Don't Bother. [Anya]

[Orpheus Lubomudrov]

The laboratory styled room was almost empty, dimly lit by whatever sunlight managed to get in. Stools were scattered around their respective stations, glinting occasionally in the natural glow, their inhabitants long gone by now. At the head of the class sat a desk a bit larger than the rest. Behind this was Orpheus, bent over the surface of it with his nose inches away from a packet of paper, reading glasses sliding towards the end of his nose. In one hand was a crudely sharpened pencil, which raced across the paper at an alarming rate. His other arm was bent against the side of his body, left hand holding the scissors he used to sharpen said pencil. The scissor's edge floated dangerously close to his pectoral, then drifted back towards the table as he straightened a bit, rereading the chemical equation on the paper.

"Fucking. Fuck."

He flipped the pencil between his fingers, and went to erase, only to discover that what was left of the eraser was long gone and he had instead left two horrible, green-tinted scratches on the paper. His glasses fell with a defeated 'thunk' on top of his work, a final kick to the stomach. Extremely fed up with this chain of tragic events, Orpheus snapped the pencil in half, spat onto his musings and swiveled around to find the garbage bin. He sighed, shaking his head slightly as he tried to collect himself, wishing he could snap pencils over and over until his frustration had subsided. Only, you know, wandering around the room snapping pencils might bring some unwanted attention to his already strange self. Anyway. He caught a glimpse of his watch and determined it might have been a good time to get the fuck out of there and make sure Mishka hadn't killed himself on accident.

[Anya Vasiliev]

Orpheus was a face from a past Anya had regularly tried to forget, or at least warp to something more pleasant. The man had worked for Kirill in Russia, proving a worthy and valuable friend to the family before times became dark and cold. This was why the woman was walking quietly towards his lab, arms cradling a basket of fruit scones and freshly made sandwiches, and a pot of homebrew tea.

"Orpheus." She cooed, opening the door and nudging it with her hip till it gave in and let her inside. "Why are you spitting?" She asked viciously, setting the items on the table and sitting down with her arms across the table. "You worry too much, my friend." The woman said with a small smile, before opening the basket and setting the items down. "Did you eat today?" She added sharply, narrowing her eyes in a cat-like manner, arms folding across her chest. Orpheus had a habit for getting caught up in his work, and the woman knew it from experience. That and he ate like a starved animal.

"How have your classes been today?" Anya asked conversationally, sipping her tea and serving the sandwiches and tilting her head. "Someone set fire to the ceiling fan again. Detention all round and a power block for an hour." She said frostily, shaking her head.

[Orpheus Lubomudrov]

Even though he had been to Nikitin's many times, Orpheus' memory of Anya, before he had begun working at Hammel, was very faded. It was easy enough to remember a pretty face, but the bits of her that he'd unearthed while back in Russia had been hard to recall. Even so, she was a person he had always been able to remain on good terms with. A great deal of that might have been due to the cultural link, however, Orpheus did genuinely enjoy her company. Anyone who could cook as well as her was worth having around, anyway. He picked up his head, icy gaze on the woman and her basket of treats. The expression on his face - permanent displeasure - softened. Rising from his seat he set the scissors down and left his glasses where they had fallen.

"Why not spit? This is America." A casual shrug. Orpheus strode towards the closest stool, picked up and set it down not too far from his own. "I barely had anything left in my house, but made do. What did you bring?" He watched her, elbows on the table and fingers locked in front of his mouth. As she started to produce sandwiches he remembered how hungry he'd been. "Sandwiches." He said faintly before removing his elbows from the table. The science teacher poured himself some tea, and, while it cooled, reached for his sandwich. "Teenagers these days. You think they'd learn after the first time, but they'd like any reason to play hokey pokey, or whatever they call it." Of course he meant hooky. But why would he pay attention to scruffian slang. His slip-up was made more funny by his accent, and altogether grumpy exterior. Classic grinch.

[Anya Vasiliev]

"Spitting is still spitting in any country, Orpheus." Anya said stubbornly, sipping the tea and smiling slightly. Orpheus was a strong willed man, and she wondered what had happened between her ex husband and him shortly after she left. But those thoughts were for another time, when they weren't at school and the young woman wouldn't break into tears or shiver at suppressed memories. The sandwich instead received her wrath as she quietly picked the bread and pressed it to her lips. "I remembered you liked beetroot." Anya laughed, shaking her head to dislodge the questions tickling her brain.

"There are scones in the bag also." She said simply, gesturing inside the basket. "I thought you would have misfed yourself as you usually do." Her lips curled in a vague smile. That smile, however, vanished at the memory of the class she had taught earlier, and all the mischief they had indulged in as they pushed her to her limits, eventually sending each student to the corner of the room, powers blocked, detention set. "It is disappointing sometimes, yes, when they do not pay attention to the care I put into my lessons." She said crispy, taking another bite of sandwich, then pursing her lips around her cup. "But such is working with young adults, Orpheus. It is how modern society is." Her voice sounded slightly tired as she looked down at the spat on work and snapped pencil. "How is Mishka? Still eating your plants?"

[Orpheus Lubomudrov]

He smirked defiantly at the spitting comment. "Harasho. Would have preferred shashlik, but what can you do." Before speaking again he took a monstrous bite of the sandwich, which he then had a bit of difficulty chewing, so bowed his head to hide most of that process. As always this meant it was very good. "Ha, yes," His head came back up, and Orpheus glanced at Anya's sandwich, then at her. "I see you still eat as much as a mouse." This comment was followed by another wolfish bite, though perhaps not as alarmingly big as the last. It was nice that she stopped by at all, though nothing particularly stressful had gone on during class or even before that, not like having to deal with student arsonists. It was hard to believe that Anya couldn't keep everything under control all the time; she seemed like that kind of person, and always managed to get good grades out of most of her students.

"Modern society." Orpheus scoffed, lips falling into a disgruntled frown. "I should take your class on a trip to a russian prison, and maybe forget them there." He smiled for a second, maliciously, eyebrows rising. The sandwich had been completely devoured, as such he reached in the bag and retrieved two scones. The afore mentioned frown returned with a vengance. "They should be thankful that they have a profyessor who actually knows what she's doing." Somehow it only took him a few minutes to finish both scones, as well as his tea. Compared to his poised and polite company, he probably seemed disgracefully uncivilised. Only during mealtime, and heavens knew why.

"Mishka. He fell into the toilet yesterday. Doing something. I don't know. He didn't find any fish anyway. I'm thinking it might be less trouble to put him in a stew after all."

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya didn't bat an eyelid at Orpheus' eating habits. The man had regularly come round for dinner in Russia, and no matter how well fed the young woman tried to keep him, he always ate as though there was nothing but dust in his stomach. "And you, moy droog, still eat like a starved beast." Her voice was light, and she grabbed a different sandwich, filled with jellied meat and nibbled it in thought. "Are you coming to dinner tonight? I plan to make Lapsha and pirozhki, as I received my mother's recipe this morning by post." She said conversationally, sipping her tea once more. "You can bring your feline companions, Dashenka has been rather lonesome of late." The woman laughed gently, pulling out a napkin and draping it over Orpheus' arm.

"Wipe your mouth, you look a mess." She added with a shake of her head.

Anya then delicately buttered her scone and took a bite, rolling her eyes slightly at the older man's suggestions. "Eh. They are normally good... but you know children. They like to push." Resting her chin on her hand, she looked down at her scone and then back up at Orpheus. "They will realise how stupid they were many years forward, and be ashamed." She added, finishing her tea and offering the flask out again to her friend, pouring him another cup wordlessly. "Perhaps Mishka found himself requiring a drink?" Anya asked gently, cleaning away the crumbs on the desk out of habit, and tapping her red nails on the desk. "Dashenka has taken to sleeping in my clean laundry. Cat linen." She remarked sharply, shaking her head. "I have told her no, but she pays little attention to me."

[Orpheus Lubomudrov]

"I can never say no to your cooking." For a brief moment he thought about Kirill, and the circumstances under which their friendship had deteriorated. Never mind that the man had an obvious distaste for meta-humans; he had never thought that one of his best friends could be so cruel to a woman who had rarely, if ever, done the man wrong. It was none of his business, anyway, but he couldn't help wondering about it. He still had uncomfortable feelings about how everything had turned out. It had been abrupt, cold, and ended up unfinished. Not that he minded. The matter was a thought, perhaps a conversation, for a different time. Orpheus' focus was back on his stomach, though he didn't reach for another sandwich just yet. "Bolshenko, maybe, Mishka's too much of a demon to go anywhere. Dashenka would probably claw his eyes out after a few minutes."

Orpheus wiped his mouth, looking slightly offended. He watched her butter the scone with class he could never muster, watched the tea refill, and eventually took another sandwich, promptly stuffing it into his mouth as if to cancel out the fact that he had actually listened to her motherly demand. After a while of contemplative chewing, Orpheus' deep voice resounded. "My father would have broken his hand on my ass if I lit anything on fire. Especially at school." He mumbled something along the lines of "difficult to understand" and sipped at his tea. At the comment about Mishka and Dashenka he allowed a genuine smile to slip, looking upwards at nothing in particular. "Who knows?" Another shrug. "Mishka's got a few problems, but none that aren't funny. And Dashenka, you just spoil her rotten. We are but peasants in her tsaritsa's glow."