Bloody Shirt & Booze

Cazimir considered it an accomplishment, that he had been able to get even a slight smile out of the man. Somehow Cazimir had a feeling he didn't smile a lot. Well, neither did Cazimir, he hadn't genuinely smiled in a while.
Cazimir let out a small amused huff, when the man continued with the joke, and took a sip from his own glass. Cazimir had seated himself on the other side of the bar, little to the left and opposite of Bastian, in a place where he wasn't in the way of the bartender's work. They could have an arm wrestling match like this, or so echoed the stray thought that passed through Cazimir's head. He had those sometimes.
"Would strawberry be too obvious?"
Cazimir asked, the other corner of his mouth slightly raised in a small lopsided smile.

So they had progressed to the introductions, very well. Schwarz was a German name, and so was Bastian, although latter was commonly used in many European countries. Cazimir left the name analyzing to a minimum, since it seemed that this man wasn't dirty.
"Yes, Cazimir. Cazimir Volkov. An accountant here."
Cazimir was interested to see how Bastian would react to his job. Yes, he managed finances and accounts for a living, a large, muscular, tough-looking man with the eyes of a fighter.
"Now I understand why you offered to help me. I admire the sense of duty of those in medical positions."
Cazimir lifted his glass at Bastian slightly and emptied it. The bartender came over and whispered something into his ear. It seemed mysterious and all, but all he asked Cazimir wad whether he wanted to change to a more appropriate attire, there were stray uniforms in the back. Cazimir nodded and stood up.
"Excuse me for a moment."
And with that Cazimir walked in from the door that read "Staff only".

Few minutes later Cazimir came back, now wearing a bartender uniform that was slightly too small for him, so the shirt hugged his torso and biceps tight. Cazimir sat back down, and another stray thought passed his head. But this time he voiced it.
"I suppose this can be considered camouflage."

Cazimir could easily guess what Bastian was thinking. That Cazimir looked more like a gang member or such rather than an accountant. And he was right, that was pretty much what Cazimir was. But Bastian would never know about that, if he did Cazimir would have to silence him. And that would be very unpleasant and a shame.
Cazimir chuckled a bit and waved his hand dismissively.
"Anyone can get mugged in an alley, if they are foolish enough to use it as a shortcut. Just like anyone can encounter a person, who was stabbed, but not just anyone offers to help."
Cazimir mainly kept praising Bastian about what he had done to make him feel at least a bit more at ease. The man was still suspicious, Cazimir could tell.
"Although following said stabbed person to a bar is unusual at best."
What could he say? Cazimir couldn't help himself. He hid his small smile behind the vodka glass as he emptied it in his mouth.

"I certainly blend in, but do not ask me to make you a drink. Better leave that to professionals."
Cazimir said with a slightly amused tone, and lifted his glass a bit to the bartender who walked past. They muttered a thank you in Russian and served a drink for a woman at the other end of the bar. A woman Cazimir hadn't seen before. Briefly Cazimir considered perhaps seducing her to get some company for the night, but let it go fast. He didn't want female company tonight. Perhaps not any company. He would probably just fall into bed and sleep as long as he possibly could.

Cazimir decided to drop the compliments for now, Bastian seemed comfortable now. Or at least comfortable enough to share a personal story, and Cazimir listened with interest, taking note of the pause but not paying it more attention. Mortar blast. And Bastian had been in the hospital as well. Was he from the army? That wouldn't surprise Cazimir, the man had scars as proof. And the way Bastian seemed disciplined and withdrawn was also a sign of strict military life. The Volkov mafia had many men that were ex-military, Cazimir had seen his fair share of soldiers.
"I suppose after a painful experience drinking is the best way to gather enough courage to get over it."
Cazimir wasn't talking about himself, stabbing was a common occurence for him. But if Bastian's said friend was a normal human then it must've been a traumatic experience.

Cazimir lifted a brow a bit at Bastian's request, but he turned his head and spoke to the waiter in Russian.
"Do you mind if my friend here comes back here and borrows your equipment?"
The bartender looked at Bastian, observed him from head to toe and nodded.
"If he's your friend and pays for his drinks, Mr. Volkov."
Cazimir turned back to face Bastian and nodded as well, now speaking English.
"Be my guest."

Cazimir wasn't an alcoholic, it didn't have a hold of him like it did on those with alcoholism. Cazimir could easily be without alcohol for months, even years, and he had been. Cazimir didn't drink for the intoxication, he drank because good alcohol was a pleasant tasting experience and thus Cazimir refused to even touch common beer from a normal bar.
"Whatever floats their boat, and in the end ends up also sinking it."

The house of Volkov, or more specifically Wolf's Den, had quickly become the home base of sorts for the small Russian populace on the island. But there were many English speaking regulars as well, and they mixed in with the Russians and though both languages floated in the air there was no difference.

Cazimir didn't miss the trick that Bastian performed, barely pouring any vodka in or none at all. If he wanted to have just soda, or perhaps water, Bastian could've just asked. Cazimir and none of the people here judged a person who didn't want to drink. They had more class than that.

"I work full time, but my family owns this establishment. So I have liberties, as you can see."
Cazimir answered, and gestured to them both now sitting on the "wrong" side of the bar.
"I'm good at what I do, so it's not as demanding."
Cazimir was good at many things, both his jobs included. Even if the other he did with bitterness.

"No, I do not condone it. But I cannot say I can't understand why people turn to it either, alcohol."
Cazimir worked for a mafia, there were bound to be people that turned to alcohol in order to forget about the horrors they saw. Cazimir himself had turned many people into alcoholics when they had seen what he could do, what he had done. But Cazimir had also worked hard to pull them out of the abyss, helped them gain dignity and set them right again. Just like Cazimir had, or at least tried to, set himself right.

Sweet? Was it sweet? Cazimir did like most of his family, even though he was planning to overthrow his uncle. But Rada was a good kid, and so was Malakias. He had no reason to hate those who had no sins. Rather, Rada had a fate similar to his.
"Not exactly free drinks. I have a tab I pay monthly from my salary. As an accountant I can't smooch from the side."

Cazimir listened to Bastian talk and...it seemed like he was flustered. At least the way the man spoke and blushed seemed to say so. Cazimir smiled a bit and poured his own glass full, it was his third one. One more after this and then he'd stop drinking.
"Accounting is problem solving and math, in simplest terms. I'm still lucky I work for only one company, some accountants have to manage several accounts from several companies."
Cazimir sipped his drink, and looked at Bastian in a slightly different light now. Should Cazimir be seducing Bastian and not some woman at the end of the bar?
No, that wasn't wise. Bastian seemed sharp, and too suspicious of his surroundings for casual one night stand. But that didn't stop Cazimir from enjoying his company, and that he was going to do until he had to stop drinking.

"I'll return the question back to you. How is being an EMT like? And I assure you, I'm far from bored."
Cazimir smiled slightly more widely at Bastian, sipping his drink.