(Untitled)

[majorhellstrom]

By this point, Dieter is fully aware of the sorts of pranks that the rec room likes to play. Still, he's crouched down in front of the bookshelf, flipping through records as the jukebox plays a Lilian Harvey song quietly in the background, a soft jab at his prior life. (He doesn't have the patience to look through the actual books - he might have,

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[blondrussianspy]

If there was anything that could spur someone to very diligently pursue an improved vocabulary, it was dating someone who quite literally did not speak one's language. Natalya couldn't bring herself to sit down with any of the Easy English for Russians books, so she'd taken to reading classic American novels. Twain had been quite interesting, and enjoyable, but she was ready to try something else. English-Russian dictionary wedged in the back pocket of her trouser-style jeans, she was heading for the bookshelf.

There was a slight obstacle.

She stopped short of the legs, looked to either side, saw no graceful way past, and huffed out the softest sound of annoyance.

"Charming," she murmured in her native tongue, and began to step over his legs, giving him as much clearance as she could.

[majorhellstrom]

Russian. His lips twitched in amusement, a little surprised given the fact that the majority of the people here seemed to be either American or English. He didn't bother moving or opening his eyes until she'd gotten past, then slowly straightening up and stretching his arms up, actions calculated just so.

"Sorry," he added momentarily, although his tone of voice suggested that he wasn't sorry in the least. "Lost track of the time."

[blondrussianspy]

She hesitated, glancing back at the man with slightly narrowed eyes, more at his tone than anything.

"Is easy enough for doing, here," she commented, "losing the time," and stepped up to the shelf. He looked familiar. She tried to recall if they'd ever spoken in passing or if he was just one of the relatively few faces that populated the island.

[majorhellstrom]

In response, he simply offered up a smile, one that didn't reach his eyes by any means.

"Mostly because there's too much of it," Hellstrom noted, cocking his head to one side. Almost immediately, he was interested; her accent alone had been enough of an oddity on the island, but combined with her speech patterns, she was an anomaly.

[borncareless]

He isn't in her way, but only because Delysia changes her destination upon seeing Dieter there, even while appearing to be asleep. Standing, for a moment, where his legs block the path, she moves a moment later to his side, leaning over and peering at him curiously, as if trying to decide whether she should say something or not. It's a few seconds before she makes up her mind, exhaling audibly before she speaks. Really, it's for his own good; she can't just let him stay like that.

"Tired?" she asks, full volume, one finger tapping his shoulder. He certainly looks it.

[majorhellstrom]

Although he registers that he's being observed, he doesn't move until prompted, shifting at the touch. As opposed to slipping further down in the chair, he seems to slip up, until his feet are firmly planted on the ground and he's propped his elbows on his thighs.

"A little," he says, brushing at his bangs. "That easy to tell?"

[borncareless]

"With the way you were lying there?" Delysia asks, eyebrows raised, her crooked smile notably skeptical. There's nothing else he could have been, at least, not as far as she can tell. Having him awake now, though, it isn't worth dwelling on; if he was tired, it's obviously not enough to get in the way. "So what were you doing before you decided to get some shuteye?"

[majorhellstrom]

"Perusing the shelves," Dieter responds, drawing out his vowels. "Which were as fickle as they usually are." He's only had minimal luck in getting anything from it, which is fairly evident from his tone of voice, and easily extrapolated given how everyone else fares with it, too. "How are you?"