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you know

It never bothered Kostya: it wasn't like being compared to a character whose accent didn't even fully match his own, erasing his name and identity in a single sweep. He also had informed Dawson early on, quite firmly, that comrade was not a thing.

"Conservative," he admitted, "and qviet. Assuming you fit mold for it. Feel a little like suburb. Many apartment complex-- had vun of own, after military time. Have to do vun year as draft, you know? Is part of law. Long vinters, cold. Negative tventy five or thirty Celsius not uncommon, which is about negative thirteen to tventy two Fahrenheit, to give idea."

Despite his stay on the island being nearly three years now, so very few people had ever thought to ask Kostya about his life before. Where he'd grown up, what it'd been like. It was...pleasant. Kostya appreciated it.

"Who vere you recruit by?"

digging holes

The beginning of the song reminded him of crystallized water droplets for some reason, weirdly soothing to his ears. Coupled with the beat, it was easy for Dawson into get to his work; it wasn't like the lyrics could distract him this time. He sifted through Kostya's repertoire curiously and set them through several more in his playlist as they dug.

Eventually Dawson offered him a look at his own iPod in turn, after switching if off the workout playlist Chris and Chel had helped him made. While he had similar tastes to America, he purposefully chose a different selection to try and spice things up. The Irish music felt appropriate with St. Patrick's Day fast approaching, and Dawson found himself tapping his fingers against the shovel and swaying to the beat as he had with Kostya's music.

you know

He was a little sad comrade wasn't a thing, if only because it was so ingrained in his pop culture memory, but he promised not to ever use it.

"Ya'll still have a draft?" Dawson asked with a blink. "Daym. Guess a year ain' so bad, though...Got you sorta ready for this, yeah?" He couldn't imagine negative anything; snow came to Georgia if the winter was particularly harsh, but he couldn't recall a time where it dipped below the twenties.

At Kostya's question, he fidgeted and frowned down at the half peeled potato. Dawson wasn't a subtle man. "Uh. I don' remember," he answered. "There was a group a'them when they found me. Gave their names, but I just don'..." It bothered him now that he thought about it. He could remember the carnage and the unnatural, savage pleasure he took from it perfectly well, but he couldn't remember a God damn name or face that pulled him from it. Just flashes of conversation, words floating up from the soup that was his delirium and fear and shock.

"I was in a bad place when they found me," he explained lamely.

chores

"Interesting. I do not know if ve have equivalent. Russian food is unimpressive, for most part." A pause. "Except pelmeni. Is like dumpling, with beef, lamb, pork. You have other day for leftover, I think."

At the question, Kostya shrugged. "I prefer dish vith meat," he explained, "so good to have multiple vays to make and change same thing."

chores

"Hot damn, that was delish," he enthused with a wide dimpled grin. "Y'all gotta have turducken fer Thanksgivin' this year, if ya'll haven't yet."

Wait. Right. He tugged at his cap with a wince and dove right into straightening out cursory wrinkles from shirts.

"Mind if I ask why Meri's a vegetarian?"

circles within circles

Dawson had written up a list of words he had heard that still didn't mean very much beyond him. After an afternoon of weeding, he offered to make them some lemonade--or at the very least he was going to drink the whole pitcher himself if Kostya wasn't interested--and after pouring himself a glass and downing it like it was a shot, he fumbled for the crumbled loose leaf in his jean pocket and smoothed it out over the counter.

"Right, uh...so. Aurabor--Ora--Aurora Borealis," he joked before clearing his throat. "O. All I know's they some other Deus-y organization tha's all...spooky mysterious r' whatever. Kinda foggy t'me still why we ain' workin' t'gether." It had never honestly occured to him that there were splinter factions beyond Deus, though it made sense in hindsight. The world was a mighty big place after all.

you know

The thought of being Black Widow had not, in fact, ever crossed Kostya's mind. And yet he was possessed with the thought for a single moment, snorting once. "It is something. Less gods involve, though. Just as many supervillain though."