Piotr
Cute Russian in the supermarket. Damn, they grow 'em nice in Russia, huh? Says I should try-- uh. Crap. This thing. Like ravioli. Starts with a p, is not perogie, found in Brighton Beach.
Twenty-two really shouldn't seem /young/ to me, should it? Course, I dunno, one minute it did, one minute it didn't. Either way, nice guy. Most amusing trip to the grocery I've had in ages. Even if I don't have any damn apples.
7/23/2006
The small grocery is busy today - Saturday evening, after all - and Natalie is busy frowning down at the remaining apples. There are five. None of them look particularly healthy. A plastic basket is draped over her arm, settled in the bent crook of it, while she glares at fruit from behind plastic-rimmed glasses and rests her opposite hand on a tilted hip. Seriously now. What did she ever do to the fruit selection, to deserve this?
The Piotr who enters the grocery from the hazy streets is not the neat young man he usually is. His black hair is unflatteringly flat against his head as if he had been caught some time ago in a thunderstorm, and the partially disintegrated state of the paper bag he is carrying might add to this impression. Collecting a basket, he approaches the fresh produce section and is similarly disappointed with what he finds, although his attention is more on the vegetables. "I should have come here earlier," he comments with a sidelong glance at the woman nearby,the tone of his accented base wry with rueful amusement.l
Natalie shifts her gaze sideways, and her long ponytail swings with the movement. She smiles in time to a short, snorted laugh while her hand slides from hip to thigh, pressing open against denim. "Yeah, no kidding, right?" She leans forward to scoop up an apple and tosses it up experimentally. "What're you after?"
"Just some onions and potatoes, and perhaps some broccoli," Piotr replies, reaching out to take the last remaining onion, which appears to be slightly shrivelled. He holds it up for inspection, brow furrowing at its unpleasant appearance though the smile remains on his lips. "You would think they could not be having difficulty with onions, but here I see this is not true."
"Soup?" Natalie ventures, and leans forward to drop the apple back into place with a digusted wrinkle of her nose before she adds, "Quiche?"
"A, ah, broth, I believe is a closer word. For pelmeni. Dumplings," Piotr clarifies, gesturing to the pitiful paper bag nestled in the corner of his basket. "And you, just apples to eat?" he asks, politeness returning the interest.
"I'm not gonna make a pie, if that's what you're asking," Natalie answers in fast, grinning retort. "Pelmeni, huh? What's that?"
"A pity, apple pie is delicious," Piotr returns with a smile. "But yes, pelmeni are Russian dumplings. They are a little like ravioli, but the taste is a different sort. You should try them, I am sure you would like them."
"Russian!" Natalie's reply is chipper as she shifts back on her heels and shoves her hand into a back pocket. "Yeah? What goes inside?" Her hand, just shoved, wiggles free again to sweep a bit of hair behind her ear as she grins at him. "Try 'em, huh? Where's someone get stuff like that in this city?"
"Beef, pork," replies Piotr, "seasoning. I am not so good a cook that I can make them myself. You should go to Brighton Beach to try them properly, just like mama used to make." He offers a smile at the thought, then spies another crate of onions below the display shelf and draws it out with a foot. "A bit of luck!"
"Luck for you," Natalie points out, and jerks her head toward the still-dubious selection of apples. "Huh. So if you don't make 'em, what're you shopping for? Just the broth to cook 'em in or something?"
"Precisely," replies Piotr, leaning down and taking two onions in one hand, then righting himself and pushing the crate back under the shelf with his foot. "Are there no more apples around? Perhaps some other fruit that is not so bad?"
"Yeah, I'll just-- I dunno, probably try another place or something," Natalie shares as she watches Piotr with an interested eye. "Or go tomorrow. Y'know."
A rueful smile is offered as the onions are placed in the basket. "There must be being some apples /somewhere/ in this city," Piotr adds, half in reassurance, half a joke, as he turns to the shelves to locate some broccoli.
Natalie breaks into easy laughter as she quips (badly), "Big Apple!"
"Ah yes!" exclaims Piotr with a laugh from deep within his chest, apparently genuinely amused by the pun. "I did not think of this! Although, it is one apple I would not like to be eating."
Natalie meets Piotr's laugh with a pleased grin, easily amused and bright as she watches him. She sweeps a hand back over her hair again and tips her head. "I dunno. Depends what you mean by eating, huh?" she returns.
With a hint of confusion in his expression, Piotr mimes eating an apple, glancing up from the imaginary fruit to his companion with a questioning look.
Natalie's smile deepens, and brown eyes glow at Piotr as she remains primly silent.
"No?" Piotr asks, truly unsure of her meaning, still amused. "Eating in some other way?"
"Oh, hon," Natalie returns, and slides her hand back to her pocket. "If you don't know, I don't think I should spoil your sweet little innocent Russian heart. You are Russian, right?"
Piotr's eyes travel to his basket for a moment as if it has any capacity to give him insight into the statement, but he looks back up at the question, grinning. "Da."
Natalie's gaze drops to his feet, the better to travel upward with teasing interest. "Huh. Russian," she answers. Her eyes find his again and she meets his smile. "What's the Big Apple got for ya, then?"
The slightest hint of colour comes to Piotr's cheeks at the appraising look, and he takes the opportunity to break eye contact and retrieve the broccoli he has espied. "School initially, now college," he replies, reaching forwards past his companion to fetch it. "Excuse me..." he trails off, realising he does not know her name. "I apologise," he say, breaking off from his reach to offer a hand. "I am Peter."
The blush earns Piotr an even wider grin, pleased and happy as she steps forward, hand wiping along the thigh of her jeans before she sticks it out in offering. "Peter. Hey, nice to meet you. I'm Natalie. Where're you going?"
"A pleasure to meet you too," he replies sincerely as he shakes her hand, completely engulfing it in his own large fingers. "Just as far as the broccoli," he adds with a grin, gesturing to where it sits on the shelf behind Natalie.
Natalie's fingers curl warm (and small!) in Piotr's hand, and her laugh breaks free again as she turns her head to regard the broccoli. "I meant to school, Pete-from-Russia," she corrects.
The blush deepens a little and is joined by an embarrassed smile at his misunderstanding as Piotr takes the broccoli from the shelf. "Emerson," he answers, his smile relaxing a little as he turns back to Natalie. "To study art and physics."
"/Art/ and physics," Natalie echoes in reply, delighted. "Really? That's an unusual combination. How'd you end up with that?"
One dark eyebrow twitches in amusement at the now-familiar response. "Art is my interest, but physics is perhaps more practical to know," he says, putting the broccoli in the basket alongside the onions. "There are many starving artists in the world, yes?"
"Yes," Natalie confirms. Her own basket hangs empty from her elbow as Piotr shops. "But some who don't, too. Depends what you want to do, I guess. And how good you are." She tips her head, and her long ponytail falls forward over her shoulder as she considers him. "But physics is a bit of an art itself, isn't it? Making sense of the world. A lotta satisfaction there."
"Certainly," agrees Piotr with a deeper smile, appreciating the ability to find art where most would not see it. "There are equations and theories instead of paints canvases, but I am seeing what you mean."
"My dad studies physics," Natalie shares, and flips her ponytail back over her shoulder. "I rebelled. I only do math." She grins, voice wrapping around the 'only' in faintly mocking emphasis.
"A difficult study," comments Piotr, looking around now for potatoes. "You are still studying this now, or has it become a profession?" He does not look at her and try to guess her age. This would be rude.
"Oh, both, really," Natalie replies easily. She trails after him in the search for potatoes without apparent compunction. "I'm a grad student at Columbia. I learn, I teach, I do it all."
"Ah, I see," says Piotr with a nod. Ah! Potatoes. A bag of potatoes is taken from the shelf and placed into the basket. He pays no particular attention to the type of potatoes they are. "A little like myself, although not on such a level. I am still helping out at my old school," he says with a smile.
"Your high school?" Natalie answers in surprise. She blinks at Piotr and studies him again with weighing judgement. "How old are you?" Polite? What?
It is, of course, only impolite to ask a lady her age. "Twenty two in a few days," replies Piotr, then offers by way of explanation, "It is a boarding school, a home away from home. The people there are a lot like family."
"Oh. Huh. Twenty-two." Natalie considers this with an expression that might be approving or might be disappointment - it's difficult to tell, really. She gnaws on her lower lip and hooks a thumb through her belt loop. "A boarding school? That's probably nice. I mean, being from Russia and stuff."
"It would certainly be difficult to come to classes if I was still living at home, yes?" asks Piotr, the wry smile returning to twist the corners of his lips.
"Little bit," Natalie acknowledges. She fidgets for a moment, sliding her basket down to her grip and switching hands. Her fingers drum against the plastic.
"You are looking for anything else besides apples?" asks Piotr, noticing the fidgeting, glancing around the shop as if already attempting to locate the items Natalie has not yet named.
"Oh!" Natalie glances down at her basket as if surprised and then blinks up at Piotr. "Damn. Right. Huh." She grins briefly and jerks her head toward the aisles of canned goods. "Pasta and stuff. I should probably do that, huh?"
"Would you be liking some help?" offers Piotr with a little hand gesture towards the shelves. "I have a while before the next bus home, and no other pressing things to do."
Natalie tips her head at Piotr, smile flashing as she pulls her lower lip between her teeth and runs fingers across her hair, finger-combing the end of her ponytail. "Yeah? Hey, why not. It's nothing fancy, y'know? I don't really cook," she admits sheepishly.
"Still a student," comments Piotr with a sparkle of humour in his eyes. "Very well, then. What are you needing?"
"Lazy," Natlie corrects good-naturedly. "Pasta, sauce. Easy mac. Soup from a can. What about you? Still in a dorm, or you have like, an apartment and stuff?"
"A room at the school," Piotr informs her as his eyes scan the shelves with more direction. "They are very good to those who stay and help, and it is meaning I do not have to get another job to keep myself in college."
"At the school still? /Really/?" Natalie blinks at this reply as she steps forward down an aisle, beelining for the desired pasta. She keeps most surprise and disdain from her voice. Really. "Well," she allows after a moment. "I guess that's nice."
"Like I said, it is a home," adds Piotr, missing most of the implications of Natalie's tone. "And," he gives a little chuckle, "If you have ever been in a boarding school, you will know how frequently there are... incidents," the word he spent a moment searching for covers a multitude of sins. "They are often glad to have a few older heads around."
"So you go to school," Natalie begins, ticking off a mental list as she reaches for a box of noodles. Curly. They have a name, but she's too lazy to properly learn it. "You study art /and/ physics. And you babysit high school kids in your free time?"
All that, and saving the world on alternate weekends. "Yes," replies Piotr with a little smile, aware of how out of the ordinary his life may sound, even the mundane side of it. "You study math, and teach math, and..." he trails off from his retort. "What are you doing in your free time?"
Natalie breaks into laughter as she drops a box of easymac in her basket. "Oh, Pete. Man. This /is/ my free time."
"Hmm. I see. I am thinking perhaps you do too much math." He shoots her a wry smile as he spies and heads for some canned soup.
"I'm thinking you've never been a grad student," Natalie returns, although her tone is lightly easy. "Besides. I like math. And Jack keeps me company." She bounces up on her toes and starts off down the aisle after him.
"Jack," Piotr repeats. "Boyfriend?" he looks up from eyeing the different varieties of soup to glance around for any signs of jealous men coming to claim Natalie.
Natalie breaks into fast laughter and risks a friendly poke of finger to arm as she shakes her head. "Pet," she corrects. "Snake. No boyfriend." She grins and hides her expression in the stretch for a soup. "Nothing and no one do to in my free time."
The error brings an amused embarrassment to Piotr which he hides, or attempts to hide, in reaching a hand to brush his hair back. He realises for the first time what a state it is in just as Natalie comments. It is hard to discern which exactly is the cause of the return of his blush. "A snake?" he essays, trying to divert the course of the conversation. "A very unusual pet. What kind?"
Natalie's sideways glance as she drops clam chowder and fiesta chicken into her basket is amused, and her eyes linger over that blush consideringly. "King," she supplies. "Yeah, I guess so. I've had him forever, though, so I mean. I don't really think about it, y'know?"
"Yes, things become usual after a while," Piotr agrees with a nod and a knowing smile. "One of the girls at the school has a pet rat."
"Yeah?" Natalie answers with easy interest. She's silent for a moment as she considers further varities, on sale, and then offers, "I feed Jack mice?"
Piotr grins in return. "You win, I think," he says with a smile that hides a little humour. "Snakes /and/ mice are definitely being more unusual than just a rat."
Natalie grins as she dismisses her options and continues down the aisle. "The mice aren't pets," she clarifies. "Just food. And mostly I buy 'em dead and frozen."
"Even so," admits Piotr with a wave of his hand, "I think Jack the snake has the victory over Pest the rat."
"Put 'em in a ring together, I think probably," Natalie agrees, chipper. "Although, y'know, those suckers have sharp nails. If I'm not careful, the mice can get him a bit scratched up, and they're a lot smaller."
"I am hearing they have sharp teeth also," says Piotr, smile widening to a grin. "But it seems to be more interested in escaping than hurting anyone. I believe they have found the rat in the showers before now."
"At your school?" Natalie asks, brows lifting."
"Yes," says Piotr, giving a chuckle after a moment's thought. "I am glad I was not around on that day. Someone, I believe, took a picture."
Natalie trails down the aisle and pauses, considering the selection in her basket before she asks, distracted, "What, are you scared of rodents?"
"Not me," he replies, following after Natalie a little ineffectually, giving an amused shake of his head, "but some of the students. I can only imagine the screams if some of the younger girls were finding the rat."
"You know, I never understood that," Natalie points out as she pauses. "Worst they're gonna do is bite you."
"Exactly. It is the same with spiders, the tiny little ones that can do no harm." A bemused look reinforces the sentiment. "And yet they have no problems to run with scissors, or swim in the dark, or have radios in the bathroom."
"And let me guess," Natalie queries, turning to face Piotr with a bemused expression. "You're the big brother who saves them from all their follies /and/ their phobias?"
"And the explosions and suchlike," agrees Piotr with a grinning nod. "Myself and one or two others who were at the school as well. They can be being a handful, but they are mostly good children."
"Explosions?" Natalie answers. "Damn."
"A joke," Piotr assures her, and then, because he dislikes telling lies, "Well, usually..."
Natalie accepts it as such, anyway, and she leans forward on a grin to tease, "And I'm sure they're all children too, huh? Twenty-two isn't /that/ old..."
"No, I am not so old yet," says Piotr, smile softening and spreading. "But, well, yes, they are children. They are ten years younger than me, the youngest. I think this gives me a little room to say such things, yes?"
"And the oldest?" Natalie teases.
"The oldest are still a few years younger," says Piotr, although his smile admits he may be on shakier ground here. "They are not children so much. They are mostly good too, though."
Natalie's brows lift at his smile, and she murmurs a noncommittal, "Mmhm," as she finally turns away and heads for the checkout.
Piotr follows, allowing Natalie to go ahead of him in the line. "It is a good place to be," he offers in general defence of himself, and for the sake of conversation, though his mastery of the art of conversation is limited.
"Sounds like it," Natalie answers, easy as she swings her basket up and flashes a vague smile at the cashier.
Another gap in the conversation looms ahead of Piotr, and he does his best to plug it. "How about you? You have far to go to get home?"
Natalie is a bit distracted in the task of shuffling her wallet out and watching the prices scan by. "What? Oh, I'm from Ohio. I mean. Originally. Chicago after that, and I've been here a few years."
"I was meaning, ah, today," says Piotr with a smile, realising that his clarification is not in itself massively clear. "From here. It would be a long way to come for groceries from Ohio."
Natalie breaks into sudden laughter, wallet held in midair as she turns to look at him. "Oh! Right, hey. Ha. I live near Columbia's campus. Where's this school of yours?"
"In Westchester, about an hour north of the city," says Piotr with a smile. "But, you cannot get pelmeni in the shops there, or at least none I have found."
"/Damn,/" Natalie replies, blinking before she's prompted to hand her debit card over. "An hour or more into school? I'd go crazy. Pelmeni, right - what's that place you said to go try it?"
"Brighton Beach," says Piotr, tilting his head a little at her surprise at the distance, still smiling. "They call it Little Odessa."
"Brighton Beach," Natalie repeats, considering for a moment as she commits it to memory. "Right. Gotcha. Maybe I'll do that sometime." Her card is returned, she signs a slip of paper, and her groceries are shuffled into bags.
Piotr smiles once more as he puts his own basket on the surface. "You should."
"I will," Natalie returns, amused, and pauses for a moment to watch him check out.
Piotr puts a hand in his pocket and retrieves a crumpled old bill, exchanging it for goods in the time honoured tradition of paying. The vegetables and paper bag are placed in a considerably more whole-looking plastic bag.
Natalie lingers and adjusts the weight of her bags in her grip before she draws out, "Anyway. It was good to meet you, Peter. Thanks for keeping me company and stuff."
"And you, Natalie," Piotr returns with a sincere smile as he takes a long stride forwards to get the door for her. "Take care."
"Lookit that," Natalie teases, good natured. "Twenty-two and a gentleman. You too." That said, she steps through the door and starts off down the street toward the subway.
With one final grin, Piotr pulls the door closed behind him and heads off in the opposite direction.
Twenty-two really shouldn't seem /young/ to me, should it? Course, I dunno, one minute it did, one minute it didn't. Either way, nice guy. Most amusing trip to the grocery I've had in ages. Even if I don't have any damn apples.
7/23/2006
The small grocery is busy today - Saturday evening, after all - and Natalie is busy frowning down at the remaining apples. There are five. None of them look particularly healthy. A plastic basket is draped over her arm, settled in the bent crook of it, while she glares at fruit from behind plastic-rimmed glasses and rests her opposite hand on a tilted hip. Seriously now. What did she ever do to the fruit selection, to deserve this?
The Piotr who enters the grocery from the hazy streets is not the neat young man he usually is. His black hair is unflatteringly flat against his head as if he had been caught some time ago in a thunderstorm, and the partially disintegrated state of the paper bag he is carrying might add to this impression. Collecting a basket, he approaches the fresh produce section and is similarly disappointed with what he finds, although his attention is more on the vegetables. "I should have come here earlier," he comments with a sidelong glance at the woman nearby,the tone of his accented base wry with rueful amusement.l
Natalie shifts her gaze sideways, and her long ponytail swings with the movement. She smiles in time to a short, snorted laugh while her hand slides from hip to thigh, pressing open against denim. "Yeah, no kidding, right?" She leans forward to scoop up an apple and tosses it up experimentally. "What're you after?"
"Just some onions and potatoes, and perhaps some broccoli," Piotr replies, reaching out to take the last remaining onion, which appears to be slightly shrivelled. He holds it up for inspection, brow furrowing at its unpleasant appearance though the smile remains on his lips. "You would think they could not be having difficulty with onions, but here I see this is not true."
"Soup?" Natalie ventures, and leans forward to drop the apple back into place with a digusted wrinkle of her nose before she adds, "Quiche?"
"A, ah, broth, I believe is a closer word. For pelmeni. Dumplings," Piotr clarifies, gesturing to the pitiful paper bag nestled in the corner of his basket. "And you, just apples to eat?" he asks, politeness returning the interest.
"I'm not gonna make a pie, if that's what you're asking," Natalie answers in fast, grinning retort. "Pelmeni, huh? What's that?"
"A pity, apple pie is delicious," Piotr returns with a smile. "But yes, pelmeni are Russian dumplings. They are a little like ravioli, but the taste is a different sort. You should try them, I am sure you would like them."
"Russian!" Natalie's reply is chipper as she shifts back on her heels and shoves her hand into a back pocket. "Yeah? What goes inside?" Her hand, just shoved, wiggles free again to sweep a bit of hair behind her ear as she grins at him. "Try 'em, huh? Where's someone get stuff like that in this city?"
"Beef, pork," replies Piotr, "seasoning. I am not so good a cook that I can make them myself. You should go to Brighton Beach to try them properly, just like mama used to make." He offers a smile at the thought, then spies another crate of onions below the display shelf and draws it out with a foot. "A bit of luck!"
"Luck for you," Natalie points out, and jerks her head toward the still-dubious selection of apples. "Huh. So if you don't make 'em, what're you shopping for? Just the broth to cook 'em in or something?"
"Precisely," replies Piotr, leaning down and taking two onions in one hand, then righting himself and pushing the crate back under the shelf with his foot. "Are there no more apples around? Perhaps some other fruit that is not so bad?"
"Yeah, I'll just-- I dunno, probably try another place or something," Natalie shares as she watches Piotr with an interested eye. "Or go tomorrow. Y'know."
A rueful smile is offered as the onions are placed in the basket. "There must be being some apples /somewhere/ in this city," Piotr adds, half in reassurance, half a joke, as he turns to the shelves to locate some broccoli.
Natalie breaks into easy laughter as she quips (badly), "Big Apple!"
"Ah yes!" exclaims Piotr with a laugh from deep within his chest, apparently genuinely amused by the pun. "I did not think of this! Although, it is one apple I would not like to be eating."
Natalie meets Piotr's laugh with a pleased grin, easily amused and bright as she watches him. She sweeps a hand back over her hair again and tips her head. "I dunno. Depends what you mean by eating, huh?" she returns.
With a hint of confusion in his expression, Piotr mimes eating an apple, glancing up from the imaginary fruit to his companion with a questioning look.
Natalie's smile deepens, and brown eyes glow at Piotr as she remains primly silent.
"No?" Piotr asks, truly unsure of her meaning, still amused. "Eating in some other way?"
"Oh, hon," Natalie returns, and slides her hand back to her pocket. "If you don't know, I don't think I should spoil your sweet little innocent Russian heart. You are Russian, right?"
Piotr's eyes travel to his basket for a moment as if it has any capacity to give him insight into the statement, but he looks back up at the question, grinning. "Da."
Natalie's gaze drops to his feet, the better to travel upward with teasing interest. "Huh. Russian," she answers. Her eyes find his again and she meets his smile. "What's the Big Apple got for ya, then?"
The slightest hint of colour comes to Piotr's cheeks at the appraising look, and he takes the opportunity to break eye contact and retrieve the broccoli he has espied. "School initially, now college," he replies, reaching forwards past his companion to fetch it. "Excuse me..." he trails off, realising he does not know her name. "I apologise," he say, breaking off from his reach to offer a hand. "I am Peter."
The blush earns Piotr an even wider grin, pleased and happy as she steps forward, hand wiping along the thigh of her jeans before she sticks it out in offering. "Peter. Hey, nice to meet you. I'm Natalie. Where're you going?"
"A pleasure to meet you too," he replies sincerely as he shakes her hand, completely engulfing it in his own large fingers. "Just as far as the broccoli," he adds with a grin, gesturing to where it sits on the shelf behind Natalie.
Natalie's fingers curl warm (and small!) in Piotr's hand, and her laugh breaks free again as she turns her head to regard the broccoli. "I meant to school, Pete-from-Russia," she corrects.
The blush deepens a little and is joined by an embarrassed smile at his misunderstanding as Piotr takes the broccoli from the shelf. "Emerson," he answers, his smile relaxing a little as he turns back to Natalie. "To study art and physics."
"/Art/ and physics," Natalie echoes in reply, delighted. "Really? That's an unusual combination. How'd you end up with that?"
One dark eyebrow twitches in amusement at the now-familiar response. "Art is my interest, but physics is perhaps more practical to know," he says, putting the broccoli in the basket alongside the onions. "There are many starving artists in the world, yes?"
"Yes," Natalie confirms. Her own basket hangs empty from her elbow as Piotr shops. "But some who don't, too. Depends what you want to do, I guess. And how good you are." She tips her head, and her long ponytail falls forward over her shoulder as she considers him. "But physics is a bit of an art itself, isn't it? Making sense of the world. A lotta satisfaction there."
"Certainly," agrees Piotr with a deeper smile, appreciating the ability to find art where most would not see it. "There are equations and theories instead of paints canvases, but I am seeing what you mean."
"My dad studies physics," Natalie shares, and flips her ponytail back over her shoulder. "I rebelled. I only do math." She grins, voice wrapping around the 'only' in faintly mocking emphasis.
"A difficult study," comments Piotr, looking around now for potatoes. "You are still studying this now, or has it become a profession?" He does not look at her and try to guess her age. This would be rude.
"Oh, both, really," Natalie replies easily. She trails after him in the search for potatoes without apparent compunction. "I'm a grad student at Columbia. I learn, I teach, I do it all."
"Ah, I see," says Piotr with a nod. Ah! Potatoes. A bag of potatoes is taken from the shelf and placed into the basket. He pays no particular attention to the type of potatoes they are. "A little like myself, although not on such a level. I am still helping out at my old school," he says with a smile.
"Your high school?" Natalie answers in surprise. She blinks at Piotr and studies him again with weighing judgement. "How old are you?" Polite? What?
It is, of course, only impolite to ask a lady her age. "Twenty two in a few days," replies Piotr, then offers by way of explanation, "It is a boarding school, a home away from home. The people there are a lot like family."
"Oh. Huh. Twenty-two." Natalie considers this with an expression that might be approving or might be disappointment - it's difficult to tell, really. She gnaws on her lower lip and hooks a thumb through her belt loop. "A boarding school? That's probably nice. I mean, being from Russia and stuff."
"It would certainly be difficult to come to classes if I was still living at home, yes?" asks Piotr, the wry smile returning to twist the corners of his lips.
"Little bit," Natalie acknowledges. She fidgets for a moment, sliding her basket down to her grip and switching hands. Her fingers drum against the plastic.
"You are looking for anything else besides apples?" asks Piotr, noticing the fidgeting, glancing around the shop as if already attempting to locate the items Natalie has not yet named.
"Oh!" Natalie glances down at her basket as if surprised and then blinks up at Piotr. "Damn. Right. Huh." She grins briefly and jerks her head toward the aisles of canned goods. "Pasta and stuff. I should probably do that, huh?"
"Would you be liking some help?" offers Piotr with a little hand gesture towards the shelves. "I have a while before the next bus home, and no other pressing things to do."
Natalie tips her head at Piotr, smile flashing as she pulls her lower lip between her teeth and runs fingers across her hair, finger-combing the end of her ponytail. "Yeah? Hey, why not. It's nothing fancy, y'know? I don't really cook," she admits sheepishly.
"Still a student," comments Piotr with a sparkle of humour in his eyes. "Very well, then. What are you needing?"
"Lazy," Natlie corrects good-naturedly. "Pasta, sauce. Easy mac. Soup from a can. What about you? Still in a dorm, or you have like, an apartment and stuff?"
"A room at the school," Piotr informs her as his eyes scan the shelves with more direction. "They are very good to those who stay and help, and it is meaning I do not have to get another job to keep myself in college."
"At the school still? /Really/?" Natalie blinks at this reply as she steps forward down an aisle, beelining for the desired pasta. She keeps most surprise and disdain from her voice. Really. "Well," she allows after a moment. "I guess that's nice."
"Like I said, it is a home," adds Piotr, missing most of the implications of Natalie's tone. "And," he gives a little chuckle, "If you have ever been in a boarding school, you will know how frequently there are... incidents," the word he spent a moment searching for covers a multitude of sins. "They are often glad to have a few older heads around."
"So you go to school," Natalie begins, ticking off a mental list as she reaches for a box of noodles. Curly. They have a name, but she's too lazy to properly learn it. "You study art /and/ physics. And you babysit high school kids in your free time?"
All that, and saving the world on alternate weekends. "Yes," replies Piotr with a little smile, aware of how out of the ordinary his life may sound, even the mundane side of it. "You study math, and teach math, and..." he trails off from his retort. "What are you doing in your free time?"
Natalie breaks into laughter as she drops a box of easymac in her basket. "Oh, Pete. Man. This /is/ my free time."
"Hmm. I see. I am thinking perhaps you do too much math." He shoots her a wry smile as he spies and heads for some canned soup.
"I'm thinking you've never been a grad student," Natalie returns, although her tone is lightly easy. "Besides. I like math. And Jack keeps me company." She bounces up on her toes and starts off down the aisle after him.
"Jack," Piotr repeats. "Boyfriend?" he looks up from eyeing the different varieties of soup to glance around for any signs of jealous men coming to claim Natalie.
Natalie breaks into fast laughter and risks a friendly poke of finger to arm as she shakes her head. "Pet," she corrects. "Snake. No boyfriend." She grins and hides her expression in the stretch for a soup. "Nothing and no one do to in my free time."
The error brings an amused embarrassment to Piotr which he hides, or attempts to hide, in reaching a hand to brush his hair back. He realises for the first time what a state it is in just as Natalie comments. It is hard to discern which exactly is the cause of the return of his blush. "A snake?" he essays, trying to divert the course of the conversation. "A very unusual pet. What kind?"
Natalie's sideways glance as she drops clam chowder and fiesta chicken into her basket is amused, and her eyes linger over that blush consideringly. "King," she supplies. "Yeah, I guess so. I've had him forever, though, so I mean. I don't really think about it, y'know?"
"Yes, things become usual after a while," Piotr agrees with a nod and a knowing smile. "One of the girls at the school has a pet rat."
"Yeah?" Natalie answers with easy interest. She's silent for a moment as she considers further varities, on sale, and then offers, "I feed Jack mice?"
Piotr grins in return. "You win, I think," he says with a smile that hides a little humour. "Snakes /and/ mice are definitely being more unusual than just a rat."
Natalie grins as she dismisses her options and continues down the aisle. "The mice aren't pets," she clarifies. "Just food. And mostly I buy 'em dead and frozen."
"Even so," admits Piotr with a wave of his hand, "I think Jack the snake has the victory over Pest the rat."
"Put 'em in a ring together, I think probably," Natalie agrees, chipper. "Although, y'know, those suckers have sharp nails. If I'm not careful, the mice can get him a bit scratched up, and they're a lot smaller."
"I am hearing they have sharp teeth also," says Piotr, smile widening to a grin. "But it seems to be more interested in escaping than hurting anyone. I believe they have found the rat in the showers before now."
"At your school?" Natalie asks, brows lifting."
"Yes," says Piotr, giving a chuckle after a moment's thought. "I am glad I was not around on that day. Someone, I believe, took a picture."
Natalie trails down the aisle and pauses, considering the selection in her basket before she asks, distracted, "What, are you scared of rodents?"
"Not me," he replies, following after Natalie a little ineffectually, giving an amused shake of his head, "but some of the students. I can only imagine the screams if some of the younger girls were finding the rat."
"You know, I never understood that," Natalie points out as she pauses. "Worst they're gonna do is bite you."
"Exactly. It is the same with spiders, the tiny little ones that can do no harm." A bemused look reinforces the sentiment. "And yet they have no problems to run with scissors, or swim in the dark, or have radios in the bathroom."
"And let me guess," Natalie queries, turning to face Piotr with a bemused expression. "You're the big brother who saves them from all their follies /and/ their phobias?"
"And the explosions and suchlike," agrees Piotr with a grinning nod. "Myself and one or two others who were at the school as well. They can be being a handful, but they are mostly good children."
"Explosions?" Natalie answers. "Damn."
"A joke," Piotr assures her, and then, because he dislikes telling lies, "Well, usually..."
Natalie accepts it as such, anyway, and she leans forward on a grin to tease, "And I'm sure they're all children too, huh? Twenty-two isn't /that/ old..."
"No, I am not so old yet," says Piotr, smile softening and spreading. "But, well, yes, they are children. They are ten years younger than me, the youngest. I think this gives me a little room to say such things, yes?"
"And the oldest?" Natalie teases.
"The oldest are still a few years younger," says Piotr, although his smile admits he may be on shakier ground here. "They are not children so much. They are mostly good too, though."
Natalie's brows lift at his smile, and she murmurs a noncommittal, "Mmhm," as she finally turns away and heads for the checkout.
Piotr follows, allowing Natalie to go ahead of him in the line. "It is a good place to be," he offers in general defence of himself, and for the sake of conversation, though his mastery of the art of conversation is limited.
"Sounds like it," Natalie answers, easy as she swings her basket up and flashes a vague smile at the cashier.
Another gap in the conversation looms ahead of Piotr, and he does his best to plug it. "How about you? You have far to go to get home?"
Natalie is a bit distracted in the task of shuffling her wallet out and watching the prices scan by. "What? Oh, I'm from Ohio. I mean. Originally. Chicago after that, and I've been here a few years."
"I was meaning, ah, today," says Piotr with a smile, realising that his clarification is not in itself massively clear. "From here. It would be a long way to come for groceries from Ohio."
Natalie breaks into sudden laughter, wallet held in midair as she turns to look at him. "Oh! Right, hey. Ha. I live near Columbia's campus. Where's this school of yours?"
"In Westchester, about an hour north of the city," says Piotr with a smile. "But, you cannot get pelmeni in the shops there, or at least none I have found."
"/Damn,/" Natalie replies, blinking before she's prompted to hand her debit card over. "An hour or more into school? I'd go crazy. Pelmeni, right - what's that place you said to go try it?"
"Brighton Beach," says Piotr, tilting his head a little at her surprise at the distance, still smiling. "They call it Little Odessa."
"Brighton Beach," Natalie repeats, considering for a moment as she commits it to memory. "Right. Gotcha. Maybe I'll do that sometime." Her card is returned, she signs a slip of paper, and her groceries are shuffled into bags.
Piotr smiles once more as he puts his own basket on the surface. "You should."
"I will," Natalie returns, amused, and pauses for a moment to watch him check out.
Piotr puts a hand in his pocket and retrieves a crumpled old bill, exchanging it for goods in the time honoured tradition of paying. The vegetables and paper bag are placed in a considerably more whole-looking plastic bag.
Natalie lingers and adjusts the weight of her bags in her grip before she draws out, "Anyway. It was good to meet you, Peter. Thanks for keeping me company and stuff."
"And you, Natalie," Piotr returns with a sincere smile as he takes a long stride forwards to get the door for her. "Take care."
"Lookit that," Natalie teases, good natured. "Twenty-two and a gentleman. You too." That said, she steps through the door and starts off down the street toward the subway.
With one final grin, Piotr pulls the door closed behind him and heads off in the opposite direction.