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It felt like it was far to early in the morning to be up and moving around intelligently. Charlot was leaning against one of the park bench style tables, cigarette hanging limply from the corner of his mouth. He'd been out too late last night drinking and had little sleep to catch up between- it felt like a marching band had set up camp between his ears.

He let out a sigh, closing his eyes for a few moments trying to 'zen' the sensation of pain away. It wasn't really working.

The day was far to warm and sunny for his hangover. He ran a hand across his chin, idly wondering where he'd find a razor to shave the bit of prickles that had begun to form.

It was a quiet morning, no doubt to Charlot's relief. Actually it was rather beautiful outside - one of those clear, sunny days where you wanted nothing more than to find a patch of good grass and watch clouds trawl slowly across the horizon. Peaceful. Pleasant. Serene.

"JOOOOOOOOOHN JACOB JINGLEHEIMER SCHMIDT! HIS NAME IS MY NAME TOO!"

Someone, a good distance away from the bench, was "singing." It was hard to tell what the words were exactly through the nigh-impenetrable Russian accent, but the sound alone was probably enough to make anyone want to run away.

"WHENEVER I GOES OUT, THE PEOPLES THEY ALWAYS SHOUT, THERE GOES THAT JOOOOOOHN JACOB JINGLEHEIMER SCHMIDT LALALALALALA!"

The source of the voice soon stepped into plain view - a large man, missing an eye (Iosif had decided not to wear his eyepatch that day) screaming a children's song at the top of his lungs. His trademark grin was pasted onto his face, though only between verses; the singing itself was gratingly off key, and more than enough to instill a headache in the sober, let alone the hungover.

For a moment it seemed like Iosif was going to march right past Charlot and the wet man, but he came to a sudden halt and reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a cigar and holding it out towards Charlot. "Hey you maybe got fire?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

At least if he was smoking a cigar he wouldn't be singing. Hopefully.

Hadrian's ears were ringing, his eyes set wide. WhHen he recovered from the immediate shock, he saw spots.

Only for a moment did he suspect the singing.

Mm. Here for two seconds and already snapped to the third wh-OH SHUT UP. Hadrian scolded himself mentally. He wanted to say something, anything, and found that nothing was proper.

'I now understand why you lost your eye' seemed barely kind.

"...ow," was all he voiced, and shielded his eyes from the spots and flame for a moment.

It took him a few moments to actually take in the scene around him. His head had stopped pounding enough to be a dull ache in the list of his current 'problems'.

He cast a glance toward Hadrian, wondering if the poor kid was dying on him or something. He couldn't blame him for croaking on the spot.

"Y'alright, 'Adrian?" He murmured softly, compared to the boisterous sound of Iosif across from them. Charlot's attention snapped to the cigar, eyes narrowing a tick as he attempted to distinguish what brand it was.

"Oi, got one a'those oi can 'ave?" He gestured toward the cigar with a finger, eyebrow raised slightly.

He avoided the song completely.

Iosif raised an eyebrow in Hadrian's direction, though he hadn't quite caught the constant vibrations of the wet man's eyes yet. "Light hurt eyes, eh? Then maybe you should not be in the outside, yeah? 'Cause it is morning and morning usually has the light!" It made sense to Iosif, anyway. Or wear glasses! Something. It just seemed silly otherwise.

He didn't seem put off by Hadrian calling him "sir." Perhaps he was used to it.

Iosif was briefly distracted as he searched his pockets for another cigar. The one in his shirt pocket was the only one he remembered bringing, but his pockets often had contents that surprised him. In his quest, he found the following: a balled up wad of tissues (unused, thankfully), some bullet casings (which he dropped idly on the ground in a strange sequence, creating a series of tings that were almost musical), and a chewed up pencil. Other pocket! Stuffing everything save the casings back in his pocket, Iosif reached into the other and, with a cheerful "A-ha!" pulled out a cigar. It wasn't even squished.

Beaming, he offered his prize to Charlot, taking a victory drag off his own cigar. "Lucky you," he said, grinning. Then he turned back to Hadrian, prepared to offer more suggestions on how to handle sensitivity to light, when he paused. It was hard to tell whether his eyes were playing tricks on him, but were his eyes... moving? Not in a normal fashion, mind. In a weird kind of way.

Iosif stuck his hand back into the pocket from which he had procured the cigar and pulled out his eyepatch. He held it out towards Hadrian - an innocent, if not somewhat unusual gesture.

Hadrian gave a short bark of laughter at the offering of the eye patch, a pleasant but unusual sound, and clapped a hand over his mouth.

"No, I have a conditio--oof!" He looked up and took a moment to register what had just been shoved on his head.

"Thanks," he nodded, blushing slightly and pulling the brim lower in an attempt to shadow it. He was grateful for the shade and, of course, for preserving his precious lung capacity. His sore eyes began to slow.

"What's your name?" he asked the new guy, not quite sure how said new guy was going to interpret Charlot's question and thusly providing a backup.

Charlot regarded the Russian with a grin, watching him bump into Hadrian. He was an amusing fellow, Russians always tended to be either CRAZY as hatters or fair weather friends, good drinking buddies too. They could hide a body like no one else...

Charlot blinked, snapping back to attention. I shoot things? Fascinating. He offered his hand out to Iosif, eyebrow cocked.

"Me names Charlot, plea'sha t'meet you. I throw knives at things."

Iosif was having trouble interpreting Charlot's thick accent, but soon as the man offered his hand to Iosif the Russian eagerly seized it, shaking it up and down with an admirable vehemence. Hadrian was spared having his wrist nearly fractured - instead he got a powerful clap on the back, and Iosif rumbled out a laugh. "Is pleasure! Is really very big pleasure, though maybe you not need be nervous eh? Is too early to be shooting the people anyway."

Wasn't a good idea to do his kind of work in broad daylight, out in the open like this. Though that probably wasn't very reassuring.

"Knives! Guns!" he exclaimed, expression bright. He turned to Charlot, twisting his cigar between his fingers and grinning as if he wished to break his own cheeks. "Is dangerous crowd here, yes? We maybe have draw, like the cow children in the West." Laughing again, he took another drag off his cigar; the cigar itself was dark and well-made, and Iosif smelled faintly of it and coffee. "Maybe not to dead though. Aim for leg. No kneecaps, eh?"

The scary thing was it seemed almost like a serious offer.