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Sinjin is sprawled in the shadows of a booth at Harry's, alone. He's spent most of the afternoon talking to an older woman who had the look of a housekeeper — whatever she had to say was certainly engaging. In front of him is a notebook filled with scribbles of a modified stenography.
In spite of the steady supply of drinks Sinjin is ordering, he's getting dirty looks from the bartender. Perhaps that's because the waitress is spending far too much time with him. She keeps stopping by his table to gossip and giggle. Sinjin seems indifferent to it, a little amused, but for some reason he does keep her coming back.
*
The sound of the doors opening to admit another customer isn't unusual. But this time, when they do, the hostess' delighted voice rings out shortly thereafter.
"Petey! There you are — where have you been?"
"Illinois," comes the warmly-voiced reply in a very heavy russian accent. Piotr bends way down to offer the hostess a friendly one-armed hug around the shoulders as he makes his way in. "Katya and I were visiting family."
"You two are disgusting. Pick a booth, honey," the hostess says brightly, smacking him on the bicep with a menu. "Your lunch'll be right out."
*
That gets Sinjin's attention, as does Piotr. Ah. Eye candy, if nothing else. And, possibly, a little inspiration. Sinjin sizes Piotr up as he waits for the waitress to come back his way. Yes, he'd make an excellent love interest. And Katya, good name for a heroine. Russians don't always sell well, but Sinjin is up for a challenge.
*
Poor, oblivious Piotr. He casts a quick look around, eyes falling briefly on Sinjin's booth before he heads for the next one down. Usual booth occupied? Eh, no big deal, there are others. He's barely sat down before a mug of tea's being slid onto the table in front of him. "Oh. Spasiba."
*
"I'm sorry, did I take your table?" Sinjin turns and leans over a little to catch Piotr's eye. "Seems I have a habit of doing that to regulars." He's got a charming smile and he's curiously dressed — all in subdued black except for the purple velvet coat that clashes with his wild red hair.
*
"It is only a table," Piotr chuckles, twisting in place so that he can offer Sinjin a lopsided smile. There's a hint of apprehension to his voice and around his eyes, but just a hint. "It is fine."
*
Sinjin weighs the apprehension and the tension in Piotr's face, then gives him a wink and a nod toward the table. "Come join me if you'd like. I'd hate to think I'd unseated you. You look like a man who likes things in their place. And it'd mean I'm not drinking alone in the middle of the day."
*
Piotr makes a curious noise and looks down at himself, his brow furrowing. Does he look like that? After a moment's thought, he scoops up his mug of tea and stands long enough to relocate. Why not. "Easier to have conversation this way, I suppose," he allows.
*
"Petey? Piotr, yes?" Sinjin pronounces it well. "Sinjin Allerdyce." He offers Piotr his hand once Piotr is seated again. "Any recommendations on the menu here? I should consider sopping up some of this scotch."
*
That makes the big man blink, and he's clearly torn between delighted surprise and immediate suspicion. "Piotr. Yes. Nice to meet you," Piotr rumbles, reaching out to shake his hand without realizing it. Manners. "I usually have a burger. Everything is good, though."
*
"<My Russian is terrible,>" Sinjin admits, in decent Russian. He accepts yet another drink from the waitress. "Thank you, dear. My vocabulary is limited, at least. I met a charming Russian in Korea. Several times. Unfortunately, conversation wasn't a top priority. But one does pick up a few things." He grins and raises his glass before taking a drink.
*
"<I have heard worse.>" Piotr has been helping Kitty learn to speak Russian, so… yes. He has heard much worse. He raises his mug when Sinjin raises his scotch, smiling and having a quick drink. "It sounds like you travel a lot. You are visiting?" he asks curiously, lightly tapping the table.
*
"I'm never not visiting," Sinjin says with a laugh. "I have an apartment at the moment, which, I suppose, means I live in New York now." He tilts his head as though that's starting to sink in. "I've been on the move since I was young. Went to Korea, then Vietnam, working on a book. Made my money sending stories back for the news wire. Ended up here mostly because that's where the plane I got on was going."
*
"There are worse places to end up. Probably better," Piotr allows, thoughtfully rubbing the side of his nose with a finger. "But it is not so bad here. Usually." He makes a bit of a face at that realization and adds, very seriously, "Do not go near Central Park for a while. Not safe."
*
"Ah, yes. Central Park. I've been tempted to go, myself. Have you?" Sinjin might as well get some information, since he intends to go sooner than later. "You look like a man who can handle himself, but I hear it's a bit more complicated than that." He gestures to the waitress to get her attention.
*
Piotr frowns, loosely folding his hands in front of his mug. "Not safe," he repeats, slowly shaking his head. Then again, given the places this man has said he's been in order to work on a book..? "At least do not go alone," he sighs, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling.
*
Sinjin laughs at that. "Ah, well. I've learned that lesson — mostly. Travelling alone has its disadvantages. So, if a man of your stature isn't charging into danger as a matter of course, what is it that you do?" Sinjin gives Piotr a narrow look, trying to gauge his purpose from his clothing. "No farms around here to speak of, or I'd say farm boy. Don't have the dirt of a labourer on those hands. It's midday. You're a tea drinker. If you're not a student, then you're a teacher — it's hard to tell these days, everyone seems to get younger with each passing year."
*
This is kind of unsettling. Piotr blinks twice at Sinjin and, not for the first time, looks down at himself with a slightly puzzled quirk of his brow. "…student. And some nights, I wash dishes," he murmurs, thumbing over his shoulder towards the bar. "When they need extra hands."
*
"Forgive me for prying, hazard of being a writer." Sinjin spreads his hands apologetically. "It's my job to know people, or at least to surmise accurately. And you — " He leans back and looks Piotr over again. " — you do have the look of a leading man, provoking closer scrutiny. Besides, I'd never get anywhere if I didn't go prodding where I didn't belong. Hungry? I hate to eat alone."
*
Leading man? Piotr looks across the booth at Sinjin with a rather skeptical furrow of his brow that does not do anything to chase that observation away. "If you say so. Yes, I — ah."
Speak of the devil. Or, in this case, lunch. "Can't hide from me that easy, Pete," the waitress muses, sliding a plate in front of him. As he said before, burger and fries. "You boys need anything else?"
*
"Same for me," Sinjin says. He looks at his empty glass and sighs, then puts it aside. "Man cannot live on drink alone, though he can bloody well try after this kind of week."
*
"Ain't that the truth. Have that right out for you, honey," the waitress muses, and then she retreats back the way she came.
Piotr, in the meanwhile, grabs the bottle of ketchup, pushing his fries into a tidier pile to make some room. "Bad week, hm?"
*
"Depends on your perspective. Sometimes, a man does a thing and the consequences are far away so it doesn't seem like he's done much at all. Then, the consequences follow him home and arrive on his doorstep. And, no — " Sinjin waves a finger at Piotr. " — I have not sowed any wild oats, since that seems to be people's inevitable conclusion when I'm troubled. I have never give anyone reason to think I would do so and, yet…"
*
Piotr returns the bottle of ketchup to its place, giving Sinjin a vaguely puzzled look when the man waves his finger at him. "I do not follow. But if you have not done it, I probably do not need to," he says slowly, tilting his head to the side. Hm. Well, whatever. Burger. "I hope this week is better."
*
"Ah. A turn of phrase — wild oats. People seem to think I've produced illegitimate offspring. I suppose I give off a disreputable vibe." Sinjin will admit to that. "You, on the other hand. A Russian in New York. You'd disappear in the right neighborhood in the city but out here — Westchester is usually homogenous and, well, bland. How is that for you, being in America, being here?"
*
"Ah. I see." Piotr's mouth ticks up in amusement — either at the clarification or the follow-up question, it's hard to tell — and continues to pick at his food, though he keeps his eyes on Sinjin. "School is here," he replies with a helpless shrug. "So I am here. And it is better than Siberia."
*
"Siberia." Sinjin pauses while the waitress serves his meal. "Thank you, dear. I'll get the check." He samples a fry, looks pleased, then goes back to the subject at hand. "How does one get from Siberia to Westchester? Might as well ask a horse to fly."
*
"Traditionally? One takes airplane," Piotr rumbles with a non-commital shrug of his eyebrows. "Or boat, I suppose. But I took plane, same as you did," he says with an almost teasing smile. He drops his eyes to his food and has another bite.
*
"The means are not as important as the reason." Sinjin shrugs and goes back to his food for a bit. "People's motivations are the core of my work. One can't create fiction without truth, and motivation is the one thing you cannot manufacture when you write." The wheels are turning in his mind and he's coming to a series of conclusions — ones that make him less likely to pry, not more.
*
"My life is not your work, Mr. Allerdyce," Piotr says without looking up from his food, the words coming slowly as he takes care to pronounce his name correctly. "And I would very much appreciate it if it remained that way."
*
"Absolutely." Sinjin is happy to let it drop. "I understand why you'd prefer it. Privacy is an increasingly valuable commodity and people have more and more to hide. Myself included."
*
"You have mistaken me for someone more interesting, I think," Piotr says with a chuckle, finally lifting his eyes from his food to study Sinjin across the table. "I am not hiding. I just do not want to be mistaken for a character in a book."
*
"To see anyone as simply a character is a way to destroy the relationship with them," Sinjin says thoughtfully. "And you're probably right, you're not terribly interesting, not in the way you'd need to be to be in a book — none of us are. To replicate someone wholesale is journalism. That's… photography. I'm full up on that for now. Fiction is art. You have to construct something people understand, something they believe. To do that, you have to get the lines right. All art is shorthand for something larger. When I understand a real person's motivation, I learn better how to draw those lines that construct a believable character."