Defection AU log

https://pastebin.com/sdJxA7xp Starter


itsAlana02/19/2018
Lucky, lucky, lucky Artyom-- his destiny must have been to be here at this time, for so is Pavel, on the other side of the station and about ready to depart, but caught up just long enough for the message to catch him and punch his breath out, set his old scars from the Red Square tingling. It-- it couldn't be-- maybe Artyom had told someone else about their... their time together, and it was being used to pull Pavel out, someone looking to assassinate one of the officers who survived the disaster at D6 to rise through the ranks (true, only one step up, but still a rise)--

It's still a while before he can make it over there, Pavel has to send on the rest of his company without him into the tunnels towards Cursed Station, but Pavel sends word back that if the fellow is quiet and has a mole under one eye, he is one of Pavel's old contacts (it's no secret that he used to spy, at least in the Red Line-- let the border guard assume that's what he means...) and should be given clean water and a bit of stew to tide him over until Pavel arrives to vouch for him.

Still... within a couple hours, Pavel arrives at the border station, asks quietly for the person who dropped his name to be pointed out to him while he stands in the shadows, and looks out at his old friend, his betrayed friend, his d'Artagnan that he drugged to save his own hide, surrounded by heavy bags but still recognizable, even with his face buried in his arms.

He's never seen Artyom with so little spark to him, and it's... it's that that convinces him to call out, "Artyom!"

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom certainly hadn't expected that, after a while of waiting, he'd be offered free, clean drinking water and a warm mug of some kind of stew with mushrooms and tubers. He gave a small, genuine smile of thanks to the guard for bringing it to him, saving him his bullets and his feet from a trip to Hanza for a meal. And by God he all but inhales it all, has to struggle to make himself ration the water. But it's hard, when he's had nothing to eat nor drink since he began his journey, and equally little to eat before, when he had little to no appetite during his premeditation of treason and abandonment.

He dozes more easily and quickly after having a bit of stew in his belly, though, and sleeps through most of his wait, thank goodness. He hasn't slept since Anna left for Polis. He's actually a pretty heavy sleeper, normally, especially when he's been fed, but in a chilly tunnel like this, and with so much keeping his nerves agitated, hearing his name is enough to rouse him, if slightly slowly.
He lifts his head- blinks blearily, and then- and then he sees him. Dimly lit as he is, it takes Artyom a second to realize that's the real deal, and not just the last lingering visions of whatever he may have dreamed, or another thought or memory borne from his obsession. No, this is real. Pavel is right over there. Right there. And Artyom is... for a moment, frozen, his heart stilled. And then, silently, he gets to his feet- slightly wobbly from both sleep and sudden nerves. And, forgetting his bags entirely for the moment, he steps over to Pavel, numbly anxious and agog, until he's standing before him. Face to face.

And here's Artyom, skinny in his baggy, ill-fitting civilian clothes made for men taller and bulkier than him. He looks a mess. He hasn't shaven recently enough, the dark scruff on his jaw darker, the circles under his eyes even darker, his eyes full of strange fear and apprehension and even stranger hope. He opens his mouth, but of course, nothing comes out, and he closes it again.

Hello, Pavel. Your d'Artagnan is here.

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel waits, and watches, and as Artyom comes into the light, whistles. "Ahhh, blyat, you-- you look like shit," he says, after a moment, and... and steps out to Artyom, slinging an arm around his shoulders-- his touch is light, his arm warm but careful around Artyom, uncertain if it's welcome. "It's all right," he tells the guards, "I know him, can one of you guys get someone to carry his stuff to the room I was in? You caught me just in time, Artyom, I was about to head back down the line. What are you doing all the way out here, eh?"

He doesn't wait for a response, gently ushering Artyom into the guard station and pushing him to sit on a crate, claiming an oil lamp with a smile to the guards-- sorry, he'll need this!-- and setting it right next to Artyom, so he can read what Artyom's going to say.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
It's welcome enough, though it sends some unpleasant feelings shuddering through Artyom, it's all mixed uncomfortably with weirdly positive ones as well. He forces a smile, though it comes off a bit more like a grimace, and he lets himself be led ushered away. He breathes a soft sigh of relief as Pavel asks for someone to get his bags- thank fuck he doesn't have to carry those anymore. He aches all over.

So, he's grateful to be sat down with a little light, pulling his clipboard from his jacket, but a little less grateful about having to explain his reason for being here so soon. And the most truthful answer of 'I'm miserable and depressed and living a lie that makes me sick and I'm completely obsessed with you and can't get you out of my mind unless I'm despairing about something else' probably would be a bit. Uh. It probably won't go over great.

He takes a breath, and lets it go, brow furrowed. And then, finally, he starts to write, carefully and neat. "I came to join you. I can't go back anymore."

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel waits, not hurrying Artyom at all-- he's probably already staying an extra day, so it's no rush, you know?

He waits for a second after Artyom's done writing, expecting him to write a little more, but when he doesn't, he accepts it easily, and tells him, "Well, you'll have to tell me more sometime, but-- but welcome to the Red Line, I suppose! We can always use smart people like you, eh?" He pats Artyom's knee, and asks, "Do you need any attention from our doctors or anything? A meal? I sent word that you were to be fed and watered, but we can get you something a little more-- or someplace safe to sleep?"

He's desperately curious as to what's brought Artyom here, now, but-- but it can wait. There's no conflict between the Red Line and any of the dregs of the rangers right now, and Artyom has always been achingly honest, if not always forthcoming. Pavel trusts his gut, trusts that exhausted look in Artyom's face, that Artyom really is running from something, really does want to join Pavel, even after... everything.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom takes another breath, letting it out as a soft sigh of... relief? Something like it. Just like Pavel, to not ask too many questions, to not try to pry all the deeper meaning out of things just yet. To just let it roll over him, 'like water off a duck's back', was the saying some older people he knew would say. Just like how he never once questioned Artyom's muteness. There's something comforting in that, in how easily Pavel just accepts it.

There's something even more comforting in the way Pavel pats Artyom's knee, making his heart beat faster for just a moment before it calms again. The questions Pavel does ask are all about his health- is he sick, is he hungry, is he tired. "Starved. Exhausted. Long trip from Exhibition." He writes, and curses near-silently under his breath, realizing maybe he shouldn't have let slip so soon where he came from. Oh well, too late now. "Could go for a drink more than anything. And company."

He's trying not to frighten Pavel away, not when he's right here, for the first time in over nine months, but he's gonna be dropping those 'please don't make me leave your side' breadcrumbs as much as he can.

itsAlana02/19/2018
The water slides right off him, and he just nods, and jokes, understandingly, "Guitars get, ah, get heavy when you're carrying them by yourself, chuvak? Well, good thing--" and the guy he asked for, to carry Artyom's bags, walks by just then, laden with his stuff, "-- Good thing you never have to do anything alone when you're in the Red Line! Hey, ah, ensign, give me one of those, we're coming along with."

The ensign looks surprised that a lieutenant colonel is offering to help, but he hands one of the bags off to Pavel, and Pavel offers Artyom a hand up, and says, "We can eat in the officer's quarters, and see if there's any vodka to spare, and maybe you can tell me a little more, eh? Or take a nap, if you don't want to talk. The beds aren't bad there, you know, definitely better than curling up in a corner in the tunnels and hoping some mutant fucker won't take a bite out of you."

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom can't help but raise an incredulous eyebrow at Pavel when the ensign just looks at him like this is abnormal while Pavel goes on about it being totally normal. But, oh well, he won't look a gift horse in the mouth. He was already banking on nepotism from Pavel, not like he can start complaining now. He's just grateful he doesn't have to carry his bags, even though he slumps as he follows along like he still bears their weight.

He can't write as he walks, but he can listen, and nod along tiredly, his stomach eager for a bite to eat and his tongue aching for a bit of vodka, and his head crying out for sleep. But his heart just wants Pavel's company. So, he walks a bit close to Pavel, feeling definitely very weird and conflicted. Guilt eats at him, but this other part of him feels so satisfied and calmed from being at Pavel's side, like it's everything he could have wanted, morality be damned.

He's going to keep stealing glances up at Pavel's face, at that face that's haunted him for months and months, in the flesh before him again at last. God, he hates how much he missed seeing that face with his own eyes, despite how short their time together was.

itsAlana02/19/2018
The lighting is never the best in the metro, but as they pass into and out of the circles of lamps and flickering electric lights, Artyom might see that Pavel... doesn't look untired, either, his undereyes a little more lined and a little darker, a crease between his eyebrows where there wasn't one before, his cheeks perhaps a little less round, but Pavel is keeping up a careful kind of energy, asking the Ensign how he thinks the station's doing, joking about the delicious rat meat dinners they'll all be having, chattering to Artyom like everything that happened at Theater and everything that happened since... didn't. It's not long before they get to the officer's quarters, and the ensign and Pavel settle Artyom's bags in the corner, and Pavel asks for someone to send along dinner for two and a bottle of vodka, getting a salute back.

Then they're alone, and Pavel turns to Artyom, and asks, quietly, "Do you really mean it? You've defected?"

He didn't want to ask that in front of the guards, in front of the ensign, not when they could just assume Artyom was an old contact or a spy friend of Pavel's-- but he has to know.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
The guilt he carries almost washes away, or at least shrinks to something almost ignorable in the back of his mind, as Pavel babbles away as he does. It even makes Artyom smile, a few times. It's so easy to get along with Pavel, so easy to just go along with him, let him chatter away, to get absorbed in his charm and melt away into the comfort of his company. Artyom knows he should be angry, still. Be distrustful at least. Be insulted that Pavel can act like nothing bad ever happened between them. But he's long since given up that ghost when he couldn't shake the dreams of him and the warm, fuzzy feelings thoughts of his smile and voice gave him.

But then, finally, they're alone, and out comes the question, the confirmation. Guilt washes over Artyom all over again, and he hangs his head in shame, tired bottle-green eyes turning down to his boots- that alone should tell the truth, that Artyom really has turned traitor and defected and he feels rotten about it but is doing it anyways. Still, he answers properly, with a nod of his head, wringing his hands. Yes, Pavel. Artyom really has defected.

itsAlana02/19/2018
"Ahhh, sukaaa," Pavel says, and catches Artyom in a sudden hug. "I-- well-- fuck," he says, and then adds, lowly, "You could have killed me, Artyom, and you didn't. And I shouldn't trust you now, not after what happened between us, not after I-- after what I did at Theater, and everything after that, but-- ahhh, blyat, you're a good guy, I know it. If you want to be here, I'll vouch for you, okay, chuvak? ... priyatel?" Can he call you friend again? Is that okay?

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Please. Please call him your friend. Despite everything, everything Pavel just said, all things Artyom knows should be reasons he should be far, far away from here and never trusting Pavel again, nothing would make him closest to happiness right now than that. That, and being suddenly pulled into Pavel's warm embrace.

Artyom fails to resist the urge to hug Pavel back. Fails it completely, his arms wrapping tightly around Pavel, as tight as his tired, skinny arms can manage, his face burying against Pavel's shoulder as he clings. He needed this. He needs this. Oh, God...

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel sighs, soft and tired, squeezing Artyom back, and says, "Blyat, you're skin and bones under there, aren't you? What have you been eating? Have you been eating? Suka, don't tell me you came here just for a good meal, Artyom!" With a small laugh, he pulls back just a bit, smiling down the inches at his... his friend. "Come on, there's a couch over here, why don't you sit down before those sticks you call legs give out?"

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Pavel's never actually seen Artyom without some kind of gear before has he? Body armor and three guns and knives and extra layers and padding to keep him warm and protected like a Ranger needs to be. This is the first time Pavel's seen Artyom in civvies, and even if he knew Artyom was small, shorter at least, it would be the first time he's really seen- and felt- just how skinny the boy really is.

Anyways, against all odds, Pavel's joking and teasing manages to get a quiet, tired chuckle out of Artyom, who (slightly regretfully) slips out of the hug, in order to wobble over to the couch- oh, God, yeah, that looks comfy- and plop down on it, sinking into it immediately with a big sigh. Oh, and it takes some effort to not just fall asleep immediately. "Nnh."

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel comes with him, settling next to him, leaning back into the cushions (lumpy though they are) with a tired and relieved sigh. "Ahhhh, Artyom, sometime we'll need to talk more," he says, lacing his fingers together and stretching his arms in front of him, taking off his hat and laying it on the arm of the couch, generally settling in like he expects to be on this couch a while, "but it doesn't have to be soon, if you don't want it to be." He pauses, then adds, "Well, it doesn't have to be about why you're here, at least. We'll have to talk about what to do with you now that you are... but that's different, eh?"

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom doesn't give a damn if the cushions are lumpy- in the Metro, cushions are cushions and you be grateful! Anyways, Artyom still has his clipboard on hand, so while Pavel talks of... talking, Artyom sets it out, ready to write. "We can talk about my reasons later." He agrees, writing out in his very neat handwriting. "But I'm not going back. I can't. I don't want to talk about it yet."

That's all perfectly true! And, you know, maybe someday soon he'll tell Pavel all about the woman he felt too guilty to say no to, until he was trapped taking responsibility for her and the baby he put in her, spiraling into misery and depression. Maybe he won't tell Pavel about the obsession with him, though.

"But I'm here, now. To stay. For good, probably." His skin crawls writing that. He still kinda hates the Red Line, hasn't seen much proof yet that they're changing their tune and being less awful. But then again, he has no idea what happened in the power vacuum Korbut and Moskvin left behind. Is Moskvin even still alive, or did he get beheaded or something? Artyom doesn't know. "I was hoping I could crash with you, at least. If it's not too much trouble."

Please don't be too much trouble. Artyom really needs you near him.

itsAlana02/19/2018
He hesitates, just for a moment-- crash with him? Well-- well, Pavel supposes he might be the only person in the Red Line Artyom knows, and he intends to be the only person in the Red Line who knows fully who Artyom is, just to... avoid complications, and who better than him to help Artyom adjust?

Then he's nodding, and telling Artyom, "My place isn't much, but we can find a place to put a cot for you, priyatel. Do you have any ideas of what you'd like to do? There's, ah... room in the military, right now, but I'd understand if you don't want to go that path. There's plenty of other jobs, too, and with me vouching for you, you could pretty much have your pick, yeah?"

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom nods a bit. "It doesn't need to be much. I'm good at sleeping just about anywhere. A bedroll on the floor even would be fine." He doesn't even need to be convincing Pavel, but he's throwing that out there anyways, just in case.

At the mention of joining the military, Artyom scrunches his face. "No military. I know the Order was paramilitary, but I never saw myself as a military soldier. Unless it's being sent out to seek out mutant nests and bandits and defuse troubles to help those in need... I am not interested. I am not here to fight wars." He's been caught up in enough warring for a lifetime. That was never what he wanted. But back on topic...

He ponders for a moment. And, realizing it might be pushing limits but wanting to take the chance, he starts to carefully write, "I don't really care what I do otherwise. As long as I can see you often. If I am honest, you're at least half the reason I'm here." It's not a lie, but it's not the full truth either. Pavel is WAY more than half the reason he's here! But, hey, there's some truth there- Artyom admits he's not super here out of some newfound love for communism or anything- and he glances warily, hopefully, over at Pavel, to gauge his reaction... Hoping it doesn't scare him off.


itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel at first thinks that, oh, he's the reason Artyom's here because Artyom's exhausted his other options, that Pavel is the final port Artyom would dare risk-- but no, if he was here out of necessity, why would he want to see Pavel especially?

He must be Artyom's greatest friend, his first port, and the thought of that shakes Pavel a little, the man raising his blue eyes to meet Artyom's. He, Lieutenant Colonel of the Red Line, traitor and spy to his friends, enemy of Artyom's Spartans-- he's Artyom's first refuge? That's... "Shit, Tyomik," he says, softly, "you have some bad taste in friends, you know?" Bad taste in friends, but good taste in people who'll hug him on the spur of the moment, and say to him, "I'll try to make you not regret it, priyatel."

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Pavel isn't wrong, not one bit. He really is Artyom's greatest friend. Especially because all of Artyom's other close friends are dead. And Zhenya and Vitali, while they were his friends for a long, long time, and the three of them close... in a way, it was really only because they were close in age and close in home and that they were bored children that stuck together that they became so close.

He and Pavel were thrust together by circumstance as well, but... So was Artyom and Bourbon, and Khan, and Anna, and several other rangers. Artyom never found himself drawn to them in a personal manner like a moth to a flame like he was so quickly and easily with Pavel. And even now, despite heavy hurt hanging between them, he still found himself relaxing, even smiling, at Pavel's charms so easily.

Pavel truly is Artyom's greatest friend, despite everything, even more than anyone else, dead and alive. That's kinda sad. Still, he gives a quiet, tired chuckle, nodding, and writes, "You and me both." He maybe leans sideways against Pavel slightly. "But I regretted this the moment I made this decision, make no mistake. I'd just regret it less than the alternatives. And I"

He pauses, taking a breath through his nose- a truth had suddenly started to come unbidden from him, a truth that's been making him incredibly uncomfortable, but, perhaps, a truth he should share. And so he continues, pencil scratching the words a bit slowly, "missed you, despite my better judgement."

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel is fine with leaning-- sometimes you've just got to lean on someone, even if it's someone who's betrayed you, even if you regret being near them. And he's... also pretty fine with Artyom's confession, laughing a bit incredulously but... but hardly minding that Artyom missed him. "Ahhh, blyat, you must have been lonely as hell, whatever you were doing, to miss an asshole like me!" he says, and ruffles Artyom's hair-- then a knock comes at the door, and he makes a pleased noise. "That must be the food. Here, keep sitting, I'll bring it to you."

Leaving a hand on Artyom's hair as he stands, he pats him once before heading to the door, and returns after a brief, quiet exchange with the girl who brought the food, setting a tray on the wobbly coffee table in front of the couch and pouring vodka into chipped glasses from the jug on the tray. The meal is some mush of mushrooms and tuber, flecked with scraps of what's hopefully rat meat and split rather stingily between two plates, but no worse than the usual fare one might find in the Metro; it still steams with heat in the coolness of the room, and Pavel offers Artyom a fork. "Dig in, friend," he says, cheerfully, claiming a fork for himself and letting Artyom pick which cup of vodka he wants.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom makes a quiet noise, frowning out into the room, and... nods. Yeah. He's been pretty fucking lonely. Surrounded by people that wanted his love and attention and somehow still so God damned lonely. "Mh." The pats to his hair... make the hair on his neck and arms stand on end a moment, a tingle running through his spine and fuck, he internally scolds himself for thriving so much on the slightest affection from Pavel. What is wrong with him??

He watches Pavel fetch the food, unable to keep his eyes off the man, watches him poor their drinks, watches him... be considerate enough to leave Artyom a choice in cup. Really, Artyom knows, in a different situation he'd be livid if Pavel ever dared to have the gall to offer him a drink again after what happened. But now... Shit, Artyom hardly cares even if it IS drugged. So what? He's already defected. He doesn't know anything the Red Line and everyone hasn't already heard. He doesn't care.

He grabs the nearest cup, bringing it to his lips, tipping his head back, and downing it all in one go before putting the cup back down with a exhalation and a shake of his head. Fuck, he needed that. A little more wouldn't hurt, though. Maybe Pavel wouldn't mind if Artyom drinks himself to sleep in order to get his rest? But, not before food. Food that is now in Artyom's hands, delicious and filling and normal enough that he doesn't care that it's not fried porkchops or bacon. It's hot, it tastes like something, and it's filling his belly. What else could he ask for? He's gonna inhale it all.

itsAlana02/19/2018
He could ask for Pavel to hold him as he sleeps... but that's probably going a bit too far for their first time together again.

Pavel picks at his food-- he ate not too long ago, honestly-- and sips his vodka with more moderation, watching Artyom with growing exhaustion. Ahhh, fuck, this is really happening, isn't it? He... doesn't regret vouching for Artyom, or at least he doesn't yet, but now that he has a moment to think, he sees complications looming in his future. Sure, he can sponsor Artyom, settle him in as a skilled worker in the Red Line, host him in Pavel's own room, but what if someone wants to know who Artyom is? What if Artyom is lying? What can Artyom do besides fight? He's clever, sure, but most of what Pavel has seen him be clever with is a gun and a knife...

Ahh, maybe... "Have you ever done filing?" he asks, thoughtfully, considering Artyom.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
It takes Artyom a bit to respond- because he's wolfing his food down, and doesn't want to stop until it's gone. And then it's thoroughly inhaled, and Artyom has gained a minor case of the hiccups from drinking and eating too quickly, and he clears his throat between hiccups as he sets his plate and fork down, leaning back again. He gives Pavel a 'don't say a word' face as the quiet hiccups continue, while he leans back in his seat, to take up a pencil again to write.

"Not quite. But I like to think I could catch on quick." He writes. "I've done a lot of jobs growing up, like everyone else in my home station. Worked in the tea factory, helped looked after the pigs sometimes, my required guard duties, janitorial."

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel nods, leaning close to Artyom to read his writing, and only smiles a little when his friend hiccups. "I'm awful at it, my office is a mess," he says, a bit rueful. "You wouldn't be able to touch some of the stuff, but the expense reports and food orders and commissions and other boring paperwork... that you could file for me, if you wanted, when I had enough that it could fill a day. I don't think it'd be a full-time job, you might end up watching pigs other days, but it'd be an easy one..."

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom... maybe smiles just a little bit, at their closeness, and at Pavel being kind enough to offer him that kind of work. And then the smile fades slightly as guilt settles in him over how much he's relishing in their contact... "I can do that, easy enough." He writes. "If you want, I could start doing some of your less sensitive paperwork for you, too. So long as you need a quick hand with legible handwriting." He flairs his lettering a little at that, just a bit proudly- who else do you know, Pavel, who writes so nicely and so quick?

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel hesitates, and suggests, "Dictation, maybe. I-- mmn." He rubs the side of his face with a hand, and laughs a little, lowly, and says, "I know it's a, a, a fucking hell of a thing for me to say, priyatel, but I can't... exactly trust you with Red Line paperwork the moment you walk over the border, you know?"

He feels bad about saying it, Artyom looks so tired and came to him for help, but-- hopefully Artyom understands. "Maybe someday," he says, after a few moments, and nudges their shoulders together. "It'd be nice, but... it's got to be a maybe someday, for now."

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Right, yeah, no, of course. Artyom laughs, more sheepish than anything, and his cheeks color in embarrassment. "Right. Sorry. I shouldn't have been presumptuous." He writes, understanding perfectly. God, he should just shut up. He's just... He's so desperate to be near Pavel, and he let it get the better of his logic. "I just"

He just what? He wants to be near Pavel. He wants to be useful to him. He doesn't care about the Red Line, he's just here for Pavel. But can he say any of that without making things too weird? Without giving away too much? He needs Pavel. He needs to keep away the risk of being separated from him. "Just don't make me work too far from you too much, okay? I don't actually make friends very easily, and I don't know anyone else here, and I already told you you're at least half the reason I'm here."

itsAlana02/19/2018
"I get you, Artyom," he says, nudging his elbow into Artyom's ribs, because he does-- the desperate need to prove your use, so that you won't be thrown away, pushed away, or sold away to slavers-- he understands-- and then offers, "Do you want the rest of my food? I had something a couple hours ago, I'm not really all that hungry-- and you look like you could use it, you're like a kid's stick-figure pretending to be a man, eh? Did they run out of rats to eat at your last station?"
(Pavel did not actually understand.)

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
(Pavel understood close enough. Close enough for it to matter. Close enough for Artyom to find comforting.)

He breathes a soft sigh, and nods, eagerly, holding his hands out for Pavel's plate- his hiccups have abated, but he's ready to risk some more! Taking the plate, he pauses, holding it carefully balanced in one hand as he quickly writes, "I've always been skinny, and we actually had lots of pigs back home, and maybe not as many rats as some stations but enough to eat now and then." His cheeks color slightly. "Maybe I'm just meant to be shaped like this."

Artyom is cursed to be a skinny twink forever! Even when he sets his pencil down to inhale his second helping of food, earning himself a few more hiccups when he's done and stacking the emptied plate on top of the other on the table.

itsAlana02/19/2018
"Are you sure?" Pavel pokes Artyom's skinny belly, and says, "That can't be healthy, can it? You'd have to wear three coats to go outside-- though, blyat, maybe you did, and I just didn't notice? Hahhh, it would bring you up to about the size I remember you being..." He laughs a little, and pokes Artyom's ribs. "You've got a xylophone in there, though!"

Does Artyom even know what a xylophone is???

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom is aware of the concept of a xylophone! He's read about them, or at least read about people referencing them, and he's read a lot of things. Still, he makes a funny squeaking noise at the poke to his ribs, scrunching up with a pout in response. "Yeah, I wore more padding and layers than you might have realized, back then. And the body armor helped." He writes, looking slightly embarrassed, "I was always this skinny."

Although, he might be just a bit skinnier than he used to be... his appetite has been poor the last handful of months. But still, not by much.

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel laughs at the squeak, and tells Artyom, "Well, as long as you're staying with me, I'll see if I can change that, yeah? That, or I'll have to poke your xylophones every day." He playfully pokes Artyom again, then takes his vodka and settles back in the couch, smiling to himself as he watches Artyom.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom blushes, huffing and frowning and embarrassed, especially because he made yet another squeaking noise at the poke- he can't help it! Still, he appreciates the thought well enough. He can only hope his appetite improves while he's here. But the future ahead of him is swathed in swirling, uncertain dark- it's better than his alternatives, he knows, but he feels absolutely awful that this was the best option for himself. The most selfish option.

He takes a breath, and then reaches out to Pavel, and gestures at the bottle of vodka- give him some, he needs more alcohol in him right this second, please.

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel hums, and pours more for Artyom, handing him the cup and clinking his own with it. "Shots?" he asks, posed to throw back what he has. He can do shots with Artyom...

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Sure, Artyom will do shots! He could do the entire bottle, though, to be honest (or as much as he can before passing out), and he licks his lips as his cup is filled. Artyom doesn't even hesitate, and knocks it back in a moment, already holding out his cup for another refill. More! More vodka!

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel laughs, and knocks his back, and pours them each another one. He understands this, too, Artyom, drinking to forget or ignore-- he did this a lot when he first got back from the Red Square...

He cheers Artyom, and knocks his second glass back with a grimace. "Ugh! Terrible stuff," he says, and will top off Artyom if his friend matched him.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom's been the same, drinking more than he used to (and he's always been a bit of a lush, always eager for a drink), but still trying to hold himself back. Trying to look responsible, respectable, like the husband and father he was meant to be. Well... don't have to worry about that anymore, right? Here's hoping Pavel and the Red Line don't mind a drunkard too much.

Artyom matched Pavel, of course, with a "Phew!" after his drink. Yeah, it's pretty awful, but to be honest, he's had worse. He's had drinks he was sure were fucking lighter fluid mixed with motor oil, but it still got him drunk. The moment his cup is filled again, Artyom gulps it right back down without hesitation, and holds it back out for another. Shots! Shots! Shots!

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel laughs, and tells Artyom, "Breath between them, blyat, it's not a competition, d'Artagnan!" and will keep matching Artyom for shots until the jug is empty between them-- which isn't too long at all, it wasn't so big a bottle-- and then he settles back. "Phew!" he says, a red flush on his cheeks and a lopsided smile on his mouth as he regards Artyom fondly.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
He doesn't need it to be a competition! Unless it's a competition with himself, a time trial to see how close he can get to the bottom of the bottle before he passes out. But, to be a brat, for the next few shots he gives a slightly exaggerated breath between them, before forgetting entirely as he just drinks, drinks, drinks, until there's no more to drink.

Which is fine, because it's all rushing to hit Artyom at once, now, and his eyelids are heavy, eyes glazed, the boy slouching and wavering where he sits, a flush formed on his face as well, to the tip of his nose. He would've liked a little bit more, to be honest, but, ah well.

itsAlana02/19/2018
Blyat, Pavel is... "I'm glad you came here," he says, soft and quiet, "it's lonely being a solo musketeer, yeah? I wish I hadn't had to... ahhh, blyat, I should let it slip past. Times have changed, yeah? We can just... forget about those things. We can just be friends, if we want to, yeah, priyatel? We can be comrades, like I always really wanted to be..."

He offers Artyom a pinky, and asks, "Will you promise to be comrades with me, my friend?" Pinky-promise him, Artyom.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
Artyom's heart aches. There's still that part of him that wants to argue that it could have been so easy for things to have not fallen apart like they did. That Pavel could've just trusted him- trusted the man that tore apart a Nazi station just to save his ass, trusted him to do the same thing again if necessary. That it didn't have to end the way it did. That part of Artyom is angry and hurt, and wants to yell at Pavel for making excuses, for being so eager to  pretend he did nothing wrong.

But that part of Artyom is drowned out so easily by the much bigger part that is just desperate for exactly what Pavel says. Desperate to be close, to see him smile, to hear him talk, hear him chatter away and fill Artyom's silence, to overwhelm Artyom with his charm all over again, this time with no lines drawn between them to cut it short. Even if it's because Artyom had to cross that line himself, and sacrifice his better judgement and a good chunk of his beliefs and morality in the process.

Artyom takes a deep breath, his eyes stinging as his vision wavers in an alcohol laden haze. He wets his lips with his tongue, tasting the shitty vodka, and then bites the lower lip a moment. And then, he raises his hand, to curl a skinny pink around Pavel's, squeeze it as tight as a bony pinky finger can manage, his hand trembling just slightly.

itsAlana02/19/2018
Pavel almost thinks Artyom won't do it, hand starting to lower, when-- ahh!

Beaming, Pavel hooks his pinky back, and uses it to pull Artyom a little closer, to hug him, tightly. "I'll do my best for you," he promises, and bumps his temple against Artyom's, "piyatel, d'Artagnan, my comrade. We'll take care of you here, yeah? You won't have to worry about anything ever again."

That's not true, but Pavel wants it to be true, so he promises it anyways, arms around Artyom and words drunkenly sincere.

"... And tomorrow, we can head to headquarters, and you can help me with cleaning up my office!" he adds, enthusiastically. "Blyat, it's gonna be so nice to have places to start new stacks of papers, hahahhhh!"

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/19/2018
The embrace, such a warm, tight, affectionate hug, is everything Artyom needed at that very second. The bump of their temples, Pavel's drunken sincerity despite them both knowing it's not as true as he wants it to be, the way he's so happy and eager, that's all just the extra icing on the cake that finishes Artyom off. He wraps his arms tight as he can manage around Pavel, and buries his face in the man's shoulder, shuddering as he finds himself completely overwhelmed.

Pavel may be aware of the shaking breaths Artyom takes against his shoulder, the way Artyom clings to him like he's afraid of one or both of them being yanked away on the spot, his fingers bunching in Pavel's jacket. He can only wish they didn't have to eventually let go. If this could just be the rest of his life, it'd all have been worth it.

itsAlana02/19/2018
Ahhh, shit, Artyom must have had a hard time of it-- Pavel's never heard him start to cry before-- but he doesn't say anything about it, just pretends that Artyom isn't an inch away from sobbing on him, just holds his friend tight and warm, pats his back and lets himself be clung to by his drunken comrade. "You'll be good here, you're good," he mumbles, "you're my friend and comrade and I won't betray you again. I promise, Tyomik, you'll be fine. We'll take care of you."

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
It's all things that flood him with yet more guilt, because he still hates the Red Line, hates that he's turned traitor, but by God, is it comforting him as much as it's hurting him. Every promise, every kind word, even when laced with Artyom's treason, it's all he wants to hear right now. He's such a selfish monster. God, he hates himself so much. Let Pavel take care of him, then, Artyom can hate himself enough to make up for it.

Pavel's not wrong that Artyom's not really the type to cry so easily. But he is very drunk, and he is in a very bad place, and he is absolutely inches away from sobbing into the man's shoulder. But before that can happen... His grip goes slack all at once, and his shaky breathing evens out, and his full (miniscule) weight leans against Pavel as he relaxes... Artyom has absolutely passed out.

But let's be real, with as much Vodka he's had, two plates of food, and way too much traveling with heavy baggage and not enough food or sleep, not to mention all his inner turmoil, it's impressive he lasted this long, even if it was long enough to almost cry on Pavel. Long enough that, should Pavel move him from his shoulder, there's certainly wetness clinging to his dark eyelashes, slightly smeared around his closed eyelids.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Pavel murmurs to him, even as he passes out-- maybe he can give Artyom good dreams!-- before pulling back a little, and looking at his poor friend. Blyat, Artyom's been through so much... some shit must have really gone down for him to come fleeing to Pavel's arms.

Pavel knows he's drunk, but he still can't help but think to himself that... that he wants to help Artyom, he wants to make up for that betrayal, and pay Artyom back for the time after time after time that Artyom saved or spared his life, that it's haunted him, low and quiet, that they left things as they did, and Artyom was always so much better a man than he was, so much better that he trusted Pavel with his own life and safety and Pavel betrayed him. Yeah, it was to save Pavel's own skin, but... but with Artyom here again, with Pavel pulling away from spywork after the disasters the Red Line had been through and focusing on rebuilding... maybe now Pavel can be a better man.

He decides to start being a better man by picking up Artyom-- and, blyat, the guy weighs ten pounds, he can hardly believe this slip of a man was hiding under all that ranger stuff-- and carrying him off to bed, a little unsteady but getting there with only one bump of his own elbow against a doorframe and one quiet curse. He even covers Artyom with a couple blankets! And then Pavel falls into the next cot over, yawning to himself, reaching across the gap to smooth Artyom's hair in the dim light. They'll head off the next morning; for now, they should get some rest...

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
If only Artyom could be in Pavel's head, and know all this- if only they could be in either of each others' heads, and truly understand each other, see how much they both truly care, the guilt and aches they hold, the hidden torches they carry behind their backs...

But for now, all he can do is have his much-needed rest, not even stirring a bit when Pavel bumps an elbow and curses, or when his fuzzy dark hair is smoothed out (as much as that baby duck fluff can be smoothed down) by a warm hand. He sleeps easily and soundly, and he'll probably keep on sleeping until he's woken up- always been a problem with him, sleeping so much, and it's only worse when he's so exhausted (and drunk). It's so hard to wake up on his own.

But morning comes, and he still snoozes, curled up bundled in the blankets Pavel was kind enough to cover him with, mouth hanging slightly open. Does Pavel have the heart to wake him up? Look at that sleepy face.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Pavel... does not, honestly, when he wakes up, and instead stumbles out of the quarters with a rumpled uniform and a yawning face, going to fetch water and something that the locals call flatbread, even if it's kind of more mushroom-flour pancakes fried in pig grease. Still kind of a nice change from mush, he supposes, carrying a bottle of clean water with one hand and a plate with the other; and when he gets back with that, then he'll wake Artyom up with a warm finger poking his ribs again.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom wakes with a start and a sound not unlike a dog's squeaky toy, as well as a flail in the direction the poke came from- Oh. Oh, it's just Pavel. Artyom- for a second forgets this is real, and not just one of his many dreams, and he glances around oddly cluelessly- and reality sets in again, and with it, a warm feeling that brings with it guilt for daring to exist, why is he like this, what's wrong with him-

Still, he breathes a sigh of relief, and gives Pavel a pouty glower for waking him like that, and goes to pull himself off the bed. Good thing he's still fully dressed.

itsAlana02/20/2018
He barks a laugh, and offers Artyom the bottle he's holding with his other hand. "Water," he says, cheerfully, "and I have some food, too, back out by the couch. Did you sleep okay?"

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom accepts the water- his head is already aching, yelling at him for drinking too much, and he chugs down a healthy few gulps. He nods at the question- he slept better than he has in months, actually. He can't even remember his dreams. He offers a small smile, but it's only tired and dutiful, plagued still by his inner turmoil, as well as this fucking hangover.

He'll start wobbling back out again, though, scratching his fingers through his hair and yawning as he seeks out the couch from the previous day, his clothes even more rumpled than Pavel's- but it's kinda impossible to not look rumpled when you're wearing clothes made for men bigger than you in both height and bulk.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Ahhh, well, no one looks exactly crisp down here unless they have the time to iron their clothes, and that's such a waste of most people's times... Pavel does tisk and straighten out Artyom's collar before letting him by, though, warm fingers brushing the skin of his throat as Pavel adjusts his clothes just a little. Have fun with that, Artyom!

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom will have fun with that! And by fun i mean no fun at all, because for some reason, as he goes still while Pavel straightens him out slightly, the simple act floods some confusing, unexplainable feeling in him, that fills his belly with fuzz and raises goosebumps and makes his face feel warm. What the hell was that???

He'll try to ignore it. Not like his feelings have made any sense at all in months and months. Probably just a side effect of finally acting on his stupid obsession. He rubs the back of his neck, then, after a moment of standing there like a dummy, and finally going to plop on the couch- he heard something about food, right?

itsAlana02/20/2018
Right! There's a plate of something that looks, possibly, vaguely appetizing, if somewhat undefinable-- fried, though, that's always nice, right? Pavel plops next to him, and tells him, "I was told they're best warm, they start getting soggy cold-- here, try some," and offers Artyom one of the flat dense bits of mushroom-bread-stuff.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Fried is pretty much always nice, Artyom agrees. Artyom's hungry and eager to try- it actually looks pretty appetizing! It's not like he can have higher standards, so this is actually pretty above the bar for him. It's not like Artyom knows food from the old world or anything, unlike SOMEONE in this room.

Artyom's bit of fried flatbread is gone in a minute, disappeared into his hungry gullet, the boy nodding in approval. "Mmh!"

itsAlana02/20/2018
Pavel is still eating his when Artyom finishes, and waves for Artyom to eat more, looking pleased that his friend likes it. Enjoy yourself, Artyom! It won't be long before you and Pavel are back in the tunnels!

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
He'll keep eating then, for as long as Pavel doesn't ask him to slow down or save more for him, he'll keep eating! God, he's starved, he hadn't had much of an appetite in ages, and it's just suddenly hit him like a fucking freight train. Maybe he'll even gain 1 (one) whole pound if he keeps this up!

itsAlana02/20/2018
Pavel sneaks out another pancake-flatbread-thing while Artyom's on his rampage, chewing placidly and watching Artyom with open fondness. Fuck, it's weird just... being around Artyom, but it's nice, too, having his friend here, no goal, no looming knowledge that he'll betray him or had betrayed him, just... the two of them, yeah?

"You're a soggier drunk than I expected," he says, after a bit, poking Artyom in the calf with the toe of his boot, a hint of teasing in his voice.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom is bumped out of his binge reverie by a nudge to his calf, and a statement of how he got when he was drunk. He only has a vague recollection of being extremely plastered and hugging Pavel, but he can make an educated guess. His cheeks go red, and he promptly looks embarrassed with a mouth full of food, and he hesitates before swallowing, pouting over at Pavel before glancing away.

He's... not proud of it, of how emotional he must have gotten. Of how emotional he knows he's been getting. He's not proud of anything he's done or felt, only ashamed. Sorry, Pavel, your friendly teasing fell flat and just made Artyom feel bad.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Ahhh, shit, that's not the look he wanted out of Artyom-- a blush, or a grumpy look, but embarrassment and shame? Noooo... He bumps shoulders with Artyom, and says, sincerely, "H-hey, it's fine, chuvak, you didn't even really cry. And even if you did, you'd still be my comrade, yeah? My, my, my fellow musketeer, my friend, you know, all those things you are, eh? Suka, everyone cries when they're drunk, at least sometimes." Sorry, sorry, sorry Artyom... you're still his friend.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
He didn't doubt that, that Pavel would still like him, still want to be friends with him. Pavel's not the type to ditch a friend over some shed tears, despite the worse things he's done. He's too earnest and friendly and easygoing for that. But that doesn't stop Artyom's shame and embarrassment, doesn't stop how utterly miserable he feels, and how much he hates the idea of being seen like that.

But at least it was Pavel who saw him like that. Pavel, and no one else- especially not Anna. Idly, in the back of his mind, Artyom figures his absence must have been noticed by now- how many work shifts has he missed by now? He wonders if the note was found. If his stepfather read. If Anna was home yet, if she read it- it was addressed to her, but only now does he realize that she may not have been the first to find it, to find their apartment cleared out of everything that was tied to Artyom's identity and existence.

Artyom sighs heavily, and reaches for his clip- he pats at his jacket- no, he didn't put it away last night did he? He glances around- where'd he leave it? Is it still out here? Pavel, help Artyom find his clipboard.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Pavel lets Artyom deal with whatever thing he's dealing with, chewing slowly through the last of his mushroom bread-- it's really not bad, though it tastes more of pig fat than mushroom; probably to its benefit, honestly-- and thinking a little about things himself, about how he'll lie to keep Artyom out of trouble once they get back, if anyone asks about the guy living in Pavel's room. It takes him a moment to realize Artyom's looking for something, and he makes a curious noise at him, blinking. "'tyom?" he asks, through his mouthful of food, and swallows it down. What's missing?

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom huffs, and mimes writing with his hands- he needs his clipboard to talk. Last he remembers having it was before they started doing shots, it'd been on his lap when he was writing then. But then they drank, and they hugged, and Artyom passed out, and Pavel put him to bed...

It's probably around here somewhere, maybe fallen between couch cushions or on the floor or under the couch or maybe one of them is sitting on it- but Artyom just really doesn't like not having his clipboard immediately on hand. It makes him incredibly anxious, and he's really looking it, which just makes it harder for him to concentrate on actually using his eyes.

Artyom, normally so calm under pressure, so easily able to stay rational and collected, so easily losing his cool and concentration over this...

itsAlana02/20/2018
Ah! Pavel peers around, too, and even stands up, checking under his butt-- ah, no, not there. Hmm! "Shit," he says, thoughtfully, and drops to his knees next to the couch, feeling between the cushions, under the rather deflated arm on his side, resting a hand on Artyom's knee as he checks under the couch with his other hand... where could it be?

Artyom is free to lose more cool from Pavel on his knees in front of him and touching him casually, if he wants, you know, just for completion's sake. A full set of flustered-by-Pavels can be Artyom's today!

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Wowie, looks like Artyom's getting quite a deal on being flustered by Pavel this morning! What the hell! So now Artyom has the wombo combo of mild panic at not having what he needs to communicate, as well as Pavel doing something, somehow, that is setting off fuzz in his belly and fireworks in his brain and he doesn't fucking get it, what's wrong with him??

Sorry, Pavel, Artyom can't really help you find his clipboard at the moment. He's a little busy trying to breathe, because he's suddenly really overwhelmed with confusion and mild panic. If it helps, it's quite likely Pavel will find the damn thing the next place his looks, be it under the couch or just out of sight on the floor or something. Meanwhile, Artyom's face is slightly red and he's rubbing at it with his hands, looking frustrated.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Aha! He finds it slid under the coffee table, probably slipped from Artyom's lap while drinking and lost to the shadows, and rises triumphant to his knees with it held in the air like a sword from a lake. "Tah-dah! Your clipboard," he says, cheerfully, dropping it on Artyom's lap, and leans his elbows on the couch cushion, grinning up at his friend. "Just slid under the table, no big deal. Did you want to tell me something?"

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom breathes a sigh of relief, pretty much immediately calmed by the clipboard's appearance and presentation straight to his lap. Pavel gets a small, tired smile of thanks for that, from a very tired looking Artyom, despite how much sleep he got.

At the question, he waves a hand dismissively, and shrugs. He can't remember what he wanted to say anyways, to be honest. It's lost to the panic of losing the clipboard. Instead, he just writes, "What's next, then?"

itsAlana02/20/2018
Still leaning on the cushions, kneeling on the floor, Pavel has to crane his head a little to read, but when he does he smiles up at Artyom. "Now we head south-west-- I need to stop by Armory, the other officers I was meant to be leaving with yesterday should be waiting for us there-- and then on to headquarters, where I work and live now. There's no rush to leave, unless you're very, very fond of hand carts, but we'll have to get going in the next, mmm, eight or so hours, I'd say." He pats Artyom's knee, and lets him know, "If you need to sleep longer, I can lurk behind ensigns and make thoughtful noises, scare 'em into behaving themselves until the next inspection, hey!" Laughing, he finally stands up, stretching his arms over his head and looking cheerful.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom makes a face- no, he's not looking forward to handcarts, actually. Mostly because he can't get much sleep on trips with handcarts, since it's expected that everyone takes a turn with the levers. Pavel's offer is tempting, though, and he ponders it, chewing his lip- the poor ensigns, though! Eh, but it's mostly harmless, isn't it.

Artyom finally answers with a yawn- yeah, maybe a little more sleep. He's still so tired. And hungover. So he nods, and grabs that water Pavel had let him drink earlier, to take another couple gulps before setting it down, stuffing his clipboard in his jacket where it actually belongs. And then, if Pavel doesn't mind, Artyom's gonna plop over on the couch, bringing his legs up so he can curl up, putting his arms around himself with his hands stuffed between his arms and torso to keep them warm. He's just gonna doze off right here if that's alright with you.

itsAlana02/20/2018
That's fine, and Pavel will pat his hair, wishing him cheerfully, "Sweet dreams, Artyom. I'll wake you up in a few hours." And then off he goes! He lurks, he makes thoughtful noises, he takes notes in a little notebook, and all the ensigns who thought the bosses left the day before get thoroughly spooked by Pavel's display of excessive interest in their doings.

Artyom gets about another four hours of sleep before Pavel returns, and goes to wake him up with a gentle hand ruffling his hair, Pavel crouched next to the couch and regarding Artyom with obvious fondness. Blyat, Artyom looks so young... Pavel never really thought, before, about Artyom's age, because he was a Ranger, he had to have been no more than maybe five, eight years younger than Pavel, right? But looking at his skinny, sleeping face, Pavel thinks he looks barely out of his teenaged years, just worn hard by the wars of the Metro...

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Those poor ensigns!

Pavel isn't wrong to wonder about Artyom, though. It's when he sleeps (and when he's not having nightmares) that is one of the times he most truly looks his age, when his face is slack and peaceful, mouth slightly ajar. He needs a shave, his scruff thicker than he usually lets it get, but it and even the little faint marks here and there showing reminders of Artyom's hardships in his journeys does little to hide that slightly childish resting-smile his mouth aligns to naturally, the slight softness to his cheeks despite his skinnyness, how his skin has barely had time to make even a couple wrinkles, not even laugh lines or anything, still somehow mostly smooth, all his edges still rounded.

Won't Pavel be surprised to learn that Artyom is not yet twenty-two?

Artyom wakes more gradually this time, instead of startled from his sleep like before. He rouses with a deep breath, followed by a sigh, and then a quiet, tired groan before his eyes open, blinking a few times before they remember how to function- only to be met with Pavel's face, so full of genuine fondness. It's enough to make Artyom's face immediately grow warm, his stomach squirming suddenly, and he makes a funny noise that might come off as surprise.

itsAlana02/20/2018
The noise wins a warm smile out of Pavel, and he says, soft and gently teasing, "Sorry to ruin your beauty sleep, but we should start getting ready to go. Unless you were planning to hibernate for the winter?"

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom calms as he pushes himself upright, and huffs a half-laugh- God, he wishes. That would make things so much easier, wouldn't it? He could just sleep until his next birthday, that'd be nice.

Ahh, but alas, it cannot be. He yawns, and stretches, and makes yawny stretchy noises as a couple joints pop, and then he's climbing to his feet to get ready to go, trudging to his bags. At least Pavel could help him carry some of this, maybe, since the trip to the Armory, and then to Ploschad Revolyutsii, is even longer than the trip here from Exhibition. But hopefully with more carts and places he can put his luggage down instead of carrying it.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Definitely, and Pavel goes to help him with his bags after he claims his discarded hat from the night before, claiming the duffels and slinging them over his shoulders. "So, can you play that guitar?" he asks, cheerfully, leading the way out into the station once Artyom's all loaded up. "Maybe you can play while I power the cart, eh? If we don't need our hands free for taking care of mutants, at least, though this tunnel's been pretty safe the last few months."

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Ahhh, Pavel, how do you keep managing to find ways to put Artyom almost at ease? He even smiles a bit, following Pavel with his backpack on his back, guitar secured to it. He nods, and then nods more, smiling even more, at the suggestion to playing while on the handcart- hey, that gives him an excuse to not have to work the lever first! And everyone loves a bit of music to keep the silence from clawing in!

Oh, Pavel, you just made Artyom almost look forward to riding a handcart, as he shuffles quickly behind Pavel to keep up, fingers already itching for the strings of his guitar. He hasn't played in an age- he could use some time with it, probably. It always does him some good to pour himself into music.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Pavel looks pleased, and then a sly look crosses his face-- "I don't suppose you know the Soviet National Anthem, chuvak? Then I could sing along with you, and that ought to keep the mutants at bay--" He can hardly finish the joke, already chuckling, bouncing the heavy bags higher on his shoulders and grinning at Artyom. "Though I could probably scare them off singing along with anything you played," he says, grinning.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom scoffs, rolling his eyes with half a smile. They both know Artyom knows neither the Soviet Anthem nor the Internationale, though he knows Pavel knows the latter by heart- Artyom isn't really sure he wants to hear that again, though. He only has unhappy memories associated with it, memories of Nazis and nooses and blood and bruises on Pavel's face and neck.

He doesn't know a lot of real songs, really. Almost everything he knows, he played by ear after hearing someone else play it, or hearing something like it on a cassette tape and wanting to duplicate it on acoustic. Or he plays it by ear, which always works, too.

Oddly enough, now Artyom can't wait. He'd never told Pavel before that he could play guitar, and now he has a small chance to show off, to Pavel and maybe to others joining them on the handcart, they're usually 4-seaters. Maybe he can find a scrap of pride to cling to in his mess of failure and treason.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Pavel keeps up a thread of chatter all the way to the handcart, where there's a couple women hanging around to go to the next station once there's a full load, and Pavel helps Artyom load his things atop theirs under the seats before settling in to power it. "Would anyone here like some music for the trip? My friend Artyom here plays guitar," he says, and one of the women agrees, "I wouldn't mind some music, what do you think, Katya?"

Katya quietly gives Artyom a thumbs up, and goes back to watching the gate keeping them safe, clutching her machine gun seriously. She is, apparently, their firepower for the trip.

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Artyom smiles politely when they meet up with the women they'll be sharing the cart with- his stepfather raised him to be gentlemanly, of course, and he even gives a little wave as he settles into the handcart- after helping put his bags away and retrieving his guitar, of course. He also looks approvingly at Katya's machine gun- if worst comes to worst, he's got a handgun and a knife hiding on his person, and a couple clips of MGR he'd be happy to volunteer for her to use for some extra punch.

Still, Artyom's happy to leave that to her for now. Not all girls need his protecting. So, he sets about tuning his guitar for a moment, since he hasn't in a while, and the long trip here was likely to have knocked it out of tune at least a bit. But it's not long before he's satisfied that it's tuned enough to be pleasing to the ear, and he starts to strum mindlessly at first, before finding himself a tune to play to, the creak of the cart helping him keep time.

Like most people who make music in the Metro, most of what he can play sounds solemn, contemplative, especially when he pours his troubles into it, like he wants to do now. But with the cold tunnel air moving past them and through his hair, the lamp on the cart flickering gently, and an audience, he can't help but go against his inner turmoil, and try to put a bit more energy into what he plays, into something at least more bittersweet.

itsAlana02/20/2018
Pavel and the first woman start the handcart, pumping the lever to Artyom's music as he gets underway, Katya bobbing her head along with it; aside from the music, the ride is quiet, but they all seem to appreciate Artyom's playing, to the point where they don't even try to make Artyom power the handcart, Pavel and the two women rotating who's working the lever for as long as Artyom plays.

It's not long before they're passing through the next station, waved through by the guards, and the woman lets the two of them know, "The next station is our stop, but the music has been good. Thank you, Artyom."

Potente Byrd Mæmes02/20/2018
Yesss, Artyom's secret planned worked: through the power of music, he didn't have to power the handcart! Seeing as he really enjoys playing guitar, he got to just sit and enjoy himself, for the first time in... ages, really. He'll probably have to help out with the cart on the next stretch after the ladies depart, but this has been nice...

The compliment helps, too, and Artyom gives a *proper* warm, genuine smile, for probably the first time since Pavel has seen him arrive. And probably the first time in the weeks before that. He even glances over at Pavel, still smiling, almost in a 'see that? I did good! you proud of me?' way, almost childishly eager for praise.

[also here have some mellow solemn guitar tracks from metro
https://youtu.be/an0rZ-knfpI
https://youtu.be/e2AZ_Lz0liQ
https://youtu.be/Oxzh_IHn2qg
https://youtu.be/BEjXHcaaWQI]