Communal Chai

For someone who slept so much, Mirza sure did wake up early. Even after a century, the training he'd done to prepare for combat hadn't left him--and now that he worked a desk job, he had to make double sure to stay strong. (...You know, for the next revolution.) And so, every morning before breakfast, he beat the sun in rising to do various exercises in his room. Normally, he would have preferred to go outside, but there wasn't much of an "outside" to be found in the city, compared to the lush greenery of his homeland. And he couldn't make it to the suburbs and back in time for work (even by his standards of timeliness); the only place where a park or small wooded area could be found.

In any case, another perk to being among the first to rise was that he usually got the shower first--a considerable boon, in a place where it was four families to a bathroom. He enjoyed communal living, though; it was very much like having a family away from family (especially after Darya, his only relative here, had quickly moved up in rank and subsequently moved out to the apartment block...and unlike most Iranians, she refused to let him freeload off of her just because they were related). And in some strange stroke of luck, he'd managed to be put in the same set of rooms as other former members of Soviet republics.

Because of this, no one was a stranger to the samovar; a fact he appreciated greatly.

Having dressed (in what could probably be considered a minor fashion disaster: khaki shirt and black jacket; all of his clothes were homespun, and as such, he had little taste in appearance outside of combat apparel), he went into the kitchen, opened the curtains, and lit some candles (the electricity was out again), as well as the charcoal in the samovar to get the water boiling. They each had their own primus stoves, but there was only one fridge, one sink, one oven, and one samovar. And so it usually fell to him by default to make tea in the morning for whoever wanted it. Besides a lack of equipment, there were also no countertops besides the top of the oven, some shelving (which was usually full, anyways), and the table. And so he sat on the floor with the samovar, stoking the hot coals once or twice before closing the lid. And now he had only to wait.

...It was a matter of minutes before he dozed off.

Cosim had woken up at the same time-- only for that fact that he did have to work early. And for once he didn't have to wake up and try not to rouse the tall blonde woman that somehow always found it fit to come back in the early morning to sleep (what he didn't know was that she was just across the hall). It was going to be a good day. He was never the first one to the bath, but he was never the last, so that was good enough. He put on his uniform and headed outside.

He didn't usually eat much breakfast (because he never knew how to make himself breakfast), so he was grateful for whomever put out tea in the mornings. This time, he finally got to see that person. Sleeping. Next to something that held hot coals. Normally he would have let it slide, but not in a building made of shoddy and probably very flammable materials. After getting a cup for himself, he tapped the sleeping man on the head. "Hey." Looked like a freeloader. Maybe he wouldn't be here long. "Wake up."

Unfortunately for Mirza, while he did love sleeping, he was not the heaviest of sleepers. In fact, he was one of the lightest ones he knew. Immediately snapping awake, he reflexively grabbed the offending hand by the wrist, while springing into a crouched position. Almost as quickly, though, the adrenaline rush passed over and he realized that the man was unarmed, holding a cup of tea, and thus mostly not an intruder.

In his defense, though, it wouldn't have been hard to mistaken him for a threat.

"Whoops," he said it so nonchalantly as he let go of his arm, he might as well have knocked over a salt shaker or something similarly unremarkable. Laughing at himself and getting up stiffly (the linoleum flooring was not exactly conducive to napping on), he stretched to crack his spine, and straightened up to reveal himself as being a good seven or eight inches shorter than the other man. "Sorry, you ehh, startled me," he apologized in Russian, extending one hand to shake, the other in his pocket as he relaxed into a posture that, even standing, looked lazy, "Mirza Jangali...we must be neighbors?" Or at least, he hoped that someone he'd never seen before that came in and helped himself to some tea was, indeed, his neighbor.

If he hadn't realized there was no threat so quickly, Cosim would have perceived a threat to himself, and would have taken action with his fists. As it was, he was too surprised to do much of anything except make sure he didn't drop his cup. All of a sudden, he was back to being lazy. The embodiment of laziness, from what Cosim could see.

He waited to see if he would stand up all the way before shaking his hand. He didn't. Reluctantly taking the other man's hand, he shook it, half expecting his arm to wobble like a noodle. "....Cosim Zahorchak." He nodded his head down the hallway, "I live down the hall... So I guess so." Assuming he lived there too.

"I've been drinking this tea every day, and had no idea who made it." He grinned oddly, still not sure what to make of this person. He couldn't even place where he was from. "So... Thanks."

All things considered, Mirza himself might not have been too terribly surprised if his arm wobbled like a noodle. As it was, he had a moderately firm grip, uncharacteristic of him personally, but not of his people. Lightness in such gestures was not at all tasteful.

"So do I, so do I," he drawled easily, his speech far more relaxed than the standard Russian dialect, "Good to meet you." A lazy grin to match his speech and posture.

Laughing again, he put his other hand in his pocket, as well, somehow allowing him to slouch even more, "And I've had no idea who's been drinking it. I ehhh, usually don't get to see anyone before work, but I must have dozed off today." Obviously. He was about to ask if the other man also worked at the company, when his attention was diverted to someone else in the doorway. A barefoot young woman in a nightgown that looked slightly too big for her had appeared, rubbing her eyes in a clear state of grogginess.

"Hey, good morning," the Gilak greeted cheerfully, peering around Cosim. Suddenly, she froze like a rabbit faced with a wolf, and peered up from her hands fearfully. She stared at them for only a moment before disappearing again as quickly as she'd appeared, escaping back to her room and leaving Mirza blinking in mild bewilderment. 

And Cosim was about to ask his new acquaintance, if he dozed off, wasn't he late for work? Did he not care?  That was unsettling.

But he saw the woman too, and for a moment was speechless.  She was gorgeous-- what he saw of her anyways (he didn't see much of her face but he guess that looked pretty good too).  Too bad he probably scared her off.  

Peering out into the hallway to see the door close behind her, he took out another mug from the cabinets and filled it with the tea.  "You scared her." He jokingly berated his new friend, although it was probably he himself that did, with the way he looked.  He went down the hallway and sat the full mug down on the floor in front of the door, rapped on it, and quickly walked back and to the way out of the apartments.  Calling back to Mirza, he mused, "Aren't you going to be late? Come on." On his way out, he mumbled to him, "Do you know who she was?"

Mirza was, in fact, terribly late. As always. And as always, he didn't even notice, let alone care.

Watching in mild amusement as the giant set out a cup of tea for the frightened girl like some sort of offering, he laughed lightly for a second or two, but then pondered, "Maybe she doesn't speak Russian? I just assumed--the landlord said that everyone here was, ehhhh, an ex-Soviet." He shrugged, "Or I guess, from an ex-Soviet state." He figured that that automatically entailed some knowledge of Russian, but maybe not. It wasn't like he knew all that much about being a communist. Made clear when it was suggested he go to work.

"But...breakfast..." He complained, but nevertheless dragged his feet after him. It seemed like sacrilege, though, to start a day without naan-panir. Sighing, he nearly missed Cosim's question. "Hm? Na, no clue. I've seen her once or twice...like, ehhh--like a ghost." He wiggled his fingers jokingly, "Appears and disappears."

Cosim shrugged. "I've never heard anyone around here speak anything else." A welcome environment for him-- although he didn't know how much his new friend's language could really be called "russian". It seemed odd, though, that most of the people here didn't work, or, like the man following him, didn't seem to care about work... was that the legacy of communism? N0--clearly they were just outliers. Because he was just fine.

Thus, he took a bit of offense at Mirza's comments. "ex-Soviet?" He laughed. "I don't know what you mean. Some people gave up--" most people. "But that doesn't make me an ex."

"You can eat breakfast once you've earned it." He ruled matter-of-factly. "Unless you work at a desk. In which case I don't think that's worth any food at all." It didn't contribute to anything except gross (disgusting and on-the-whole) profit for the capitalist system.

Back to the subject of the girl, who he couldn't get out of his head. For all intents and purposes, he was decidedly a good boy type. But there were times where that was a bit lax. "A ghost, huh? Do you think she'd 'appear' in my room?" He laughed a little awkwardly... he wasn't used to saying such things aloud. "Probably not."

Mirza laughed even harder, "Well, I guess I'm still technically a communist." He scratched the side of his jaw contemplatively, "Since I was never anything else." He was still the Soviet Republic of Gilan, right? Or at least, there was nothing else he could possibly be.

And if that was the case, he was easily the worst communist ever. "By the time I earn it, I'll have died of hunger," he sighed, and then snorted, his lazy tone dropping for once, "And I do work at a desk. I don't think it's worth anything, either." It wasn't that nobody in the world should do desk work (obviously someone had to, capitalist or not), but it was so completely unsuited for him. The only thing he got out of it was chatting with strangers on the phone. ...Which he apparently wasn't supposed to do.

He chuckled, "And then what, haunt you? Or maybe that's, ehhh, what you're into?" Despite the light teasing, Mirza was a people person; he loved watching a good romance unfold (even if it never seemed to involve him--it turned out most women didn't find laziness to be an attractive quality in a man). 

"You can't really..." He couldn't just call himself that. Could he? "You have to be dedicated." Which for Cosim, meant no slouching in public, or lateness, or anything that wasn't a part of any of the propaganda posters he used to hang in his room.

But the more he talked, he started to seem more dedicated. "I guess you do what you can." He didn't look very capable of actual labor. But then again, his reflexes were pretty good-- good enough to injure someone like Cosim. "I'm doing construction-- the new building a ways away from here. I have to go and get the blueprints."

He felt a bit flustered. He didn't know people that talked about girls, and he didn't really know how to in the first place. "I... I don't know. I don't know if that's really a respectful thing to say about her..." But she was definitely what he was into, that was for sure.

Mirza grinned, with just a hint of a lazy smirk, "A revolutionary is nothing but dedicated." No to communism, per say, but to the people. Whatever was best for the people. And that was where it counted.

He shrugged, "I was fine where I was, honestly, but baba insisted I get a job in this city." Laziness aside, Mirza was fine with being relatively poor; he'd never needed much. Like his deceased hero, he preferred the simple life. "He thinks there's no opportunity back home, that it's best for young people to leave, but--" He gesticulated passionately, "that's exactly why I should be there!" He was mild-mannered, yes, he was easy-going...but that didn't mean that nothing bothered him. Doing this useless job in this foreign city just made him feel all the more strongly that his place was in his homeland. Sighing, he dropped back into a slouch (for the briefest of moments, he'd actually looked impassioned), "Oh? I'll tag along with you..." Anything to stay away from his actual desk for as long as possible.

Bursting into laughter at the other man's uncomfortableness, he nearly doubled over with mirth, "Really? And I thought Iranians were prudish! Ehhh, sorry, didn't mean to be crass..." Controlling himself and wiping a tear from his eye, he forced his tone to even out between giggles, "Where are you from, anyways? The Russian proper?"

A revolutionary? Well that was something. He was listening a bit closer.

"I came here to send some money back to my home," He replied, content that he could trust the man, now. "But don't tell anyone... I don't have a valid passport." He may not have agreed with Vesna on everything, but she was an expert smuggler-- for better or for worse, and he needed that expert advice to get into the country, and somehow find a job. "But I agree with you. Thankfully, where I'm from, most people don't want to leave." Because where else would they go? "Although I still think that no matter the job, in the end, you should still do it well in a way that best serves the state." But this wasn't his state. And it was a privately owned company. "Nevermind... it doesn't matter if you follow me." None of his ideology worked here.

Flustered again, his cheeks burned and he huffed before answering. "I'm from the Republic of Transnistria." He always got weird looks. "We're communist." And technically not a country, although he wasn't going to say that. Because for him it wasn't true. "Near Moldova."

He laughed knowingly, "No worries; I was here on a temporary worker visa, but it expired already, so..." The company had virtually given Darya her green card, because she was an asset. As for Mirza, he himself was surprised that they hadn't used his expired visa as an excuse to fire him (as if piss-poor work ethic wasn't reason enough)--unless they simply hadn't found out yet. "Ehhh, but this company doesn't serve anyone but itself," he drawled, nearly mirroring the other man's thoughts, "I should be in the military, but they'd never let me in, in this country. Not that I want to serve for this country, anyways..." But at least he would have been good at it.

He went ahead and followed Cosim--as he would have done, either way. Grinning, he returned the secondary introduction, "Republic of Gilan--a breakaway state, in Iran. Also communist. ...Or, at least, we were before it collapsed." He didn't elaborate. The makeshift country itself falling apart didn't bother him (it was never what he'd really wanted, to begin with), but that the movement had died with it was something that would depress him if he admitted it. So he typically preferred not to. Subtly moving the subject along, he asked, "Moldova's one of the ones that was in Europe...right?" If he was being honest, he was taking a shot in the dark. Outside of Russia itself, he was only really acquainted with Armenia, Georgia, Azerbaijan, and the Central Asian republics. ...In good part because they were home to a number of his half-siblings.

"I won't tell if you won't." Most of the people in their building were probably living undocumented. But he doubted most of them (maybe this guy included) would just let themselves be kicked out.

The great thing about the Kommunalki was that it wasn't too far from where he was working. Which was to say, it was in a bad neighborhood that was being slowly remodeled, and the company was one of the first ones in. "I used to be in the army, where I came from." Not really, but he had a uniform. "I still kind of work for the Russians, just not in the... same capacity."

He'd never heard of Gilan, but it wasn't much, seeing as how no one had heard of Transnistria, either. "...Sounds like a nice place."

He stopped in front of the half-finished steel framing of the new building and frowned. "See this?" Gesturing to the odd curve of the building, he explained, "Apparently it's not a structural flaw. Some faggot in the office building designed it this way." He saw him surveying the construction work sometimes-- he didn't look like he knew a thing about it. "What do you think?"

"My lips are sealed," he grinned. Mirza was nothing if not trustworthy--maybe sometimes too much so for his own good, if the fact that he would still trust a communist was any indication.

Of course, it helped that he was also a military man, apparently. (Well, Mirza was really more of a guerrilla man, but still, combat was combat.) "Seriously? We're ehhhh, brothers-in-arms, then, or something, hahaha," he recounted fondly, as if the Soviet army had never done him any wrong, "I did a lot of work with the Russian army, back in the day." Back in the day. God, he was starting to sound like his father.

With equal (if not more) fondness, he agreed, "It is, it is. It's like paradise--I miss the forest, the mountains..." Maybe not the snow, though.

Stopping as the other man did, he looked upward as directed. What did he think? He laughed, "Dunno, there's no modern construction, where I live." In Rasht, yes, but not where he lived, in the mountains. "Ehhh...it does look pretty impractical, though." Why would anyone want to go out of their way to make building such a massive structure even harder?

"I guess so," He mused, but then shook his head lightly. "If I was brothers-in-arms with every communist and former communist I'd have to be with reformists and maoists too. So it's just you, for now."

As he listened to the other man recount his home, he thought about how his was nothing like that. Everything that he mentioned was either west or east of him, so what did he have? He tried not to think about that, but he always felt kind of displaced, as if he had to make do with what he had. He was never supposed to be Moldovan, at any rate, and he didn't feel Ukrainian. With nothing to say, he just replied with a quiet, "Huh."

Snorting (audibly, with his nose--) he muttered, "I dunno, but I think it looks like shit. He won't listen to me though, he says I don't have the authority-- but no one working here even knows how to build it."

(Gotta make this short, because I need to sleep--)

Mirza just shrugged and grinned lightly--he didn't know what was so bad about Maoists and reformists, but he supposed it was good if he wasn't one of the two.

At the other man's complaint, though, he stopped and burst out laughing, having been struck by a sudden idea. "Hey, I just thought: I have a half-sister who's kind of a big shot in Franchising. Probably not really involved in the same work as this guy, but, maybe I could get her to, ehhhh...negotiate with him, for you." He snickered, "She's pretty--" What was the nice way to say it? "--adamant. If she doesn't change his mind, she'll at least give him hell for a while."

Cosim smirked and covered his (meticulous, for a construction worker) slicked back hair with a hard hat. "I guess it would help if he was yelled at by some lady. It's better than having to do anything myself." He didn't want to step foot in that corporate building. Maybe because he really didn't know if he would actually hate it. "Go ahead and tell her to give him hell, and back, if that's what it takes. He's getting paid while keeping us from doing our damn jobs."

Taking some blocks out of a bag, all connected with a thin wire, he tossed a hardhat to his new friend and placed the blocks on the sides of adjacent buildings before walking back as quick as he could, and then walking even farther. "You might want to step back-- they bought the buildings besides this thing and they have to go." Despite the destruction of possible small businesses to make room for another arm of the corporate monolith, he was grinning as though he couldn't wait. Explosions were the best part of the job. He waited to make sure it was clear, all the while with his fingers on the lever.

"Will do," he promised with an easy grin. Going to talk with Darya would give him more of an excuse to put off any real work, so he was happy to do it.

Although, if he knew what was coming next, he might have reconsidered being so avoidant of his job.

Catching the protective hat with a simultaneously amused and curious expression, he put it on and backed up as instructed. Most people would have gotten a hint, if not from the explosives themselves, then from Cosim saying that the buildings had to go--obviously they didn't simply magic themselves out of existence. But Mirza had never experienced using explosives for construction purposes, and thus had no idea what was going on.

"Three..."

He looked back at Mirza, and seemed a bit disappointed that he didn't look excited.

"Two..."

Well, confused was even worse.

"One-- hey, it's going to explode, cover your ears, too."

And with that, he flicked the switch, and a loud echoing crack resounded into the air. Smoke and dust preceded the rubble, and in no time the two buildings were on the ground. He called to one of the workers, "Can we get a guy to clear all this?" Now that his work was done, he could look back and be amused by the expression on his new friend's face.

Explosion?

"What--"

Too late. As the air was ripped apart by the sound and shock waves coming from the blast, the former soldier's immediate instinct was to hit the ground, covering his head (nevermind that it was already covered). As the dust cleared and the sounds of screaming or pandemonium failed to meet his ears, he opened his eyes and peered up.

Oops. Apparently, this was normal.

Laughing shakily, he leapt to his feet--teetering slightly when his balance was disturbed by the ringing in his ears. As a bulldozer rolled in to clear the rubble, he attempted to shout something over the roar of the machines, but with no luck. Thankfully (or not), though, the engine was quickly cut off as a figure emerged from the vehicle.

"Mirza?"

The man approached them, removing his own construction helmet to reveal a shock of thick red hair. As per usual, he looked and sounded enormously drained of energy, "Aren't you supposed to be at work...?" His Russian was as good as, if not better than, Mirza's. It was not uncommon for them to communicate in the foreign language, as opposed to Persian, given that they shared more in common through the former Soviet Union than they did as children of their father.

Mirza, to his own credit, managed to look somewhat abashed at being caught playing hooky. "Salaam--I was ehhhhh, on my way there." Before another word could be had, he quickly added, "I didn't know you two worked for the same construction firm." Turning to Cosim, he introduced him, "Maybe you ehhhh, already know, but this is Adilet. He's one of my older half-brothers; we both live in the Kommunalka." It was nigh-impossible to believe that the two could be related. Besides the obvious glaring differences in hair and eye color, even their facial features and body types were mismatched. It was perhaps only their heights, with Adilet being perhaps just an inch or two shorter than Mirza's 5'8", that were even remotely similar. 

Well, it was the reaction he was looking for, but it wasn't the funny kind. "Sorry, but I told you--"

The machine engine cut and he looked back suspiciously (why wasn't he working?) until the employee called for Mirza. Brothers? Didn't sound right. They were probably such good friends that they were brothers. Half-friend-brothers. That was it. He laughed as he was being introduced to a man he already knew. Sort of. "I didn't know that was your name-- we always just call you 'Red'." The kid (he was older than Cosim, but so much shorter--) was almost a ghost around the site, he never spoke up, even though he operated the loudest machinery. "I havent ever seen you around the Kommunalka... sorry about that."

While Mirza cracked up laughing, Adilet didn't seem surprised by his nickname. At least it was better than "Ginger", which was another thing he'd been called since coming this this city, but still didn't understand. He'd seen ginger many times before, and could not make the connection between himself and the lumpy root. He did feel like it must have been some sort of an insult, though, exactly because it was a lumpy, ugly root.

"I don't always stay there," he said in response to his noted absence at the kommunalka. Even when he was there, though, he tended to keep a low profile. Knowing that Mirza would stall for time if given the opportunity, he added quietly before anything else could be said, "Mirza, you're going to get fired... And father will be mad." 

Unlike those who lived in Iran proper, he felt too distant to call their father anything so informal as 'baba'. Their relationship had been strained long before, anyways, when he'd apparently unintentionally made the whole family sick. Along with a good portion of the rest of the world. That was one reason he could get along better with Mirza, though: he was one of the few siblings from that side of his family that was born long after that time.

Sighing, Mirza relented, "Okay, okay, I'm going." Half-waving, half-saluting to both of them, he grinned, "later," and slunk away at no hurried pace.

Adilet watched after him, looking more tired than ever, and, suddenly feeling uncomfortable being left alone with a person he never talked to, fidgeted with the rim of his hardhat before putting it back on and returning to his work without a word.

((Wanted Mirza to go to work so he can talk to Darya and I can use her for the Broos thread. I guess we could could continue with Adilet and Cosim in separate threads (or the same one, idc), when they go back home or whatever? It's up to you. XD))

((Is this what you mean by the same thread? If not I can move it or change it or something XD))

He figured the Kommunalka was the lowest of the low in places to live, so where would he go when he wasn't there? The street?

He wasn't going to ask, and it looked like he wouldn't get the chance, since the man trudged off without saying another word. Neither of them wanted to hang around a person that looked like the other. So he spent the whole day working around that impossible part of the building and doing what he could, never really even making eye contact with the redhead again.

Though he did wonder, if he left work so tired, and the other man looked just as exhausted in the morning, if he just slept in the building frame when he was too tired to go home-- maybe that's why he didn't stay there all the time. Vesna was usually there to give him a ride in her terribly beat-up car, but this time she wasn't, so he walked, saving himself from several headaches from his head usually slamming into the roof of the car. Getting back a little later was worth that.

Once he was inside, he was on his way to his room when he passed the doorway where he'd left the mug, to see if it was still there or not. A part of him wasn't even sure she had been real-- maybe there just had been something weird in that tea.

((This is cool-- B) I was going to branch off with Adilet, too, but I think I'm going to hold off for a while since there's already so much going on. XD))

The door had been left slightly open, and the mug of tea was nowhere in sight. From within the room, someone could be heard faintly, softly singing to herself in Ukrainian,

"Oh, in a grove on the Danube, I waited longingly,
wept longingly--am still crying, my dear, for you...
Oh, t'okh t'okh, and t'okh t'okh t'okh,
the Nightingale twitters..."

No one had returned from work (she wondered if Vesna would be gone for a while, as she sometimes was), and so the communal space was, for once, quiet. She couldn't say she liked being alone--because she certainly didn't--but it was the state of living that she was most accustomed to, by now. And being around too many people was worse than being around no one. At least, she thought so. The crowds of the city frightened her; it was too much, all at once, after being isolated from people for decades. It was impossible for her to function normally anymore, especially after being thrown to the wolves like this, expected to do just fine after all she'd been through. She found herself trapped: unable to go back to that place, unable to move forward in this one. Forced to depend on a sister that was barely capable of keeping her own life straight. All of her schooling, all of her experience, had ultimately amounted to this: nothing. Sonya's intelligence hadn't diminished, she knew she was still capable of being a physicist (after all, she still maintained what was left of the plant, back home, before they'd contained it securely)--it was the fortitude that had died. Just like the plant itself: the scientists were still there, it was the structure that had been destroyed.

Every day, she put on her nicest working clothes and ventured outside to find a university or anywhere else that would hire her. And every day, she became paralyzed with fear before finding that place, forced to turn back. First, it was from several blocks away, then from down the street, then from outside the kommunalki, then...she froze at the door. And hadn't been outside since. That world out there had left her behind, and she was terrified of not being strong enough to catch up. Even the people that shared her living space frightened her, to the point where she wouldn't come out of the room until they'd all left for work. Even her sister, who supported her entirely, scared her sometimes.

But today had been marginally better. Someone had left a mug of tea outside the door for her. She didn't know who had done it, but that small act of kindness had been the highlight of her week. And now, everyone was gone, and she was allowed to be at peace for some short period of time. So she sat at the window, in her nightgown (her nice clothes were strewn across the floor, discarded that day as always) and with her back to the door, writing on the glass with a sharpie. Long ago, she'd filled every inch of wall that she could reach with her comforting calculations, so she'd moved on to the windows, unwilling to think of what would happen when there was no space left to fill.


((Took some liberties--namely, the reason for Sonya being here is that the containment shelter they keep talking about has been built, in this au. So the radiation is no longer a threat, and she's not needed there anymore. XD))