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Ruslan raised an eyebrow and let out a brief scoff in amusement. That sounded like a threat. "How peculiar that a man called West knows nothing of the north," he quipped. "You insult me then ask me to talk..." Ruslan looked down at the drink in his hand and swirled it around contemplatively, cat falling asleep in the other. "It is part of our job to lie," he said, shooting him a glare. "Perhaps when your people have learned how to draw maps, your mouth won't be asking for a bullet."

His eyes then wandered to the woman who had returned, eager and enthralled with a device that also seemed foreign to him. Its exterior was not quite metallic and somehow it produced ink. But such observations were too complex for his liking right now. Ruslan rubbed and eye and gently shook his head. Not enough vodka yet... He watched her curiously as she sketched out what appeared to be a map. Maybe Lance could learn from this woman. Though from what his skewed vodka-goggle vision could determine, her map was more like an amorphous blob of scattered lines and arbitrary shading than any map he could recognize.

Yakov now seemed fully engrossed with the girl in his lap, eyes wandering but never leaving her, and hands intermittently taking gulps from his pitcher then back to the tall drink of Jóna. He grinned, "Jóna can't feel so foreign once she's in my bed. Such a familiar place." He took another swig, laughter almost bursting vodka from his mouth as he struggled to swallow. "The what?!" he laughed uproariously. A hand swung around to forcefully grab Ruslan by the shoulder as he turned to him in his chair. "She says 'the Groot-slang'," he laughed breathlessly.

Ruslan nearly choked on his drink as well when he heard the term, sounding awfully similar to another term in their native language. Suddenly, his suspicious attitude melted away and back into an eased, giggly state.

Yakov's attention was quickly drawn back to her as their flirting continued, and his laughing tapered. "How big is this... Groot-slang?" he barely get out without a chuckle. "Tell me of its legends." He could already feel the challenge rising, nearly all rational thought leaving him as he continued downing drink after drink.

[[i'm assuming the tattoos are visible, starstruck, hope that's right]]

As he turned from Yakov, he found his good mood soiled once more. The comment from the woman went through one ear and out the other; mindlessly chocked up to another empty threat. Suddenly, strange markings began to glow along the man's skin. Ruslan rubbed his eyes again, vision growing more blurred by the moment. Without explanation, he decided to blame the reflection of the strange torches that hung in bowls from the ceiling. A drawing was then presented to him at the counter. He squinted as he looked over it carefully, and gradually the writing formed into characters he was most familiar with. However, he couldn't help but notice multiple countries with distorted borders and regional names interchanged for surnames. He laughed again. "Hmm. Is this game common at this bar? Or," he looked around and gestured with the drink in his hand sarcastically, "'your people?'" He sipped his vodka as he heard the last comment thrown at him. Ruslan grinned, tilting his head to the side in a half-nod of affirmation. "We drink vodka for many reasons..." He nonchalantly brushed the edge of his coat back, revealing the handgun and hilt of a blade holstered to his side as he tilted back for another shot. "If you keep agitating me like this, you'll become another reason."

Yakov's eyes grew wide with childish wonder. "Twenty Yakovs?!" he asked loud and enthusiastically. Then, he caught her gaze falling. He felt what blush could still rise to his cheeks through his sloshed complexion at her remark, but he couldn't be angry with a woman that met his equal so well. He moved her hand to get a better feel for the snake in question. Half chuckling, he leaned in to whisper not so quietly in her ear, voice gruff and vodka-laden. "Just wait until this Groot-slang wakes up." He managed a drunken slide of his lips across her neck before leaning back. "A flower like you does not need to fight monsters."

Yakov held his smile, though his expression began to change as he forced comprehension more complex than he had previously planned upon himself. He could see her upset becoming visible. "Jóna doesn't need to fight this monster," he cooed, bringing a hand to her face. She must have caught him at just the right time of his drunken night to tug at his long-bittered heart strings. "Yakov will fight all of Jóna's monsters for her," he soothed. Then after a brief pause, "Under one condition." He slid a finger to tap against her chin. "You will marry Yakov. Yes, this is good? Good," giving her absolutely no time to answer. "RUS!" he shouted, raising his arm into the air, pitcher in hand splashing vodka onto the bar.

Ruslan nearly jumped out of his skin to hear his name called so loudly from beside him.

"We're getting married!" he yelled joyously.

Ruslan laughed. "You like this one a lot then too, huh?" he said before downing another shot. He managed to move his arm in a motion that resembled making a toast. Ruslan found one of the few remaining glasses that hadn't yet been emptied of vodka and raised it into the air. "TO YAKOV! ... And this girl, I don't know her name."

Yakov and Ruslan threw one back each in celebration.

Yakov grinned, having no qualms with wherever their pretend marriage was consummated. He made an expression of exaggerated repulsion. "Wedding?!" He took another shot of vodka before shaking his head. "No. I said we marry," Yakov clarified. "There is no need for this in my village. I tell you that you are Yakov's, and so you are Yakov's."

Ruslan couldn't help but laugh to himself, having seen a similar scene unfold every time a brothel girl had managed to hold his attention for the night. His taste was certainly questionable at best.

Yakov picked Jóna up with both arms as if they had just been declared newlyweds arriving into their honeymoon suite- which they practically were at this point. "Tonight we marry!" he declared loudly. With only a slight stumble, he caught his balance, surprisingly. He gestured with his head. "There, there is room. Is good? Good."