1965-05-19 - Dammit Vadim
Summary: A Russian bar has a bartender calling people Western Spies for his own amusement.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
pietro yuliya ava vic 

New Yorks one of those strange places which attracts people from all over the world. Some flee from problems in their home country, others are sent by people causing those problems. One of the bars in Brooklyn is a Russian bar, which sees a lot of Slavic types visiting it, though more younger than older. Older, more conservatives sit in one area at the back, sticking to themselves with the occasional one commenting about the state of dress of the younger people. Some of the younger people are at the bar and the booths nearby.

Yuliya is one of those ones sent by a government that's causing problems, and she's seated in one of the booths. A brief case sits on the table, open, revealing the assortment of paperwork inside, while several other pictures line the table in front of her. Nothing classified at all, just pictures of house fires around the city and surrounding areas that she has to inspect. An unlit cigarette hangs from her lips as she seems to consider something.

The bar is close to the Triskelion, which is convenient for Ava now that she's returned from a lengthy assignment that saw her away from the city. The past few months were just enough to push her past the stage where she could pass for truly young and into a coltish adolescence that leaves her still awkward, but with a promise of more grace in the future. She's tired when she walks into the bar. Perhaps that's why she's chosen this place, where she doesn't have to hide her roots.

"A menu, please," she says to the bartender as she slides onto a stool near where Yuliya sits, pushing up the sleeves of a jacket that's still two sizes too big for her.

Pietro was precicely everything one might expect to naturally belong here: strng jaw, sharp eyes, and aloof expression of judging suspiscion? Check, check, and check. Did he do a pass by of the place? Of course and that was after he toom the minute to throughly check everything else on the street. Fine. The speedster that may never be happy with anything settled on here perhaps because it at least sounded more familiar. The accent was telling. "You have table? Da?" Oh the waiter could actually speak? That got the speedster to shift posture a bit. Well being accommodated caught him off guard. Well there went his afternoon of forming new grievances.

"Ha, sounds like western spy," the burly bartender teases. He doesn't seem to care regardless as he moves to get Ava a menu. Her money is just as good as anyone else's money. Some of the more conservative types at the back have heard it, and they are now glaring at the women who dared to speak English in their presense.

<It all tastes like dishwater,> Yuliya pipes up in Russian, not glancing up from her paperwork. Though her comment is rewarded by a dishcloth being thrown in her direction, which causes her to cry out in surprise and stand up quickly to try and shake it off. <Cyka… Vadim, that was wet!>

"Da, table," mumbles the waiter who might or not be a waiter as he motions towards a table. "Table there. We have tables. You want table?"

Ava smirks at the bartender's comment, setting an elbow on the bar and pushing a hand through her hair. <A very stupid western spy then, coming here,> she chuckles as she takes the menu, the Russian comfortable with a taste of Odessa to it. <Thank you.> When the washcloth hits Yuliya's work, she reaches over to help pick up a few photos, tossing the dishcloth back with her free hand. <You must come here often, to get the family treatment service,> she chuckles to the other woman.

Pietro nodded slightly remaining aware of the external conversation. Silver eyes shift from Ava to Yuliya back, and back again. <"Is good."> Belarus maybe? Ukraine from point of origin? His accent was slightly leaning towards the Baltic. <"You know the funny thinkg about that is the more obvious someone is about somehting that should be secret is one could not possibly be so obvious if they were a spy. Really is perfect cover hiding in plain sight. Perhaps would be stupid. Perhaps genius. And maybe perhaps is just dropping one's napkin on the floor."> He had to have a hint of an amused smile at the last part. The subtle nod suggested he didn't make up that last part.

<I do not care if you a western spy, eastern spy, KGB, southern spy or talking dog,> the burly bartender replies, still rather jovial. <It is all money at the end of the day, da?>

Yuliya takes the time to make certain her suit is dry, then followed by the documents that aren't on the floor. She's actually laughing softly about it, though she does offer Eva a friendly smile when the pictures are returned. <Thank you,> she offers. Her own accent sounds straight from Yugoslavia. <Oh, Vadim helped me settle down when my work sent me from France to America.> She reaches into her pocket to fish out a business card from a well known international insurance agency. <Yuliya Moscovitch, insurance assessor.>

She glances towards Peitro and tilts her head to the side when he speaks. <But wouldn't that make people still paranoid about them?> she then asks, sounding rather confused. She purses her lips, and tilts her head to the side. <Why would spies want to come to a small bar? Would they not be at some fancy restaurant eating caviar?>

<Well, if there is caviar and fancy restaurants in it, it's no wonder that everyone thinks we're all spies,> Ava snorts, though there's a wry smile with the words as well <Ava,> she introduces herself, glancing at the pictures as she passes them back over. <I am…between jobs,> she says, rueful. Indeed, beneath the oversized coat, her clothes look like they probably came from a second-hand shop. <But I am sure something will come up. At least my house didn't burn down, yes?>

Pietro chuckled and grinned to Ava. Theory was amusing. <"Because it is too obvious. Also I have eaten at that restaurant and the salads are just terrible."> Looking around the platinum haired man paused deigning to have manners at all today, <"Is this seat taken or shall I be getting a head start on going to hell?"> He could take being told to go there. He anted up. "Pietro. Is pleasure."

Yuliya takes the photos back, and frowns softly. <Then be thankful that man that owns these homes was not your landlord,> she says softly. <He blames it on mutant tenants, but I am certain that he is doing it for insurance fraud.> She gives a soft snort and then settles back down into her seat. Ava does get a long throughtful look. <Have you ever sold anything before? Any skills?> she asks curiously. <I will try to help you out however I can. We slavs need to help each other more.>

She motions to a seat nearby. <Please sit,> she offers as she tilts her head to the side. <It is always good to have company, and I would end up falling asleep trying to finish this work off.>

<Ah, one of those.> Ava grimaces, shaking her head. <I have run into too many people like that. Though it isn't always mutants they blame or target. Anyone they can get away with, it seems.> She looks down at the menu, skimming over it for something cheap and filling. <I delivered for a Chinese restaurant for bit, but I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of special skills. Aside from good enough English to pass for a Western spy,> she adds with a teasing look in the bartender's direction. <And fencing. But that is not very marketable.> She smiles politely to Pietro, dipping her chin with a nod.

Pietro took up the offer and dropped his happy ass into a seat seeming content with doing more listening than talking summing up the situation. Idly he listened as he stacked the creamersone atop the other while waiting for things to arrive on teh table. Did it have creamers there? It must have. <"So what is going on with these Mutants and the Landlord? Because when I want to pick random fights I'm going to pick the one group that can kick my ass and blame them. THe man sound jsut brilliant."> All said with as much salt as the Dead Sea can hold. <"I noticed this Country? Very much is like that. You have an accent, now you are suspiscious. Honestly why any of us didn't go to Canada instead? I dunno. I htink it's the warmer climate.">

<Vadim calls everyone who comes and speaks English an western spy,> Yuliya replies with a laugh. <When I first came in, I was shocked.> She tilts her head to the side, and tidies up the paperwork a little, putting the files and documents into her briefcase. <I do not like to see those that want to try and get ahead by destroying things and making fraud claims.> She then offers a nod of her head. <I wish I could get you a job with the insurance agency.> At the mention of fencing, her brow furrows. <Have you tried on private estates? They might need people to fix fences and look after livestock.>

Vadim the bartender laughs deeply at Ava's look and comment.

To Pietro's comment, Yuliya laughs softly. <Da, it does make me wonder at times. Work sent me here, and Canada would have been a lot nicer. I would like to be back in France.>

One of the bars in the area is a Russian bar, that's frequented by Slavs from different countries. Older more conversative types are at the back, while the younger ones are towards the front. Vadim, the bartender is doing bartender things and just teasing people who speak English.

<Oh no, not that kind of fencing,> Ava laughs, putting in an order for pierogies and water. <With swords. The YMCA where I stayed for a time when I was new here offered classes, and it was interesting, so.> She shrugs, smile crooked. <But as I said, not very marketable. Do not worry, though. I get by. America is the land of opportunity, yes? Canada is the land of…Moose?>

Pietro sat with his chair flipped around, leaning on the back of it as he idly stacked little creamers, and was starting into his drink (no it was no an ironic White Russian in front of the albino, but a bloody mary). Yuliya's response wona nod of agreement. He paused though and looked to Ava, <"Fencing? Truly? We should do this. It's been a while, but that is something I should get back to. I missed your name?">

Speaking of English-speaking Westerners, in walks Vic. He's in a t-shirt and shorts, and he's wearing running shoes. His cheeks are flushed from a run, though he's not much of a sweater. Luckily. He looks around, guileless as a lamb. At first, he doesn't look too sure about being here, but then he spies Pietro, and his expression brightens. "Hey," he says as he ambles over to him. "What's up?" He so doesn't belong here, poor boy.

Yuliya tilts her head to the side, and hmms softly. <Oh, sorry. I hear fencing, I think of putting up a fence,> she offers sheepishly. <I do not think of that game where you try to stab each other with swords.> She wrinkles her nose. <It sounds rather violent. Why not orienteering?> She finally plucks her unlit cigarette from her lips and she tucks it away in her suit jacket.

Vadim, on the other, seems rather delighted when Vic walks in. He's a burly looking guy, and he folds her arms over his chest. "Ha! Okay. Now this is western spy," he offers in English to Ava as he motions towards Vic.

<Ava,> the girl replies to Pietro, smile flashing into a laugh at Vadim's words. "Clearly," she agrees, winking. <And please, there is nothing to worry about,> she assures Yuliya, waving a hand. <I know it isn't exactly…normal. But I was young, and alone, and this city is…not always the kindest. It was something that made me feel a little bit safer.>

Pietro arched an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder. The bloody Mary was lifted in salute. "Ah, Yasso Viktor. Come. Have seat." He looked tothe ladies, "Yuliya, Ava, is Viktor." Looking to Vadim he grinned, <"Yes, clearly he is, Vadim. Get Vic a drink and see if we can't make him talk."> Cunning plan. He noted to Yuliya, "Here also meaning to sell stolen things. Vic," He looked to the nephew, "You are speaking Russian, yes no?"

Vic waves a little to Yuliya and Ava. "Hi," he says. He sits down at the table, bright-eyed and smiling. He's got dimples when he smiles. Shaking his head, he tells Pietro, "No, I haven't learned Russian yet. I was learning German to talk to Opa." Again with the smile. "Hey, Ava, Yuliya." Another little wave at the ladies, and Vadim gets a friendly nod. At least he didn't butcher their names.

<You just want to be like Errol Flynn,> Yuliya teases playfully after the reassurances. <Ava Flynn!> Well, she seems to have amused herself by that. She glances towards Pietro at the explanation of a Fence in the US, and she hmms softly, no doubt trying to make some sense of things. <Sell stolen things? I thought they called them politicians.> A friendly smile is then offered to Vic, and she nods her head. However she doesn't switch to English straight away.

Vadim, he just does his thing. Finally bringing out Ava's order, and also the drink that was requested.

"You fence?" Ava quirks a brow at Pietro, smile faint. "Perhaps some time. If you will not be embarrassed by my equipment," she chuckles, nodding her thanks to Vadim when he delivers the food. "A pleasure to meet you, Viktor. And welcome to the western spy section of the restaurant. Be careful, or the old men will take you away in potato sacks."

Pietro glanced at his watch and downed the rest of his drink. Looking to Vic he followed with, "I have to be across town. Should do something later maybe." Standing and backing out of the chair he had flipped around there followed a side tilt of his head, then a small nod of it as a respect. <"Ladies, it has been a through pleasure. Very much do I hope to run into you again. Maybe tomorrow for lunch and we can talk fencing, Ava."> After a brief wink the sunglasses went on and he patted Vic on teh shoulder, "Love to say, but gotta run." Who would have figured he meant listerally?

Vic waves to his uncle, and he takes the drink, telling Vadim, "Thank you." He's an innocent-looking thing, but not dumb. He samples the drink delicately before committing to a drink. Not that his uncle would ever betray him for laughs. So. Now it's just the ladies. "Wait, what old men?" He looks around. "I don't know anything."

Yuliya closes up her briefcase, smiling as she listens to the exchange from the people around the table. She offers a wave of her hand to Pietro as he makes his departure, and then glances towards Ava with a smile. <You should go on a date with him,> she offers cheerfully. Finally her attention shifts towards Vic. "The old men in back," she offers as she leans forward and speaks in a low voice, finally switching to English.

"You know nothin'?" Vadim teases again, as he makes his way back towards the bar. "Is what western spy always says. Do not worry about the old men, they just long for the old country."

"A date?" Ava sits up a bit, blinking and brushing herself off unnecessarily. "Oh, I'm sure that's not necessary. Or. I mean. No, we were just talking about training." She busies herself with a mouthful of food, smiling close-lipped back at Yuliya. "It was nice to meet you, Yuliya." And then it's a look to Vic, for picking on, to take the heat off of herself. "I mean, don't worry about the old men, so long as they're not worrying about you."

Vic smiles tentatively, dimples making a small appearance, and he sweeps his fingers through his curly hair. "I'm not great at being a spy," he says, "so I think everyone's in the clear." He glances between Ava and Yuliya. "You wouldn't be sorry if you went on a date with Pietro. He's a good guy. Sometimes you have to dig a little deep, but it's there."

Yuliya offers a bright smile back to Ava. "It was nice to meet you as well," she offers. "Remember, if you need insurance…" She trails off, and wrinkles her nose. "You know, you've got my card. If you need insurance, just leave a message at the office." A friendly smile is offered towards Vic next. "It was good meeting you as well, Viktor." She pulls out another card and sets it on the table. "I should be going. Take care, do not let Vadim tease you too much." With that said, she stands and takes her briefcase, offers a wave of her hand and makes her way towards the door.

"I believe that 'you have to dig a little deep' is code for 'he's usually an ass,'" Ava chuckles to Vic. "Though he seemed all right. It's just we really only just met, and I don't really do a lot of dating. But it is nice of you to think of it. You are friends?" she asks, looking back over her shoulder toward the door before turning back to him.

Vic grins at Ava and glances aside. Not much of a poker-face on this one. "He's nice," he says. He has to stand up for the uncle. "Friends? Er, sure, we're friends. More than friends, he's family to me." He smiles fleetingly and ducks his head. "I guess he'd be nice to hang around with, too, even if you're not up for dating."

Ava's brows rise at the mention of family. "Ah!" she exclaims. "Of course. It sounds as though you have a very interesting family, in that case. You are America, he seems to be from the east. And you said you were learning German to speak with your grandfather, yes? You see, this is one of the good things about America. The way so many things come together."

Vic nods, head bobbing as he says, "Yeah, especially this city, you know what I mean? I was born here, so it's what I know, but yeah, my family comes from all over. I want to learn Russian, but I'm not sure where to study it. German's pretty easy, but if you poke around saying you're interested in learning Russian, people look at you kinda funny. Then you get the potato sacks."

Ava's smile quirks, quiet amusement in her eyes. "Yes, well. You are asking the wrong way, you see. There are community centers in this city. Especially in ethnic neighborhoods. You visit one, you volunteer, and you tell the old people that you are wanting to learn to impress a girl," she winks. "Suddenly, you have more teachers than you know what to do with."

Vic rubs the back back of his neck and glances down at his drink, basful as he says, "Yeah, I guess I could do that. I don't have a lot of time, but I could make some. Maybe if I cut out an hour or two of work. I don't really need the money all that badly, but I think it's good to work, you know? It's good for the soul. But an hour or two a week, boss won't even miss that."

"Languages always take time, one way or another," Ava shrugs with an easy smile, finishing the las of her pierogies and passing cash over the bar to Vadim. "Thank you, Vadim!" she calls over, waving, before she steps back. "And it was nice to meet you, Vikto. Maybe I'll see you again soon, yes?" Without waiting for a response, she heads for the door.

Vic says brightly, "Sure! That would be groovy." He watches Ava leave, and he goes back to his drink, subjecting himself to Vadim's teasing with good nature.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License