[007] -- "The writer is the engineer of the human soul."

[musthatefrogs]

[[ Action Post ]][This begins with a bench outside of the Academy. The larger of the two Soviets living on campus approaches it and takes a seat. He does not mind the cold at all, likely looking peculiar in nothing but his usual sweater and slacks casual. His electrical nature keeps him perfectly warm

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[boxingmidget]

[Here he was, jogging like he did any day. With a light coat, but a coat none-the-less. He noticed Volgin sitting there. He hadn't really had a conversation with the Russian for a while, and the last one was remembered as bad and good at the same time. As long as he's running passed, better say hi and all that kind of jazz. Mac waved his direction.]

Hey, Mr. Volgin...Whatcha up to?

[musthatefrogs]

[How peculiar to have people... wave at him. Especially that boy, after their last encounter. Usually greeting the giant was a salute, the usual respectful rituals unless Volgin would be given an immediate reason to put someone on their knees to pick up their teeth.

(Still hard to believe he was no longer in any sort of military service.)]

Ah, Mac.

I'm minding my own business. I see you are keeping fit.

[boxingmidget]

[Mac would salute too if he knew, Volgin. He doesn't mind a salute. Even if he wasn't a military guy at all.]

I gotta train everyday, sir. {From the look of his face, he didn't mind that. In fact, he enjoyed it.]

Ain't ya cold, it's freezin' out here!

[musthatefrogs]

Admirable.

[It was authentic; the giant had respect for a fighter than maintained his shape even in this environment. One class a week and the rest of the time to yourself? It made one lazy. Bored.

Meanwhile, Mac gets a faux surprise:]

Hm. It is supposed to be cold?

[boxingmidget]

[Is Volgin really not cold? He looks in almost disbelief at his statement.]

Well, it's winter. You ain't wearin' a jacket or nothin'...

[musthatefrogs]

[He looks over himself, then back up at Mac.]

Yes.

I'm quite comfortable.

[boxingmidget]

Well...if ya say so...

[Um. So. Subject change. Please happen. Uh.]

So I guess ya don't mind the cold so much.

[musthatefrogs]

It's my element, you could say.

Find me a Russian that can't stand this cold and I'll show you that he isn't a Russian.

[Haaww~. Smoky old man laugh.]

Now stop standing there and sit. You are making me feel interrogated. [A gesture next to him. Oh dear.]

[boxingmidget]

Well, I'm from the north too but I guess I don't really know cold yet, heh.

[Uh. He's actually wary about it considering LAST TIME. But uh. He does sit. But not too close. Not that he's necessarily suspicious about Volgin, right now anyway but...You'd have to be really dumb to not be extra careful considering.]

Sure.

[musthatefrogs]

[A quick approving purr:] Good boy.

[(Not that that his approval is saying much, given his track record around the school.)He sets an arm across the back of the chair, not touching Mac, but there is some semblance of a suggestive buddy gesture made, if the boxer can pick up on it.]

I am willing to bet you haven't. This is nothing. You haven't lived until you've spent your nights curled up against a pipe with the other lost boys wanting it.

Moscow, dead of winter. All these children without parents in the wake of the First Great War and the Revolution. Greatest fucking time to be a boy.

[A dry chuckle.]

[boxingmidget]

[Thankfully maybe, Mac didn't catch up on it. He wasn't exactly looking at Volgin directly at that moment, rather talking a little bit of a breath after the jogging in the cold. Mac didn't mind the cold terribly much but that's not saying that he didn't feel cold in any way. And he wasn't sure he liked the sound of that war story. He'd like a story as much as the next guy, but growing without parents hit a little too close to home. And it wasn't the greatest fucking time. But it sounded rough for Volgin anyway, darn. His smile came and didn't fade.]

Sheesh, a survivor type, ain't ya? That's really somethin'. I know another guy just like that, from the league actually. He's from Moscow, too! He trained in nothin' but his boxin' shorts. [It was a speedo actually.]

[musthatefrogs]

[Poor Mac. For some reason, Volgin is viewing you as a dumping ground for morbidity.

His eyes grew distant, though.]

He must be past my time. Sounds like a good man.

[Because any man that presumably shadow-boxed on permafrost in nothing but shorts was always going to be pretty good in Volgin's eye initially.]

[boxingmidget]

[Mac was a good listener, whether or not he could initially understand words varies but the guy's good with empathy and understanding feelings.]

I ain't talked to him much but he's not a bad guy. [Even though he kinda cheated in their match. But hearing his stories admittedly inspired Mac.] He drinks a lot of soda, I wouldn't be surprised if he drank a cold one on top of that trainin'.

[musthatefrogs]

[Volgin kept stoic. Maybe this man might have been him from another time...

... (but how could anyone else, not even Raikov, know of his treasonous vice?)]

I see.

[With that, he reaches into his pocket for his cigar case and clip. He lights up, with his current one still in his mouth.

It is offered to Mac.]

Smoke it down a little bit, take the ring off then. Let your spit soak a bit in the end.

[boxingmidget]

[Cigars...? Mac holds up a hand and shakes his head slowly. Sorry Volgin, Mac leads a tight health plan. That means no smokes.]

Thanks but no thanks. Can't smoke.

[musthatefrogs]

[How amazing. It was not forced on him. As a matter of fact, Volgin is terribly casual putting it out and aside.]

Smart kid. [He takes out his current one for effect. The end smolders in his thick fingers as he shakes it with emphasis:] These are hell on your lungs. I'm too old to really care too much.

Taste too damn good to let go, though.