the chilly worlds, and the silent fields

[sputnik]

Who: Konstantin Veshnyakov + various
What: catchall / open & closed prompts
When: through March & April
Where: various places in town

Content Warnings: This character comes with a parasitic alien entity by default. More content warnings will be in various thread headers.

Comments

a whole new Type of Lost Teenage Boy™ appears!!

[sputnik]

[ Of the reactions to his offer so far, this one might just be even more unexpected than the doe-eyed look of confusion (and perhaps mild horror) of Kieren Walker's. One would think that the cosmonaut had pressed a gun to the poor boy's head and demanded him to jog with him Or Else. Well.... this is very different than that, although no less alarming, and his eyebrows are shooting up at the display of coughing. Congratulations, Konstantin, you almost killed someone with your offers of physical exercise. ]

Woah there! You okay?

[ He's leaning in, close and personal and two seconds away from thumping a palm against the boy's back, but thankfully the kid seems to be taking care of it well enough himself, those coughs coming to a close. Still, he hovers close, eyes looking him over for a few moments, before he's finally allowing a smile to spread across his face — slow but easy, warm, bright. It loosens up the more severe look to him and the deep tone to his voice, heavily accented in Russian. ]

There's a popcorn machine here? I can't believe I didn't know about it. Does it work?

[ A snack item he'd rarely taken pleasure in, before — greasy, buttery, unhealthy. Now? He'd love nothing more. ]

I was just thinking up and down the main road, the one that leads to the church. Nothing too crazy. [ His smile widens, nudges open his mouth to show teeth. Ordinarily he'd be all over this place, out in the woods, jumping over things like he was training for the Olympics. Having to take it easy is an unfamiliar, unwelcomed concept, but like everything else unwelcomed, Konstantin Veshnyakov hides it with a smile. ]

[ployboy]

[So he had heard right, and Tim quickly puts up a hand to signal a Halt.

If there's one thing Russians demand it's politeness, and Tim already knows he's lost brownie points. To remedy, he croaks out, in a Moscow-sort of lilt because that's what's recent in his brain, what with Mikalek and everything:] Thank you. Yes I'm fine. I appreciate the concern. [...or something similar. Tim's English is an atrocity on most days and Batman had expected he learn and retain other languages? Preposterous.

But it's funny-- French, Spanish, now Russian... the Aurora really put in the effort to ensure the Interlopers could all be understood. Is there a catch, or is this just a selfless gift to them all? (Spoilers: there's always a catch.)

Tim downs the rest of the tea and it helps soothe his throat, and also gives him a moment to acknowledge the fucking disaster that is the... popcorn machine. His brows furrow a little; his lips move to a slow sort of smirk, the kind that comes when great idea just pops into someone's head.] It's behind some junk. I just know it's there because I stumbled on it during the big blizzard when everyone was stir-crazy. Honestly?

[Yes it works, yes he always kept it stocked with good popcorn. Real gourmet stuff.] --I doubt anybody's ever plugged it in.

[Like a cat (a very stupid cat about to launch itself out of a tenth-story window for a bird), Tim stretches his arms above his head and moves around the table. Nearer to this Big Dude. He nods, envisioning the route. It's easy.

It's also way too early for this crap. My god.] Cool. We do a few laps and if I can still move my legs afterwards, I'll show you where the good and buttery things are stashed. My name's Tim.

[sputnik]

[ There's a blink of surprise as the youth briefly unleashes some unexpected Russian — to be sure, hearing the familiarity of his native language out here in Remote Canada should be a relief each time it happens (and it is), but there's also something that catches against him like the snag of a hook, something that always feels a bit like alarm.

The people who would be after him would be Russian, after all (and though this boy clearly isn't a native.... it's a connection, isn't it? Maybe. Maybe it's nothing at all. He's just a kid.) In any case, it's an odd thing, to feel a sweep of familiarity and of suspicion at the same moment. For the concept of his home to be both a source of yearning and of hesitation.

Of course, Konstantin shows none of this on the surface. He leans back a little, arms folding over his torso, looking surprised and impressed and delighted as though to say — Now that's something! ]

Huh. I bet we could get it working again. Should be another Aurora soon.

[ He's been diligently tinkering with things to try to get something of true use up and running — and while a popcorn machine most certainly doesn't hold the key to breaking out of this place, it would be nice to enjoy a buttery treat while being stuck here.

There's a smile, bright and warm and friendly, and he unfurls his arms from his chest to stick out a hand. If the boy accepts, he'll find a firm handshake, welcoming. ]

Konstantin. It's a perfect plan. [ He grins, showing teeth, and tilts his head towards the front doors. ]

Don't worry, we can start slow. Walk for a little, to warm up. I don't want anyone collapsing out in the cold.

[ In his own alien-riddled state, that would probably actually be him..... but. He continues talking as he leads them that way, tone conversational, curious, concealing any trace of suspicion that might be bubbling up underneath. There's a reason for everything, including why he's here and why other people are here with him, and he means to find out why Tim speaks broken Russian. ]

Your Russian's not half-bad. Did you live there for awhile?