singillatim | well, i've made so many new friends, with open arms they've let me in

[ Konstantin watches the other man drink, still pleased that he approves, and offering a thoughtful hum at the idea to look for berries — even birch juice. It's a good idea; he's nodding in approval, enthusiastic. ]

That's a good idea! We'll become proper foragers before we know it.

[ A delighted laugh; it's a bit exciting of a prospect to Konstantin. He's never done anything like this before. And the thought of having more familiar things they might eat or drink from home is nice. Never mind that he still struggles with both; he's only taking a very small, very cautious sip of his own tea before he sets it back down on the countertop. Better to play it safe, especially since he really wants to get outside with Vasiliy. If he has another "episode" from the alien right now, it'll ruin that. ]

Take your time with a tea break — there's plenty if you want more. I'm just going to get suited up.

[ He smiles again, before moving to fetch a pair of gloves and a coat he'd managed to find, sliding the garments on and then moving to start putting his shoes on as well — still the white trainers he'd been issued at the research facility. Finding boots around here is a bit harder of a task; most shoes have quickly been swiped up by the other Interlopers. ]

[ 'We'll'—they're a we. They have been for some time, really; they live together, eat together, sleep in the same bed more often than not. It doesn't mean the things he still finds himself wishing it would—who in their right mind wouldn't want to be with a man like Konstantin?—but for the first time in years, he has a friend, a real friend, and it's a wonderful thing to not be alone. The world around him seems to have changed, a little less hostile than it was before.

Vasiliy's eyes fall to the man's shoes as he takes another sip of tea: he's woefully underdressed, and walking through the snow like that could, at worst, lead to frostbite. At best, he'll be very, very uncomfortable within minutes. ]

We need to find boots for you. We can find something around the house to trade. Do you have wool socks, Kostya?

[ Konstantin pauses at the question, looking up from where he was leaning over to tie up his shoes. He has managed to procure a pair or two of woolen ones, though currently just has on the cotton pair he was wearing at the facility. ]

I have some, but I think they're all still drying. I just did some laundry earlier today.

[ Washing clothes by hand has been a task for sure, but he tries to keep up with it. He doesn't want to let his clothing stay dirty for long.... It's important to keep up a good outer appearance! ]

[ That won't do. He has enough going on without frostbite added to the list. ]

Borrow some of mine. I have a few pairs. They should fit.

[ Given the elasticity of knit designs, in addition to the fact that they've always been rather large on him...

Vasiliy sets his teacup down on its saucer and heads to the other room, returning with a pair of plain knit socks, unornamented but thick and warm. ]

You'll get frostbite if you go out like that, comrade. We don't have the resources here to do anything about it—you have to be careful out here.

[ The older man's brows lift in curiosity — taken aback, not in a bad way, only surprised. Surprised in a way he doesn't think he ever has been before, perhaps because he's never been in this situation before. Reliant, practically fully on another person — another man.

It stirs up those odd sensations from before, the ones he'd been sinking into as he'd watched this man do those physically laborious tasks through the glass of a window, the ones that Konstantin is currently incapable of doing. And now, he's even being encouraged to share Vasiliy's clothing — maybe it's only a simple pair of knit socks, but it's... different. All of this is different.

And yet, as much as it's different, it does still have a particular familarity, doesn't it? That brand of companionship that is such a social part of their culture; perhaps he's never had it in the form of sharing a man's bed and clothing, but it's... it all comes from the same place, doesn't it?

By the time Vasiliy returns and hands him the pair, Konstantin has mostly worked through those kneejerk flutters of something odd, looking down at the much thicker, warmer socks in his hands with one of his typical bright smiles. He leans back down to start putting them on and lacing his shoes over those instead, and already he can feel the difference. Warm and comfortable. ]

No, you're right, you're right. As always, the EMT knows best. [ It's not said sarcastically in the least, wholly genuine, even if playfully accompanied by the flash of a white grin up to Vasiliy before he's standing again, wiping his palms purposefully together as though readying himself for something spectacular. Getting outside to help with the grouse coop is exciting for him... ]

These are much warmer, thank you, Vasya. Saving me again.

[ He's never said it himself, but he's never really deflected before when a patient says he saved them, either—it's new territory when he ducks his head slightly at the reference to their first meeting, breaking eye contact. He's not sure why he suddenly feels almost bashful about it, aside from the deeply ingrained urge to remain modest, such a characteristic of his generation. ]

The least I could do.

[ He takes a last sip of his tea before setting the cup back down on its saucer on the side table, then gets up and joins him, slipping his feet back into his boots. ]

I'll show you what I'm doing first. So you know where we're at.

[ He's responded to the chance to be included in the labor involved with constructing such a thing with excitement—it's good for people, to work, to have a purpose. He wishes he'd found a way to allow him to contribute sooner. ]

[ Konstantin smiles at the other's reaction — subtle but telling, the younger man's eyes leaving his own for that moment almost as though shy or embarrassed — not quite amused by it, it isn't that. Maybe it's more that he's simply pleased; Vasiliy deserves to be reminded, again and again, how much worth he holds. What he's done.

Regardless, the cosmonaut's enthusiasm only grows, almost emboldened — thrilled for the chance to help out, to get outside, and to work alongside Vasiliy, that's an important part of it. So he'll follow him from the warmth of the small cabin and out into the crisp, sterile air, taking in a deep lungful of it before he gives a laugh. ]

It's nice to be out here on the other side of the glass. I feel bad just watching you all day, staying hard at work all by yourself.

[ There's maybe an odd little awareness that he's just admitted to watching Vasiliy — but it was obvious anyway, right? Besides, there's nothing really strange to it, is there? Admiring a fellow Russian's work. ]

[ The poor man. For what’s hardly the first time, a twinge of sympathy for Konstantin tugs at his heart—he can’t imagine being a cosmonaut, a Hero of the Soviet Union, and suddenly being reduced to such a life. It would be a sort of death—of the self, of one’s life before.

‘On the other side of the glass,’ he says, like he’s some sort of caged animal—and he is, at the root of it. Caged in this cabin, caged by his newfound physical limitations, caged by the scientists at the experimental facility. He’s glad for this project; hopefully, it will be a distraction from his confinement, an escape of sorts—and there will be many things Konstantin can do to tend the flock once it’s established, critically important but not overly physically demanding. It will be good for him; it’ll give him something to do. ]

Don’t feel bad. You’re hard at work inside.

[ Vasiliy comes to a stop before the skeleton of the coop, where the fenceposts lean against the side of the cabin and various bits of salvage have been stacked: corrugated metal, chickenwire, boards of varying sizes. On the ground, the intended perimeter of the pen has been outlined in the snow, the position of each fencepost marked with an X. Vasiliy gestures. ]

This is the border for their pen, and they’ll have a coop on that side. We’ll drive in the stakes here and then string together the fence. I’m going to put fencing on the top to keep hawks and owls out.

Edited 2024-03-13 18:45 (UTC)

Ahhhh, cleaning and organising things like a woman. And soon to be cooking, too!

[ In their culture, there's still much of a divide; granted, by his time, less of one in many ways, but there's still some deep-rooted association with such tasks being the opposite of "masculine", at least, and for someone like Konstantin... It's all very strange to consider. But, again, he tries to keep things light-hearted, giving another amused laugh as he trudges along behind Vasiliy and looks at the set-up so far. ]

Looks good! We'll have a coop in no time. [ He puts his hands on his hips for a moment, thoughtfully. ]

If you want to start heating some water, I can do some staking to begin with.

[ They can swap in a bit — "take turns", as he'd suggested — he should be fine! He can manage this much, right? And he's pretty sure the little creature is asleep right now; it shouldn't cause any problems, as long as he doesn't overdo it. ]

[ Vasiliy doesn’t quite know what to say when he draws the comparison they’ve both probably been aware of since this began, so he just mirrors the quiet chuckle, smiling with good humor.

When they come to a stop Konstantin puts his hands on his hips and surveys what he’s set up so far: despite his having proposed this and taken care of most of the groundwork, there’s still a part of him that wonders what Kostya thinks of his work, if he thinks he’s good at this. It’s ridiculous and he knows it. ]

I’ll start the kettle. Don’t do anything yet, the ground’s frozen solid. You’ll break the post before you get anywhere.

[ Or hurt himself in his overexertion, but he doesn’t say that part. Konstantin's already well aware of his own limitations. ]

[ Konstantin flashes the other man a grin, hands still on his hips — both parts serious as though he's receiving a severe order, and playful as though this is a game. ]

Understood! I won't let you down.

[ That said, once Vasiliy's gone back in, he will pick up one of the fence posts and sort of... tap it against the ground, experimentally. Not driving it inwards with any force, just fiddling with things a bit.... He nudges the toe of his sneaker against the cold ground as though to test to see just how frozen it is. When Vasiliy returns, he'll see him with lips pursed thoughtfully, moving around the fence post in a circle as though making some kind of calculation or other... He's having fun with this. ]

[ He's boyish, playful and charming, putting on a show but clearly genuinely enjoying himself—it's difficult to comprehend how someone like this was single even without the added elements of his profession and rank and high honors bestowed upon him.

It's quite a few minutes before he does return; the water here has quite a cold starting point. So much so that he fills a pot and starts it on the same burner before stepping outside, knowing it will take a while to heat up. ]

Alright! We have it.

[ He pours over the x, watching quite a bit of steam rise from the ground as soon as it makes contact: the soil is wet, no longer frozen, but it occurs to him that it's so cold that all of the heat of the water was probably used up just in thawing the surface layer. He frowns visibly—this may not work. ]

Try it?

[ By the time Vasiliy makes his return, Konstantin has gotten quite a bit of that fresh air he was seeking — cheeks nipped with the flush of chill, breaths coming out in large puffs that hover in the air. Growing up in Russia, of course the cold is hardly anything he's a stranger to, but it was rare that he'd ever have a reason to be out in the wilds like this, far away from the comforts of the city, of electricity and the heat it provides. He's tucked the post in the crook of an arm so that he can rub his gloved palms together, coaxing sparks of warmth, when the other man approaches and Konstantin smiles at him, watching him pour. ]

That's my cue. [ He's hopeful that it'll be an easy process, but as he tries to jam the sharp part of the post down into the wet soil, he can feel it quickly make contact with the harder, still-frozen ground beneath. ]

Might take a little more manpower. [ He quirks a brow at Vasiliy, demeanour still playful, as he tries again — this time using a surge of exertion to try jabbing the thing in, again and again. It's not with his full energy, he knows he needs to take it a bit slowly, but it's difficult to hold back too much when he's so used to having a certain physical capability.

The effort is... weirdly jarring, and Konstantin fumbles, quick enough to move the post to the side as he stumbles forwards, before the thing can jab him in the chest. Panting for breath that feels far too heavy for the amount of exertion he'd given, he places his free hand against his chest, feeling it move in and out, quick and aching.

Embarrassed, he tries to laugh it off with another quirk of eyebrows. He knows it has nothing to do with his age, but the tease comes— ] I guess I'm not as young as I used to be!

[ It’s clear, the effect the creature has had on his body—the beginnings of muscular atrophy, a dramatic change from what he must be used to being able to do as a cosmonaut inhabiting a perfected body. There’s a deep twinge of sympathy, there; he can’t imagine what it would feel like to go from his own current physical condition to something so much weaker, unable to do much without help.

His eyes crinkle with a smile at the joke and he shakes his head. ]

Nonsense! 39 is not old. [ Certainly not on him... ] You aren’t even 40 yet. The ground’s just frozen solid. Nobody could get that in.

[ He sets the teapot down on a stump and folds his arms, regarding the perimeter drawn in the snow again with a thoughtful frown. ]

If we can’t drive in a post, though, a fox can’t dig under the fence. Maybe we can do something aboveground. Rocks, maybe. Or we could move something solid and use it for a post. [ It would, of course, have to be himself, not a we, but. ] You could string the fence while I make the posts. Someone has to hold it in place while it’s attached to the posts too.

well, i've made so many new friends, with open arms they've let me in

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cw: misogyny / cultural gender stereotype things

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