I'm not majestic on weekends {PV. Emilia Bjorn}

i'm not majestic on weekends.

emilia // lyosha

Friday nights were probably Lyosha's favourite moment of the week. Even though he loved driving for hours, days on end, at some point, his leg (well, the remaining one) got sore, his arms stiff and his neck started to hurt. So usually, after driving the truck back to oymyakon, unloading the supplies and everything that was in the back, he went to see his father, gave him a kiss on the forehead, then went to numb his painful body with a couple drinks, and a nice, warm meal.

This Friday night wasn't different from any other. Of course, it was already pitch black and the flickering glow of the street lights barely lit up the snowy path that lead to the inn. He knew his friend Artyom, the inn's owner, was expecting him with an already full glass of siberian berry vodka, and he was looking forward to it. So when he finally pushed the door of the inn, he welcomed the warm air in his face like a blessing.

Lyosha dusts his shoulders, removing the numerous snowflakes that have accumulated there and still remain unmelted. He rips his beanie off his head, and unrolls his scarf. After the very, very negative temperatures from outside, the inside of the building almost seems like a tropical climate. He nods at the usuals, sitting at their table, and slowly walks towards them to greet the wrinkled, grey-haired customers. There are three men and two women. He smiles at them happily, and pats grandpa Piotr on the shoulder.

"Dzyedulya," he greets him, before turning to the old man's wife, Valeria "babushka". He has a word for every one of them, laughing at their jokes, changing the subject when he's asked if he's found a podruga yet, listening to the new gossips in the village. Apparently, two young women, or rather girls, have just arrived while he was away. Now he understands the girlfriend question. He explains he's got nothing to do with that and, after a moment of chatting, he leaves them and walks to the bar.

From the corner of his eye, he notices an unfamiliar silhouette. A young woman with light brown hair, sitting by herself. Before he can greet her, Artyom emerges from the kitchen, loud as always. "Lyosha, mal'chik! I was beginning to wonder if you'd come!" They warmly shake each other's hand, and exchange a quick hug over the bar. "I'd never miss your delicious bortsch! But there was a storm on the way." Artyom has a thunderous laugh and slaps Lyosha on the shoulder. "Of course, of course, there's always something on the way! What do you want to drink with your bortsch, little man?" Lyosha raises an eyebrow. He definitely is much smaller than Artyom, who could be qualified as a giant, and he's already quite tall himself. "Give me some spice tea and a pitcher of berry vodka. Also give that devushka over there whatever drink she wants." He says, smiling.

Weirdly, Artyom just nods and, still laughing, goes back to the kitchen. It is unlike him not to joke about Lyosha's kindness. The big guy comes back with a large bowl of bortsch, almost a bucket really, and puts it down on the bar, not far from the girl. He pours Lyosha's drinks and turns to her. "What will it be, devushka?" He waits for her to answer and pours her what she asked for. Lyosha sits down, a couple sits away from her, in front of his bortsch, and smiles at her. "don't worry, Artyom here might be scary but he wouldn't hurt a fly. I'm Lyosha, and you are new here, aren't you?"

love.disaster

Posts : 4 Join date : 2017-12-05

Emilia had just HAD to escape the house. Being an older sister was fun, being a mother was hard especially if you don't really remember having a mother. But being a big sister and trying to fill the role of mum at the same time was a nightmare, and Emilia wouldn't change her situation for the world.
However, it had all been too much on their first day in Oymyakon.

Elsa was just going too far. The little girl wanted to unpack and turn their new cottage into their new home in the space of a few hours. "Emi, Help me", Emi, please", Emi, Emi, Emi . . .". That was the last straw. She'd left Her sister for an hour to come and check out what passes for a bar in this tiny frozen village WITHOUT penguins.

When she arrived at the bar it seemed pleasant enough but she was a little worried at the lack of people her own age. What had she been expecting, really? This wasn't exactly the most happening Artic Circle village in the world.

Luckily, she found a way to communicate well enough with everybody to say hello and buy a drink for herself but resolved to practice the new language as often as possible. Emilia wasn't one hundred percent sure what she'd ordered but it looked like vodka.

The door blows open and finally someone her own age walks in. UGH, its a boy. She thought as he greeted everybody on his way to the bar. He was attractive enough for a distance and she was sure he was the type of boy whom she should melt for but knew she'd lose interest if he showed any to her.

Oh, great! He's got me another drink. As if I needed two. I'm guessing neither him nor the barman care if I want it?

Emilia was pretty sure he was asking what she wanted. So she repeated the same process of holding up the menu and pointing to a drink that looks nice.

Emilia accepts the drink with a shy smile, reasoning that this may be the ONLY potential friend in town and doesn't want to piss him off in the first 10 seconds.

Perhaps I should tell him I'm a lesbian? Just so he doesn't get too deep into flirting with me only to be disappointed. Perhaps not the first thing I should say. I'll go with thank you.

"Thank you. What means 'devushka'?"

i'm not majestic on weekends.

emilia // lyosha

As Lyosha eats his bortsch (neither very quietly nor very elegantly), the girl thanks him. He smiles at her a smile full of soup, and keeps chewing before gulping down his mouthful of food. Man, driving all day has gotten him hungry, and there's nothing like a bowl full of hot, steaming meat soup to help with fatigue and soreness.

She speaks Russian with a heavy accent, but Lyosha can't tell where it is from. It's not like he's good at guessing where people are from, as he's just too oblivious to notice details. It might also be because in Oymyakon, you don't see that many foreigners anyway. Who would want to come here? She doesn't reply to his question and he decides to guess that's because her Russian might not be good enough to allow her to understand everything he's saying. She asks what devushka means and he has a large smile and a soft chuckle. Why would you come to a country if you don't even speak the language? He explains, speaking slowly and exaggerating his elocution as if he's talking to someone that's really hard of hearing, or maybe a bit thick."Devushka is what you call a young woman like you. But it looks like sestrenka would be a better word to call you."

He smiles again, before realizing she probably doesn't understand that word either. He's not so sure exactly what she understands. "Sestrenka is younger female sibling. Understand?"

He stuffs his mouth full of bortsch again, the warm meal helping his stiff muscles relax. He alternates bortsch and tea like that for a moment, before stopping for a second. He pours himself some Vodka and drinks it bottoms up, in one long gulp, then sighs with ease. Artyom has gone back to the kitchen, and the place is full of the customers' mumblings, laughs and the noises of glass against glass. The fire burns in the large chimney and the logs burning crack and spark. "You speak Russian? Little bit?" He asks, while putting his thumb and index very close together, the rest of his fingers folded against his palm, warmly, again speaking slowly and articulating as much as he can. "Here on holiday?" He wants to laugh but doesn't, and smiles again instead.

What a weird place to come on holiday, if this is what it's about. And without speaking Russian? That seems odd. And she looks so extraordinarily young. What would she be doing here, in this lost place? Young girls nowadays have weird ideas sometimes, maybe she's decided to have a road trip with a friend or something. Thinking of that, where's the other one? "I heard there was two of you?" Whoa there, Lyosha. Maybe don't ask too many questions. Being curious is one thing, being inquisitive is anothere. He stretches his arms and neck and smiles reassuringly. "Sorry for being so curious. We don't have new people so often here." He wonders if she's even understood half of what he's said.

love.disaster

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