressionless and steady, she waits behind Maschenko at Grigory's side, ready and willing to do what she can, though this is the worst she's seen yet.

Maschenko ignores the fighting. See no evil, hear no evil. "Comrade nurse." He mutters through his teeth. "Can you give me a hand here, please. Pressure on that arm wound for me." A roll of gauze is tossed Yulia's way.

Reznov may be old, hell, he may qualify as a relic, but when the woman attacks him, she'll end up rather restrained, by the wrists. "No Comrade, he followed me, the young shouldn't follow the old to death, I am old, I could have been hit, and killed, and my blood spilled for this country, and it wouldn't matter, Comrade Stalin has no use for me, I barely survived his purges, and when I go to try and help the young, they follow me like a fool?" He says, throwing Galina back, if looks could kill, Galina would be dead, as it is, his murky eyes likely inflict death by extended glaring, which he's doing. "Damn kids, first they start a civil war, then they won't get off my farm in Siberia, then they show up later in fancy staff car, tell me I am to report to Tank School, then they don't have a tank that works properly, so I end up shipped to Stalingrad because I am to old." he rants as he heads towards his cot. "Won't even get off my lawn.." he says.

Sigh. Novikova stays out of the way and looks to Maschenko gratefully. "Thank you Doctor, I am sorry." Sadface. She says nothing on the fight, just pulling her blanket over herself once again. Novi-burrito.

Grigory lays on the table that he was plopped on and looks around the room, everything just coming through as a haze. He does spot Galina, so his eyes rest on her. He can't hear any of the fighting, the giant shell probably rupturing his eardrums.

Sokolof ignores Reznov, who is clearly insane. He does rise out of his crouched position to help see to Grigory and Vladmir. Carried back into the basement or otherwise. Not that there's much he can do, so he just keeps out of the way. Coming to stand beside Novikova. "Courage, comrade. The doctor is very skilled. He and the good nurse shall see to them."

Galina spits in Reznov's eye since he won't let her smack him upside the head a few times. "Shut up, you…" She screams in frustration and lobs a chunk of wood at the man's head before wheeling back to see Grigory looking at her. Helplessness covers her expressions and she moves back as quickly as she dares. All of their ears are ringing. But Grigory is alive… The Anti-Aircraft gunner is, in this moment, not a comrade but a scared girl, lingering near someone who is obviously very dear to her… and very badly hurt.

The gauze is wrapped around Grigory's arm. Yulia can't resist a brief glance back at the old man and woman in what appears to be a one-sided cat fight. She looks back at the wounded man. 'HER Grigory'? Hmm. Her eyes settle on Maschenko's hands as he works.

If anything is rupturing Maschenko's eardrums, it's Galina. He grimaces at the noise and shakes his head. "Thanks," he says to Yulia, quietly as he can. They didn't exactly hit the jackpot with him; the Ukrainian's pretty young where MDs tend to go. But he does at least seem to know what he's doing, slowly getting Grigory's wounds to stop bleeding with Yulia's help. "Someone turn the hose on them."

Reznov won't try to hit her or any thing, but he wipes the spit off his face, and starts to stack up the tins of food he has liberated from the above world. "Eh..sardines, fuck, why is it I can never find like, tinned beef.." he says, some how remembering chipped beef made during the first Great War from purchased rations. "Eh…I don't even know what this is.." he murmurs at what might be a can of fruit, or it might be dog food, it's hard to say given it's dented, no label remaining condition..

Novikova peeps out of her burrito. She ignores the crazy old man pointedly now. She nods at Sokolof. "I think so. You've seen him work before?" She seems grateful for any subject but the unfolding drama. She rubs an ear. "My ears are ringing, are yours?" She asks quietly, perhaps having trouble with voice tone.

Maschenko's light blue eyes glance at Galina by his shoulder, then back down at what he's doing. "More blood than wound, comrade," he tells the AA gunner next to him. "It's the scalp ones, they bleed like a river. But he'll be fine, don't you worry." He wipes his bloody hand on the closest thing he can find — someone's unfortunate scarf — and finishes off the wrapping he was doing. He looks up and over at Yulia, checking on her progress, and gives her a minute smile.

Sokolof watches Galina hover near Grigory. And spit at Reznov. Offering her a look of sympathy. A shrug to Novikova. "Once or twice, though I cannot say it is work I have much stomach for watching." Indeed, he doesn't look too closely as Maschenko and Yulia do their work. He gives his head a shake. His ears, are indeed, ringing. "It will pass…it will pass…" Whether he means the ringing, the shelling, or is just generally hoping it all will pass is hard to tell.

"I believe I saw a hose back by the vodka if we need it," Yulia says in a straight tone as she continues bandaging. Her idea of a joke, though weak. She quiets up, thankful that she didn't have to separate the two crazed comrades— which she wouldn't mind doing, but at this point it would just be tiresome. She returns Maschenko's minute smile with a minute nod of her own. The blood is everywhere, though, and she quickly focuses on trying to clear it up.

Grigory sits up on the table and has a look around, "So…what the fuck happened?" He coughs a little bit and wipes some blood from his mouth. He eyes Galina and points over at the flask he abandoned when he ran after the old guy. He peers down at himself and all the blood, then at Maschenko, "I should lay back down, right?"

"We'll need the vodka more than the hose by now, comrade." Maschenko's smile at Yulia becomes more of a grin, a very brief flash of some weak humor under the cloud of this shelling. He gets the gauze to stay in place, looking over at Grigory's face as the man awakens. His hands come up and off Grigory's head, so he doesn't end up shoving a finger into the man's eye. "You ran into a fucking shell," he informs Grigory, drily. "Just nipped you. Could have been worse." He lifts his chin to the Russian. "But you're going to be alright, just take it easy for now." His Russian is flawless, but it's got that persistent Ukrainian accent. It's not unpleasant, but it is noticeable.

Galina visibly sags with relief as Grigory speaks and Maschenko pronounces him safe. She practically dives for the dust-covered flask and hands it to the nearly-dead man with a deep inhale to make her hand stop shaking.

Grigory nods to Maschenko and says, "Lucky eh? Well, as lucky as you can get when you're hit with a shell." He peers at Reznov, "So, are you crazy or just fucking stupid? Both, you say? Hrmm." He takes the flask and sips it.

Reznov looks at Grigory, with a calculating eye, as if appraising how badly off he is, well, he can drink, can't be that bad. "I'm old, my life isn't worth much to Comrade Stalin, so I went to find toolbox, which I did, and some food, which I also found." he says, kicking the toolbox with a boot. "No one was supposed to follow an old man into what was certain death, but no, all you young men and women, have to try and be heroes." he says, dismissively waving a hand at the air.

Novikova nods at that, "Me either." She looks to Sokolof, grateful for a distraction. Novi's face is about the only thing poking out. She tilts her head at Yulia and smiles. But to Sokolof - "That's good. It's an unpleasant noise." She wrinkles her nose, unhappy for having been so close to the shells. At Reznov's comment, Novikova rolls her eyes. "Even you can't be that foolish. Do you think the people here are callous enough to just watch someone die? How cruel," She comments before pulling her legs in. She tries not to let the old man's words get to her though, and just looks to Sokolof. "Did you get to work today? I had half a day then I came home…"

Sokolof continues to pay mad old Reznov absolutely no mind. Showing more concern for those in the house in full possession of their sanity. And who aren't getting their comrades potentially killed. A shake of his head to Novikova. "We were only able to hold half a day of classes as well. Our facility is still intact, at least." He takes the lack of rubble as a blessing.

Grigory tosses the flask down and stands up roughly from the table, almost collapsing, his inner ear still repairing itself and his legs wounded. He peers at Reznov pointing his finger at him, "Your life is worthless to Stalin you say? Uncle Joe has lost interest in you? Well, I don't give a fuck! You are a human life, da? An old, senile one, but a human life, nonetheless!" He kneels down slowly to pick up his flask. Obviously afraid that someone might turn him into the government, he quietly sits back down on the table and takes a sip.

Maschenko picks up the scarf again and wipes off his hands, blood sticking to the wool. His lips curl, slightly disgusted. "We're going to need more water down here." He lets his back rest against the cold wall, shoulders having gained a tired slouch. From the overnight shift straight to air raid sirens and now this; he's exhausted. The continued arguing, he ignores. Or at least, he looks like he is.

Reznov watches Grigory closely, more so because he's so casually saying Uncle Joe. "I don't see any commissars Comrade, so you may freely say Uncle Joe, and the like, if a Commissar walks here from their hole with their caviar and wine, he's crazier then I." He says aloud with a light nodding of his head, before he uses his knife to pry open the tin of sardines.

"Grigory," Galina says softly, looking away and down with a pained look on her face. That's it. Just his name. Grigory. The sudden loss of adrenaline has made her legs shaky, and she sinks heavily to the floor just to keep from falling. "My father is a Commissar, you crazy coot," she mutters quietly to Reznov.

Yulia takes a step back from Grigory, her hands still slick with red, and hoping no one goes for the old man's jugular… too late. Or is it? She's a bit flummoxed at the patient's outburst, but before she asks him to crawl back on the table, he does so himself. Thank you. She takes the scarf from the physician when he's finished with it and cleans her hands, nodding in reply to his comment. It's almost too bad there's not another victim to tend to, because now she has little else to do but listen to the cacophony and wait for the shelling.

"Pay him no mind, Comrade. This affair has clearly unhinged him," Sokolof says to Grigory. There is some pity in his voice for Reznov, but little else. "Do not waste your strength on him." His eyes eventually drift up. Looking at the ceiling, though his gaze seems to try to fix beyond it. Perhaps himself wondering if more shells are to come.

Grigory looks over at Maschenko and Yulia and says softly, "Just…just clean me up, will you?" He then hangs his head and sips at his vodka, not listening much to anything but his own frantic thoughts of ending up in a gulag.

Reznov moves to give Sokolof the tin of sardines. "Here, you eat these, I need to find water now." Which means he's soon examining pipes, placing a bare hand to them, as if trying to judge which one burns the worst. "Tell me Comrades, did this apartment have hot water before the shelling, or am I wasting my time, eh?" He asks, rattling the pipe he's holding. "Did it even have water..does this city have water.." he murmurs, turning to try and look at Galina when she mentions her father is a commissar. "Indeed he is I'm sure, and I had Dinner with The Great Lenin him self I did." He says nonchalantly.

Novikova smiles at Sokolof. Her smile fades though and she keeps in her blanket. "I guess I am grateful we kept the basement clean…" She comments.

"Clean you, too?" Maschenko snorts under his breath. He shrugs off his vest, bloodstained as it is, and pushes his rolled sleeves back up. The folds are spattered with blood droplets themselves. "Now we'll have to start accepting tips." He lifts a hand in the air as he turns away, making a flourish with his wrist. "The travelling medical show. We patch, we sponge, we stitch, and all while tap-dancing. Shame the shells make such a shitty rhythm. Comrade Nur-…fuck." He's tired of calling her that by now. He should know this. "What is your name?"

Galina just stares into space as the adrenaline becomes nausea. And she suddenly is lurching to the side to empty her stomach behind an overturned 'upholstered' chair.

Yulia restrains a look of mild irritation at their patient. As the doctor says, isn't it enough they've stopped him from bleeding his brains out? And clean him with WHAT? The vodka? Well, why not? While searching for the bottles, she glances up at the question, faint surprise in her eyes. "Yulia Morozov."

"I am not hungry," Sokolof says, distancing himself from Reznov. The man can feed himself. A quick flicker of a smile to Novikova that does not quite touch his eyes. "There is at least that, I suppose." He manages not to lurch, though he does look pale and near to it. Deep breaths are taken, hands clasped behind his back to still the shaking as he calms his nerves.

Maschenko glances at Galina, with a wrinkled expression that could be either 'sympathy' or 'ew'. It's hard to tell. He clears his throat quietly, nodding to Yulia. "Comrade Yulia, then. Luka Andriyevich Maschenko." The patronymic's given formally, though then he adds, "Luka is fine. Could you give the young lady a little water? Or vodka. Whatever you can find first. I'll find something to clean up with."

Reznov doesn't seem to care if he doesn't want the food, because he seems to have found a water pipe, small, copperish, or brass, or some thing, it's a bit hard to figure out what it is in the basement, but his boot starts to impact with it, until hot water starts to stream down it, and he looks content. "There, hot water, for as long as the mains work, or the tank, or what ever the hell that's feeding this place. I hope the Fascists don't have any." he says, starting to look for the water main, to be able to shut the pipe off.

"Hey, you want to sit over here on the cot? It's not so noisy over here," Which is about the best excuse Novi can offer for offering Sokolov a better seat. Sometimes it's nicer to sit by a buddy right? Shell buddies? Might ease nerves a bit to be near a pal anyway. "And what part were you on?" She seems curious about the electronics. And then a blink at Reznov, "Oh no! We're gonna flood if that pipe is - are you stupid?" Pout, "Or just senile? Seriously?" She starts to stand again. March of the Novipillars.

"Certainly," Yulia replies. Her eyes spot one bottle of vodka. She's aware that the old man is tinkering with something, maybe water, but vodka seemed to suit the situation a little better. She moves towards Galina, doing her best to ignore the puddle near the floor. And the smell. "Here, comrade." The bottle is extended towards her.

Galina slowly reemerges and slings herself upwards to her feet. She looks at the bottle Yulia offers her and hesitates. "Thanks," she says softly, taking it in hand. She walks off. Grabs the burlap sack she'd been -trying- to sleep on, soaks it in the suddenly-appearing waterfall and goes to clean up her own mess. That accomplished, she tosses the bag out the shattered window. She looks around again before purposefully ignoring everyone here and snagging up a bit of a torn-up dress that filtered down into the basement. That too is soaked. And she moves to Grigory in the corner, apparently cleaning the blood from the literally shell-shocked man.

Reznov waves off Novi when she starts to come over. "Hold on, I found the main.." he says, tugging on a handle, which grinds into another position, and the water stops spurting out. "I don't suppose we have any candles, eh?" He says, going to retrieve his Sardines, and stab at them with his knife, and settles down on his Cot and starts to toss tins out towards the center of the floor. "They shouldn't have stopped shelling, unless they were moving infantry up to the positions they've been hammering.." he says, Mister pessimistic here.

Everyone's settling down, something most would find a relief after the incidents of the day. Yulia is looking forward to maybe sleeping, maybe… otherwise, it's back to playing the waiting game. She makes a dutiful round to check on the two wounded and ends up back to where she started, sitting against the wall, her arms folded in a loose hug around her. Except this time she gets the occasional whiff of sardines.

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