Chapter Text
There was a pub in older parts of Saint Petersburg where miserable old souls came to drink their pain away.
It was cold and dimly lit with meager neons dangling above, vintage posters up on the walls and the smell of sweat, wet wood, and cheap vodka permeating the the room. The bar was old and had already been carved into with cyrillic profanities, sticky with residue from spilled drinks and dried tears.
For reasons unknown, Aleksandra had decided that this ugly basement of an establishment was one she felt comfortable with. It reminded her of Uncle Misha’s own pub back in her hometown- the one she had never been old enough to drink in, herself. The one that had been destroyed many years ago.
The pub also allowed her to retire from the spotlight. Nobody cared for her name or her fame the moment she stepped down the small wooden staircase that led her to her gloomy respite.
There were very few patrons sitting about, all keeping to their own as the tall woman entered and nodded to the barkeep.
A few words were exchanged, a grin, some cash, a glass. Vodka.
What kind of symbol of the Russian Nation would Zaryanova be if she didn’t drink vodka?
Kicking back the shot glass, she let the drink burn her throat. She didn’t drink very often, no, but when she did…
It reminded her her body was alive. That she was a being of flesh and blood. That she was human.
It felt good.
Tonight, however, she hadn’t come only to drink and shy away from the rest of the world, for once. There was something she wanted to tend to. Curiosity she wanted to satiate.
It all came down to the presence of a man in the shadows, one who she had noticed a week ago. One she hadn’t spoken to at first, as she assumed he wished for peace- but also one she seemed to be drawn to as she watched him from afar.
He sat there in the darkness of one of the booths, wrapped up in a coat and nursing a pint of cheap beer.
‘ A foreigner ,’ Aleksandra thought, ‘ we don’t get many of those, these days. ’
She continued to observe him from where she sat before she finally rose to her feet, ordering a bottle from the barkeep which she then brought along with two shot glasses for her and the elusive gentleman over there.
“You come to Russia ,” she began, speaking English in a lowered tone, “and you drink this?”
The man was a curious sight to witness, if anything. He alone took up most of the space of the seat he sat in, massive thing that he was, an absolute mountain of a man- His face was covered, for the most part. He wore a leather mask of sorts, and Aleksandra noticed a scar that went down his jawline to his throat.
As the woman had spoken to him, he looked up from his glass, cocking his head to observe her with a grunt.
He didn’t reply.
Barely pushing up his mask, he downed his pint of beer and lowered the glass to the table. Once he had pushed it aside, he nodded to her bottle of vodka.
She grinned before she spoke again.
“I’ll drink with you.”
Aleksandra sat down across from him, crossing her legs at the ankle as she presented the bottle to the foreigner and settled a shot glass in front of him. He took it, the ridiculously dainty thing, holding it in his large, calloused fingers and twisting it around as the woman poured the drinks. One for him. One for herself.
This evening was going to be interesting.