ice cold vodka

@beloved

Pasha was old, there was no two ways going about it. Sometimes he didn't like to think that he was actually over a hundred, and he never talked too much about it or flaunted it, but he did keep a lot of mannerisms from his past. One of which was that all Americans were evil and capitalism was the downfall of society. Yes, a bit extreme. Yes, he was aware that it wasn't acceptable to say out loud in certain countries.

So he simply didn't explain further why he didn't like New York. A huge chunk of it was, indeed, the fact that it was a huge American city that stood against everything he stood for once upon a time.

Another faint 'hmmm', as if he were rolling the worlds over in his mind before spitting them out. A hundred and a little more years of life for a human brain was... long. Pasha had the patience of an pensive elephant but rarely practiced it; he found people reacted a lot more to snappy words, sometimes shouting and more often than not, instructions. He'd spent long enough in various military positions to understand that.

"Never had children, myself. I have been alive quite a while, but children never crossed my mind." He'd been completely wrapped in work since his formative years, and when the hormones kicked in he was at war. No time for thinking of having children and a wife and a house then. When that died down just a little... Well... He had Mikhail.

Mikhail had a wife, but Mikhail also had him. Their arrangement was odd and most definitely not accepted where they came from.

But then he didn't have Mikhail anymore, when the Soviet Union fell, and he wasn't really interested in anything else after that. They fled for different shores and that, honestly, was that.

Pasha's expression had gone completely dead for a second there. When he snapped back to, he poured himself another drink and downed it without a pause.

"I don't envy their existence either." Picking up the conversation, as if he'd never paused in the first place. "But you've had quite a storied life. How old are you, as far as you can recall?"

@beloved

Pasha didn't pine for people. Usually, at least. He was old and had lived through some of the most brutal wars in history; people died, and he didn't. Being gone was just as good as being dead in his eyes, yet at times he couldn't quite convince himself that it was that way for Mikhail.

He left the thought as it was. There was little point in thinking about it again, after so many years.

"270?" Pasha sounded vaguely surprised, though he really shouldn't have been considering the island he was on. Things were strange here. Times bent for beings that had no real business being together with mortals. He was one of those things, but at least he'd been human once. He only inherited his title, as much as he didn't quite know what it meant at the time.

Their eyes met, a tad tense, but nothing out of the ordinary. Pasha placed his own glass in the nearby sink to melt.

"121. You certainly do look younger than me." Pasha looked to have stopped aging sometime in his forties. He had that sharp, rugged look about him and the deep dark under his eyes that made him look a little older than that. It was all the years of stress and politics, he figured.

@beloved


Deception was this one's whole gimmick, was it, now? How... well, he wasn't sure if that was entirely trustworthy. Then again, admitting something like that was either poor judgement, or a distinct type of honesty that he often didn't mind. A sort of self confidence that let people talk any way they liked.

"I must say, you're an intriguing character." He said offhandedly, still making busy with his hands with idle tasks that he no longer had to focus on to do. He'd been running bars all over the world for so long that it all became muscle memory.