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Cafeteria

Besides the coffee, Kostya was working on a granola bar, nonplussed about it or its quality. It was, most likely, at least a year expired. He had a sneaking suspicion it was cheaper to order them after their good by date.

"Rep vas saying to me I exist, not live. I am not understanding difference, truly. Some try to explain." A pause, and an almost forlorn stare back at Taym. "Nyet."

Cafeteria

Kostya listened, attentive. He had a notebook and paper with him always, and jotted notes in a shorthand bastardization of both English and Russian. He was able to comprehend the facts of it, to put two and two together in order to get four. He wasn't stupid, or he liked to think, but he was...

It was as if there was a switch in him that dictated whether or not to enjoy life, and he not only lacked the switch to flip, but the wiring, too.

"I exist," Kostya said, without looking Obadiah in the eyes. "You, ah. You have done much reading. Are you familiar vith vord toská?" He hunched his shoulders. "It has many level. From lowest level, it is being boredom and vithout rest. Me, am capable of this. But it goes more harrowing. Into vanting, into restless. A longing very deep. Can feel this too, for regrets. Vant change, vant situation to being better. But level above, goes into lovesick, into failures of reaching goal. No vun vord for it, in English. English use many to paint picture, but toská go above vhat English can use."

He took a drink of his coffee. "Cannot feel enough, to be feeling toská. Do not feel love, or affection. Have no goals, no experience am vanting. Before deus, did not have any hobby or skill." A look of frustration crossed his face. "Am saying, am not sure have vhat means to be living. Am only exist, to serve. Is purpose, and is good enough. For me, anyvay."

It was the most he'd said to Taym in one go, without prompting.

Cafeteria

Kostya eye Taym with a grim eye, and looked disapprovingly at the shaking hands, and then at his unfinished food.

"Vould be nice."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out another granola bar and setting it down in front of him, firmly. "Do not be making me find Molly to tell her you're not eating breakfast. Very much insistent."

Cafeteria

Kostya watched the food disappear into Obadiah's pocket, never to be seen again. He had a suspicion that it was likely never going to be eaten, either, and his hackles raised as the half-order. Obadiah, for all his prickliness, was in no way the alpha of his circle of friends. That honour belonged to the President herself, earned through assertiveness and the ability to take care of herself and her own. Even though he found camaraderie in the other man, it was evident that he lacked the ability to take care of himself, let alone anyone else.

The gears were turning in his head, parsing the context of the situation to best determine the optimal outcome. He made a decision, and nodded with grim reluctance.

"Vill not tell Molly," he said, and it was not a lie, because it was not Molly he was going to tell.

Cafteria

There were a number of pauses between the two of them, at any given time. There was another, now, as Kostya contemplated every word, weighing each one against the others.

"Spasiba," he said, absent minded, taking another bite of his granola bar. Even now while eating, he was in gloves. After another series of quiet deliberations, Kostya stood, and walked around the other side of the table. After a moment, he awkwardly gripped Taym's shoulder (gritting his teeth without being aware of it), and then was gone. He'd tried.

The door opened after another few seconds, a bleary-eyed, sluggish-looking Taym on the other side of it. The bed was as impeccably made as it ever was, there was a collection of open notebooks on the desk, and what little hair he had was arranged in such a way that suggested he'd fallen asleep propped up on one hand.

The lingering traces of drowsiness were dispelled in favor of suspicion as he opened the door wider but did not, for once, gesture Kostya in while flopping into his chair. Instead he eyed the box with deep suspicion.

"What do you want?" The brusque summonses to the basement fire had not been forgotten.

The thought that it might have been a tiger or bees had not occurred to him. A tiger was clearly ridiculous, but bees were less so, and now that Kostya had felt the need to clarify he eyed the box still more nervously than before. But he let him in, falling into his usual ritual of collapsing bonelessly into his chair and propping up his feet and reaching for a cigarette. It was easier to talk when he had something to do with his hands.

"You certainly know how to instill ********' confidence," he groused.