Crashing
"Zabud, devusky. You understand me, Ukrainian? Forget about it!" With Konstantin at the door, it would be a rough night for anyone less than rich and beautiful to get into Soho Rooms.
Illarion wordlessly returned the deposit of seven thousand euros to the foremost girl of the group, and then turned to Konstantin when they left, dejected. "Kostya, I am surprised you did not let them in. They were young and that was a lot of rubles worth."
Konstantin shook his head, unimpressed. "They were young but they were not all that pretty. And tfa to their money." He turned his head and spat. "Thank goodness you come down here," Konstantin patted Illarion's shoulder before his grammar would be corrected, "I had to deal with a duo of idiots earlier. Makes me sick." He frowned and patted his tummy for emphasis.
"Who were these idiots?" Illarion's gaze fell upon the next woman who came up, and in the back of his mind he vaguely noted that if he were the bouncer, she would gain entrance without any hesitation.
However, Konstantin took one look at her shoes and purse and sent her away, disappointing his boss. "Two American celebrities."
"Oh, really?" Illarion sighed and looked down the growing line. "Who were they?"
"Who cares?" Konstantin rated the man before him and after a tense head-to-toe check, grunted, stepping off to the side to let him in. "She said she was model with club owner boyfriend, but I do not care. Fame and wealth are good things, but they had too much to drink. They behaved completely uncultured," Konstantin wrinkled his nose at the thought. "I didn't let them in."
"I didn't think you would."
Konstantin stared dully at the next woman who came up, who was already holding an alluring stack of rubles in one delicate hand: a bribe. He scrutinized over her appearance and seemed to be accepting of her, but being as careful as he was, he asked, "Where are you from?"
The woman swallowed slowly and started to say something, but then realized she could not lie to a Moscow native. "Siberia."
"Out!" Konstantin gave her a glare that punched through her like a bullet. She held up the money again in another attempt to get into the nightclub, but he didn't budge. She moved away like a ghost lost on earth.
"Why didn't you let her into the club? I thought you liked her well." Illarion looked at his friend, tired and confused by the method of entry rating. "She had money and she was gorgeous. Perhaps you are taking this job too seriously."
"My job here is to filter out these, these novye russkiy," Konstantin made a disgusted noise. "They are everywhere and Russia is filled with them. People who have just made their first million, so to speak, think they deserve to be in the club and that they should get everything they want? Tfa! They are in fact a bunch of miners and day laborers with no respect or culture. With every year there is more and more of them."
"She traveled all the way from Siberia, Kostya." Illarion held his hand parallel to the floor and lowered it, indicating 'calm down'. Konstantin often ranted about the New Russians. "This, ah, face control is very strict. I am not sure if I approve of it."
"It is not just about money and looks," Konstantin looked a couple over and granted access after noting the Hugo Boss suit and the Dolce & Gabbana dress. "There is also attitude. If I sense you do not belong, you will not have a good time in the club. The depth of your bank account is interesting but is nothing to negotiate with. See? Benefit someplace."
"Very quick-draw," Illarion made a gesture with his hand that did not make any sense with his statement. "A few seconds and it is like you are calling judgment upon whether or not a person has done something terrible. The snappiness must weigh on the soul."
Konstantin held his hand up and aggressively waved the next man away, seemingly angry at his attempt. "Sometimes," he started out, "There's a guy or girl who is frozen from standing out here. They seem like good people and you want to let them in, but you can't. They look bad. So you feel sorry."
"It saddens me that face control policy is seen as a necessary and proper part of going out," Illarion sighed and shook his head. "I think our culture is no more brutal than the Americans' sense of aesthetics."
"Ilya, are you listening to yourself when you speak? Americans have nothing better to do." Just as Illarion was about to disagree and defend them, Konstantin looked up at the next man and gave a repressed smile, "Pashu!"
"Kostoshka!" The confident young Russian beamed at Konstantin brightly and nodded in thanks as he was given access to the club. After he walked past, Illarion seemed even more confused.
"Who is Pashu?"
"That is my neighbor, Pavel. I know him. If I don't know your face, it can be impossible to get in."
"I don't believe I will ever understand the mechanics to this," Illarion touched his forehead as though it were aching, and sighed.
"It is only the second night. It will be long and cold here, you should go inside. I will let you in."
"No, no. I will be leaving for my apartment soon. I am only here because of the money return, and it must be hard on your body and spirit to be standing out here in the cold." Illarion rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get the frosted feeling off with friction.
"Don't forget the threats. No one who has come up to me was too bad though; all I do is take off my glove and they run at the sight of tattoo. They must be Ukrainian!"
Illarion scratched an itch behind his ear and felt mildly disappointed at Konstantin's sense of Russian liberalism, which wasn't really liberal at all. He still even missed when Gorbachev was in power, despite having only been ten at the time the Soviet Union collapsed.
At that moment a sweet-faced young woman came up, smiling expectantly and making sure that her gold Bvlgari bracelet was showing. Konstantin furrowed his brows and asked, "Viy Americanka?" She replied "Da" and immediately Konstantin turned his head to spit and growled out, "Erunda! Nonsense!"
-
Buddy looked over at Marty and finally took notice of the book he'd been reading for the past few days. "Started to feel left out, did you?"
Marty looked up from the Divine Comedy and smiled sheepishly. "You guys got all religious on me so I decided to reaffirm my own."
"Catholic, I see."
"Right you are. The cynical type, though."
"You, cynical? I never would'a guessed."
"Not exactly cynical per se," Anthaniel spoke out, "just not as blindly as most Catholics. I think? Right, Marty?"
Marty smiled again and shrugged. "Can you even guess which part I'm reading right now?"
"Inferno?" Buddy asked. Marty gave a nod in response. "Figures. People are only ever interested in what hell's like. I don't blame them, they'll probably end up there. Nice to know ahead of time."
"What a rotten away to take it," Marty laughed. "I'm just reading it because I can understand why Dante wrote this. I don't really follow it, but I can get where he's coming from."
Buddy knitted his eyebrows together, scowling just a little. "What are you referring to, specifically? I'm not sure I follow."
"Me neither," Anthaniel added.
"Well, uh," Marty tsked and looked at the book cover, trying to think. "You guys have read this?" He looked up to see the other two nod, and then continued. "You remember the first river in hell?"
"There's more than one?" Anthaniel wondered, reaching up to rub a sore shoulder. "Is it Styx?"
"Styx was actually a lagoon. The first river is Acheron," Buddy answered.
"Do you remember what Acheron divided?" Marty gestured towards Buddy.
Buddy took several guesses. "Heaven and hell? Earth and hell? The gates to hell and hell?"
"Last one. Obviously past hell are the nine spheres in hell, but do you know what's between the gates and the river?"
"Uhh," Buddy squinted. "Charon?"
"No. Look, answer me this, both of you: grief or nothing?" Anthaniel said nothing, recalling an old conversation with Henry. Buddy said grief. "Why?"
"Grief is a compromise." Anthaniel shrugged.
"I'd rather feel something than nothing." Buddy tilted his head to the side.
"I'm going to keep that in mind. What do you knows think is the meaning of life? How about the purpose of your life? Why haven't you gotten there?" Marty clasped his hands together.
Buddy and Anthaniel were quiet for some time, indicating they had no answer at all.
Marty waited a few more moments before speaking again. "See, between the gates and the river Acheron, there's a place where people who don't fit into heaven nor hell go. It's not purgatory and it's not really in hell, but it counts." Pause. "It's where people like us go." Pause again. "We know what life should be based upon but we don't follow it."
"Shit happens," Buddy spat out bitterly.
"No, not at all. There's a reason why most people never follow through with what they want, it's because they're vacillating. Everybody's a coward." Anthaniel blinked at the word. "Think about all the doctors. All they've ever done was settle for being a doctor instead of striving to, say, find the cure to cancer. Tons of students settle for community college instead of schools like Harvard. You know the reason why Harvard is so great, right? Because each student has every intention of doing something big."
"Whoa, whoa," Anthaniel held his hand out. "A ton of people go to hell for just settling down?"
"According to Dante. It's funny right? Your personal maxim is 'never settle for less' and look what you've done. All of us, really; I'm not any better than you guys just because I agree. I wanted to be a chef. Why wouldn't I have tried to become an Iron Chef instead? So, for that, I'm going to that nothing place and so are the both of you. We're not going to hell; it's an even worse place."
"So you're telling me Iron Chefs go to hell?" Buddy quirked a brow.
"Yeah, definitely. They're going to hell because they've actually done something successful with their lives without trying to make good for others. Football players? Hell. Celebrities? Hell. 'Cause, as well known as both of you are, it's not like any other normal person has ever heard of you. Y'get what I'm saying?"
"Dante's an asshole who went to hell then." Anthaniel snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Right, and being in hell is way better than being stuck in nothingness."
Buddy raised his brows and sighed, shaking his head. "How does that relate to the question about grief or nothing? I can see the correlation but what does it really mean?"
"For one thing, it means that theoretically, you've got the idea right. Realistically though, you've got it absolutely wrong. Kcalb's the one who's congruent with how he actually is, but pretty much, what difference does it make? Just because he knows himself doesn't mean it's any better. It's just as horrible as not knowing."
"So..." Anthaniel paused and rubbed his mouth. "How did Dante feel about Catholicism? It doesn't sound similar to the standard way of Catholic thinking at all."
Marty stayed quiet for a minute, staring intensely at the Divine Comedy before answering, "I actually don't know."
-
Nicholas came into the office just as Karol was finished with watching John F. Kennedy's "Ich bin ein Berliner" speech. Even though the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall was actually on the ninth, Karol was hung over it as though it were a brand new drug.
"Karol?"
Karol looked up with a smile, trying to spread his good mood. "American Presidents have the best speeches."
Nicholas rolled his eyes and snorted, taking a seat right on Karol's desk, shutting his laptop. "You are definitely from Berlin. The rest of Germany doesn't like America as much as you do."
"Of course I love America. Germany is terrible. The United States may have blamed us for both World Wars but they have still assisted where needed."
"Assisted Berlin. Berlin's the only place that loves the States."
Karol laughed and shook his head.
"ich bin ein amerikaner"
note: happened sometime today around 3:00
Illarion wordlessly returned the deposit of seven thousand euros to the foremost girl of the group, and then turned to Konstantin when they left, dejected. "Kostya, I am surprised you did not let them in. They were young and that was a lot of rubles worth."
Konstantin shook his head, unimpressed. "They were young but they were not all that pretty. And tfa to their money." He turned his head and spat. "Thank goodness you come down here," Konstantin patted Illarion's shoulder before his grammar would be corrected, "I had to deal with a duo of idiots earlier. Makes me sick." He frowned and patted his tummy for emphasis.
"Who were these idiots?" Illarion's gaze fell upon the next woman who came up, and in the back of his mind he vaguely noted that if he were the bouncer, she would gain entrance without any hesitation.
However, Konstantin took one look at her shoes and purse and sent her away, disappointing his boss. "Two American celebrities."
"Oh, really?" Illarion sighed and looked down the growing line. "Who were they?"
"Who cares?" Konstantin rated the man before him and after a tense head-to-toe check, grunted, stepping off to the side to let him in. "She said she was model with club owner boyfriend, but I do not care. Fame and wealth are good things, but they had too much to drink. They behaved completely uncultured," Konstantin wrinkled his nose at the thought. "I didn't let them in."
"I didn't think you would."
Konstantin stared dully at the next woman who came up, who was already holding an alluring stack of rubles in one delicate hand: a bribe. He scrutinized over her appearance and seemed to be accepting of her, but being as careful as he was, he asked, "Where are you from?"
The woman swallowed slowly and started to say something, but then realized she could not lie to a Moscow native. "Siberia."
"Out!" Konstantin gave her a glare that punched through her like a bullet. She held up the money again in another attempt to get into the nightclub, but he didn't budge. She moved away like a ghost lost on earth.
"Why didn't you let her into the club? I thought you liked her well." Illarion looked at his friend, tired and confused by the method of entry rating. "She had money and she was gorgeous. Perhaps you are taking this job too seriously."
"My job here is to filter out these, these novye russkiy," Konstantin made a disgusted noise. "They are everywhere and Russia is filled with them. People who have just made their first million, so to speak, think they deserve to be in the club and that they should get everything they want? Tfa! They are in fact a bunch of miners and day laborers with no respect or culture. With every year there is more and more of them."
"She traveled all the way from Siberia, Kostya." Illarion held his hand parallel to the floor and lowered it, indicating 'calm down'. Konstantin often ranted about the New Russians. "This, ah, face control is very strict. I am not sure if I approve of it."
"It is not just about money and looks," Konstantin looked a couple over and granted access after noting the Hugo Boss suit and the Dolce & Gabbana dress. "There is also attitude. If I sense you do not belong, you will not have a good time in the club. The depth of your bank account is interesting but is nothing to negotiate with. See? Benefit someplace."
"Very quick-draw," Illarion made a gesture with his hand that did not make any sense with his statement. "A few seconds and it is like you are calling judgment upon whether or not a person has done something terrible. The snappiness must weigh on the soul."
Konstantin held his hand up and aggressively waved the next man away, seemingly angry at his attempt. "Sometimes," he started out, "There's a guy or girl who is frozen from standing out here. They seem like good people and you want to let them in, but you can't. They look bad. So you feel sorry."
"It saddens me that face control policy is seen as a necessary and proper part of going out," Illarion sighed and shook his head. "I think our culture is no more brutal than the Americans' sense of aesthetics."
"Ilya, are you listening to yourself when you speak? Americans have nothing better to do." Just as Illarion was about to disagree and defend them, Konstantin looked up at the next man and gave a repressed smile, "Pashu!"
"Kostoshka!" The confident young Russian beamed at Konstantin brightly and nodded in thanks as he was given access to the club. After he walked past, Illarion seemed even more confused.
"Who is Pashu?"
"That is my neighbor, Pavel. I know him. If I don't know your face, it can be impossible to get in."
"I don't believe I will ever understand the mechanics to this," Illarion touched his forehead as though it were aching, and sighed.
"It is only the second night. It will be long and cold here, you should go inside. I will let you in."
"No, no. I will be leaving for my apartment soon. I am only here because of the money return, and it must be hard on your body and spirit to be standing out here in the cold." Illarion rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get the frosted feeling off with friction.
"Don't forget the threats. No one who has come up to me was too bad though; all I do is take off my glove and they run at the sight of tattoo. They must be Ukrainian!"
Illarion scratched an itch behind his ear and felt mildly disappointed at Konstantin's sense of Russian liberalism, which wasn't really liberal at all. He still even missed when Gorbachev was in power, despite having only been ten at the time the Soviet Union collapsed.
At that moment a sweet-faced young woman came up, smiling expectantly and making sure that her gold Bvlgari bracelet was showing. Konstantin furrowed his brows and asked, "Viy Americanka?" She replied "Da" and immediately Konstantin turned his head to spit and growled out, "Erunda! Nonsense!"
-
Buddy looked over at Marty and finally took notice of the book he'd been reading for the past few days. "Started to feel left out, did you?"
Marty looked up from the Divine Comedy and smiled sheepishly. "You guys got all religious on me so I decided to reaffirm my own."
"Catholic, I see."
"Right you are. The cynical type, though."
"You, cynical? I never would'a guessed."
"Not exactly cynical per se," Anthaniel spoke out, "just not as blindly as most Catholics. I think? Right, Marty?"
Marty smiled again and shrugged. "Can you even guess which part I'm reading right now?"
"Inferno?" Buddy asked. Marty gave a nod in response. "Figures. People are only ever interested in what hell's like. I don't blame them, they'll probably end up there. Nice to know ahead of time."
"What a rotten away to take it," Marty laughed. "I'm just reading it because I can understand why Dante wrote this. I don't really follow it, but I can get where he's coming from."
Buddy knitted his eyebrows together, scowling just a little. "What are you referring to, specifically? I'm not sure I follow."
"Me neither," Anthaniel added.
"Well, uh," Marty tsked and looked at the book cover, trying to think. "You guys have read this?" He looked up to see the other two nod, and then continued. "You remember the first river in hell?"
"There's more than one?" Anthaniel wondered, reaching up to rub a sore shoulder. "Is it Styx?"
"Styx was actually a lagoon. The first river is Acheron," Buddy answered.
"Do you remember what Acheron divided?" Marty gestured towards Buddy.
Buddy took several guesses. "Heaven and hell? Earth and hell? The gates to hell and hell?"
"Last one. Obviously past hell are the nine spheres in hell, but do you know what's between the gates and the river?"
"Uhh," Buddy squinted. "Charon?"
"No. Look, answer me this, both of you: grief or nothing?" Anthaniel said nothing, recalling an old conversation with Henry. Buddy said grief. "Why?"
"Grief is a compromise." Anthaniel shrugged.
"I'd rather feel something than nothing." Buddy tilted his head to the side.
"I'm going to keep that in mind. What do you knows think is the meaning of life? How about the purpose of your life? Why haven't you gotten there?" Marty clasped his hands together.
Buddy and Anthaniel were quiet for some time, indicating they had no answer at all.
Marty waited a few more moments before speaking again. "See, between the gates and the river Acheron, there's a place where people who don't fit into heaven nor hell go. It's not purgatory and it's not really in hell, but it counts." Pause. "It's where people like us go." Pause again. "We know what life should be based upon but we don't follow it."
"Shit happens," Buddy spat out bitterly.
"No, not at all. There's a reason why most people never follow through with what they want, it's because they're vacillating. Everybody's a coward." Anthaniel blinked at the word. "Think about all the doctors. All they've ever done was settle for being a doctor instead of striving to, say, find the cure to cancer. Tons of students settle for community college instead of schools like Harvard. You know the reason why Harvard is so great, right? Because each student has every intention of doing something big."
"Whoa, whoa," Anthaniel held his hand out. "A ton of people go to hell for just settling down?"
"According to Dante. It's funny right? Your personal maxim is 'never settle for less' and look what you've done. All of us, really; I'm not any better than you guys just because I agree. I wanted to be a chef. Why wouldn't I have tried to become an Iron Chef instead? So, for that, I'm going to that nothing place and so are the both of you. We're not going to hell; it's an even worse place."
"So you're telling me Iron Chefs go to hell?" Buddy quirked a brow.
"Yeah, definitely. They're going to hell because they've actually done something successful with their lives without trying to make good for others. Football players? Hell. Celebrities? Hell. 'Cause, as well known as both of you are, it's not like any other normal person has ever heard of you. Y'get what I'm saying?"
"Dante's an asshole who went to hell then." Anthaniel snorted and rolled his eyes.
"Right, and being in hell is way better than being stuck in nothingness."
Buddy raised his brows and sighed, shaking his head. "How does that relate to the question about grief or nothing? I can see the correlation but what does it really mean?"
"For one thing, it means that theoretically, you've got the idea right. Realistically though, you've got it absolutely wrong. Kcalb's the one who's congruent with how he actually is, but pretty much, what difference does it make? Just because he knows himself doesn't mean it's any better. It's just as horrible as not knowing."
"So..." Anthaniel paused and rubbed his mouth. "How did Dante feel about Catholicism? It doesn't sound similar to the standard way of Catholic thinking at all."
Marty stayed quiet for a minute, staring intensely at the Divine Comedy before answering, "I actually don't know."
-
Nicholas came into the office just as Karol was finished with watching John F. Kennedy's "Ich bin ein Berliner" speech. Even though the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall was actually on the ninth, Karol was hung over it as though it were a brand new drug.
"Karol?"
Karol looked up with a smile, trying to spread his good mood. "American Presidents have the best speeches."
Nicholas rolled his eyes and snorted, taking a seat right on Karol's desk, shutting his laptop. "You are definitely from Berlin. The rest of Germany doesn't like America as much as you do."
"Of course I love America. Germany is terrible. The United States may have blamed us for both World Wars but they have still assisted where needed."
"Assisted Berlin. Berlin's the only place that loves the States."
Karol laughed and shook his head.
"ich bin ein amerikaner"
note: happened sometime today around 3:00