Coffee in hand, Kostya surveyed the basement corridor. Not much to look at, still, but at least it was less infected with bugs than it used to be.
10:33 AM - Minipet Lab
His least favourite duty. Making a terrible face, he held a very enthusiastic and fond treat, doing his best to avoid its friendly desire to cuddle. Disgusting.
1:14 PM - The Bunker - Garden
Kostya was pulling up, fittingly enough, potatoes from the garden. The door to the bunker was wide open, as he needed the breeze.
3:49 PM - Training Field
With Syntax formed on the arm that was incomplete, Kostya braced it there with his good hand, firing it from a distance at the dummy. Some shots connect, but some spiral off to the side, unreliable.
He looks extra stressed out, because of it.
5:11 PM - Kitchens
Armed with his own supplies, Kostya for the first time in two months is cooking. It's nothing fancy; just chili, with cornbread in the oven. It smells great.
8:54 PM - Bluffs
His preferred place to unwind, alone with a view of the sea and a flask to keep himself warm. There's a lantern next to him--a crank style one-- illuminating him from a distance. The wind blows, and Kostya sighs into it, carried out from the island and into the dark.
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Kostya is 5'7", in Death division, and extremely Russian. He has grey-blue eyes, short brown hair, and right now? An unfortunate beard of sadness. He looks exhausted.
The most notable thing about his appearance is his left arm, or should I say, the lack of it. It's missing from the elbow up, and he keeps it covered with his coat, pinned up to keep the sleeve out of the way.
He's not very expressive at all, face schooled into something neutral, although it slips more now than it used to.
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