WHO: Elise, Maschenko, Mikhail, Novikova, Taktarov, Yulia
WHAT: Convalescing, letter writing, and Fascist appreciation of jokes
WHEN: Early October, 1942
Settlement B - Bedrooms
Coordinates : 2 4
About four people once shared this bedroom, one of several in a row down this corridor. Two sets of bunk beds were against the wall, their metal frames now toppled over. Closets hang open, a dresser broken in half from a piece of the ceiling falling down onto it. The walls are pockmarked from gunfire, debris strewn all over the floor. There was one small bookshelf, that someone dragged in front of the window for a tiny amount of cover. Dried blood spatters the shelves.
Several of the occupants had children; one crumbling wall still has a childish drawing tacked to it. A homework book is lying half-shredded on a chair.
Sometime during the artillery-filled, hazy day, a grungy factory militia man stopped off in here to drop off some scraps of paper and pencils. A runner would be headed east to the Volga soon to report in to the closest HQ they figured was still standing (maybe). He'll take scraps of letters if they wanted to send them, though there was no guarantee any letters would make it to a destination. As usual.
That grim message given, then man headed back out and left the room in questionable peace and the setting sun, the horizon quickly growing darker now.
Elise is on her bedroll near the bunk beds, sharpening her knife on a sharpening stone she borrowed off someone. Her mouth is pressed in a thin line, a grim look intent on her work. She hasn't picked up any paper yet to write on.
Mikhail has been seated in quiet for a while now, looking out into the air, more or less as usual. Looking rather weary as he now looks around the room, looking over to the scraps of paper.
Ooh, letters. Novikova nods, and will thank the runner. She'll be glad to help those having trouble writing. For now, she looks thoughtful, perhaps debating what to write. She's sitting nearish to Elise, content to linger near the bunk beds. "Hm…"
Maschenko's voice keeps filtering into the south bedroom from the doorway of the kitchen, where he's been standing for a little while in hushed conversation. With who, it's hard to tell; they're hidden by the doorframe. Eventually the conversation dies off and there's some shuffling of feet, one set headed into the kitchen and the other - the doctor's - into the bedroom.
Elise looks up at Novi's quiet hmm. "Hmm, cousin?" she says. It's not a conscious parrot of the word, but more like she didn't hear what Novi said. The movement by the door causes her to look that way and nod to Maschenko.
Mikhail gets to his feet to find himself one of those pieces of paper, and a pencil. "Now let's see what kind of words we can come up with, hmmm?" Looking up and offering a bit of a nod at Maschenko, as he notices the good doctor.
Doctor doctor~! Novikova looks up and smiles, seeing Maschenko. She waves to the Maschenko and looks back, "Just thinking. I probably should write, but what do I say? Finally met someone who outjokes me?" She grins a little. "Got shot some more. is cold. Love Novi." She winks. She looks to Mikhail too.
Maschenko pulls the strap of his beaten satchel against his shoulder, not yet taking it off. That room of wounded looked after, there's a whole other one here. Each person who seems to greet him, he looks at first as though trying to discern if they're saying 'hello' or 'help me'. "Evening." The paper scraps are nearly missed, spotted only after he's gotten a step or two in. "What's this?"
The corner of Elise's mouth quirks up just a little at Novi's words. Not quite a smile, but getting there. "Something like that, I suppose. You should write. Let them know you're all right." The near-smile quickly fades again, though. "Paper for letters," she explains to the doctor.
Mikhail headshakes a bit at Novikova, "Don't say the part about being out-joked, they'd think it's fiction," he remarks, with a bit of a grin. Reaching the papers now, he picks up one of them and a pencil, he looks around once more.
"Letters?" echoes a voice from the wrecked kitchen. Footsteps hurry to follow Maschenko, and Taktarov is peering into the room over the doctor's shoulder. "Did someone say there are letters?" Tak queries with both eyebrows raised hopefully.
Yulia slips in and joins the group briefly after Maschenko and Taktarov. After long hours cleaning and bandaging wounds elsewhere, not to mention moving dead bodies, it's time for a little food and sleep. Or maybe just one of the two. Beggars can't be choosers, you know. There's a little intrigue in her tired features at the mention of letters. "Another mail run?"
A look to tal. Novikova smiles. "Comrade Taktarov, we have been given supplies to write outgoing letters with. As for incoming, I couldn't tell you," Her smile fades a bit at that. She looks to her cousin, "I will." She looks to Mikhail a nd snorts, "That's true…" The Queen of Jokes? Oh dear. Yulia too. "Allo there. And da." Nodnod.
Maschenko's blue eyes flicker to the papers. Blank. Outgoing indeed. The doctor gently scratches his nose, looking away from the scraps. "Good if they can get any through. They're saying the Volga's a mess, whole south side's fallen now." His lips thin into a frown, head turning as Yulia comes in behind him. "Comrade. How are you doing?"
"Not letters from anywhere," Elise clarifies somberly. "Just paper to send letters out." She nods at the exchange between Novi and Mikhail. "That is quite hard to believe." So hard in fact that she doesn't know who Nivo is talking about. "Who outjokes you?" She finishes sharpening her knife, frowning slightly at it for a moment before putting it away. "Anyone else need this?" she holds up the sharpening stone.
"Oh," Taktarov replies, only slightly disappointed. The moment passes quickly enough as- even with talk of the Volga and the south side, the young man smiles again. "Well, that's still something. Is there a blank slip left?" he inquires, stepping fully into the room.
Mikhail looks around, unable to hold back a grin as he hears Taktarov's words, "A number of them, in the alphabet. Time to use some of them to get things written, my friend." Frowning as he hears Maschenko's words, before he offers a nod and a smile to Yulia as well. Glancing to the piece of paper in his hand, he starts humming on a melody. Perhaps a little bit too loud.
The news of the fall from Maschenko gives Yulia a passing frown too. "I'm all right," she says dismissively, and nods to Novi, Mikhail, the others. She wasn't expecting a letter so she doesn't look too terribly upset, but maybe once the others are done, she might put pencil to paper… maybe. "…Is there any food?" Mikhail's melody sort of brightens the situation. She doesn't mind it this time. Yulia moves in further to set her rifle and bag in a corner.
"Ration tins." Maschenko lifts his chin slightly, towards where the last batch of too-tiny cans got dumped. Not many of those left either. Another glance at the papers, but like Yulia he lets the others be sure and get one first. Finally pulling the heavy strap of his satchel over his head, it knocks his pilotka onto the floor as he leans over to put the bag down.
Poor Taktak. Novikova looks sympathetic, and nods. "A few." She's claimed hehrs. She smiles at Maschenko, "hopefully." She looks to the tins. "I should be hungry, but I'm kind of not." Sadface. Then to Elise, "Comrad Taktarov is giving me a run for it. I'd better step up the puns," She winks.
Elise puts away the sharpening stone since nobody seems to want it. She glances at Tak when Novi talks of his puns. "Rivaling my cousin for puns? That is impressive." Hearing Mikhail's melody, she asks, "What's that tune, comrade?"
"All those horrible wounds, but her *tongue* is still unhurt," Taktarov bemoans with a sigh at Novikova's last words. Mikhail gets a grin and laughing complaint, "Letters in alphabet, ugh!" As he picks up one of the dingy pieces of blank paper in his left hand, he glances back at Elise to comment, "Not so impressive, Comrade. You see, Comrade Novikova's wits can't grow back until Spring," he grins at the subject of his weak joke.
Mikhail smiles a little bit, as he keeps on humming, glancing to his papers as he seats himself. Stopping after a while, he smiles, "The song of the Volga boatmen," he replies.
Yulia goes for the cans eagerly. Food! Maybe that will put some life into her. She opens a can of —er, something, not sure what it is, and looks around for something to eat with while listening to the banter about Novi's puns and wits. Boy, what a crowd tonight. Too bad these aren't tomatoes in this can to toss at the jokesters. She's enjoying it though.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Kitchen (2 5).
The Fascists have plenty of tomatoes to throw, it seems.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Kitchen (2 5).
"You like it," Novikova retorts. Then doubletakes. Her eyes widen. "Wait, that's not-" Ack! Her left eye narrows. "Argh." She'll get him yet, Gadget. Then she eyes Taktarov, "Then you might have a chance until spring." Nod. She grins at him. Yulia gets a smile. And then a wince at the artillery. "I guess they're not big fans of humor."
«Game» Novikova changes her style to TakeCover!
«Game» Elise changes her style to TakeCover!
«Artillery» 105mm Haubitzen artillery barrage rips through Settlement B - Bedrooms to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!
Yulia suffers 1 wound damage to her right hand.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Bedrooms (2 4).
Maschenko grits his teeth as shells start to the north. He ducks back behind the wall, calling out, "Comrade Yulia, get /down/."
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Kitchen (2 5).
«Game» Taktarov changes his style to TakeCover!
«Game» Yulia changes her style to TakeCover!
«Game» Mikhail changes his style to TakeCover!
«Artillery» 105mm Haubitzen artillery barrage batters Settlement B - Bedrooms ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Bedrooms (2 4).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Kitchen (2 5).
Elise snorts lightly at Tak's joke. "So you're saying it's an unfair contes… Goddamnit." The curse is muttered as the artillery kicks up. She hunkers down further on the ground, yelping as the shrapnel rips through the room. She peeks up, alarmed, when Maschenko yells to Yulia.
«Game» Yulia moves into Bloodstained bookshelf.
«Artillery» 105mm Haubitzen artillery barrage rips through Settlement B - Bedrooms to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Bedrooms (2 4).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Kitchen (2 5).
«Artillery» 105mm Haubitzen artillery barrage batters Settlement B - Bedrooms ineffectually.
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Bedrooms (2 4).
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Kitchen (2 5).
«Artillery» 105mm Haubitzen artillery barrage rips through Settlement B - Bedrooms to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Bedrooms (2 4).
Taktarov grabs his slip of paper and ducks low against the wall, waiting for the brief pause between the shells. "I am saying-" Pause for bomb. "That for every shell the fascists shoot-" Pause for artillery, "Comrade Zoya had told five bombs!"
«Artillery» 105mm Haubitzen artillery barrage rips through Settlement B - Bedrooms to deadly effect, filling the air with lethal shrapnel!
«Artillery» Artillery barrage at Settlement B - Bedrooms has lifted!
«Artillery» You hear artillery pounding Settlement B - Bedrooms (2 4).
Maybe it was the combination of food, conversation and tiredness that had Yulia not exactly in cover. So no wonder a slice of shrapnel nicked her hand. She winces and scampers quickly behind the bookshelf. Sigh, no rest for the weary.
Mikhail goes from sitting to rolling onto his side at the sound of the artillery. "You know, we need to complain about the neighbours here," he mutters so the closest people can hear. "They're too loud and noisy." He attempts wrinting something to his letter while he waits for the artillery to give it up.
Maschenko keeps his head down as the exploding shells send bits of cement and glass flying across the room, some smashing close by. Yeesh. As the whistling sounds begin to lengthen again, headed for farther away, he rubs his ashen face. "They have awful timing," he mutters, trying to cover the shaking in his voice. "Yulia, you alright?"
«Game» It is now night time.
"Bastards," Elise murmurs darkly as the shelling lets up. Tak's comment gets a wince. "You do rival her." She brushes some dust off her filthy coat and looks around. "Everyone all right?"
Novikova grunts, pained at moving for the moment - and then snorts at Taktarov, "Lies. They heard yours too." She sticks her tongue out. She loses her joking though and peeks her head out, "Cormades?" She seems a bit worried and is slow to move out of cover.
"My hand," Yulia grumbles, frowning at her medical pack which is practically across the room now. She holds it against her other forearm and looks longingly at her ration tins, still out in the open. No /food/ for the weary either. As the shelling ceases she hesitates to move, breathing a bit heavily. "Noisy neighbors… that's right."
Maschenko reaches out and snags his medical bag, craning his neck to see up and out the dark broken window. Not that one can SEE explosives headed towards you until it's too late, but one can indulge dreams. He stands up, crouched as he darts away from the wall and towards the shelving. "They could've been gentlemen and at least opened a can for you, eh?"
«Game» Maschenko moves out of Blast wall.
«Game» Maschenko moves into Bloodstained bookshelf.
Taktarov forces a chuckle at the reactions to his alleged humor. As Yulia mentions her hand, he cuts the chuckle and looks to see how bad the injury is before daring any further levity. "How rude," he agrees dryly. "Did they shoot the pencils?" he wonders a moment later.
Mikhail pauses his writing now as he looks around the room. Catching the way Yulia is looking for those tins, he gets to his feet. "If they have reloaded it by now, I'm in big trouble, he mutters, before hurrying for those tins. "Anyone else need one of those?" he asks, looking around.
«Game» Mikhail moves out of Blast wall.
Elise looks worriedly over at Yulia for a moment but she seems to be all right so Elise doesn't go over. She shakes her head to Tak. "I think it just knocked them off. There's one over there." She points helpfully, and sits back up, resting against the wall with a sigh.
"Might as well take one for later. I should be hungry, but I feel strangely full," Novikova admits. She frowns, hearing poor Yulia's hand is hurt. She looks to Maschenko and then to Taktarov. "I have a pencil if those out there are damaged," She offers. A look to Elise and she grunts, moving to sit by her.
"That would be too much to ask of them," Yulia says, rolling her eyes. She pulls her hand away from her forearm; that helped a little bit, except one more blood stain added to her already splattered uniform. It stings, though. "Thanks," she mumbles while Maschenko bandages it up, giving him a pitiful expression. Honestly, who sits out there in the open like that? Mikhail and the tins get another slightly more urgent glance.
Taktarov nods, calling to Mikhail, "Toss one over here, Comrade?" his whole hand held up to catch the anticipated tin. As he is directed to the use of a writing tool, Tak will pull a tattered and blood spattered book from the shelf for use as a desk, before crossing the floor with the comment to Novi, "Bullets make for foul, but filling fare, Comrade. Try a tin, instead of more lead, hm?"
The bleeding's not too bad, and Maschenko has it stopped with a single layer of gauze wrapped around it and his palm pressed against the wound for a minute or so. Talk about could've been worse. "There, that should be alright." He looks up and towards Mikhail in the open, at the window, then back at Mikhail. Despite the situation he can't help a faint smirk. "Slap them like hockey pucks, comrade. Couple for each corner of the room, ah? Now come on and get back, before they pull that again."
Mikhail nods a little bit as he hears the others now, reaching for the tins to roll a few over to each covered area of the room, before he starts making his way back to cover, and his partially written letter.
«Game» Mikhail moves into Blast wall.
Novikova nods at Yulia, then looks to Taktarov and smiles. "I suspect you're right. I shouldn't have stood in front of the window, but I couldn't pass up a shot like that. Not after they hurt you and Lesina." She headshakes. "I should learn to snipe at things, but I just get tired and barrel on out like an old bear." She laughs and winces. She catches a tin then, squirreling it away for herself or Elise.
Elise watches the tins roll over, letting Novi get it. She scratches at the dirty bandage on her arm, and just listens to the conversations going on around. Apparently not much for conversation tonight.
Yulia collects one of the tins rolling towards her, cheeks still bright with annoyance. Foolishness will get you no where except the grave in this place. She considers this while studying the tin — sprat, yum — then blinks. "Erm…." Now another problem. "Where is the can opener, now?" She flung it somewhere in her desperation for cover.
"Well, eat up, anyway," Taktarov advises Novikova with a grin. "The front must not get too narrow, eh?" Settling down with paper set to book, and book set to knee, he makes the concerted effort to grip the pencil with his ruined right hand. "Hrm."
"Just open it with a knife," Maschenko tells Yulia, holding out his hand for the tin. "Give it here, I have mine on me." The NR-40, such a versatile sharp object. His eyes flicker to Taktarov and Novikova and then back. "Eat that tin, Zoyenka. Fighting hungry isn't good, and who knows when they'll be back."
Novikova looks to her cousin. "Are you hungry?" She offers quietly. She ums at Yulia. Then a snort at Taktarov, "Thanks. I am flattered a fine gentleman such as yourself cares." But then she notices his trouble. "Hey… If you want, you can dictate your letter to me," She offers. Her arm is dinged, but her hand is just fine! At the urging to eat, Novikova grunts. "Okay… I'll split it with Elise. I just feel full," She ponders this. But she'll eat, offering little protest.
Another thanks to Maschenko, with more redness added to her face while handing over the tin. Boy, Yulia's mind is scattered tonight. She finally smirks at Taktarov's comment about the front and watches to make sure Novi does eat /something/. Preferably food.
Taktarov chuckles at the sarcastic naming of him as a gentleman. "Stregoi, remember?" A breath let out with a nod, "I think I will accept the help gratefully, just this once.. My writing with the left hand would be impossible." Rolling up to his feet, he crosses toward where Novikova reclines, passing over his impromptu desk when she is ready for it.
Elise frowns a little at the tin. She didn't jump at eating either, but takes Maschenko's command to apply equally to her. "I'll split it with you, Zoyuschka." She'll use her own nearly-sharpened knife to open the tin, and split it with Novi.
Maschenko jams the point of the large knife into the can top, working the blade around the circular edge with a jerky sawing motion. Not exactly a city boy way of getting into tinned food, and he seems to know quite well what to do without such technological advances as a 'can opener'. The blade pushes up the jagged metal circle, bending it back, and he holds the tin back over to the nurse. "Watch the edges, they're sharp." Looking back at Novikova and Elise after that, he nods. "It'll help with all that blood loss. Worst thing to do is not replace what you lost. Don't force yourself, but eat what you can."
Nod. "Thanks," A smile at Elise. "I'll eat then get Comrade Taktarov's letter," Novikova promises. She'll let Elise take the half she likes, then quietly nibble at hers. A snort at Taktarov. "Even stregoi don't get away with being buttheads all the time," She points out, winking. Either way, it only takes a few moments to finish half a can, before she takes the impromptu desk to write.
Yulia does mind the edges, careful not to slice open her other hand. That would be irony. She slowly eats, savoring each unsavory mouthful. It's the only way to feel full at the end of the tin. "Stregoi?" she repeats quietly, not entirely wanting to butt in on their conversation. She searches her brain, hoping it's not a reference to another something lurking back there that she's forgotten tonight.
Taktarov chuckles a bit as he sits down, setting back to wall once again. "Fine, fine. I'll be nice *some* of the time." As she disposes of her half tin, Tak is mercifully silent, thinking about what he wants to have written. Belatedly, he thinks to repeat Maschenko's Ukrainian method of can opening. Holding the tin in place between his ill fitting boots, and cutting the tin's lid with the use of his bayonet. Glancing up to Yulia's question, he grins a bit. "Stregoi. A walking dead. Since I rose from the grave and … things. OooooOOOooh." That last is accompanied by a wiggling of 'spooky' fingers.
Elise actually chuckles softly at Taktarov's spooky fingers, in spite of herself. "When did you rise from the dead, Comrade? I must have missed this." She eats her half of the tin without enthusiasm, munching out of a sense of self-preservation more than any enjoyment.
A Ukrainian method of can opening would have involved bread. Maschenko glances at the open can in Yulia's hands and then away, back rested tiredly against the wall. He picks at his satchel, fighting the urge to just sit for a minute, and finally gets back up to his feet with a light dust of crumbly wall under one hand.
But was the bread angry? Or just pointy? Novikova laughs softly and winces. Oooh. That's not a good idea just yet. She smiles, and looks to him. She gathers up the things to write his letter. She seems relieved when Elise eats a bit. "Da. I am waiting for when he bursts into flames or something, then I take his shoes," She winks. "Actually, I'll keep my eyes open. I know how hard it is to find good shoes sometimes." Alas, Novi is a tall thing herself. A shrug and a smile. She giggles again at the spooky fingers. A wince. Oof. "At this rate, I may just chuckle myself to bits."
"Not from the dead, Comrade-" Taktarov grins at Elise. "Simply from the grave." Satisfied that he has answered enough to be less than obnoxious, but no so directly as to try already unsteady appetites, he notes to Novikova: "Very well, I'll be nice, and be less funny. ..Like you, Zoya," he adds with a wink back before asking, "Let me know when you are ready to write?"
Ahh, all this uncouth can opening! Yulia is a city girl through and through and wishes she could be passing around her lost can opener now. Oh well. She likes Maschenko's method; Tak's gets a wrinkled nose. "Ohhh." She hrms. Good question, Elise. She keeps eating, with a wary eye on Tak.
Elise aaaahs, her nose wrinkling as she realizes what Tak must be talking about. "Well better that than the alternative." She shifts a concerned glance to her cousin at the wince. "Shoes and boots, Da. And even clothes." She eyes her dirty, bloodstained uniform with distaste.
Maschenko settles down again near Mikhail, using the precious time while the man's asleep to check on the bloody bandages on his hands. Yep, still bloody. He folds his legs in on the floor and unwraps the Russian's right hand, peeling the gummy gauze away and drizzling it into a reddish pile so he can get to cleaning it. It's like going to bed to wait for Father Christmas around here, except instead of bandages you get fresh stitches and not-so-fresh gauze.
Novi nods at Elise and sighs. "Someday, we'll have a washer and something clean. I wish I were a bit shorter," She admits. Then a shrug. What cha gonna do? A snort at Taktarov, "That just means you can't appreciate good comedy when you see it. That's alright," She grins. "Ready when you are."
«Medic Code» Maschenko heals 2 wound damage on Mikhail's right hand.
"Zoya, don't you have some remedy for that? Sprinkle him with garlic or something?" Yulia asks half-seriously after getting through about three-fourths of her sprat. At the mention of boots, she's reminded of her one that's got its hidden hole and gives it a weary look. That look is transfered to Maschenko as he Santa-tizes Mikhail's wound. "There's another tin over here, comrade doctor. Did you eat?"
"I'll know it when I see it," Tak quips back at Novi. A drawn breath before he recites, "To Katerina Taktarov, 84/32 Shchepkina, 12985 Dar Gora." He waits to make sure she has the numbers down, before beginning, "Mama! I am no longer working in the Red October factory- I have been promoted!" He grins with the words. "I am safe in Stalingrad, among good Comrades where I have more to eat." He pauses to take a bite of the meat-like product in his crudely opened tin, so that he isnt lying to his mother. "Oooh, garlic- that sounds good.." Tak asides to Yulia, before looking quickly back to Zoya, "Don't write that part.."
Elise watches Maschenko as she eats. You'd think she'd have learned not to do that by now, but it's kinda like a train wreck. Morbid fascination. Also, it's no wonder she doesn't like to sleep, between the shelling and the raids and the ninja doctors. She glances over, somewhat sad, at Tak's letter o' lies.
"Please don't say garlic," Maschenko half-groans that out, with a near-comical grimace. Almost everyone's wounds smell a bit like the tincture of aforementioned herb that he's been forced to use in place of antiseptic. He glances at the three talking letters, then back to Yulia. A slight shake of his head, he's still working on Mikhail's hand stitch by hard-to-see stitch. The cold chilling his hands doesn't help either, but he does a good job of it. "Oh I'm fine, comrade. I'll eat later. Be sure and drink some water, now." Fuss, fuss. It's what he does.
"To Katerina Taktarov, 84/32 Shchepkina, 12985 Dar Gora," Novikova echoes as she writes with a smile. She just snorts softly at his retort. She nods and writes as he dictates. She laughs at his ooh garlic and flinches again. "Hah, I haven't," She smiles. "Unless you wanted her to have a blow by blow recount of your day here…" Her eyebrows lift. She tries not to smile at Maschenko. "It is a hard working plant," She comments quietly. "I think we should call you Papa Maschenko, you're always looking after us." She's grateful, and amused. "Or would that be mean to you, to have to always watch out for us?" Ponder. "Either way, I think we are lucky."
Elise curls up on her bedroll, listening quietly to the letter-writing as she tries to drift off to sleep.
Yulia shrugs and leaves the tin in its place, then follows orders to appease mother hen. Hm, her canteen is getting low. She shifts about, settling in like a child being read a story as Tak dictates. "Mmm" in agreement with Novikova, at least about the fact that they are lucky. The scar on her leg reminds her of that. But /Papa/ Maschenko, really? Makes him sound about 150 years old.
"Okay, okay.." Taktarov laughs nodding along and motioning with his good hand to get his thoughts back on track. "Ahem… 'It was wonderful to receive your last letter, even if it was much delayed. The reports say that the Germans are running out of fascists, so before much longer I will be coming back. Give Ivana a kiss for me, and keep my love. Your son, Aleks."
"I'm not /that/ old," Maschenko says to the girl 14 years his junior, with the kind of overdramatic gravitas that is solely for saving one's pride. "Nor do I look it. And even if I did, Efim is the only one allowed to be truthful about it." He mops up the little wells of fresh bleeding that the stitching provoked, pressing a semi-clean cloth against Mikhail's skin. Mental note that Elise is falling asleep. Means she's next, oh no.
Heeheee. Novikova laughs again and winces, "No … no you're not, I'm sorry. You're just very wise and caring. So it's more metaphorical," She explains. A smile at Yulia and Elise. She settles back in to finish taking Tak's note down. "Got it." A smile to him and Novi will hand the letter over.
"Eeeehhh," Taktarov starts to joke, with a teetering hand as Maschenko protests his age, but with a chuckle he breaks off the clowning, as Schenko claims only one person can claim so. "And passing good at keeping blood on the correct side of the skin!" he adds to Novi's list of doctoral virtues. His hale hand reaches to accept back the letter from Zoya with a word of thanks.
Yulia's eyelids are drooping but after Tak's letter, she has the urge to write something… too bad that plan was 86d by shrapnel. Maybe tomorrow. Nodding in agreement with Novi again turns into nodding off. She zzzzs with the unfinished sprat can in her left hand.
"Long as we stay better at it than the fascists are," Maschenko says wryly to Taktarov, as he starts wrapping Mikhail's hand back up securely. Poor Yulia, all zonked with her food. She gets a mildly sympathetic glance as she starts falling asleep, and he looks back at Novikova and then around. "Where'd that pillow go…"
"It's near the mattress there," Novikova replies. "I set it there so if shells hit and no one was using it…" She trails off. She sticks her tongue out at Taktarov. "Uh huh," She nods. She smiles as he takes the letter back. "I am glad to help." Despite all the teasing, there is a sort of caring for Taktak there. She yawns. "I guess I will settle in and listen now. Not fair if I get to do all the talking."
Taktarov tucks the short letter inside his coat pocket, until the militia man comes back around to collect them. "Maybe some day we'll even get a letter coming in, eh?" he chuckled dryly. As Maschenko asks after the pillow, and Zoya points it out, he reaches between the bunks to toss it across to the doctor, should he wish. "Would you like it, Comrade?" A wry smirk aside at Novi, "Oh, so you're going back to sleep, then?"
Maschenko quickly holds up a hand before Tak can throw the thing. "Aht!" He jabs a finger towards Yulia instead. "Comrade nurse. Put it under her face before she flattens it." He finishes up MIkhail's hand and gets back up onto his heels, gathering up the supplies he has left. "Talk as much as you want, Zoyenka. We're short so many fucking things we might as well celebrate all this oxygen to be used up, eh?" His teeth show with the briefest of grins, cracking dried mud on his cheek.
Yulia's zonked, most definitely, but she snaps back, nearly cracking her head on the wall behind her. Probably the 'comrade nurse' that brought her back to reality. "Ah…" Her eyes dart around, hoping no one noticed. Too late.
«Game» It is now dawn.
"Hopefully. I wonder how mom and dad feel once they figure out someone else got my spot on the way out," Novikova pouts a little. "But on the other hand… I'm glad I am here for Elise and my other neighbors," She admits. And her new friends. Taktak! She lifts her eyebrows as Tak gets ready to throw the pillow. "Da, even your melodious and fascinating voice can't keep me up," She winks at him. Then a look to Maschenko. She smiles, "It's true." Hee. She looks to poor Yulia. "Yeah… You don't want to sleep face down around here. You might wake up looking like -" Novikova just cuts herself off at that. "Well, like you slept face first on something hard."
Taktarov freezes at the command not to throw the threadbare cushion. "Ah," he nods to the instruction, climbing back to his feet and hands it to Yulia with the words, "Freshly requisitioned, Comrade nurse. I am instrusted to deliver this." A grin, at the over-burdened phrase. A grin backward at Novi. "Here now, no more jokes until she's asleep again- shh!"
Too late. Maschenko smirks at Yulia as he wipes his hands off. "Try Zoyenka's pillow, Comrade nurse. She made it with her feet, no joke." Okay, one foot. But it's the nature of tales to be exaggerated with every telling, right? "…with her eyes closed, underwater." There, that's proper embellishment now.
Yulia gives Tak a confused, tired stare which dissolves into a grin and shake of her head. "Thank you, comrade, I'll see that it's put to good use." But really, she looks past him to Novi, grateful. "Nurses sleep with one ear open, just think of that." A mock warning tone. She plumps the pillow, despite it not having much plump left in it, and at Maschenko's words blinks. "… Novikova, when were you under the Volga then?" Such an important pillow!
Okay. Novikova smiles and laughs softly. She winces but keeps giggling. "It's true." She winks. "But I couldn't let materials go to waste," She pouts a little. "Either way, no more jokes since people are going to sleep." She grins. It's hardly a luxurious pillow, but it's reasonably sturdy. "Da!" Under the Volga, under the volga, that's where you (don't) want to be~
Taktarov gives Yulia an exaggerated salute, before turning on his heel, parade-style.. If the parade were one of half trained recruits with two left feet. Smiling, he walks back to where he'd been sitting before starting back in on the tin of food-like stuff.
"If you're not going to finish your food, be sure and give it to someone." Maschenko tells Yulia, quiet and a little more seriously. Food's getting terrifyingly precious. He stands up, about to comment on the pillow matter when someone calls out for him in the other room. Ah well. He steps over Mikhail's feet to start that way instead. "Coming…"
Oh, her food. The can is still gripped in her hand but she forgot about it. Suppressing a yawn, Yulia manages to struggle up before Maschenko departs and, as he passes by, shoves it into his hand. "Here, doctor. Eat it or pass it along." She'd rather he eat something, too, not just telling them to eat and drink. But maybe he already had his share that day, she doesn't know. With that she goes back to the pillow and zonks for good.
Novikova at least can lean on her cousin. Relatives are handy that way. She smiles a little. "Be well comrades," She offers and settles in to join the ranks of the zonked.
Taktarov fishes out the scraps of canned meat from the corners of his mangled tin, and chews the last mouthful. "Be well," he echoes, in lieu of more jokes, resting his head against the bullet pocked wall at his back. What was that tune Mikhail was humming? How did it go? "Hmmm-mm, hmmm-mm-mmm…"
Maschenko does grab that tin before he disappears. Maybe for some poor wounded soul, or maybe he's starving himself and will wolf it once out of sight. Altrusim may be dead in the water in the face of hunger.
