Dec 17 23:17:40 107 PA - Another Late Night at the Deli
From Chronicles
Dec 17 23:17:40 107 PA.
YAKOV'S DELI
It is late Sunday evening. Most people have been in bed a long time, though there is a light on in Yakov's Deli. And of course, Rasputin is working away at prep work for the morning breakfast meal tomorrow. He sings a soft Russian ballad as he works away chopping up vegetables. Rasputin has partially disconnected.
Coming in from the late, dark, cold outdoors - so cold that there are a decently dense snow-flurries - Gabriel still seems quite content. His jacket isn't heavy, he isn't wearing any scarf, and only a very thin set of dull-black leather gloves. He very purposefully closes the door behind him, perhaps to make sure that it won't blow open and cool down Yakov's. Still no explanation of that name. Once inside, he begins to pull off the gloves, and in his Kentucky drawl - which makes his otherwise near-perfect Russian sound very strange, says, "Privet pozdnyei' Rasputin, nochi?" Then, perhaps because feels that the drawl is just too thick, he explains in the brief form, "Late night, huh?"
Rasputin looks up and nods, "Da, Evenink to you too." he and smiles and looks back down and finishes off his carrots. Still working, "Dis a late and coldink net, da? What is brinkink you out in such weathers?" He slides all of the carrots back into a container and then gos to clean off his knife, "Dis somethink I can be gettink you to be eatink tonight?"
"Coming back from some training. Little bit a sword stuff." Gabriel shrugs and moves toward the counter. "You have any desserts, Rasputin? I can really make as much dinner as I want out where I live - not to say that your food isn't much better. Anyway, I've been dying for some blini ever since I talked to Natasha this morning. But I understand if you don't." He looks around at the otherwise empty deli. "If you don't, then maybe just a nice drink. Surprise me with something Russian!" The man seems to chuckle. His chin then juts toward the windows that expose the look of the snow. "People are so damn cold out there. They really don't know cold, do they?!" he laughs with a knowing bellow.
Rasputin thinks to himself and nods, "Da, da. Are you wantink sweet, creamy, rich? Salty?" He chuckles, "I am havink a rubarb pie, and a cream desert callink Russian Cream." He looks around and thinks, "Or I could be makink you cream filled crepes? What are you thinkink?" Then smiles, "All go well with a glass of cafe."
Gabriel seems to consider for a moment. "Crepes with cream. Never been a fan of rhubarb." After looking around for a moment for a place to sit - easy because the deli's empty - he apparently decides to join his host at the counter. "Coffee then?" His head nods backwards. "Holodnaya zima, huh? Damn Missourians don't even know what they're experiencing."
Rasputin chuckles, "Da, da." He goes about making up some sort of light batter. Then as he allows the grill to warm up to just the right temperature he walks over and sets down a mug of coffee, or as he calls it cafe on a table, "Please sit, I shall be brinkin it to you in moment." He goes back and starts to make up some cream to fill in the crepes, "Da, are you linkink blueberries or strawberries?"
"Can I have both?" Gabriel responds to the question like a hopeful child. Then, "No, no, I'm here to enjoy some food and eat, take in some extra warmth, but not sit around while another man waits on me." After a short pause which leaves no room for argument, he continues with, "Where did you learn to cook like this? Not just dinner, dessert, but everything? And very good, too."
Rasputin chuckles, "Da, da. Both dit is, da." He chuckles, and begins to pour the crepes onto the griddle. "Mink father at firstink. Dhen my mentor. Dwith somes of mine, " He pauses as he pours another crepe. Then and continues, "Dis a bit here and dhere, da. Dis just takink patience." He chuckles,"Like learnink leathers." He quickly slides up a crepe on the plate. He puts cream into one, and lines it with blueberries. Then another he makes up with strawberries. He creates two more like that. "Da." He comes over and puts them in front of you.
Having apparently seated himself in the meantime, Gabriel can't help but be pleased by the pleasant aroma of creams and warm fruits. "Great, Rasputing, just great. Please, join me. No way I can eat all of this by myself." He takes a sip of coffee. "Ah, sladkii' kofe. I usually take it black, but genuine Russian sweet coffee is great. Natasha loved it. Drank it like a fish!" The Kentuckian chuckles a little at that, then apparently waits to be joined in his meal.
Rasputin shakes his head, "Net, net." He grins and goes back to his work, "Dis all yours mink friend. I dwas havink a thick stew earlier, stll stickink to mink bones da." He grins a bit, "So, learnink how to be usink a sword? Trainink in da long blade?"
The man bows his head in respect for the proprietor's choice, and tastes the crepe'd strawberry dish first. His eyes close and he nods, bobbing and bobbing. "Oh, very good, Rasputin. You really know your stuff." He offers an upturned hand, when it's free. "I guess you could call it that. Long blade. Honestly, I think that it was a waste of money and time. I've never had a problem with using anything larger than a knife, and I'm quite good with them," he states with just a touch of pride. "This little thing," he taps the odd, long-barreled handgun at his side, "she's primary. If I get closer, well... I'm close enough that I don't need a sword." He seem to taste the food again, but this time not in such pleasure. "But I joined to help people, not just kill people. I knew other good men and women like me." Gabriel waves a final, clearly disgusted hand around to indicate all of Kingsdale. "These people have no honor. Honor is bullshit anyway. But they just kill. They're mercenaries. Money, that's it." He then makes a face that is deep apology, and averts his eyes.
Rasputin chuckles softly, "Dis only what you are kepink to ones self da. One's own code is whats important. Da?" He looks cleans the grill quickly enough, then goes back to his prep work, "Dis always goodink to know how to use any weapon dhat which might fall into your hand. Da? Mink self learned how to be usink a pistol. Even dhough, I can be castink fire from mink fingers. I dhine wear armor, at times, even dhough I can summon magical field." He chuckles, "Da?" He sounds odd, then looks around, "Promises is dhats good, da? Importants."
An eyebrow is cocked upward at the not-quite-very-well-translated mention of magic. "Magician, huh? Casting magic spells to make your food taste good," Gabriel says with a small smile. "I'll tell you, Rasputin, I feel like the weakest man in the world. I'm not magical. I'm not psychic, and the only metal in my body is a single silver filling in one of my molars. I'll never plug in any of that bionic der'mo into my body. Not the way God intended it, and I'm not going to argue with Him. Not that I hold it against anyone else, either." The short man of Slavic descent himself turns and takes another bite from the blueberry dessert.
Rasputin shakes his head, "Net, net. Dis net magik or psi, or anythink else which makes an individual goodink or badink. Dis up to dhem, da?" He cuts up some more vegi's, "Mink am knowink little of weapons, save a pistol or two. Dhough, I am thinkink you are knowink much in da way of weapons, da? Dis can be dery helpful, as your weapons work more often dhan not. I require much more sleep and restink, da."
"Please don't misunderstand what I'm about to say. What do you do, if you are not magic, or psychic, or handy with technological weapons like mine? Admittedly, from the early half of the twentieth century, though they may be. It's not that people need to fight. In fact, it's probably those how don't fight who lead the better lives." Gabriel shrugs. "I signed up to fight oppression, not because it was the right thing for the world, but because if it crossed the Atlantic, it would endanger my family. It was only later that it became a manner of a more broad definition of protecting those who cannot help themselves from those who would do them harm." The older man laughs at himself. "Sorry, I got off track. Forgive me for being dense. Sleep and rest, are you politely kicking me out, or is that what you do to defend yourself?"
Rasputin shakes his head, "Net, net. Dhese days mink usink little magik for protection, more for huntink. Dino's and da like. Dhough, I have beink used to usink magik and technology to be fightink off nasties whom were attackink my village." He ponders a few moments, "You are sayink you crossink Atlantic? Dwat is dhat?"
Gabriel contemplates yet another man who doesn't know what Earth looks like, and attempts a simplified explanation. Looking around, he pulls out a number of sugar packets from the wall-side of the table and makes a very blocky map of the continents. "Okay, this is what the world looks like, although I hear there's some kind of island that I'm unaware of. Otherwise, this is it. Big land masses, continents. We're on North America." He pokes the appropriate sugar package, then names all the remaining six, with Antarctica coming last because at least in his time, it was useless beyond a couple of scientific expeditions. "So here's Russia, where you were. And Europe is here. This empty spot between Europe and North America is the Atlantic Ocean. Huge ocean. Lots and lots of water." He sips his sweet coffee, shrugs lightly, then pokes at 'Europe.' "Hitler came to power here in Germany, and in '38 things got bad, then September, '39, things got real bad. He took Poland. Well, split it with Stalin, but that's another story. Anyway, I had a family over here," he pokes North America, "and I figured that facing the problem before it became a bigger problem was the best way to protect them. So when I saw the shit starting - sorry - I joined the Corps in '38. Then lots of things happened, and now I'm here." He smiles, hoping that his ability to teach geography and a touch of history was sufficient.
Rasputin walks over and looks at the map and mess you have made on the table. He chuckles, "Net, net. Mink knowink North America, Europe and Asia. You could be sayink da Atlantic is a great body of water. An ocean, da? Between North America and Europe." He chuckles, "More cafe?" He thinks to himself a few moments, "Mink peoples did not travel via craft, but via ley line walkers, shifters and magik. Dhough we did net seeink body of water. Da." He smiles a bit, "Dhough, goodink we net had to travel by sea, da?" He shudders a little, "I am hearink water travel dery dangerious, da."
There's a sigh from the man before he answers, "Da, pozhalui'sta bol'she, kofe," and leans back to expose his almost-empty mug. As it's poured, he continues. "I'm sure that the Atlantic is a horrible place to be. Seems like everywhere is a horrible place to be. Especially if you've left loved ones behind." His eyes turn down and out toward the window as he then adds quietly, "Particularly if you were there when a loved one was taken from you."
Rasputin shakes his head, "Net, net. Mink loves ones traveled with mink and mink village. We were attacked, and we fled here." He shrugs, "Some died along da way, buttink many made it here. After a long time." He chuckles, "Seemink long times ago from now, long whiles." He thinks a few moments, "You are losink love ones? Dis never goodink, da?"
"No, it is never a good thing. I've lost many loved ones throughout my life, but this last was the most painful. Happened when we got here, this shithole of a world - sorry." Gabriel nods his head in apology at his language in front of a man being pleasant to him. "My wife, my Natshka." The man taps the small, plain silver band on the ring-finger of his right hand - the hand that the Eastern European and Slavic countries wear wedding bands on, the opposite of Western Europe. "Sixteen years married. Children. We worked together. Two person team for the Company. But that's the least important part." He sighs and rises to his feet. "It's terrible to lose a wife or any other loved one, Rasputin. Particularly when she dies in your arms because some bastard that looked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon shot her in the back about ten feet from safety. She's buried with me." Any further explanation is gone for now. "I'm sorry, I need to go. I want to talk to her. Thanks for the food, Rasputin, it's always good here."
Rasputin nods slowly and just listens. He does say a word until you change the subject. He just nods, "Da, da." He fills up a to go cup, "Here takink dhis with you. To warm you or da night. And to give a little warmth to remember better times, da?" He smiles, "Funnink how foods can be doink dhat, sometimes. Takink care."
Gabriel nods his head, pulls his jacket so that it's completely latched. His head turns toward the deli's proprietor: "spokoi'noi' nochi, Raputin. Be safe." A final smile, then he's out into the blowing snow.
