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tampered2010-01-02 09:32 pm
spiritofsorrow.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2010-01-02 09:32 pm
Log; Ongoing; Open
When; 01/01/2010~
Rating; PG, maybe PG-13 for language or whatever. Nothing horrible though.
Characters; The Sorrow [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spiritofsorrow], Penny [notflynn ], and Major Raikov [hidesinrestroom ]
Summary; New Year's Day is a huge Russian holiday! So Sorrow is trying to make some food and have some visitors -- a little bit unusual for him, but nonetheless he enjoys his heritage and his friends.
Log;
Sorrow ducked when the fire extinguisher went off, but only for a moment. The stove seemed to have seen its share of scorch marks in its lifetime, and most of his food had turned out fine under Penny's careful supervision. Glancing her way, he offered a smile, and then looked out the window to see the sun approach the horizon and fire his alabaster skin shades of gold.
He had never learned to cook back home in Stalingrad, and on New Year's Day, he usually ended up at the far end of the rail in Vladivostok, visiting his extended family and eating his babushka's food. A thin old woman with brilliant blue eyes, she made -- and ate -- far more food than it seemed she could, and Pyotr Korolev's family had as much food as they needed for the train ride back. The blond professor always saved a few sweets from the tree for his son Zorin, the skinny little boy who got his brains from his father, his warm demeanor from his mother, and his unnaturally white skin from who knew where. Zorin had asked for the recipe later, and the result on the baking pan looked quite the good approximate.
Shutting the oven, he placed the tray on the counter to cool. Raikov should be extracting himself from...well, wherever he was, fairly soon. Hopefully some of the other Russian citizens here would appear, if only because he wanted to meet others from his homeland in person. It was good, today, to feel a sense of belonging still. He had been sent all over the world for so many missions, but in the end, he still remembered home. The tree in the corner, a Christmas tree redecorated with traditional Russian sweets, warmed his heart.
It was a good feeling. He brightened as he remembered something he had stashed in his cloak -- two bottles of vodka. One of them, he left on the cloak; the other, he placed on the counter. Raikov would probably want something. In truth, he did, too. The City was stressful, and though he wasn't inclined to drown his exhaustion in liquor, every so often it was nice to loosen up.
"Raikov will be here sooner or later, but that does not mean we can't start without him." He brought out two glasses and opened the first bottle, pouring off some of the vodka into one glass. Holding it up in front of his face, he gave it a nostalgic smile. "And this is how we drink in Russia -- neat, or straight, as you would say."
He set it down on the counter for a moment. "Do you want any?"
(ooc: Open to anyone who wants to come -- you don't have to be Russian! Sorrow likes to see his friends.)
Rating; PG, maybe PG-13 for language or whatever. Nothing horrible though.
Characters; The Sorrow [
spiritofsorrow], Penny [notflynn ], and Major Raikov [hidesinrestroom ]Summary; New Year's Day is a huge Russian holiday! So Sorrow is trying to make some food and have some visitors -- a little bit unusual for him, but nonetheless he enjoys his heritage and his friends.
Log;
Sorrow ducked when the fire extinguisher went off, but only for a moment. The stove seemed to have seen its share of scorch marks in its lifetime, and most of his food had turned out fine under Penny's careful supervision. Glancing her way, he offered a smile, and then looked out the window to see the sun approach the horizon and fire his alabaster skin shades of gold.
He had never learned to cook back home in Stalingrad, and on New Year's Day, he usually ended up at the far end of the rail in Vladivostok, visiting his extended family and eating his babushka's food. A thin old woman with brilliant blue eyes, she made -- and ate -- far more food than it seemed she could, and Pyotr Korolev's family had as much food as they needed for the train ride back. The blond professor always saved a few sweets from the tree for his son Zorin, the skinny little boy who got his brains from his father, his warm demeanor from his mother, and his unnaturally white skin from who knew where. Zorin had asked for the recipe later, and the result on the baking pan looked quite the good approximate.
Shutting the oven, he placed the tray on the counter to cool. Raikov should be extracting himself from...well, wherever he was, fairly soon. Hopefully some of the other Russian citizens here would appear, if only because he wanted to meet others from his homeland in person. It was good, today, to feel a sense of belonging still. He had been sent all over the world for so many missions, but in the end, he still remembered home. The tree in the corner, a Christmas tree redecorated with traditional Russian sweets, warmed his heart.
It was a good feeling. He brightened as he remembered something he had stashed in his cloak -- two bottles of vodka. One of them, he left on the cloak; the other, he placed on the counter. Raikov would probably want something. In truth, he did, too. The City was stressful, and though he wasn't inclined to drown his exhaustion in liquor, every so often it was nice to loosen up.
"Raikov will be here sooner or later, but that does not mean we can't start without him." He brought out two glasses and opened the first bottle, pouring off some of the vodka into one glass. Holding it up in front of his face, he gave it a nostalgic smile. "And this is how we drink in Russia -- neat, or straight, as you would say."
He set it down on the counter for a moment. "Do you want any?"
(ooc: Open to anyone who wants to come -- you don't have to be Russian! Sorrow likes to see his friends.)
no subject
"You aren't starting without me," He declared, marching over to the table and sitting down. "Pour me a drink."
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Penny took one of the glasses. The vodka didn't look bad, either; she wasn't much of a drinker, but it was a holiday and letting go of her inhibitions a little would be nice. "Hit me, bartender."
The words hadn't fully left her lips when Raikov arrived, summoned, it seemed, by the prospect of alcohol. "C'mon, Raikov. You need to say hello before you can start demanding drinks."
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"To quote a young woman I once heard...'he's just that kind of guy.'" Sorrow grinned -- he wasn't sure if Raikov had ever personally met Tatyana or not. She was the Colonel's pet prisoner, and far more than she seemed.
He paused for a moment, bottle in hand, and crinkled his eyes at Raikov. For a moment, he thought about serving Penny first, just to jab at him a little. But that wasn't quite his style, and so he obliged Raikov with a generous splash before pouring some for Penny as well and then setting the bottle aside.
"Major Raikov and I planned this together. Perhaps he has earned his forgiveness this time." He adjusted his glasses, glanced over them, and gave Penny a quick wink.
Lifting his own glass, he swirled the vodka a few times before taking a long drink, flinching at the burn down his throat. It startled him into placing down the glass, and he blinked once before shaking his head in rueful laughter. What, only two years and he was already forgetting what that tasted like? He drank again with less surprise, soft breathy chuckles from his nose.
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Raikov wasn't a total dick to Penny though, so he wiggled a few of his fingers at her as a silent hello, taking a large gulp of his drink. He let out a satisfied "ahh!" as he set down his glass. "Now this is how you celebrate New Years."
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She took a drink, making a face at the ensuing burn. Maybe it had been longer since she'd had anything other than fruity little drinks with umbrellas in them than she'd thought. Penny recovered, grinning. "What'd you two plan? What else happens where your from besides drinking?"
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A year ago he'd been dressed as Dr. Horrible, the only way he could manage to talk to anyone. This year he'd decided not to, though he did have a spare outfit with him just in case. He was dressed fairly normal, for a definition of normal that included a periodic table sweater and an Erlenmeyer flask scarf.
"Hey, everyone," he said, lingering awkwardly in the doorway, realizing he was lingering awkwardly in the doorway, and somewhat fumblingly closing the door behind him.
/just going out of order once, feel free to ignore
Penny waved him over to the counter. Seeing Billy outside of the apartment was a rare treat (and she was, of course, enormously pleased to see that he was wearing the scarf); seeing him outside of the apartment at a party--even if it was a small one--was more unusual still. "We were just having some drinks. Pull up a seat and make yourself at home."
XD
His attention turned to the new comer. Billy, huh? He sounded familiar. Oh, right. Penny mentioned him occasionally. He nodded his head and lifed his drink in greetings to him.
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With that, he shot Raikov a raise of his brow and chuckled into his vodka. "I set up the tree and sweets, you know. Just because I celebrate Christmas, does not mean that I do not observe our traditions as well. Penny and I have food for the group," he motioned over to the food on the countertop, "and you should all feel free to eat."
Next to the food, there was a small bottle of champagne. "There is some champagne -- I don't enjoy it, but it is nonetheless typical, and some prefer it. And when the clock tower chimes, often ones makes wishes on each of the chimes, for good luck in the new year. It is too bad, that we have no fireworks. Fury would have all of those skills, not myself." Despite his old ally's anger problems -- hence his name -- he often enjoyed the man's company. Today, he missed his fellow countryman and comrade. Nearly burned alive during a space flight accident, Fury lost his mind not so long ago, and was merely a tool to die for the Boss's last grand mission, as were they all...
But it was a role he was all too willing to play. He smiled in reminiscence, and motioned for Billy to take a chair. "Always the learned man. I've never seen such clothes, but the military is far more stilted than future academicians."
no subject
He was surprised when Sorrow mentioned his clothes, considering he wasn't dressed in a white lab coat and welding gloves for once, and looked down. "Oh, heh, not very military, gigantic sweaters and all. Christmas presents," he half-muttered, wondering why he was muttering at all. Hadn't he gotten over that sort of thing?
no subject
She took another drink--surprise, it was just as unpleasantly vodka-like as the first--and retrieved the champagne bottle, another glass for Billy, and a snack, listening to Sorrow. "You had a friend named Fury?" Penny was beginning to see a pattern in these names. Next is Grumpy, then Sleepy, then Dopey... "Maybe we're better off without fireworks. Things like that don't always go well here."
Poor Billy. Things might have changed since his trip home, but he hadn't gained any confidence in social situations. Penny was pleased, however, to see him wearing the scarf she had made; she fingered the (anatomically correct) heart pendant around her neck, wondering if he would notice that she had it on. "You know what they say about girls loving a man in uniform?" she asked him, pouring him some vodka. "The same totally applies to giant sweaters with periodic tables on them."
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Er. Anyways. When Penny described Billy's sweater, he couldn't help but glance over. Did it seriously have the periodic tables on the front...?
And as for military-ish wear, Raikov was wearing his uniform, minus the hat and gloves. It wouldn't feel right if he wore something else. And once Penny had retrieved a snack, the Major made his way over to the table and .. picked out a good handful of sweets. What a glutton he was.
Raikov's face is priceless
He narrowed his eyes in a suppressed chuckle as she went for the champagne. Not everyone liked hard spirits, but Fury would have made some sarcastic comment. No, perhaps not; she was a woman, and he usually had something less of a rough wit around women. Hmm.
"Men in uniform?" He refilled his glass, took down another one, and motioned with it towards Billy as an offer. "Major, perhaps you should change your outfit. The women might find you terribly stunning in that."
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In general, even with the recent crazy parties he'd hosted, what he drank could be divided into three categories: amusingly named beers, whatever scored highest on alcohol content/dollar (nearly undrinkable red wine), and the occasional unholy alcoholic abomination concocted in the lab. The vodka was at least better than the OUAACitL, so he experimented with a more careful sip.
He tried to look suitably amused and hoped the conversation would turn to something that was not his sweater. "I'm not sure I'd recommend that strategy."
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Okay, maybe military uniforms and sweaters weren't quite on the same level, but Penny thought Billy looked very cute (not that she could say so, as using the word 'cute' to describe a guy in front of other guys was entirely taboo). He also looked uncomfortable.
Penny turned her attention to Raikov, who seemed far fonder of it than Billy. Trying to envision him in an ill-fitting sweater, she said, "Raikov wouldn't be able to pull that look off." She finished off her vodka with a final gulp. Eugh. The appeal of drinking stuff that smelled and acted like turpentine was lost on her. Penny popped the cork on the champagne bottle and helped herself. "Actually, Raikov... I can't picture you in anything but a uniform. Do you even own other clothes?"
Ah, alcohol. She was already beginning to feel all warm and fuzzy inside thanks to the vodka.
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Fond of the sweater? ... Not exactly. He simply thought Billy looked amusing in it. Raikov swirled the remaining vodka in his glass as he replied to Penny's question. "I do own other clothes. You just never seem to catch me in them."
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Other clothes? Perhaps it was his sweater that kept her from commenting on him as well. Raikov wore a relatively nice officer's uniform, something prim compared to the black and white camouflage that was more appropriate in the field. It wasn't very formal battledress, but such was how he died, and such was what he wore. Aside from the cloak, he had never bothered with any other clothing until the City. Even wearing same-era Russian clothes didn't feel quite right, as if he were in a second skin.
He took a long swig from the glass. "Perhaps Raikov should wear your hat more often, and it would soften the military look."
Was he being silly? That wasn't so much like him. He shook his head, fell silent, and resorted to listening. It felt a little strange; he wasn't much of a joker.
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He wondered a moment later why he'd brought that up. He didn't talk about the Evil League of Evil, mostly because it made him think of Bad Horse, and thinking about Bad Horse made him nervous. He shook himself and had a little more vodka.
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She distracted herself by locating the hat with the ear flaps Sorrow had given her and plopping it on Raikov's head. "Now that softens the military look." Heh. Fur, soft.
Penny made a mental note to slow down on the booze intake.
no subject