5332/In Soviet Russia, borscht wants you!

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In Soviet Russia, borscht wants you!
Date of Scene: 24 February 2021
Location: Yuri's Borscht Hut
Synopsis: Borscht makes everything better.
Cast of Characters: Illyana Rasputina, Piotr Rasputin

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Yuri's Borscht Hut is far from the Russian and Slavic population center of New York. For that, there's Brighton Beach and surrounds. Thus it may be assumed that Yuri's exists entirely in Westchester County to serve perhaps three families and one of them bears the surname Rasputin.

Probably best they don't look too depply into that considering the oversized impact a Rasputin had on making Russia in the first place. Or the USSR, for that matter. What counts is the steady income they derive, the black bread and the deep, proper cauldrons of beet-based soup. Other things count too; the beloved black tea served up in dented samovars or just dark enough to start resembling Illyana's soul. She may not eat for pleasure much, but the heated cisterns dispensing the food of their homeland could be appreciated more than not. Besides, ten bucks can feed her for a day, which counts for something.

Thus here she is, haunting a table in the corner. No phone; she barely owns one and forget using it for social media. Stuff like that will rot your brain! She does, however, have a book beside her and a notepad she writes in with a sweeping hand for some purpose.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
Arriving quietly, Piotr came for an early lunch and some good memories that come from the traditional food. He pauses when he sees Illyana and his smile spreads wider and he heads her way. Easy long strides across the way until he nears her table.

"Illyana." he greets his sister warmly. "It is good to see you." he says sincerely, "May I sit?" he asks with a hint of that accent that despite time in the states he hasn't shaked.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
There are benefits to securing a table. Like having a great big space for a larger man than most, a particularly sturdy chair rather than one of the stools or a booth. Perish the notion! A booth would probably have Illyana squashed against the ceiling like some kind of deranged spider mutate. That can't be the way anyone wants the world to go.

"Piotr." As always, her answer is in Russian. Here in the privacy of a restaurant, no one is likely going to assume she's talking about them behind their back, what with the mutual linguistic familiarity. Still, she gestures at the bread in a basket, a tureen of butter set aside and melting slowly. "Of course. What would lunch be without company?" Basically any meal on the run, but there they are. His command of English should exceed hers, but she maintains the accent regardless, a defiant little addition against the pastiche of other influences that would erase childhood memories of a cold, windy steppe, the icy lake biting deep into the earth.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
He settles into the chair, it works for him despite his size and thank goodness. "You look well." he says, falling into russian with his sister so easily. "Did you already order?" he asks idly as he considers for himself, he doesn't need a menu, having been here often enough. He reaches for some bread, and begins to slowly butter it.

"I hope you haven't been getting into any trouble of late." the Russian strongman comments idly, always worrying about his sister, always thinking there is more to tell, but never pushing her.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Circling her finger around her thumb, Illyana puts down her pen and gestures to the bread. "Hungry?" A question probably unnecessary to ask, since the point of a restaurant is rarely for exercise, calisthenics, or idle purposes. She shakes her head about the order; the old paper menus are easily found, with the specials of the day on an individual stand marked with pierogi, goulash, the usual standbys from around Eastern Europe. But mostly, borscht. Is it really a question? Will it be big borscht, little borscht or medium borscht? Purple or golden? Mmm, beets.

When he regards her, she returns that regard in kind. Calm, those frost-fair eyes rise. "I had rude visitors," she explains, "and saw them out. Ms. Frost showed great respect." She might as well be speaking about the weather, casual as can be. Perhaps there's an air of surprise about that, but who knows? "A bad day turned out as well as could be expected."

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
A nod, and then when the server comes over he makes his order, of course he goes for the big borscht. Piotr may not need to eat when in his organic steel form, but he still eats otherwise. Then a bite of bread when the server makes the way back to put the order in and he has time to digest what she says. "Ms. Frost will always be...diplomatic." is the way he puts it. Frost is smart, calculating, dangerous? All of the above.

"As long as you doing well." he adds, which is perhaps not the best way of putting it. "Just remember you have family...friends." he remarks, "No difficulty is something you need to take on your shoulders alone." he adds with the sort of smile a brother gives his sister to reassure her.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Slender fingers wrap around the cup of black tea. It's small, as the Russians often prefer, and it means she can down the contents in a sip if needed. The waitress coming by receives a request for more black bread, more tea, and of course the medium borscht. Small borscht is for children, and she is not that. "Diplomatic? I suppose that is one way to describe it. Direct in this case. She wanted the problem resolved and had a tangible solution." That amount of conversation costs her something, but she dips her fingers into the bread basket to pull out one of the smaller pieces. If it's crusty, all the better. "We had an accord. Sadly the subject... bad listener, troubling."

It's an understatement for her to say anything is troubling. The dark flicker of her pale eyes speaks to trouble in that department on its own. Still, the textbook beside her isn't anything immediately banned in several dimensions and her notes are mostly of the doodly variety. Apparently economic theory is the thing.

"I do not forget, big brother. Just us in the world, no?" She rolls her shoulders, slim, hardly as broad as Piotr's. No smile for him, but smiles are rarely found where she is. "Some things are best shared."

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
"Yeah. As you say, some burdens are best shared." Piotr responds, his smile fades for a bit as he studies her, and the doodles for a bit longer than what would be normal. The silence feels comfortable, not like a heavy weight between them, it just is. "I've started painting again recently, there was a time I was so busy I didn't think I had time. I'm making time." he explains, as if that is somehow relevant to the conversation at hand.

He takes a sip from the glass of water before him, "It's been good for me I think, but I have always found some focus in it. Focus on my goals, focus on where I want to be, what matters." he says with a shrug of those powerful shoulders.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Some are, and some are not. The book beside her is a dry textbook in English, the notes taken on the pad solidly in Russian. A few comments on the side don't really address much other than the state of fluctuating currency, issues caused by the destabilization of available goods. It's utterly as thrilling as watching paint dry. "Painting again? That is good for you. A release, rather than being focused only on teaching or combat. Have you taken up a subject?" She asks, gracefully polite, endlessly careful in where she sets her foot in a conversation that shouldn't be awash in perils. But life is strange, that way." What time, what place, they forever are locked in a dance. "With the spring, better colours too. Let me know if you need any supplies, yes?"

It's an easy jump to Europe for her, after all, and she can function in those markets beyond that. Listening, though, is more natural to Illyana than talking. So if Piotr speaks, she silently regards him with an ease that doesn't belie disinterest. She munches instead on her bread. "What matters? What goals?"

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
"Yes, I teach art besides combat, hand to hand, tanking..." Piotr responds with a bit of a chuckle. "There is something in that too that is enjoyable...I've always liked a good work out." he adds with a nod, "But yes, the colors are nice...the students, well I dont think they focus much on art...but its fine. Its good to be well rounded."

He nods once more as she repeats him, "Yes. Surely you still have goals for yourself, things tha matter to you." he points out. "Even if related to our adventures..."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Tanking. You sound like you come from a video game. Are we going to run around while you soak damage and I cast?" Because of course he's a paladin, right? Piotr not being a paladin or a fighter would be confusing in a world of so many possibilities. "You can find your own way with art. Who cares what students think? They grow to appreciate it. Take them to the Met. Show them some paintings from the Hermitage. It is cultural for them, they can learn."

Brutal pragmatism is her thing, after all. Illyana doesn't mince words on that front. "What do you want, long-term?" It turns around on him, a serpent and its tail, while he asks in kind what goals she has. A bit of a smirk there over the bowls delivered, piping hot, too much to bear for most. Then again, well, she's immune to fire so glugging hot stew isn't a problem if she wanted. "Mmm. The hardest question. To restore some balance, at this point. Not fighting every day just to breathe."

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
"You laugh, but much of our strategy as a team is someone taking the hit, playing defense and doing heavy lifting." Piotr points out, "Not all of our friends as as sturdy or can just recover like Logan." he adds with a smile. "You are right of course, about the culture of it...some will appreciate, others will just get the grade and move on...as it is with all subjects."

"My goals? For now...to be a good teacher and instructer, to help my friends and family. Hopefully leave this earth better than it was before..." he smiles and says, "And hopefully enjoy the companionship of others along the way...not too much to ask for I hope?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The laugh isn't present, because Illyana almost never does. Not in jest, not in joy. Laughter on the battlefield only comes with dancing with that sword of hers, sometimes. "No, most of them cannot be like Logan. But there is more to life than simply healing all injuries." The blonde shrugs her shoulder again, just a little. "I would not downplay the value of what you do," she adds. She is honest where Piotr is involved on that front, clarifying quite simply.

"These things are worthy of having. You see the world in clear terms. It is not perfect, but worth fighting for. Worth making better, and unlike those politicians who say otherwise." Spoon into borscht, she sets about eating rather mechanically. It's all about efficiency and getting those nutrients. Forget stopping to taste anything, rote action writ large. Though never, ever messy. "The companions on the road matter much. Are you telling me that you have made more friends?"

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
"We have lots of friends at the Mansion." Piotr reminds her with a nod, "And plenty of potential friends on the outside as well." he adds with a shrug. "I did get introduced to someone that was curious about my abilities, Heather, she helped Paige with some trouble. "We had lunch here actually, it was pleasant enough conversation." he explains.

"But I have kept to the mansion for the most part of late." Piotr adds afterwards, a bite of the soup himself with a nod, seeming to approve of the flavor, "There is enough to do there usually." he chuckles.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
An acknowledgment of a nod there; it dances with a graceful ease, sending her pale hair fanning over her shoulders and dipping into the dark red shirt she wears. She brushes a few strands off her neck. "Da? She's a mutant too?" The question lingers without a demand. "Someone who listens can learn much from you." A nod reinforces that as the depleted level of the borscht keeps getting lower.

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
"I don't exactly know." Piotr says. "We didn't get...too deep into the conversation." he explains with a shrug, "It was a very brief conversation here over soup." he adds. "Still, I am always interested in learning more about others and myself..."

"Particularly if it is someone that has leanings to help people right?" he adds. "We could always use more people like that in the world. Heroes."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Soup is good," agrees the blonde sorceress. Something to be said for being full of borscht and promptly ready to tip over like Boris, the cat, and curl up asleep. Her eyes narrow slightly as she considers the remaining puddle of darkness, and then she picks up the bread. A slice easily wicks up the excess liquid, which Illyana can then eat without complaint. No smile but this is satisfying enough.

Piotr earns that levied look, and she says, "Ah, usually that way, da."

Piotr Rasputin has posed:
Piotr Rasputin nods with a smile. "Sadly, we usually do need more." he agrees as he finishes up the soup with a slight slrup and then sets the bowl aside. "But that doesn't mean it isn't all worth it." he says as if he can sense her thoughts. "It is all worth it." he assures her as if it is a fact as simple as 1+1. "Even when things do not always seem so at times. There is great darkness out there, but do not forget the great light as well..."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"You believe that, strongly. Someone must," agrees the blonde without preamble. Spoon in bowl, she pushes the meal away for someone to carry off to be washed. The cycle begins again: beets reduced into a lovely soup, cream added, the sharing with those who hunger for it. Let them all enjoy the benefits of a proper meal instead of wretched fast food with the caloric value of a soggy piece of cardboard. "We have not found any new enemies, have we? Nothing lurking immediately in sight that would give cause for concern?"

A strange way of asking if Piotr is okay but that counts for something.