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 Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 5:22 pm
He'd been avoiding this conversation. It's not one he wanted to have, in particular: not with Otto, and not like this. There would not be a repeat of the way Kostya had handled Obadiah's stumble into misbehaviour-- partially because he doted on Otto due to his inability to care for himself, and had no expectations that he could be truly efficient, but also because the other hunter had experienced a recent trauma of significant weight. (The girl with the rainbow had been important, but she had been a stranger, too. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if she really existed.) All of this together meant that he'd tread gently, unsure of how to cope with grief and loss of someone close, and doubly unsure of how to comfort someone with anything but his presence. And so, he let himself into Otto's room, ignoring where he sat bundled up in a blanket, and checked on his various food drop locations. Kostya had put tupperware of various foods around the room, full of non-perishables (trail mix, popcorn, pretzels, goldfish) -- and yet, they all laid untouched. Even the ones on the table to the side of him, in plain sight. This was beginning to get worrisome. He walked in front of the couch and coffee table, arms slowly crossing. "Otto," he said, sternness in his voice, "why not touch food."
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 5:34 pm
He'd been dreading this conversation. Kostya had left him alone since the day Nevada died. Somehow he caught on that he needed the space, and not a meal. While Otto had gotten many visitors, and some even made sure to feed him, the truth was Otto wasn't able to keep much down for long. Sometimes a few hours went by, but then he'd picture it again; Nevada's gruesome death coupled with the burn of alcohol. It ended in a trip to the bathroom, praying to the porcelain gods. He didn't eat. He barely snacked. He could feel himself wither away and he was fine with it. He was certain one day he'd wake up, and everything would be okay. Maybe he'd wake up and feel better. Maybe he'd eat. The pizza slice from Stormy, ended up down the drain some time after. The ice cream from Rin; taken and licked at but never finished. The sandwich she'd made, eaten and surprisingly kept down. The bread from Ripley, eaten and thrown up some time after the man left. He knew better. He really did. However, it all hurt. Too much to be bothering. So here was Kostya now, and he knew he was in trouble. Guilty blue eyes slid to the containers that had been specially prepared just for him, and it made him sick just to look. He felt badly, but he couldn't bring himself to eat again just to please his friends. "I don't feel good.." He mumbled quietly, curling further into his blanket burrito.
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 5:56 pm
"I know," Kostya said, not unkindly, his face devoid of pity and sympathy alike. He had no idea what most people went through, went they felt strongly, but especially in the wake of sorrow. When Mimsy had cut him out of her life, he'd stared at the ceiling in an idle stasis as his primary activity, like a computer in sleep mode. That had been different. He could not honestly hypothesize how he would have reacted at her death, or how he might now react to America's, but he knew that the other hunter's survival was important to others as well as him. Watching him waste away would be a futile endeavour, especially since he was equipped to help...even if that help was givenb y force. "But are going to eat anyvay." He produced a granola bar-- he'd adopted Molly's preferred brand-- and opened it, holding it out for Otto to take, patient. "You are priyatel, friend. But are hunter first, and hunter order is to survive, not because ve are vanting to, but because is our burden, fate, and future, until ve can not being survive any longer."
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 6:05 pm
Otto felt his stomach turn at the sight of the granola bar. He was sick of trying to eat. The boy groaned, falling on his side and hiding his face in blankets. "I'll eat it later..." Survival. He knew. He knew, okay, he knew he had to move on. Live. He was going to. Just not right now. Maybe not even tomorrow. Food hurt. Everything hurt.
"I'll just get sick again."
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 6:23 pm
Kostya took a seat on one of the couch's arms, waiting for some of the dramatics to subside. As a defence mechanism, Otto turning away from Kostya, and consequently, the world. He was unsure if a person's nature could change under the duress of grief, and so trying to change that would likely result in a dead end for results. He would have to use another tactic. "That is a lie," he said, patient. "If food make sick, can bring liquid drink for nutrition instead." There was a lingering glance given to the bottles around the room-- briefly wondering if he should start a sort of buddy system with America to prevent Otto from drinking quite so much-- and zeroed in on a bottle that still held its liquid amnesia contents. It was worrying, to see him like this. Otto had always been sullen, but never like this. Perhaps Kostya did not truly know him, after all, which was a disconcerting thought. What could he rely upon, if not his own discretions and intuition? And then, without a word, he picked up the bottle and moved to the sink, uncapping it in preparation of pouring one out for Nevada. Pouring out one entire bottle, that is.
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 6:27 pm
Otto watched Kostya carefully. He was taking away the booze. He assumed he'd just put it away, until he saw him uncap it. Oh... maybe he wanted a drink himself, and was grabbing a glass? But then Kostya began to pour it down the drain. His precious, sweet nectar. He was draining the Southern Comfort. "W-woah woah woah, what're you doing?!" Otto clamoured, trying to unfree himself from the nest he'd made. "Don't! That's mine!!"
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 6:47 pm
Kostya locked eyes with Otto, and continued pouring the alcohol down the drain-- until every last amber droplet was gone. "Helping," he said, simple, eyebrows slightly raised in mock surprise. Inwardly, he was satisfied that this experiment had resulted in success: a true reaction, startling Otto out of his saddened stupor. He began opening various cupboards in search of additional bottles, working through them with the same meticulous methodology he applied to all things in his life. Aha! Hoisting the bottle out, Kostya held it high, as if he'd just found a great treasure that he was going to destroy. "Do not be such baby."
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 6:56 pm
Was Kostya stupid? Oblivious to what he was doing? Otto was unhappy, but it was just half the bottle. Until Kostya found his other, unopened bottles. "NO!" otto shrieked, leaping off the couch and over to Kostya. "No touchy! Don't you ********' dare!" He tried to grab the bottle away from him, put himself between the booze and Kostya. "Don't pour this s**t out! It was a gift!"
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 7:06 pm
Kostya blinked as Otto yanked the bottle away, clutching it as though it was some sort of coveted jewel. "Why?" he asked, clearly not comprehending the weight that gift had to Otto. "Are not responsible to drink in 'moderate' -- so no can trust." The Russian crossed his arms, displeased. "If not pour out, then should take until are able to control self."
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 7:10 pm
Otto was upset now. Kostya was taking things away from him as if he was a child. Everyone took everything away. Nothing could ever just be his. Everyone checked on him. No one left him alone. "You ********' a**!" He snapped, setting the booze aside and pushing Kostya back with both hands. "It ain't none of your ******** business! You know nuthin'! I ain't a ******** kid! It's my health, my life and my damn drink!" They'd take everything from him. They always did.
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 7:19 pm
"If not a child," Kostya said, lips pursing in irritation, "maybe consider not act like one." He gestured at the state of the room, at the blankets on the couch and floor, the empty bottles, and Otto himself before he was shoved backwards by the furious blond himself. "Am not telling to grief less. Am not telling to be happy, or pretend as if nothing change. Because she is dead, and nothing that I can be doing to fix or change this vun fact." Kostya shoved Otto in turn, two hands against the other man's shoulders. They were the same height, now, and despite his slim stature, Otto was stronger than Kostya. "Need to survive," he snapped, "vasting it is not option. You vill, vhether you like or not." Kostya had let someone waste away once with sorrow before before, and it had done nothing good for Mimsy. "Should leave to choke on own vomit?" he asked, acidic. "Should leave to spiral into nothing but catatonic, for weeks? Months?" Kostya was angry, now, lip curled in a way that only Taym had ever seen. "No. Am going to make sure you live, because you are a friend. That is vhy my business."
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 7:26 pm
Otto's blue eyes widened into saucers. He was scared. Kostya had never gotten cross with him. Since Nevada's death, no one had gotten angry at him. He was in trouble. He was being yelled at for being angry. For being a mess. Otto got angrier. "I don't have to keep my room Goddamn immaculate!" He yelled, his fists balled tightly at his sides. "Why the ******** do you think I'd let myself get as bad as all that?! I'm not tryin' to kill myself, Kostya!" He wailed out, his voice brimming with emotion. "I'll survive and live, because I always ******** do! Everyone else dies! Everyone else leaves me behind! So just this once, I feel like saying at the ********' bottom! Just this once, I wanna let myself be a ******** pile of s**t!" His voice squeaked, cracked, fluctuated. "I don't feel like taking care of myself! I don't feel like being good! I wanna be a miserable s**t and drink shots in the ******** morning, and you ain't got the authority to tell me no! I'll go back to normal when I'm damn well ready!"
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 7:55 pm
"I do not know vhy," he said, firm and sincere. "I do not know if are trying to kill self, or not. Suicide by not acting is still suicide--" And oh, there it was: the truth, horrible and ugly and squalling like a babe torn from its mother. It was not that Otto needed to survive this: it was that he already had, because he was too good at surviving. Kostya was not sure how that changed things, but it did. It did not mean that he was going to relent. "Difference between-- between-- immaculate," he'd most certainly mispronounced the word, "and sty a pig is shamed to be in. Not forcing normal, forcing bare minimum for health." He was loud, too, voice raising with Otto's. "Do not have authority to, but infirmary do, and am sure Sunny is not so kind as me." Yes: he had threatened Sunny. Otto didn't need to know that it was a bluff, in case they decided to send Otto to the Sahara too. "You vill eat appropriate amount of food," Kostya insisted. "And if cannot keep down, the obstacle vill be remove."
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 8:01 pm
Otto laughed. Laughed. "WHAT obstacle? My GAG reflex!?" The teen was losing it, losing his mental balance he'd held onto. "Go ahead and TELL on me! May as well go all out on treating me like a ******** five year old! Fussin' over me, tellin' me to clean my damn room, tellin' me to eat my ********' veggies." The teen began to pace. "I'll eat! Just not right now! I'm hungry, but everything makes me sick! I try and sleep and all I dream of his her death. I blink and all I see is her blood in that ********' zombies teeth!"
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Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2014 9:34 pm
Without missing a beat, Kostya replied with clenched teeth: "Yes, if necessary." He was not above force-feeding the unwilling, regardless of the ethics concerning it. Kostya pursed his lips again, unsure of how to handle this burst of emotion. It was clearly unpleasant for Otto: he was unhappy, to his bones and through his teeth. He showed everything when he deigned to show his cards, and in doing so he revealed the lowest possible hand. Kostya was no good at this. He wished that America was here-- there was no doubt in his head that she'd handle this wiser, with a gentler hand when she needed to and with a firmer hold when Otto needed it. What would she do, here? When either one of them was distraught, physical contact always seemed to be a balm-- a gesture of...good will, as it were, of presence, of ...something sturdier than the transient nature of their lives. So he stalked closer, with a menacing look on his face, and forcefully embraced Otto with a tight grip (always too tight-- it was a flaw he could never quite correct, as if the person in his grasp might slip away at any given moment) -- and held him. "I am being... sorry," he said, blandly, hesitating before continuing. "Vhen people are in pain, am not sure vhat to be doing-- in Russian, there is vord. Dosada. Is disappoint, frustrate, and grief. Is much in you."
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