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America's rant about boys ("Men are like cats, red. Think they can get whatever they want just for purring a bit and looking pretty, you gotta be firm about who's boss or they'll think it's them," and "Conquest his a**," and various frustrated sounds) was abruptly interrupted by the increasing quantity of smoke rolling through the air of the Basement Kingdom.

Kostya froze in place, blinking owlishly behind his glasses, and turned to America (who he had not been looking at directly, to ensure deference to her Rantiness ((a name that would never, ever be shared aloud)) as she continued her diatribe).

"Uh," he said, scratching the back of his head. "Perhaps ve should be investigating," he offered, pocketing his phone. "Maybe somevun burn dinner?"

Kostya opened the door to America's room, going outside to hold it open for her as she left. It was less chivalry, and more respect for the lioness.

"Is probably a good idea. No good vorth, only brings bugs, harpy screeching, lice..." Kostya's usual blank face turned sour, his lips pursing.

"Is coming from down the hall." He pulled his scarf over his mouth after a moment-- the smoke billowing was no insignificant amount. "Vhatever is source, is bigger than a few bugs."

No reply: just the hazy furling of smoke as it curled against the stones. The room that was the source had its door wide open, the smell of charred wood and something darker oozing out from it.

"No sign. Am not hearing anyvun inside." His voice was muffled, but clear enough, and checked his mental barometer. He found himself more concerned with the state of the room than for Robert's well being, but did find himself hoping that he was fine. He chose not to examine his reasoning in favor of diving into the room.

The fire was out, but only recently: the fuel had ran out. His eyes stung from the smoke, but he was able to establish that, at least, and told America as much: "Is out!"

As instructed, Kostya retrieved a set of sheets from an empty room, praying to the Quartermaster Gods that no one would notice before he had a chance to wash and possibly replace them. Checking twitter on the way to the showers merely resulted in an upset frown. Edith had taken him aside earlier to explain The Tree Situation, and the further he thought of personally overseeing Rep's behaviour, the more he felt icy dread wrapping around his heart.

What if he was held responsible for Rep's actions-- or worse, his inactions? The idea of disappointing Edith, even though she would not be his Division Leader forever, set his teeth on edge in a primal way. Disapproval from the powers that be was enough to make his stomach turn, even if it was currently hypothetical disapproval.

(Especially since Kostya had a feeling she knew about his tendency to prod the angry harpy. He had not been subtle.)

While lost in thought, Kostya had wet the sheets in the basement's shower. A centipede or two had somehow come from the shower-head, after an unpredictable amount of sludge had dribbled from it. The water alternated between hot and cold, and spiders seemed to find their way out every time it changed.

Eventually, he had sheets that were dampened with mostly clean water, and they probably had no bugs. The Russian had a feeling the room wouldn't really care, and so made his way back, coat wrapped firmly around his waist to avoid soggy clothing as much as possible. He stepped back into the room, and threw the first sheet over where some sort of furniture had been.

Kostya studiously avoided looking at America in her nearly ruined Nest Fighting Clothes, considering the nature of his hallucination. He had no desire to witness her in a real state of undress. He checked his phone for a moment, firing off some irritated tweets. Rep was unpleasant and now his shackle.

"America," he muttered, almost scandalized, even as he pulled on the gloves. "Clothes are not being decent." Syntax chirped something in his head about female armour, and that she had clearly levelled up. It was displayed in a series of poorly done 8 bit drawings, including some fanfare.

After the large remains of what he now surmised was the corpse of a dresser was covered, Kostya went for the stinking mattress next.

"Cannot do on own," Kostya replied, "vith you and also me. Need another set of hand."

"Am grateful," Kostya acquiesced, remembering the early naked days of yore. They were unpleasant times for him, in the kingdom of basement, and he was glad that they were now ancient history.

"Ah. Vonder if it is counting towards community service hours for Rep. Vould make more sense."

Kostya made a face in response, and swiped his fingers over the walls-- his gloved hand came away covered in ash, but it revealed some lettering beneath.

am n a

Curious. He swiped at it more, revealing the crude scrawl of Ramona repeated ad infinitum wherever he wiped. Dread filled his belly: not for Robert, but for Mimsy, and the fact that if he sought her, she would likely not want or need his presence. He was a non-factor in her life, and no longer had the right to do such extensive worrying.

(Oh, but how he did.)

"The more hour to earn, the less time own job require his cooperation. Performance now linked to his behaviour, good or bad. Is easier. Vill let him count. Vhile am thinking he is very gay dolphin vith two fiance that part time is harpy, he still is...vell..."

Shiloh had died.

The cavalry arrived. Unfortunately the cavalry initially consisted of Taym, apparently.

He showed up at the door and coughed into his shoulder, bemused and disgusted and bewildered, and he was carrying a heavy bundle of damp sheet after a quick skim over recent tweets. Just the one--it was all he could spare and maybe more than that--which he wadded up and threw at Kostya with rather more violence than was perhaps strictly necessary. He'd had the foresight to bring gloves, which he put on as he surveyed the damage.

He took a moment to assess the general chaos, to pretend he hadn't eyed America with both fear and satisfaction for about a half a second, and then he helpfully offered up his conclusions: "Pretty ******** up." A pause. "So what happened, exactly?"