[fanfic] So Violet Eyes Get Brighter [1/2]
Title So Violet Eyes Get Brighter
Author kahlanaisling
Recipient mi3star
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing Denmark/Belarus
Rating: G
Warning: none i can think of!
Word Count: 11,515
Summary: The last thing Natalya expected for Christmas was to get involved with an eccentric blogger from Copenhagen.
[camera flickers to life; it's an old model, but still functions well enough for the face of an extremely tall Dane with rather squarish features. His hair seems to defy gravity, much like his cheerful attitude, as he smiles boldly at the camera and speaks in rather accented English.]
“Hej, everyone! I'm your friendly neighborhood blogger, Mathias Køhler, and this--”
[the camera suddenly blurs and briefly reveals an even paler blond male, his hair pulled back and held with a cross-shaped clip. He glares at the camera with clear animosity, as if it fucked his mother.]
“--is Lukas! Say hi to the people, Lukas!”
“No.”
“Isn't he great?”
[the camera returns to a close-up of Mathias's nose]
“Anyway,” Mathias continues rather loudly; his voice is scratchy on the recording, “we're the muns of Bacon, Axe & Butter and this is the glorious city of Copenhagen! As you can plainly see, for our weekly Godly Guide we're close to the middle of the city and there's a hell of a lot of fancy architecture and bicycles, can't have a Danish city without a proper bicycle ya know. Check it out, Lukas even brought his!”
[pan to a sleek, expensive bicycle Lukas is walking beside]
“He's pretty rude about it though. Has a bad habit of riding so fast and far ahead that I can't keep up! The fuck is up with that? I'm offended, Lukie.”
“Your face is offensive,” Lukas replies.
“Damn it, my face is great, and I'll even prove it to you tonight! 'Cause guess what we're here to do?” Mathias says as the camera comes back to his face, thankfully on his eyes this time instead of his obnoxious nosehairs.
“Embarrass ourselves?”
“Close!”
[there is a dramatic zoom. Mathias raises an eyebrow as if about to confide in the viewer a perilous secret; the effect, however, is lost due to his and Lukas's still-moving state and the camera bounces up and down]
“We're going to show you how to pick up a super mega foxy awesome hot date in Co--!”
[the world suddenly spins and colors flash as the camera clatters to the ground; it lands on its side and reveals Mathias struggling on the ground with a small girl on top of him]
“Haaaaawhoa!” Mathias spits out some of her hair.
“Get off of me, get off of me!”
“I can't if you're on top of me though--”
[as the girl devolves into cursing in some Slavic language, Lukas picks up the camera and makes a few adjustments, then holds it far more steadily and at a much better angle than Mathias did; specifically, facing his left side, which is his good side]
“Humiliating Mathias in Copenhagen, scene one, take one, and that's a wrap.”
[ftb]
---------------------------
The girl's name is Natalya Braginskaya, she's some distant relation to Ivan Braginsky (who, according to Lukas, is some sort of Russian mafiya overlord), and she likes to drink coffee even blacker than Lukas does. At least Lukas likes a bit of sugar in his, just a tad, barely noticeable really. Mathias can't notice it anyway.
She's dressed like she has money and acts like it, too - actually she kind of reminds him of Lukas all around. He wishes the camera hadn't broken in the fall so he could film this for his blog, because she's hot and they're in a coffee shop and it's all pretty perfect, actually.
“I should call my lawyer,” she mutters to herself under her breath for the fifth time, or maybe the eighth. Her English isn't as good as theirs.
Lukas exasperatedly puts his mug down on the table. “You ran into us,” he says.
“Me,” Mathias corrects, quickly swallowing his coffee. It's black; he's not as fond of black coffee, but he can't let Lukas or heaven forbid Natalya think he's a wus.
“We should call our lawyers.”
Mathias doesn't have a lawyer, except when Lukas is inclined to rant to him about health care.
Natalya seems to pick up on this, because she raises one thin eyebrow with an expression that is surely judging them before taking another contemptuous sip of her coffee. Lukas matches her attitude and even mirrors her actions, and Mathias is sure that if he were psychic he would be able to hear the rapid-fire back and forth argument going on between the two of them.
This goes on for about thirty seconds before Mathias gets bored and sighs loudly. Natalya clears her throat, Lukas breaks the gaze, and Mathias wonders if Natalya will let him pay for the drinks. Probably. She doesn't seem inclined to do much of anything for herself.
Which is, you know, okay. It would be weird to have a girl want to pay for her own meal. It would make Mathias feel like he's not pulling his own weight or something. Lukas probably wouldn't care, he's such a penny-pincher that the less he can spend, the better. How he ever gets a date is beyond Mathias.
Natalya tosses her hair, white-blonde strands falling around her shoulders, and says, “The least you can do is pay for my drink. Maybe then I'll forget about my twisted ankle.”
She didn't twist her ankle, that's pretty obvious, but she did make a scene about it a while ago and isn't a bad actress. Mathias doesn't know much about law but if she brought her rich lawyers into it he doesn't think Lukas would win.
He sees Lukas open his mouth to say no and automatically interrupts with “Sure.”
Now it's Lukas's turn to give him a condescending, somewhat surprised look. What? Mathias mouths. She's hot.
Lukas mouths something in return. Mathias doesn't know what it is. He digs out some cash and puts it on the table. Lukas's face has returned to its normal, bored state, but it's clear he doesn't want to deal with this shit any longer as he stands and leaves the table. It's not a big loss. “There you go,” Mathias says, giving Natalya a bright smile.
She thinks he's an idiot.
His smile fades ever so slightly.
Natalya takes the money and subtly counts it. Mathias is a little offended that she so clearly doesn't trust him. He's startled, though, when she mutters “Thank you” so softly he can barely hear it.
“You're welcome,” he replies automatically.
Her eyes, which are a steely blue, flicker briefly at him and then back to the money. She puts it in her wallet and stands up to leave. “Wait,” Mathias says before she can.
“What do you want?”
And this is where Mathias usually endless supply of words completely abandons him to the cold wasteland that is talking to a pretty girl. He sits there with his mouth opened embarrassingly while she loses her patience.
“I,” he says, trying to buy himself time. “I run a blog.”
“So?”
“I was wondering,” he continues slowly, “if you'd meet me again sometime. To do an interview.”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth he's beating himself up for them and trying to figure out why his parents never gave him foolproof tips on picking up girls that actually seem worth something because this is impossible and why did he try to get a hot Belarusian chick?
She adjusts the strap of her bag from one shoulder to the other, her gaze slipping away from him and down to the linoleum floor as she purses her lips. It's only a few seconds, but seems an eternity to Mathias as she considers her answer.
Her head abruptly snaps up and she replies, “Here. Friday. Six at night. Don't be late.”
Before he can truly process that she's said yes and he's actually doing something over the weekend now, she's walked away.
--------------------------------
Mathias spends the next few days with the thought process of a dog. Food, sleep, holiest god above in heaven I actually have a date with a hot Russian, squirrel, food, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat with minor variety, and Lukas quickly becomes infuriated.
(At some point there actually is a squirrel outside the window and Mathias spends a good half-hour pretending to be Steve Irwin, complete with a bad Australian accent. He posts the video on his blog and it goes viral for a few hours. He celebrates his internet fame by treating Lukas and himself to beer. In other words, a normal Thursday night.)
“Mathias.”
Mathias is looking in the mirror on Friday at five thirty-two p.m. He's concerned about that red mark in the corner of his forehead, is that a pimple? He's not all that sure because he never put much stock in his appearance, his hair always just seemed to fall into place and that was that. He'd ask Lukas, because Lukas would know, but. . . Lukas.
“Mathias.”
“Yeah?” Probably a pimple, he decides as Lukas's voice goes in one ear and out the other. Shit. He grabs Lukas's comb and tries to brush his hair over it, but it bounces back into place. He remembers a trick Erzsi told him about a while ago, something about make up, but for all of Lukas's girliness he doesn't have any blush or eye liner or foundation or what the fuck is Erzsebet even talking about half the time, anyway?
“Mathias fucking Køhler.”
Mathias jumps and whirls around; Lukas is leaning on the doorframe and clearly has been there for a while. Oh, right. Lukas does not show up in mirrors, Mathias keeps forgetting that. “Yeah, Luk? What's up?”
“You need to run to the store. We're out of butter.”
“We got some just two days ago--”
“We are out,” Lukas says again, through gritted teeth for emphasis, “of butter. Go get some now.”
Mathias checks his watch before remembering that it's a super-spy relic pulled from a cereal box and does nearly everything but tell time; putting aside that idea, he pulls out his phone and checks that instead.
17.34 7.12.XX
“Sorry, man,” Mathias tells him regretfully, wondering if he could fit through the bathroom window. Yes, it's a four-story drop from there, but he's been practicing his barrel rolls. “Can't you go? I mean, you're not doing anything--”
“I am more busy than you could possibly imagine,” Lukas replies, and silently leaves the hall.
Mathias watches him go with his lips pressed in a thin line. Welp. That was Lukas for you, sometimes the guy makes sense and sometimes it's easier to understand Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Sometimes Mathias considers figuring that out so that he can apply Lukas, but the sensible part of his mind tells him that wouldn't work. Too bad, it would be cool to understand Relativity.
Five minutes later, Mathias has twenty minutes to get downtown and still be on time. He dashes out the door and down the stairs, leaving an angry Italian shouting insults at him in a strange mix of Italian, Danish and English while his brother yells, “Good luck signor!”
“What on?”
“I don't know, you just look like you're about to miss something important! Go go, don't stop to talk to me! Are you going to meet a girl? You should hurry! Especially if she's pretty, she's pretty right?”
“She's gorgeous.”
The other Italian's eyes widen and he reaches into the heavy load his foul-mouthed brother is carrying, pulling out a bright red carnation. “Give this to her!” he says. “Tell her how important she is and how much you love her, okay? Okay! Good!”
“Feli, leave the man alone,” the Italian grunts.
Other Italian ignores him. “My brother is just upset because his girlfriend dumped him the other day--”
“Feliciano.”
Mathias waves at them both. “Thanks a ton. And that sucks man, hope it works out for you!”
“Don't get involved, it's not your fucking business!”
“Lovino, he's just trying to be nice--”
“So is Carriedo most of the time. Look where it got him.”
Their conversation fades as Mathias runs out of the apartment building and into the streets of Copenhagen. It's not as gray as it was a few days ago; instead the night sky is going to be clear. If they were in the country, they might be able to see stars.
He decides not to take his bicycle because the coffee shop isn't that far away and it might mess up his perfectly scruffy hair, which Erzsi tells him is ridiculously attractive.
“I would bang that,” were her exact words.
“You'd fuck anything if it looked at you the right way,” he teased.
“Not anything. Wouldn't fuck the Romanian.”
Mathias had tossed a weight at her (they were at the gym) and she'd caught it effortlessly. “I thought you were over that?”
“Romanians, yes. Ionescu, no.”
And after that the conversation stopped being about him so he doesn't remember it quite as well.
People dash back and forth, on cars and bikes and in coats and dresses and pants in a blur of humanity. A doomsayer stands down on the corner of the street, calling out the imminent end of the world. Sometimes Mathias stops to talk to him and they get a beer together, he's a pretty nice guy, but today is not one of those days.
One would think a coffee shop would be pretty crowded on Friday night. This is true, it is pretty crowded, but Mathias spies Natalya sitting alone at a table in the corner with a mug of green tea held between her hands. There's a notebook in front of her and a pencil beside it; when he gets close (after checking his phone to ensure he isn't late) he sees that the pages are filled with Cyrillic, but look like they'd be poetry or lyrics to a song.
She doesn't notice him approach.
“Hey,” he says.
Natalya jumps ever so slightly, if he hadn't been paying strict attention he would have missed it. She turns to him, her eyes narrowed. “Let's get this over,” she says in English.
Mathias's heart sinks. He'd spent the last few days imagining conversations they'd have; things that always began with him complimenting her somehow and her denying it and complimenting him, no no I don't deserve those compliments, yes you do you're a hell of a guy, not really, well I think so and that's what matters. But every clever line, every greeting, every bit of advice he'd come up with or been given, flees his mind at that precise moment.
Except for--
“Give this to her! Tell her how important she is and how much you love her, okay? Okay! Good!”
Mathias suddenly remembers the red carnation in his hand. It's a little wilted from his furious running, but still good. He doesn't think that telling her how much he loves her is going to work on a first date, but maybe the little Italian was right about the flower.
“Well?” she demands, nodding at the seat across from her. It's the seat by the window, colder and more exposed to the public. Mathias quickly sits in it and holds out the flower.
“This is for you,” he says.
Natalya's eyes slowly go to the carnation, scrutinizing it with such a gaze that she could quite possibly vaporize it within seconds. Mathias hopes the watch will protect his hand from that, as advertised in episode 24 of Across The Multiverse starring Ludwig Beilschmidt as Commander Unnilineum.
She gingerly reaches out to take it.
“Mange tak.” Her voice is softer, sounds a little . . . confused, actually. Has Mathias done something right? She doesn't seem upset at all--
He smiles and replies in English, because he's still not sure how much Danish she knows. “You're welcome.”
She tucks the flower into her notebook, using it as a bookmark, then snaps it shut with unexpected ferocity. “Alright. You arranged this meeting, what is it you want to know?”
Mathias is momentarily at a loss for words until he remembers that he'd technically invited her here for an interview, not a date. “Ah, well.”
Natalya's gaze is expectant. Mathias would crumble under the pressure if he did not have Danish Viking Blood™ flowing through his veins. (Danish Viking Blood™ may cause allergic reactions, constipation, arthritis in later years, beer breath, urge to pillage the local church, an indescribable need to set things on fire, issues conversing, and more. Ask your doctor if Danish Viking Blood™ is right for you.)
“You're from Belarus, right? What do you think of Denmark so far?” he finally asks.
“Is decent enough,” she replies. “Serves its purpose.”
“What purpose is that?”
Mathias had thought Lukas was inhuman, but he revises this opinion when he sees just how narrow Natalya can make her eyes. Her expressions of disapproval rival no other's. “Is that needed information?”
“Um. . . yeah.”
She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “You don't even have notebook, or pencil, or . . . or something to record with. Are you taking this seriously?”
“Of course I am,” Mathias defensively replies. He is taking this seriously. He seriously wants to bone her.
“You don't even know how to do an interview.”
Probably shouldn't tell her that though.
“I'm done,” she continues, putting her notebook into her bag and buttoning her coat. “I have better things to do than deal with an idiot.”
Mathias opens his mouth to stop her, ask her to wait, do something to keep her from leaving quite this soon, but her cellphone does the job for her. She whips it out of her pocket and shouts What?! into the reciever.
Her skin pales as someone answers. She continues the conversation in venomous, almost muted Belarusian, Mathias pretends he is that one napkin people leave on the seat and pretend isn't there.
“Da,” she says eventually. “Poka.” She hangs up and tucks her phone back into her pocket. Then Natalya sits back down in her chair, bag slipping from her shoulder to the floor as she buries her face in her arms.
“That sounded pretty ugly,” Mathias says, wondering how one comforted the Belarusian girl one had only just met after she had a bitter spat with someone who was probably family. There ought to be a guide to this sort of thing. Maybe he could write one.
“Your opinion is not needed.”
Mathias frowns; Erzsebet had always taught him that when a girl was upset you gave her flowers and chocolate and told her she was beautiful and important no matter what; the latter two would be pretty weird, and he'd already done the flower thing, so dessert was all that was left. Good thing he'd forgotten to order a coffee earlier. “Hey, um. . . .”
“What.”
“Do you wanna get, I dunno, ice cream or something?”
She raises her head a bit, her bangs obscuring her eyes.
Mathias scratches the back of his head. “If you want. Like. We could go get something else, or I could walk you home, or just get lost. I've got a couple guys I could meet with, and I'm actually supposed to pick up butter on my way back I think. You don't care about my schedule though so why am I explaining it you?” He laughs. “I'll just go.”
“Ice cream would be nice.”
He's already standing up to leave and not expecting her to answer. When she does, he bangs his knee on the table and curses with words an older-fashioned man would believe a lady should never hear. Mathias, though, is friends with Erzsebet, who curses more than any man he's ever met. “Sorry-- what was that?”
She rolls her eyes. “I said that ice cream would be nice.”
Mathias brightens up immediately; he's sure that there's a dorky smile on his face, because as suave as he thinks his smiles are Lukas and Erzsi insist that he's a complete, total geek. He doesn't know what they're talking about. “Come on, then. Let's go.”
---------------------------
He takes her down to the frozen yogurt shop, owned and managed by this cool Greek guy Karpusi. Karpusi isn't there tonight, though, so Mathias assumes he's off on one of his weekly conquests and resolves to come by on Sunday to hear the gallant tale. Instead, there's one kid working and catering to a crowd. He's clearly still in high school and is behaving rather monstrously to the people coming in for their yogurt.
Natalya's characteristic scowl-slash-pout has returned to her face and only grows stronger as she surveys the room. “It's crowded,” she states.
“Never a truer statement,” Mathias compliments, earning himself a slap on the shoulder. He ignores it, because she's clearly been put in a bad mood by that phone call - he's not sure how he knows, he just does. They get a place in line. At least there aren't any screaming kids around, that makes things a little better. But there's a baby with his young mother and father sitting in the back whom Mathias eyes with suspicion; he'll have to act fast if he's going to absolve a potentional situation. He wonders if the mustache and soup can routine works as well on other babies as it did on Peter.
He mentally facepalms as he remembers he forgot his mustache and soup can. Oh well.
“But seriously,” Mathias says to Natalya, watching her examine the shop warily. “There's a reason it's so crowded. This place has the best frozen yogurt and ice cream and desserts of the cold variety in Copenhagen.”
“I'm sure it does,” she skeptically replies.
“No really, it does. Trust me.” He winks. “I run a blog.”
She rolls her eyes. He's pretty sure that's her ersatz laughter.
Eventually they get to the front of the line and the kid behind the counter (his nametag reads FuCK YOu, which is crossed out, and CAL in tiny letters below it). “What. Do you want?” he demands.
A guy older than him but not quite as mature-looking as Mathias emerges from a door in the back. He's dark-haired with green eyes and actually resembles Karpusi a bit; his name tag reads MARKO. “Cal,” he yells, “do you mind getting back here and explaining something to me?”
“I am serving a customer.”
“Then get back here and clean it up while I handle it!”
“Why should I?!”
“Just do it!”
“Fine!” Cal picks up a towel that's lying on one of the back counters for the express purpose of throwing it onto the ground before stomping back to the kitchen or whatever is behind that door. Mathias has to admire the little guy's dedication.
Marko comes out and ignores the towel, wiping his hands on his apron. There's a smear of yogurt on his cheek. “Sorry about that,” he says. “He's new.”
“I can tell,” Natalya dryly retorts. Mathias takes the conversation from there.
“We'll have two small chocolates,” he says. He'd get a large one for himself, but doesn't want to look like a pig.
“Just chocolate?” Marko asks, looking a bit surprised and disappointed.
“Yep. Just chocolate.”
“Are you sure? I'm good at yogurt, I can do everything on that menu and more.”
Natalya interrupts, “Yes. Just chocolate. Is not that hard.”
“If Cal put you off anything--”
“Listen, buddy, I don't know what's between you and Cal but we really do just want chocolate, 'kay? We're not yogurt connoisseurs or anything fancy like that.”
Marko's expression fades into a scowl. He mutters to himself as he gets them their chocolate and rings up the price, and as soon as they've got their yogurt in hand, they leave.
The streets are still as busy as they were about half an hour ago, when Mathias ran into the coffee shop with a wilted red carnation, but he takes her down to a quieter area near the park. It's less touristy down here in the older part of the city, not as many people and more lights. He thinks she'll appreciate the quiet.
Turns out, he's right. Natalya eats her yogurt slowly, savoring every bite as she shivers in the cold.
“Worth it, right?” Mathias asks.
“You didn't tell me there would be imbeciles working there.”
“Eh, there usually aren't. The manager was out tonight, though. You'd like him. He's quiet, minds his own business.” Mathias tosses his empty cup of yogurt into a trashbin, along with the plastic spoon. “And the yogurt and ice cream is the best in Copenhagen, I swear. Try any other place, you're not gonna find them. I did this whole video about it on my blog.”
“That infamous blog,” Natalya muses. “I wonder what is even about.”
“It's a guide to Copenhagen,” Mathias replies. “I basically go around with my buddy Lukas and find all the best places, give out tips and tricks. It's for expats kind of, which is why I make him and this guy Alfred help me. Luk is from Norway, Al's American. We have fun.”
Natalya slowly takes another bite, her lips closing sensually over the spoon. Mathias wonders if that's on purpose and decides it probably isn't. “Why interview me, then?”
A huge sinkhole opens up in the ground and swallows Mathias whole, letting him fall to a fiery death at the center of the earth as Natalya screams his name at the top of her lungs.
Alas, that doesn't happen.
Mathias wishes it would though.
“I like to talk to people who look like they're new here,” he says. “See what their problems are, what kinds of info I need to put on the blog. Most say the same thing, but sometimes there's a really unique problem that needs addressing.” He winks at her. “Never met someone from Belarus before. I figured it could be a cool conversation.”
Natalya nods. “Is a clever excuse, assuming you actually wanted to conduct such an interview. As is, you didn't come prepared to do anything at all. So I don't believe it.”
“Yes.”
Mathias’s expression of pure disappointment isn’t enough to dissuade her.
In the end, he walks her back to her hotel and bids her good-night, and expresses his desire to see her again shortly. That seems like the proper thing to do with a date one enjoyed, after all - right?
Apparently not.
She closes the door in his face.
----------------------
Saturday morning dawns and Natalya refuses to get out of bed until at least nine fifty-eight - her logic is that it's late enough she's sleeping in, but can say she woke at nine without lying. Natalya has no qualms with lying, but the best lies have something of the truth woven within.
Her phone goes off and her eyes shoot open, heart rate increasing before she notices that it's the alarm and not the ringer. She sighs and relaxes, letting the familiar tone whine itself into oblivion.
About a minute later she turns over and scrabbles to turn it off, her hair falling in her face and blinding her. It remains this way as she crawls out of bed and pulls open the shades, revealing an already busy city down below. People commuting, tourists complaining, bicycles and cars narrowly avoiding crashing into each other. There's an old beggar down at the corner of a street, his smell repelling anyone who might want to hear his message. She stares absently at it for a moment before heading to the bathroom to shower.
When she gets out, swathed in towels in an attempt to fend off the cold, her phone alerts her to a new message.
Katyusha Braginskaya: Sestra, where are you? please come home :(
Natalya sighs. She didn't need that this early in the morning, not from her elder sister. Unable to resist replying, she sends back,
Natalya Arlovskaya: i won't tell you, and no
Katyusha Braginskaya: Why not?
Natalya Arlovskaya: it's none of your business.
Katyusha Braginskaya: But it's almost Christmas, nat! don't you want to be here for it?
Natalya Arlovskaya: no
Katyusha Braginskaya: D:
Emoticons shouldn't be able to communicate quite as much as they do when Katyusha uses them. Natalya purses her lips and deletes the conversation, then mutes the volume and shoves the device to the bottom of her bag.
Half an hour later her hair is still wet, but she's fully dressed and already in a horrible mood. Headphones and an antisocial attitude ensure that no one bothers her as she leaves the hotel and wanders across the street to the coffee shop, gazing at it for a minute before turning right and seeing if she can remember the way to the park that Mathias had showed her the night before.
It takes her much longer to find it than it had while in his company, but in the daylight it's easier to map out the route in her head and she's sure she can find her way back.
The park is much busier today than it was last night. Understandable, despite the cold. There are mothers chatting and small children running around their legs, everyone speaking and Natalya only catching a word every so often. She hasn't tried very hard to learn Danish, honestly. She only flew in a few days ago and didn't intend on staying long, just long enough to get a breath of fresh air and the slight adrenaline rush of making her way in a foreign country. She can buy food and call the police (she's been able to call the police in eighteen languages since twelve years of age) but otherwise, she has to navigate in English. Which isn't terrible, to be honest. Better than Russian.
It's actually quite nice. The park, with the children and mothers and dogs and the abandoned birds' nests sitting at the tops of trees. The grass is yellow and the few leaves that haven't been raked are old, brown and crackled, but it doesn't feel dead. It feels very alive.
Sitting against a tree, Natalya pulls out her notebook and pencil and stares at the lined page, trying to think of words to put down.
“Hey, hi, Natalya!”
She's not sure how much time has passed when she looks up and sees Mathias standing in front of her. (Actually, she sees Mathias's crotch before flushing and looking further up.) He's smiling broadly, hands thrust in his pockets. “Hello,” she replies, taking her headphones out and draping them around her neck.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Whatcha doin'?”
Instinctively, she closes the notebook, despite the fact that it remains blank. “Nothing.”
Mathias nods, and there is an awkward silence before he sits beside her. “Nothing can be pretty stressful.”
“You have no idea,” Natalya replies, running a hand through her hair in an attempt to fix it. “Sometimes I wonder why I try. Is extremely unrewarding.”
“Why's that?”
“Writing is painful. Not writing is also painful. I can never win, except when I'm paid. And then the things they pay me for are the things I don't like, not the ones I am proud of.”
Mathias grimaces sympathetically. “I get that. The stuff you actually put work into, it's not appreciated. Happens with blogs too. They like the ridiculous shit, that makes them laugh.”
“People. They have no idea what quality is. I read that new novel, the one with all the different colors that were the same color . . . ?”
“Fifty Shades of Grey?”
“Yes, that. It sucked.”
Mathias laughs. “I know exactly what you mean. I tried to read it, but I could never get into the literary porn stuff.”
Natalya smirks. Mathias flushes as he realizes what he said.
“I mean, like,” he tries to dig himself out, “I need something that's got a better plot, that isn't just smut, over and over and . . . .”
She pats his arm, laughing. He laughs too.
“Lukas - the Norwegian who smells like fish, you met him - he likes it. He'll deny it until teenagers stop complaining about having to read Dostoevsky, but he keeps a copy of the whole series under his bed.”
“. . . There are other books?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my god.”
Mathias's phone beeps; he pulls it out and looks at it briefly before rolling his eyes. “Friend of mine,” he explains. “Being obnoxious.”
“How so?”
“Ah, well.” Mathias laughs. “We were kind of hanging out and then I saw you here, and started talking, and she made me come over and say 'hi' and now she's stalking us from that tree over there.”
Natalya sits up to look at where he's pointing, but he pushes her shoulder back gently. “Don't look now. You'll encourage her.”
“Some friend.” Natalya scowls.
“No, no, she's not like that. She's a great girl,” Mathias says. “She's just really invested in others' lives and I haven't told her to back off yet. I bet you'd like her, actually, everyone does.”
Natalya is skeptical.
“Come on, you wanna meet her?”
She opens her mouth to protest, but not before Mathias picks up his phone and sends a text.
“Okay, here she comes!”
From behind the tree Mathias had pointed at, a tall woman emerges and jogs over to them, her brown hair falling out of its loose bun. She waves, and calls something in Danish. Mathias answers as he stands; Natalya follows suit.
“Nat, this is Erzsébet. Erzsi, Natalya!”
Erzsébet holds out a hand, smiling brilliantly. “Mathias talks about you all the time,” she says. “It's refreshing to hear him natter on about something worth hearing.”
Natalya isn't sure if that's an insult or a compliment, so she remains neutral. She doesn't know if she likes Erzsébet yet. Taking the woman’s hand, she says, “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Erzsébet shakes it firmly. “What are we doing today, then?”
“Well,” Mathias begins, “there’s this great new exhibit at the mall for that new video ga-”
Erzsébet rolls her eyes and reprimands, “Natalya isn’t interested in a video game, idiot.”
Actually, Natalya wants to say, I’ll be interested depending on what game it is, but Erzsébet is already carrying the conversation forward.
“What do you think of knives?”
Natalya does a double take. “I am sorry. . . ?”
“Knives,” Erzsébet repeats.
Mathias groans. “She’s obsessed,” he explains to Natalya, “with all kinds of weapons and shit. Kind of a gross fetish if you ask me.”
“It’s not a fetish, it’s a completely natural interest.”
“Killing people isn’t an interest.”
“Yes it is,” Natalya says at the same time as Erzsébet , who can’t resist a laugh. Natalya grins slightly.
“See? This girl knows how it is,” Erzsébet says. “You go see your video game with all your gamer buddies and we’ll take a detour for knives.”
Natalya doesn’t see Erzsébet wink at Mathias, or the expression of sudden realization that follows.
----------------------
The mall is not the one Natalya had seen upon her initial arrival, but rather a smaller one, tucked out of the way in a corner of the city. It’s hardly even a mall, more of an outdoor bazaar with a covering over it, but she doesn’t mind. Mathias runs into a couple of guys he addresses as Gilbert and Sadik and they run off, leaving Natalya in Erzsébet’s company.
Natalya hadn’t realized quite how nervous she was about this until Mathias left.
“So,” Erzsébet says, her hands thrust into her pockets (she wears men’s cargo pants, they are slung low on her hips and she walks with a confidence Natalya doesn’t see often) as they stride down the street, “what’s your story?”
“Not much to it,” Natalya tells her, her words clipped. “Uninteresting. You don’t want to hear it.”
Erzsébet is clearly more sensitive than Mathias, and she gives Natalya a sympathetic look before changing the subject. “I’ve lived here nearly all my life,” she says. “Used to spend summers near Budapest, with my grandparents. Nice folks. My grandad did a lot of riding and knifework, he used to be in the army. So he taught me most of what I know. The first thing I did, as soon as I was old enough to wander around by myself, was find this little hole-in-the-wall.”
Erzsébet, with a sweep of her hand a grin on her face, shows a little door into a building that must have been here since Copenhagen was founded. Natalya grasps the metal knob and twists it; the door creaks as it opens.
“Velkommen, Damer!” a cheery voice cries from inside. The store is brightly lit, with as many windows as could possibly be crammed into the walls as well as electric lamps. Shining, glittering sheathes and knives of all kinds and nationalities line the walls.
“English, Timo!” Erzsébet replies.
“Alright!” the voice calls back. A man emerges from the back where he’d been sweeping; his blond hair is lighter and straighter than Mathias’s, his eyes a blue that may or may not be violet. “Hello Erzsébet, I didn’t expect you until next week!”
“Do I come that often?” The broom continues to sweep of its own accord.
“Yes, but it’s good business.” Timo turns to Natalya and holds his hand up to his mouth, as if to shield the conversation from Erzsébet, “This young lady is a walking advertisement. Nearly everyone who comes in has been referred by her! I couldn’t get more business if I invested in a TV commercial.”
“I can hear you,” Erzsébet says, scowling.
“Of course you can’t!” Timo smiles and pats her shoulder. “How can I help you, miss . . . ?”
“Arlovskaya,” Natalya says immediately. “Natalya Arlovskaya.”
Having her own name is another thing she loves about other countries.
“The poet?” Timo’s eyes widen.
Slightly surprised, Natalya says, “You have heard of me?”
“Heard of you? I have every volume of your work! It’s fantastic stuff, really, though you have definitely improved with age. I didn’t expect you to be so young! How old are you, seventeen, eighteen?”
It is Natalya’s turn to scowl as she says, “I’m twenty-four.”
“My eyesight must be going, how could I have not realized?”
Erzsébet lightly punches Timo’s arm. “Your eyesight’s great, don’t see yourself short. He can hit the center of a target from a hundred meters away.”
“It’s not that far,” Timo protests, blushing and chuckling.
“Farther.”
The banter continues, while Natalya’s insides feel unfamiliarly bubbly at having been recognized for her poetry. A little while later, though Natalya again doesn’t notice, Timo has disappeared somewhere and Erzsébet is grinning at her. “So. What are you into? Whatever it is, Timo’s got it, I swear.”
“. . . Anything?”
“Anything.”
Forty minutes later, Natalya is actually laughing and leaving the shop with Erzsébet, shopping bags dangling from both their wrists as they walk back out into the cold December sun.
“You would never believe it,” Erzsébet says, “but I used to terrify my grandma by riding bareback and launching knives, or arrows, or whatever projectile I could get my hands on at targets. You’d think with my family she would be used to it, but nope.”
“Terrifying people is half the fun though,” Natalya agrees. “Break-ups tend to go well.”
“Fuck yes they do. The look of utter fear on their faces when you get angry!”
“Once, in school,” Natalya says, “there was a horror movie that was all the rage. All of the boys loved to play at it, sneaking up behind each other and pretending to kill and be killed. I asked to play one day, and they laughed at me, but told me to be the murderer. They all ran off to hide, and each time I found one I would pull out my pocket knife and tell them to scream and then stay put until I told them to come out.”
“That’s actually awesome.”
Natalya smiles. “I got in trouble with the school for it, and my elder sister was upset, but my brother and I thought it was a great joke.”
“You talk about your brother a lot,” Erzsébet says. “He sounds like a great guy.”
“He is,” Natalya immediately agrees.
“Do you miss him?”
“I always miss him.”
“Why don’t you go home for Christmas, then?” she asks. “Is it your sister?”
Natalya’s smile fades and she avoids Erzsébet’s eyes. “No, not her. I love my sister too.”
Erzsébet’s voice is gentle as she continues, “Why are you here, then? You’re kind of far from home.”
Natalya doesn’t answer.
Erzsébet nods. “Okay.”
They meet up with Mathias again at a roasted nuts stand. Mathias buys some for them both and puts a red ribbon on Natalya’s; where he got it, she’s not sure. The nuts are sweet and salty at the same time, and they warm Natalya’s insides in a way hot chocolate or coffee or tea never could. She stammers out a surprised thank you as Erzsébet winks at her.
“You know,” Erzsébet says, “there’s a new Bonnefoy movie out in the cinema.”
Mathias grimaces. “Isn’t he that guy that does all the chick flicks?”
Erzsébet sticks her tongue out at Mathias. “Yes, but he does other stuff too. This one’s an action-mystery. You know, the one that we thought was ripping off Sherlock Holmes?”
“If is action-mystery it probably is ripping off Sherlock Holmes,” Natalya comments.
“Plus he’s a crappy actor,” Mathias adds.
Natalya agrees with a sagely nod.
“Fuck you both,” Erzsébet retorts, “Francis Bonnefoy is the shit.”
“I dunno, Erzsi. Where are you going with this?”
Erzsébet grabs both of their shoulders, her bag from Vainamoinen’s banging into Natalya’s back. “You should both go see it!”
Natalya and Mathias exchange a skeptical glance.
“Aw, c’mon. You would love it. And even if you don’t, there are other things one can do in a movie theater besides watch a movie.” Erzsébet’s eyebrows are raised high, and then higher, and then higher, until they finally shriek like bald eagles and fly off into the sun never to be seen or heard from again.
Natalya is torn between flushing, glaring, stabbing, and suddenly dying of leprosy. Mathias seems the same, at least, but Erzsébet-
-has disappeared, incidentally.
“Where did she go. . . ?!” Natalya demands, glancing this way and that, but can’t see the bright green of the woman’s coat anywhere.
“I have no clue,” Mathias sighs. “She has this bad habit of doing that.”
Natalya presses her lips into a thin line. “What do we do now?”
Mathias pulls his hand out of his pocket. There are three slips of paper; two look like movie tickets, and the third merely has a winking smiley face with a little pink flower on it. Mathias inhales sharply and looks away from the third slip before handing it to Natalya.
hey mathias, I took the liberty of stealing your phone. I’ll be waiting at the movie theater when the 15.00 showing is over. have fun ;)
“I guess we’re going to the movies,” he replies.
----------------------------
The cinema isn’t particularly crowded at three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Despite having been forced into it by Erzsébet (which was extremely rude but also admirable in a sense), Mathias bought Natalya chocolate when she didn’t want popcorn and got a soft drink for himself, and they found decent seats in the theater that weren’t behind any particularly tall, fat, or disgusting people and weren’t in front of children. There was a family of four from Australia down at the end of the row, but the youngest was perhaps eight and none was terribly bothersome.
“I actually love going to see movies,” Mathias says. “So does Al. Lukas never wants to come, though, he always waits for the DVD.”
“I don’t go often,” Natalya replies.
“Aw. Why not?”
“Don’t care for them.” She carefully opens her box of chocolates and pulls one out, eating it slowly. “Theaters are gross, movies are dull, and there are far too many people. I like to sit at home or in a library and read a book.”
“Books are cool,” Mathias acknowledges, “but I never had a lot of patience for reading. I wasn’t too good at it as a kid. I’m better at it now, I mean, I like to read aloud to my nephews and the kids I look after sometimes on weekends. They say I’m especially good at pirates and vikings.”
Natalya chuckles. “Sounds right. They are as brutish as you are.”
Mathias feigns offense. “That hurt.”
“Much like your hair. How much gel do you put in to make it that hard?”
He grins. “Since when are you this snarky?”
She merely eats another chocolate.
The movie is an action-mystery starring Francis Bonnefoy as the renowned ex-policeman and Andries “Ned” Sinterklaas as a Dutch junkie whom he must ally with in order to outwit and outlast the mastermind behind all of the villainy throughout the movie, played by Roderich Edelstein. It is an American film and definitely a rip-off of Sherlock Holmes, but there are some nice twists and minimal romance, which both Mathias and Natalya appreciate.
Somewhere halfway through, Mathias tries to put his arm around Natalya’s shoulders, and she gives him a glare that would scare the bravest soldier shitless. He settles for leaning on her chair.
They emerge from the theater with Natalya giving it a detailed critique on what exactly it did wrong and how it could have changed it.
“Did you even enjoy it?” Mathias eventually demands. “Even a little bit?”
“Yes,” Natalya replies. “Obviously.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She holds up a finger. “You see, it was not beyond salvaging. If I’d hated it I wouldn’t bother.”
He raises an eyebrow, but nods.
Erzsébet is waiting for them in the lobby, munching on popcorn herself. She has miraculously reattained her eyebrows. “So, how was it?”
Neither says anything.
“Hah! I knew you would like it!”
“Give me my phone, Erzsi.” Mathias holds out a hand. She complies and pulls it out of her back pocket.
“So, you guys gonna go get dinner or what?”
“I,” Mathias begins, but with his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out he takes on the image of a giant fish.
Natalya comes to his rescue. “No, that’s fine,” she says. “I have had a long day. A book and a bed sounds nice.”
“Hey, if you want dinner, I have no problem-”
“No, really.” She pats his arm. “All good.”
“Nat-”
“Mathias. Shut the fuck up.”
Erzsébet stays out of the conversation.
------------------------------
Katyusha Braginskaya: Nat, I know you are having problems or you are angry with us or something, actually I don’t know at all
Katyusha Braginskaya: but we really want you to come home please
Katyusha Braginskaya: before something bad happens and we can’t see you anymore ;A;
Katyusha Braginskaya: ivan misses you very badly sestra
Katyusha Braginskaya: very badly ;~;
------------------------------------------
Part 2
Author kahlanaisling
Recipient mi3star
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing Denmark/Belarus
Rating: G
Warning: none i can think of!
Word Count: 11,515
Summary: The last thing Natalya expected for Christmas was to get involved with an eccentric blogger from Copenhagen.
[camera flickers to life; it's an old model, but still functions well enough for the face of an extremely tall Dane with rather squarish features. His hair seems to defy gravity, much like his cheerful attitude, as he smiles boldly at the camera and speaks in rather accented English.]
“Hej, everyone! I'm your friendly neighborhood blogger, Mathias Køhler, and this--”
[the camera suddenly blurs and briefly reveals an even paler blond male, his hair pulled back and held with a cross-shaped clip. He glares at the camera with clear animosity, as if it fucked his mother.]
“--is Lukas! Say hi to the people, Lukas!”
“No.”
“Isn't he great?”
[the camera returns to a close-up of Mathias's nose]
“Anyway,” Mathias continues rather loudly; his voice is scratchy on the recording, “we're the muns of Bacon, Axe & Butter and this is the glorious city of Copenhagen! As you can plainly see, for our weekly Godly Guide we're close to the middle of the city and there's a hell of a lot of fancy architecture and bicycles, can't have a Danish city without a proper bicycle ya know. Check it out, Lukas even brought his!”
[pan to a sleek, expensive bicycle Lukas is walking beside]
“He's pretty rude about it though. Has a bad habit of riding so fast and far ahead that I can't keep up! The fuck is up with that? I'm offended, Lukie.”
“Your face is offensive,” Lukas replies.
“Damn it, my face is great, and I'll even prove it to you tonight! 'Cause guess what we're here to do?” Mathias says as the camera comes back to his face, thankfully on his eyes this time instead of his obnoxious nosehairs.
“Embarrass ourselves?”
“Close!”
[there is a dramatic zoom. Mathias raises an eyebrow as if about to confide in the viewer a perilous secret; the effect, however, is lost due to his and Lukas's still-moving state and the camera bounces up and down]
“We're going to show you how to pick up a super mega foxy awesome hot date in Co--!”
[the world suddenly spins and colors flash as the camera clatters to the ground; it lands on its side and reveals Mathias struggling on the ground with a small girl on top of him]
“Haaaaawhoa!” Mathias spits out some of her hair.
“Get off of me, get off of me!”
“I can't if you're on top of me though--”
[as the girl devolves into cursing in some Slavic language, Lukas picks up the camera and makes a few adjustments, then holds it far more steadily and at a much better angle than Mathias did; specifically, facing his left side, which is his good side]
“Humiliating Mathias in Copenhagen, scene one, take one, and that's a wrap.”
[ftb]
---------------------------
The girl's name is Natalya Braginskaya, she's some distant relation to Ivan Braginsky (who, according to Lukas, is some sort of Russian mafiya overlord), and she likes to drink coffee even blacker than Lukas does. At least Lukas likes a bit of sugar in his, just a tad, barely noticeable really. Mathias can't notice it anyway.
She's dressed like she has money and acts like it, too - actually she kind of reminds him of Lukas all around. He wishes the camera hadn't broken in the fall so he could film this for his blog, because she's hot and they're in a coffee shop and it's all pretty perfect, actually.
“I should call my lawyer,” she mutters to herself under her breath for the fifth time, or maybe the eighth. Her English isn't as good as theirs.
Lukas exasperatedly puts his mug down on the table. “You ran into us,” he says.
“Me,” Mathias corrects, quickly swallowing his coffee. It's black; he's not as fond of black coffee, but he can't let Lukas or heaven forbid Natalya think he's a wus.
“We should call our lawyers.”
Mathias doesn't have a lawyer, except when Lukas is inclined to rant to him about health care.
Natalya seems to pick up on this, because she raises one thin eyebrow with an expression that is surely judging them before taking another contemptuous sip of her coffee. Lukas matches her attitude and even mirrors her actions, and Mathias is sure that if he were psychic he would be able to hear the rapid-fire back and forth argument going on between the two of them.
This goes on for about thirty seconds before Mathias gets bored and sighs loudly. Natalya clears her throat, Lukas breaks the gaze, and Mathias wonders if Natalya will let him pay for the drinks. Probably. She doesn't seem inclined to do much of anything for herself.
Which is, you know, okay. It would be weird to have a girl want to pay for her own meal. It would make Mathias feel like he's not pulling his own weight or something. Lukas probably wouldn't care, he's such a penny-pincher that the less he can spend, the better. How he ever gets a date is beyond Mathias.
Natalya tosses her hair, white-blonde strands falling around her shoulders, and says, “The least you can do is pay for my drink. Maybe then I'll forget about my twisted ankle.”
She didn't twist her ankle, that's pretty obvious, but she did make a scene about it a while ago and isn't a bad actress. Mathias doesn't know much about law but if she brought her rich lawyers into it he doesn't think Lukas would win.
He sees Lukas open his mouth to say no and automatically interrupts with “Sure.”
Now it's Lukas's turn to give him a condescending, somewhat surprised look. What? Mathias mouths. She's hot.
Lukas mouths something in return. Mathias doesn't know what it is. He digs out some cash and puts it on the table. Lukas's face has returned to its normal, bored state, but it's clear he doesn't want to deal with this shit any longer as he stands and leaves the table. It's not a big loss. “There you go,” Mathias says, giving Natalya a bright smile.
She thinks he's an idiot.
His smile fades ever so slightly.
Natalya takes the money and subtly counts it. Mathias is a little offended that she so clearly doesn't trust him. He's startled, though, when she mutters “Thank you” so softly he can barely hear it.
“You're welcome,” he replies automatically.
Her eyes, which are a steely blue, flicker briefly at him and then back to the money. She puts it in her wallet and stands up to leave. “Wait,” Mathias says before she can.
“What do you want?”
And this is where Mathias usually endless supply of words completely abandons him to the cold wasteland that is talking to a pretty girl. He sits there with his mouth opened embarrassingly while she loses her patience.
“I,” he says, trying to buy himself time. “I run a blog.”
“So?”
“I was wondering,” he continues slowly, “if you'd meet me again sometime. To do an interview.”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth he's beating himself up for them and trying to figure out why his parents never gave him foolproof tips on picking up girls that actually seem worth something because this is impossible and why did he try to get a hot Belarusian chick?
She adjusts the strap of her bag from one shoulder to the other, her gaze slipping away from him and down to the linoleum floor as she purses her lips. It's only a few seconds, but seems an eternity to Mathias as she considers her answer.
Her head abruptly snaps up and she replies, “Here. Friday. Six at night. Don't be late.”
Before he can truly process that she's said yes and he's actually doing something over the weekend now, she's walked away.
--------------------------------
Mathias spends the next few days with the thought process of a dog. Food, sleep, holiest god above in heaven I actually have a date with a hot Russian, squirrel, food, sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat with minor variety, and Lukas quickly becomes infuriated.
(At some point there actually is a squirrel outside the window and Mathias spends a good half-hour pretending to be Steve Irwin, complete with a bad Australian accent. He posts the video on his blog and it goes viral for a few hours. He celebrates his internet fame by treating Lukas and himself to beer. In other words, a normal Thursday night.)
“Mathias.”
Mathias is looking in the mirror on Friday at five thirty-two p.m. He's concerned about that red mark in the corner of his forehead, is that a pimple? He's not all that sure because he never put much stock in his appearance, his hair always just seemed to fall into place and that was that. He'd ask Lukas, because Lukas would know, but. . . Lukas.
“Mathias.”
“Yeah?” Probably a pimple, he decides as Lukas's voice goes in one ear and out the other. Shit. He grabs Lukas's comb and tries to brush his hair over it, but it bounces back into place. He remembers a trick Erzsi told him about a while ago, something about make up, but for all of Lukas's girliness he doesn't have any blush or eye liner or foundation or what the fuck is Erzsebet even talking about half the time, anyway?
“Mathias fucking Køhler.”
Mathias jumps and whirls around; Lukas is leaning on the doorframe and clearly has been there for a while. Oh, right. Lukas does not show up in mirrors, Mathias keeps forgetting that. “Yeah, Luk? What's up?”
“You need to run to the store. We're out of butter.”
“We got some just two days ago--”
“We are out,” Lukas says again, through gritted teeth for emphasis, “of butter. Go get some now.”
Mathias checks his watch before remembering that it's a super-spy relic pulled from a cereal box and does nearly everything but tell time; putting aside that idea, he pulls out his phone and checks that instead.
17.34 7.12.XX
“Sorry, man,” Mathias tells him regretfully, wondering if he could fit through the bathroom window. Yes, it's a four-story drop from there, but he's been practicing his barrel rolls. “Can't you go? I mean, you're not doing anything--”
“I am more busy than you could possibly imagine,” Lukas replies, and silently leaves the hall.
Mathias watches him go with his lips pressed in a thin line. Welp. That was Lukas for you, sometimes the guy makes sense and sometimes it's easier to understand Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Sometimes Mathias considers figuring that out so that he can apply Lukas, but the sensible part of his mind tells him that wouldn't work. Too bad, it would be cool to understand Relativity.
Five minutes later, Mathias has twenty minutes to get downtown and still be on time. He dashes out the door and down the stairs, leaving an angry Italian shouting insults at him in a strange mix of Italian, Danish and English while his brother yells, “Good luck signor!”
“What on?”
“I don't know, you just look like you're about to miss something important! Go go, don't stop to talk to me! Are you going to meet a girl? You should hurry! Especially if she's pretty, she's pretty right?”
“She's gorgeous.”
The other Italian's eyes widen and he reaches into the heavy load his foul-mouthed brother is carrying, pulling out a bright red carnation. “Give this to her!” he says. “Tell her how important she is and how much you love her, okay? Okay! Good!”
“Feli, leave the man alone,” the Italian grunts.
Other Italian ignores him. “My brother is just upset because his girlfriend dumped him the other day--”
“Feliciano.”
Mathias waves at them both. “Thanks a ton. And that sucks man, hope it works out for you!”
“Don't get involved, it's not your fucking business!”
“Lovino, he's just trying to be nice--”
“So is Carriedo most of the time. Look where it got him.”
Their conversation fades as Mathias runs out of the apartment building and into the streets of Copenhagen. It's not as gray as it was a few days ago; instead the night sky is going to be clear. If they were in the country, they might be able to see stars.
He decides not to take his bicycle because the coffee shop isn't that far away and it might mess up his perfectly scruffy hair, which Erzsi tells him is ridiculously attractive.
“I would bang that,” were her exact words.
“You'd fuck anything if it looked at you the right way,” he teased.
“Not anything. Wouldn't fuck the Romanian.”
Mathias had tossed a weight at her (they were at the gym) and she'd caught it effortlessly. “I thought you were over that?”
“Romanians, yes. Ionescu, no.”
And after that the conversation stopped being about him so he doesn't remember it quite as well.
People dash back and forth, on cars and bikes and in coats and dresses and pants in a blur of humanity. A doomsayer stands down on the corner of the street, calling out the imminent end of the world. Sometimes Mathias stops to talk to him and they get a beer together, he's a pretty nice guy, but today is not one of those days.
One would think a coffee shop would be pretty crowded on Friday night. This is true, it is pretty crowded, but Mathias spies Natalya sitting alone at a table in the corner with a mug of green tea held between her hands. There's a notebook in front of her and a pencil beside it; when he gets close (after checking his phone to ensure he isn't late) he sees that the pages are filled with Cyrillic, but look like they'd be poetry or lyrics to a song.
She doesn't notice him approach.
“Hey,” he says.
Natalya jumps ever so slightly, if he hadn't been paying strict attention he would have missed it. She turns to him, her eyes narrowed. “Let's get this over,” she says in English.
Mathias's heart sinks. He'd spent the last few days imagining conversations they'd have; things that always began with him complimenting her somehow and her denying it and complimenting him, no no I don't deserve those compliments, yes you do you're a hell of a guy, not really, well I think so and that's what matters. But every clever line, every greeting, every bit of advice he'd come up with or been given, flees his mind at that precise moment.
Except for--
“Give this to her! Tell her how important she is and how much you love her, okay? Okay! Good!”
Mathias suddenly remembers the red carnation in his hand. It's a little wilted from his furious running, but still good. He doesn't think that telling her how much he loves her is going to work on a first date, but maybe the little Italian was right about the flower.
“Well?” she demands, nodding at the seat across from her. It's the seat by the window, colder and more exposed to the public. Mathias quickly sits in it and holds out the flower.
“This is for you,” he says.
Natalya's eyes slowly go to the carnation, scrutinizing it with such a gaze that she could quite possibly vaporize it within seconds. Mathias hopes the watch will protect his hand from that, as advertised in episode 24 of Across The Multiverse starring Ludwig Beilschmidt as Commander Unnilineum.
She gingerly reaches out to take it.
“Mange tak.” Her voice is softer, sounds a little . . . confused, actually. Has Mathias done something right? She doesn't seem upset at all--
He smiles and replies in English, because he's still not sure how much Danish she knows. “You're welcome.”
She tucks the flower into her notebook, using it as a bookmark, then snaps it shut with unexpected ferocity. “Alright. You arranged this meeting, what is it you want to know?”
Mathias is momentarily at a loss for words until he remembers that he'd technically invited her here for an interview, not a date. “Ah, well.”
Natalya's gaze is expectant. Mathias would crumble under the pressure if he did not have Danish Viking Blood™ flowing through his veins. (Danish Viking Blood™ may cause allergic reactions, constipation, arthritis in later years, beer breath, urge to pillage the local church, an indescribable need to set things on fire, issues conversing, and more. Ask your doctor if Danish Viking Blood™ is right for you.)
“You're from Belarus, right? What do you think of Denmark so far?” he finally asks.
“Is decent enough,” she replies. “Serves its purpose.”
“What purpose is that?”
Mathias had thought Lukas was inhuman, but he revises this opinion when he sees just how narrow Natalya can make her eyes. Her expressions of disapproval rival no other's. “Is that needed information?”
“Um. . . yeah.”
She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “You don't even have notebook, or pencil, or . . . or something to record with. Are you taking this seriously?”
“Of course I am,” Mathias defensively replies. He is taking this seriously. He seriously wants to bone her.
“You don't even know how to do an interview.”
Probably shouldn't tell her that though.
“I'm done,” she continues, putting her notebook into her bag and buttoning her coat. “I have better things to do than deal with an idiot.”
Mathias opens his mouth to stop her, ask her to wait, do something to keep her from leaving quite this soon, but her cellphone does the job for her. She whips it out of her pocket and shouts What?! into the reciever.
Her skin pales as someone answers. She continues the conversation in venomous, almost muted Belarusian, Mathias pretends he is that one napkin people leave on the seat and pretend isn't there.
“Da,” she says eventually. “Poka.” She hangs up and tucks her phone back into her pocket. Then Natalya sits back down in her chair, bag slipping from her shoulder to the floor as she buries her face in her arms.
“That sounded pretty ugly,” Mathias says, wondering how one comforted the Belarusian girl one had only just met after she had a bitter spat with someone who was probably family. There ought to be a guide to this sort of thing. Maybe he could write one.
“Your opinion is not needed.”
Mathias frowns; Erzsebet had always taught him that when a girl was upset you gave her flowers and chocolate and told her she was beautiful and important no matter what; the latter two would be pretty weird, and he'd already done the flower thing, so dessert was all that was left. Good thing he'd forgotten to order a coffee earlier. “Hey, um. . . .”
“What.”
“Do you wanna get, I dunno, ice cream or something?”
She raises her head a bit, her bangs obscuring her eyes.
Mathias scratches the back of his head. “If you want. Like. We could go get something else, or I could walk you home, or just get lost. I've got a couple guys I could meet with, and I'm actually supposed to pick up butter on my way back I think. You don't care about my schedule though so why am I explaining it you?” He laughs. “I'll just go.”
“Ice cream would be nice.”
He's already standing up to leave and not expecting her to answer. When she does, he bangs his knee on the table and curses with words an older-fashioned man would believe a lady should never hear. Mathias, though, is friends with Erzsebet, who curses more than any man he's ever met. “Sorry-- what was that?”
She rolls her eyes. “I said that ice cream would be nice.”
Mathias brightens up immediately; he's sure that there's a dorky smile on his face, because as suave as he thinks his smiles are Lukas and Erzsi insist that he's a complete, total geek. He doesn't know what they're talking about. “Come on, then. Let's go.”
---------------------------
He takes her down to the frozen yogurt shop, owned and managed by this cool Greek guy Karpusi. Karpusi isn't there tonight, though, so Mathias assumes he's off on one of his weekly conquests and resolves to come by on Sunday to hear the gallant tale. Instead, there's one kid working and catering to a crowd. He's clearly still in high school and is behaving rather monstrously to the people coming in for their yogurt.
Natalya's characteristic scowl-slash-pout has returned to her face and only grows stronger as she surveys the room. “It's crowded,” she states.
“Never a truer statement,” Mathias compliments, earning himself a slap on the shoulder. He ignores it, because she's clearly been put in a bad mood by that phone call - he's not sure how he knows, he just does. They get a place in line. At least there aren't any screaming kids around, that makes things a little better. But there's a baby with his young mother and father sitting in the back whom Mathias eyes with suspicion; he'll have to act fast if he's going to absolve a potentional situation. He wonders if the mustache and soup can routine works as well on other babies as it did on Peter.
He mentally facepalms as he remembers he forgot his mustache and soup can. Oh well.
“But seriously,” Mathias says to Natalya, watching her examine the shop warily. “There's a reason it's so crowded. This place has the best frozen yogurt and ice cream and desserts of the cold variety in Copenhagen.”
“I'm sure it does,” she skeptically replies.
“No really, it does. Trust me.” He winks. “I run a blog.”
She rolls her eyes. He's pretty sure that's her ersatz laughter.
Eventually they get to the front of the line and the kid behind the counter (his nametag reads FuCK YOu, which is crossed out, and CAL in tiny letters below it). “What. Do you want?” he demands.
A guy older than him but not quite as mature-looking as Mathias emerges from a door in the back. He's dark-haired with green eyes and actually resembles Karpusi a bit; his name tag reads MARKO. “Cal,” he yells, “do you mind getting back here and explaining something to me?”
“I am serving a customer.”
“Then get back here and clean it up while I handle it!”
“Why should I?!”
“Just do it!”
“Fine!” Cal picks up a towel that's lying on one of the back counters for the express purpose of throwing it onto the ground before stomping back to the kitchen or whatever is behind that door. Mathias has to admire the little guy's dedication.
Marko comes out and ignores the towel, wiping his hands on his apron. There's a smear of yogurt on his cheek. “Sorry about that,” he says. “He's new.”
“I can tell,” Natalya dryly retorts. Mathias takes the conversation from there.
“We'll have two small chocolates,” he says. He'd get a large one for himself, but doesn't want to look like a pig.
“Just chocolate?” Marko asks, looking a bit surprised and disappointed.
“Yep. Just chocolate.”
“Are you sure? I'm good at yogurt, I can do everything on that menu and more.”
Natalya interrupts, “Yes. Just chocolate. Is not that hard.”
“If Cal put you off anything--”
“Listen, buddy, I don't know what's between you and Cal but we really do just want chocolate, 'kay? We're not yogurt connoisseurs or anything fancy like that.”
Marko's expression fades into a scowl. He mutters to himself as he gets them their chocolate and rings up the price, and as soon as they've got their yogurt in hand, they leave.
The streets are still as busy as they were about half an hour ago, when Mathias ran into the coffee shop with a wilted red carnation, but he takes her down to a quieter area near the park. It's less touristy down here in the older part of the city, not as many people and more lights. He thinks she'll appreciate the quiet.
Turns out, he's right. Natalya eats her yogurt slowly, savoring every bite as she shivers in the cold.
“Worth it, right?” Mathias asks.
“You didn't tell me there would be imbeciles working there.”
“Eh, there usually aren't. The manager was out tonight, though. You'd like him. He's quiet, minds his own business.” Mathias tosses his empty cup of yogurt into a trashbin, along with the plastic spoon. “And the yogurt and ice cream is the best in Copenhagen, I swear. Try any other place, you're not gonna find them. I did this whole video about it on my blog.”
“That infamous blog,” Natalya muses. “I wonder what is even about.”
“It's a guide to Copenhagen,” Mathias replies. “I basically go around with my buddy Lukas and find all the best places, give out tips and tricks. It's for expats kind of, which is why I make him and this guy Alfred help me. Luk is from Norway, Al's American. We have fun.”
Natalya slowly takes another bite, her lips closing sensually over the spoon. Mathias wonders if that's on purpose and decides it probably isn't. “Why interview me, then?”
A huge sinkhole opens up in the ground and swallows Mathias whole, letting him fall to a fiery death at the center of the earth as Natalya screams his name at the top of her lungs.
Alas, that doesn't happen.
Mathias wishes it would though.
“I like to talk to people who look like they're new here,” he says. “See what their problems are, what kinds of info I need to put on the blog. Most say the same thing, but sometimes there's a really unique problem that needs addressing.” He winks at her. “Never met someone from Belarus before. I figured it could be a cool conversation.”
Natalya nods. “Is a clever excuse, assuming you actually wanted to conduct such an interview. As is, you didn't come prepared to do anything at all. So I don't believe it.”
“Yes.”
Mathias’s expression of pure disappointment isn’t enough to dissuade her.
In the end, he walks her back to her hotel and bids her good-night, and expresses his desire to see her again shortly. That seems like the proper thing to do with a date one enjoyed, after all - right?
Apparently not.
She closes the door in his face.
----------------------
Saturday morning dawns and Natalya refuses to get out of bed until at least nine fifty-eight - her logic is that it's late enough she's sleeping in, but can say she woke at nine without lying. Natalya has no qualms with lying, but the best lies have something of the truth woven within.
Her phone goes off and her eyes shoot open, heart rate increasing before she notices that it's the alarm and not the ringer. She sighs and relaxes, letting the familiar tone whine itself into oblivion.
About a minute later she turns over and scrabbles to turn it off, her hair falling in her face and blinding her. It remains this way as she crawls out of bed and pulls open the shades, revealing an already busy city down below. People commuting, tourists complaining, bicycles and cars narrowly avoiding crashing into each other. There's an old beggar down at the corner of a street, his smell repelling anyone who might want to hear his message. She stares absently at it for a moment before heading to the bathroom to shower.
When she gets out, swathed in towels in an attempt to fend off the cold, her phone alerts her to a new message.
Katyusha Braginskaya: Sestra, where are you? please come home :(
Natalya sighs. She didn't need that this early in the morning, not from her elder sister. Unable to resist replying, she sends back,
Natalya Arlovskaya: i won't tell you, and no
Katyusha Braginskaya: Why not?
Natalya Arlovskaya: it's none of your business.
Katyusha Braginskaya: But it's almost Christmas, nat! don't you want to be here for it?
Natalya Arlovskaya: no
Katyusha Braginskaya: D:
Emoticons shouldn't be able to communicate quite as much as they do when Katyusha uses them. Natalya purses her lips and deletes the conversation, then mutes the volume and shoves the device to the bottom of her bag.
Half an hour later her hair is still wet, but she's fully dressed and already in a horrible mood. Headphones and an antisocial attitude ensure that no one bothers her as she leaves the hotel and wanders across the street to the coffee shop, gazing at it for a minute before turning right and seeing if she can remember the way to the park that Mathias had showed her the night before.
It takes her much longer to find it than it had while in his company, but in the daylight it's easier to map out the route in her head and she's sure she can find her way back.
The park is much busier today than it was last night. Understandable, despite the cold. There are mothers chatting and small children running around their legs, everyone speaking and Natalya only catching a word every so often. She hasn't tried very hard to learn Danish, honestly. She only flew in a few days ago and didn't intend on staying long, just long enough to get a breath of fresh air and the slight adrenaline rush of making her way in a foreign country. She can buy food and call the police (she's been able to call the police in eighteen languages since twelve years of age) but otherwise, she has to navigate in English. Which isn't terrible, to be honest. Better than Russian.
It's actually quite nice. The park, with the children and mothers and dogs and the abandoned birds' nests sitting at the tops of trees. The grass is yellow and the few leaves that haven't been raked are old, brown and crackled, but it doesn't feel dead. It feels very alive.
Sitting against a tree, Natalya pulls out her notebook and pencil and stares at the lined page, trying to think of words to put down.
“Hey, hi, Natalya!”
She's not sure how much time has passed when she looks up and sees Mathias standing in front of her. (Actually, she sees Mathias's crotch before flushing and looking further up.) He's smiling broadly, hands thrust in his pockets. “Hello,” she replies, taking her headphones out and draping them around her neck.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Whatcha doin'?”
Instinctively, she closes the notebook, despite the fact that it remains blank. “Nothing.”
Mathias nods, and there is an awkward silence before he sits beside her. “Nothing can be pretty stressful.”
“You have no idea,” Natalya replies, running a hand through her hair in an attempt to fix it. “Sometimes I wonder why I try. Is extremely unrewarding.”
“Why's that?”
“Writing is painful. Not writing is also painful. I can never win, except when I'm paid. And then the things they pay me for are the things I don't like, not the ones I am proud of.”
Mathias grimaces sympathetically. “I get that. The stuff you actually put work into, it's not appreciated. Happens with blogs too. They like the ridiculous shit, that makes them laugh.”
“People. They have no idea what quality is. I read that new novel, the one with all the different colors that were the same color . . . ?”
“Fifty Shades of Grey?”
“Yes, that. It sucked.”
Mathias laughs. “I know exactly what you mean. I tried to read it, but I could never get into the literary porn stuff.”
Natalya smirks. Mathias flushes as he realizes what he said.
“I mean, like,” he tries to dig himself out, “I need something that's got a better plot, that isn't just smut, over and over and . . . .”
She pats his arm, laughing. He laughs too.
“Lukas - the Norwegian who smells like fish, you met him - he likes it. He'll deny it until teenagers stop complaining about having to read Dostoevsky, but he keeps a copy of the whole series under his bed.”
“. . . There are other books?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my god.”
Mathias's phone beeps; he pulls it out and looks at it briefly before rolling his eyes. “Friend of mine,” he explains. “Being obnoxious.”
“How so?”
“Ah, well.” Mathias laughs. “We were kind of hanging out and then I saw you here, and started talking, and she made me come over and say 'hi' and now she's stalking us from that tree over there.”
Natalya sits up to look at where he's pointing, but he pushes her shoulder back gently. “Don't look now. You'll encourage her.”
“Some friend.” Natalya scowls.
“No, no, she's not like that. She's a great girl,” Mathias says. “She's just really invested in others' lives and I haven't told her to back off yet. I bet you'd like her, actually, everyone does.”
Natalya is skeptical.
“Come on, you wanna meet her?”
She opens her mouth to protest, but not before Mathias picks up his phone and sends a text.
“Okay, here she comes!”
From behind the tree Mathias had pointed at, a tall woman emerges and jogs over to them, her brown hair falling out of its loose bun. She waves, and calls something in Danish. Mathias answers as he stands; Natalya follows suit.
“Nat, this is Erzsébet. Erzsi, Natalya!”
Erzsébet holds out a hand, smiling brilliantly. “Mathias talks about you all the time,” she says. “It's refreshing to hear him natter on about something worth hearing.”
Natalya isn't sure if that's an insult or a compliment, so she remains neutral. She doesn't know if she likes Erzsébet yet. Taking the woman’s hand, she says, “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Erzsébet shakes it firmly. “What are we doing today, then?”
“Well,” Mathias begins, “there’s this great new exhibit at the mall for that new video ga-”
Erzsébet rolls her eyes and reprimands, “Natalya isn’t interested in a video game, idiot.”
Actually, Natalya wants to say, I’ll be interested depending on what game it is, but Erzsébet is already carrying the conversation forward.
“What do you think of knives?”
Natalya does a double take. “I am sorry. . . ?”
“Knives,” Erzsébet repeats.
Mathias groans. “She’s obsessed,” he explains to Natalya, “with all kinds of weapons and shit. Kind of a gross fetish if you ask me.”
“It’s not a fetish, it’s a completely natural interest.”
“Killing people isn’t an interest.”
“Yes it is,” Natalya says at the same time as Erzsébet , who can’t resist a laugh. Natalya grins slightly.
“See? This girl knows how it is,” Erzsébet says. “You go see your video game with all your gamer buddies and we’ll take a detour for knives.”
Natalya doesn’t see Erzsébet wink at Mathias, or the expression of sudden realization that follows.
----------------------
The mall is not the one Natalya had seen upon her initial arrival, but rather a smaller one, tucked out of the way in a corner of the city. It’s hardly even a mall, more of an outdoor bazaar with a covering over it, but she doesn’t mind. Mathias runs into a couple of guys he addresses as Gilbert and Sadik and they run off, leaving Natalya in Erzsébet’s company.
Natalya hadn’t realized quite how nervous she was about this until Mathias left.
“So,” Erzsébet says, her hands thrust into her pockets (she wears men’s cargo pants, they are slung low on her hips and she walks with a confidence Natalya doesn’t see often) as they stride down the street, “what’s your story?”
“Not much to it,” Natalya tells her, her words clipped. “Uninteresting. You don’t want to hear it.”
Erzsébet is clearly more sensitive than Mathias, and she gives Natalya a sympathetic look before changing the subject. “I’ve lived here nearly all my life,” she says. “Used to spend summers near Budapest, with my grandparents. Nice folks. My grandad did a lot of riding and knifework, he used to be in the army. So he taught me most of what I know. The first thing I did, as soon as I was old enough to wander around by myself, was find this little hole-in-the-wall.”
Erzsébet, with a sweep of her hand a grin on her face, shows a little door into a building that must have been here since Copenhagen was founded. Natalya grasps the metal knob and twists it; the door creaks as it opens.
“Velkommen, Damer!” a cheery voice cries from inside. The store is brightly lit, with as many windows as could possibly be crammed into the walls as well as electric lamps. Shining, glittering sheathes and knives of all kinds and nationalities line the walls.
“English, Timo!” Erzsébet replies.
“Alright!” the voice calls back. A man emerges from the back where he’d been sweeping; his blond hair is lighter and straighter than Mathias’s, his eyes a blue that may or may not be violet. “Hello Erzsébet, I didn’t expect you until next week!”
“Do I come that often?” The broom continues to sweep of its own accord.
“Yes, but it’s good business.” Timo turns to Natalya and holds his hand up to his mouth, as if to shield the conversation from Erzsébet, “This young lady is a walking advertisement. Nearly everyone who comes in has been referred by her! I couldn’t get more business if I invested in a TV commercial.”
“I can hear you,” Erzsébet says, scowling.
“Of course you can’t!” Timo smiles and pats her shoulder. “How can I help you, miss . . . ?”
“Arlovskaya,” Natalya says immediately. “Natalya Arlovskaya.”
Having her own name is another thing she loves about other countries.
“The poet?” Timo’s eyes widen.
Slightly surprised, Natalya says, “You have heard of me?”
“Heard of you? I have every volume of your work! It’s fantastic stuff, really, though you have definitely improved with age. I didn’t expect you to be so young! How old are you, seventeen, eighteen?”
It is Natalya’s turn to scowl as she says, “I’m twenty-four.”
“My eyesight must be going, how could I have not realized?”
Erzsébet lightly punches Timo’s arm. “Your eyesight’s great, don’t see yourself short. He can hit the center of a target from a hundred meters away.”
“It’s not that far,” Timo protests, blushing and chuckling.
“Farther.”
The banter continues, while Natalya’s insides feel unfamiliarly bubbly at having been recognized for her poetry. A little while later, though Natalya again doesn’t notice, Timo has disappeared somewhere and Erzsébet is grinning at her. “So. What are you into? Whatever it is, Timo’s got it, I swear.”
“. . . Anything?”
“Anything.”
Forty minutes later, Natalya is actually laughing and leaving the shop with Erzsébet, shopping bags dangling from both their wrists as they walk back out into the cold December sun.
“You would never believe it,” Erzsébet says, “but I used to terrify my grandma by riding bareback and launching knives, or arrows, or whatever projectile I could get my hands on at targets. You’d think with my family she would be used to it, but nope.”
“Terrifying people is half the fun though,” Natalya agrees. “Break-ups tend to go well.”
“Fuck yes they do. The look of utter fear on their faces when you get angry!”
“Once, in school,” Natalya says, “there was a horror movie that was all the rage. All of the boys loved to play at it, sneaking up behind each other and pretending to kill and be killed. I asked to play one day, and they laughed at me, but told me to be the murderer. They all ran off to hide, and each time I found one I would pull out my pocket knife and tell them to scream and then stay put until I told them to come out.”
“That’s actually awesome.”
Natalya smiles. “I got in trouble with the school for it, and my elder sister was upset, but my brother and I thought it was a great joke.”
“You talk about your brother a lot,” Erzsébet says. “He sounds like a great guy.”
“He is,” Natalya immediately agrees.
“Do you miss him?”
“I always miss him.”
“Why don’t you go home for Christmas, then?” she asks. “Is it your sister?”
Natalya’s smile fades and she avoids Erzsébet’s eyes. “No, not her. I love my sister too.”
Erzsébet’s voice is gentle as she continues, “Why are you here, then? You’re kind of far from home.”
Natalya doesn’t answer.
Erzsébet nods. “Okay.”
They meet up with Mathias again at a roasted nuts stand. Mathias buys some for them both and puts a red ribbon on Natalya’s; where he got it, she’s not sure. The nuts are sweet and salty at the same time, and they warm Natalya’s insides in a way hot chocolate or coffee or tea never could. She stammers out a surprised thank you as Erzsébet winks at her.
“You know,” Erzsébet says, “there’s a new Bonnefoy movie out in the cinema.”
Mathias grimaces. “Isn’t he that guy that does all the chick flicks?”
Erzsébet sticks her tongue out at Mathias. “Yes, but he does other stuff too. This one’s an action-mystery. You know, the one that we thought was ripping off Sherlock Holmes?”
“If is action-mystery it probably is ripping off Sherlock Holmes,” Natalya comments.
“Plus he’s a crappy actor,” Mathias adds.
Natalya agrees with a sagely nod.
“Fuck you both,” Erzsébet retorts, “Francis Bonnefoy is the shit.”
“I dunno, Erzsi. Where are you going with this?”
Erzsébet grabs both of their shoulders, her bag from Vainamoinen’s banging into Natalya’s back. “You should both go see it!”
Natalya and Mathias exchange a skeptical glance.
“Aw, c’mon. You would love it. And even if you don’t, there are other things one can do in a movie theater besides watch a movie.” Erzsébet’s eyebrows are raised high, and then higher, and then higher, until they finally shriek like bald eagles and fly off into the sun never to be seen or heard from again.
Natalya is torn between flushing, glaring, stabbing, and suddenly dying of leprosy. Mathias seems the same, at least, but Erzsébet-
-has disappeared, incidentally.
“Where did she go. . . ?!” Natalya demands, glancing this way and that, but can’t see the bright green of the woman’s coat anywhere.
“I have no clue,” Mathias sighs. “She has this bad habit of doing that.”
Natalya presses her lips into a thin line. “What do we do now?”
Mathias pulls his hand out of his pocket. There are three slips of paper; two look like movie tickets, and the third merely has a winking smiley face with a little pink flower on it. Mathias inhales sharply and looks away from the third slip before handing it to Natalya.
hey mathias, I took the liberty of stealing your phone. I’ll be waiting at the movie theater when the 15.00 showing is over. have fun ;)
“I guess we’re going to the movies,” he replies.
----------------------------
The cinema isn’t particularly crowded at three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Despite having been forced into it by Erzsébet (which was extremely rude but also admirable in a sense), Mathias bought Natalya chocolate when she didn’t want popcorn and got a soft drink for himself, and they found decent seats in the theater that weren’t behind any particularly tall, fat, or disgusting people and weren’t in front of children. There was a family of four from Australia down at the end of the row, but the youngest was perhaps eight and none was terribly bothersome.
“I actually love going to see movies,” Mathias says. “So does Al. Lukas never wants to come, though, he always waits for the DVD.”
“I don’t go often,” Natalya replies.
“Aw. Why not?”
“Don’t care for them.” She carefully opens her box of chocolates and pulls one out, eating it slowly. “Theaters are gross, movies are dull, and there are far too many people. I like to sit at home or in a library and read a book.”
“Books are cool,” Mathias acknowledges, “but I never had a lot of patience for reading. I wasn’t too good at it as a kid. I’m better at it now, I mean, I like to read aloud to my nephews and the kids I look after sometimes on weekends. They say I’m especially good at pirates and vikings.”
Natalya chuckles. “Sounds right. They are as brutish as you are.”
Mathias feigns offense. “That hurt.”
“Much like your hair. How much gel do you put in to make it that hard?”
He grins. “Since when are you this snarky?”
She merely eats another chocolate.
The movie is an action-mystery starring Francis Bonnefoy as the renowned ex-policeman and Andries “Ned” Sinterklaas as a Dutch junkie whom he must ally with in order to outwit and outlast the mastermind behind all of the villainy throughout the movie, played by Roderich Edelstein. It is an American film and definitely a rip-off of Sherlock Holmes, but there are some nice twists and minimal romance, which both Mathias and Natalya appreciate.
Somewhere halfway through, Mathias tries to put his arm around Natalya’s shoulders, and she gives him a glare that would scare the bravest soldier shitless. He settles for leaning on her chair.
They emerge from the theater with Natalya giving it a detailed critique on what exactly it did wrong and how it could have changed it.
“Did you even enjoy it?” Mathias eventually demands. “Even a little bit?”
“Yes,” Natalya replies. “Obviously.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She holds up a finger. “You see, it was not beyond salvaging. If I’d hated it I wouldn’t bother.”
He raises an eyebrow, but nods.
Erzsébet is waiting for them in the lobby, munching on popcorn herself. She has miraculously reattained her eyebrows. “So, how was it?”
Neither says anything.
“Hah! I knew you would like it!”
“Give me my phone, Erzsi.” Mathias holds out a hand. She complies and pulls it out of her back pocket.
“So, you guys gonna go get dinner or what?”
“I,” Mathias begins, but with his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out he takes on the image of a giant fish.
Natalya comes to his rescue. “No, that’s fine,” she says. “I have had a long day. A book and a bed sounds nice.”
“Hey, if you want dinner, I have no problem-”
“No, really.” She pats his arm. “All good.”
“Nat-”
“Mathias. Shut the fuck up.”
Erzsébet stays out of the conversation.
------------------------------
Katyusha Braginskaya: Nat, I know you are having problems or you are angry with us or something, actually I don’t know at all
Katyusha Braginskaya: but we really want you to come home please
Katyusha Braginskaya: before something bad happens and we can’t see you anymore ;A;
Katyusha Braginskaya: ivan misses you very badly sestra
Katyusha Braginskaya: very badly ;~;
------------------------------------------
Part 2