Archive of Our Own

Being a perfectionist was never оn a menkhu's list of requirements: everything they do is based on their inner sense of the world, that is to say, the ability to see its layers, its Lines and intuitions. Despite the fact that all yargachins, and therefore all menkhu are provided with an education, the shamans themselves are free to do as they wish and as such, the laws of the Kin are not applicable to them. It's more that they apply the laws. Their opinion could change many things.

As such, Artemy Burakh wasn't much of a perfectionist either, but thick snow was already covering the streets, and the citizens of Town-on-Gorkhon were beginning to feel the approach of an important holiday, one that would once again prove how much their lives have changed since the Sand Pest epidemic. Which is why it was so important for Artemy to have a perfect celebration at his home: he hasn't yet had the chance to properly celebrate this milestone with his family because of the final metamorphosis of his native soil.
Now the opportunity presented itself, and he instantly jumped on it, even taking a few days off work and menkhu responsibilities, claiming a "horrible fever" (fortunately, he was skilled at faking ill: Dankovsky even checked his temperature, lips to forehead, and confidently stated that it was, indeed, higher than normal. At least, Artemy hoped he wasn't playing along to his little ruse. Burakh one, Bachelor zero!).

One of the most important parts of his plan was the element of surprise. Sticky gladly took a couple days off his relentless studying and Murky was only happy to tag along, even if she was upset about not being allowed near her dad; she tried to make it seem like she didn't care but it was obvious from her constant frowning at Artemy's red face. In any case, the kids were kept busy which meant the master of the house had plenty of time for preparations.
Finding a real holiday tree in record time was a challenge, but Haruspex managed to explain the situation to Olgimsky in time and took his word that everything will be kept secret.
Big Vlad, a family man himself, regarded the situation with much understanding, not missing the opportunity to order a tree himself, one even bigger: it was going to be standing in front of the Lump, decorated as if it were a giant holiday tree in the middle of the Capital.
The next step was the presents. It was important to Burakh that all of their friends were with them on this New Year's eve, which meant that he had to be responsible about it and find a fitting present for each and every guest. This took him about a month's worth of subtle attempts to find out his husband's friends' preferences, but it did pay off and by New Year's Eve his home office hid giant, beautifully wrapped, if a bit overdressed, presents. Last year Artemy dressed up as Ded Moroz for the holidays, and this time he took that idea even further. At least someone was sure to appreciate his efforts.

Of course, on New Year's Eve the clinic's working hours were much shorter and the only person still working that day was the Bachelor. To surprise the man, who didn’t care for the holidays all that much, was nothing less than a matter of principle to Artemy. He even figured out the approximate time it will take Daniil to get home, compared it to the time he asked the guests to "come help out a sick man prepare a celebration for his family" and the second Dankovsky's winter boots left their house, he began the preparations.
If Daniil stops at the store on his way home, it will add fifteen more minutes to his route. Does it matter? No, not really, what matters is that Artemy is prepared to wait.

Which is why right now their home is filled with sweet scents of different holiday dishes: one half of them he took the time to make himself, and for the other half he asked for help from various cooks and skilled women from all over Town; for this, he prepared in advance. And now he's counting down seconds standing by the stove, looking impossibly cozy, well-groomed, even wearing perfume (... one of Bachelor's, the one he doesn't use as much), and knows that in their living room there's a big holiday tree which will definitely delight everyone, and that any minute now the most tired man in the world will be home and when he'll see the Haruspex at the door (and he will be there, coming up slowly as soon as he hears the front door squeak, slightly rocking his shoulders, giving him an expecting, knowing look like he's hiding a secret), he will smile. At least with the corners of his mouth, red and frostbitten, just like his wool scarf.

The business at the clinic was slow. The citizens were busy with holiday preparations and the people who did manage to get sick on New Year's eve tried to get better as fast as they could with home remedies, not prepared to face Town-on-Gorkhon's thick mountains of snow. Daniil himself was of the opinion that the clinic ought to be open at night instead, when some poor idiot most certainly will burn their fingers off with a firework (which he personally forbade Grief from getting, but when has anyone ever listened to him?), but duty was duty.
Besides, Artemy will certainly want a celebration. Personally, Daniil was more than content with a simple, calm New Year's eve considering that Artemy is sick, but something told him that sickness will not stop Burakh from throwing a party. Although the radio silence from Artemy regarding the holidays seemed to Daniil at the very least suspicious.

Closing up after a most thrilling day of patching up twisted ankles and scolding preteen boys, Daniil stops for a second and considers his situation. He's working at a place that could barely be called a village clinic, bandaging ankles and worrying about what his husband is planning (plotting, really) for New Years. That thought, however, doesn't last long and he puts it aside, marking it as a crisis for some other day.
He pulls his scarf up, almost covering his nose - whatever was left of his pride and sense of style was helpless before the harsh Gorkhon winter, which pricked at his face and froze his legs. Snow crunches under his feet, the sun quickly sets over the horizon, and the street is almost entirely empty except for children, who never seemed to leave it; Dankovsky barters with them out of habit, bargaining for some nuts for Murky. The town stands still in anticipation of the upcoming new year, and Daniil really, really wants to go home.

He's so glad to see the yellow lights in the windows of the Burakh family house that in a fit of either holiday delusion or being overcome with the promise of warmth, he pets Noukher, who is, as always, grazing not far from the house. Dankovsky isn't sure if the bull should be left outside in this cold but that was entirely Artemy's business, so he leaves the animal be.
He manages to slip and fall just two steps away from the house, receiving a handful of snow right in his face, so he comes back home even more annoyed than before and half covered in snow.

Everything, Burakh thinks, is going quite according to plan. He hears especially heavy footsteps accompanied by the squeak of the door and the howling of a new years blizzard: Daniil, it seems, has come home not in the best of moods. Artemy feels even more excited before greeting him, he even checks his collar at the last second and enters the corridor just like he wanted, graceful and pompous, to make an impression of a promising evening from the doorstep.

"Look who's home…" The Haruspex's signature smirk quickly turns into the stupidest grin when he sees the Bachelor, head to toe covered in snow, and everything in him breaks from how much he starts laughing. All internal preparation suddenly turns useless: even his unruly hair, styled with watered down clay, starts sticking out in every direction again. "Danya, ho-oly… Did you take a dive in the snow? Come here!"

Still quietly chuckling, he comes over to Dankovsky and kisses his nose, red from the cold, warming Daniil's frostbitten cheeks with his hands.

"Your snow," Daniil grumbles, leaning into the kiss; Burakh was basically a walking furnace, "is an insidious trap. You simply can't see the ice."

Burakh has maintained a strict distance from his husband these past few days, "so as not to infect him", so this readiness to greet the scientist at the door couldn't be an accident or forgetfulness. He doesn't even try to hide his childlike anticipation anymore, the kind he hasn't felt in a long time and which was natural only to people who were really, really excited for the holiday. He looks and feels… happy.

"Come on, street clothes off and on the radiator, and hurry. I have to show you something!"

Dankovsky takes off his wet clothes while Burakh orbits around him like a particularly clingy planet. Delicious scents, Daniil notices, are coming from the kitchen, and Artemy himself looks more put together than usual. His hair is even styled, and Daniil knows from personal experience how much of an accomplishment it is to tame his curls. So he did plan something, clever bastard.

"I do hope that 'something' is a doctor's note signed by me personally that says you're healthy and that you didn't infect me with whatever it is you have right now," he says with a poorly concealed smile. Playing ill is something he would expect Sticky to do, not a grown man, a surgeon, but the more it makes sense that Artemy could pull that off.

"Doctor's notes are being issued on the other side of Town, Bachelor Dankovsky, you'll have to go back into the cold. Or shall you stay here after all, and drink some nice, warm wine instead?"

Artemy waits until Daniil's clothes are off, to huddle up closer to him again. He thought he'd be more cunning and, as such, more collected but he really is more excited for this holiday than even he himself thought, so high with anticipation that he kisses Dankovsky all over his face.

"It's frosty outside, I take it. That's good. The Gorkhon doesn't disappoint yet again… okay, alright, let's go."

The Haruspex waits a few more seconds for Daniil to take off his shoes and doesn't let him stand around anymore after that, holding his cold body close and taking him down the corridor. The entire house, it seems, is decorated: all kinds of silhouetted bulls made of parchment are hanging on the walls, and so are red charms which are sure to bring this home happiness in the new year.
Burakh worked really hard on this: it took him all morning to decorate the entire house; he even had to hammer some nails in places but overall the ornaments looked good enough. He purposefully evades the kitchen, navigating Daniil, who already turned there out of habit, away from it, and takes him to the stairs, into the living room. A stepladder was still standing beside the stairs - a small hint of things awaiting the Bachelor upstairs.

In the living room there's a strong scent of pine and, most importantly, in the middle of it stands a tree so tall that its topper star practically scratches the ceiling. Huge, highly detailed ornaments were hanging on it; Artemy found them in the Lair beforehand, feeling an incredible wave of nostalgia wash over him. The only thing was that it was obvious Artemy didn't quite know what to do with all the ornaments he ordered for the tree: the tinsel, for example, was sort of messily hanging off each other in packs, making the poor tree look like a layered cake.

Daniil stands, lips slightly parted. It seemed like no surface in the house was left undecorated.

"You've really outdone yourself," he says, clearly impressed. "When did you even manage to do this?..."

"Turn off the light." Burakh holds his cheek close to Daniil's temple and smiles.

The Bachelor does as asked, and the tree instantly illuminates. The entire tree is covered in candles, down to almost every branch, and it's an actual miracle that the garlands don't catch on fire; but it's worth it to see the sparkly paper shine under the candlelight. The entire thing in its grandeur reminds him of huge holiday trees they put in the Capital every December, and in its cozyness - the tree his mother and grandma put up when he was a boy. Daniil was never a fan of neither holiday trees nor decoration, even as a child, but seeing these lights makes him feel a pang of weird nostalgia, as if he was missing something that never existed in the first place.

"It's beautiful… " Dankovsky says distantly.

And then, with all these thoughts about trees, something clicks.

"Wait," he turns the lights back on and takes another look at the tree. "What, in the name of all that is holy, did you do the garlands?"

He comes closer to the tree and takes one of the unfortunate decorations by its sad limp tail. Burakh had tied the garlands around the branches in such a way that it looked like he assisted each one in an especially festive suicide. He desperately pushes down laughter.

"What?" Fortunately, the Haruspex wasn't in the habit of sweating every time someone noticed even a tiny mistake. That time was long past him, and even when he was younger he would laugh nervously each time he was being nagged, petulantly looking in the eyes of his offenders - a defense mechanism, but boy did he annoy anyone who attempted to teach him life lessons! Now, the anticipation overcomes any shame Artemy might've felt from a potential mistake, so he just laughs along with the Bachelor. "And what is, exactly, wrong? Is this not to your liking, oynon?"

He got so much enjoyment just from Daniil all freezing up, mouth open at all of his efforts. He's actually, truly proud of himself, and that was only part of the surprise. He eyes the tree one more time and raises his eyebrows.

"Is this about… the garland, right. You have to to tie it around the tree, everything's as it should be. I agree, it looks a bit messy but if it's tradition… wait. Danya."
Burakh steps closer with a confused smile on his face. "Danechka. Why are you still laughing? No, come here… would you look at him," Dankovsky's laughter is incredibly infectious right now, so they just laugh for half a minute, pressed together.

"Fine, shudkher, to hell with it… fix it if you know better, I'm gonna put on some music." He slowly removes his hands. The records were new as well.

"I just want to know how exactly you got the idea you were supposed to tie them around each individual branch?" Daniil still can't stop laughing and at this point he's more whimpering than talking. "No, I'm not going to fix anything, this is practically modern art. We should show this to the Stamatins, they appreciate this kind of thing."

He takes off one of the garlands but leaves the rest as is. The tree was beautiful even with the unfortunate decoration choices, and it was obvious that Burakh really tried, what with the amount of… everything on it. The tree was decorated in abundance, so much so that the eye simply couldn't perceive everything at once, turning it into a bright, pretty blob. Burakh was this close to discovering flicker fusion in still objects. He might be eligible for an award of some kind.
The record player fills the room with music: Artemy's choice wasn't accidental, but based on what he himself used to like during the faraway time of his stay in the Capital. He never liked music much or at least what they call music nowadays, but the way this girl's voice lended itself to the melody, sweet but howling, Artemy had no choice but to be charmed. He's content with the state of this room and is about to continue his preparations elsewhere when Daniil stops him, coming up to Artemy and throwing a piece of garland around his neck and then holding it at both ends.

"This is a bit much for the four of us, don't you think?"

Turns him around, holds him, looks at him with his huge eyes. The surgeon has to bite his tongue or he'll ruin this surprise as well.

"Well, I just thought," even his tone barely conceals that he begins from afar, "this is our second time celebrating. And you know, kheerkhen, it'll be hard to outdo getting together on New Year's eve," the Haruspex smiles with the corner of his mouth, "so here we are…"

The music starts to change and Artemy acts quickly: he instantly tightens his grip on the Bachelor and with a whistle of socks sliding on the floor lowers him in a move suggesting a dance of some kind. The Haruspex isn't proficient in clever distractions but he's certain that this will at least take him by surprise. Dankovsky twitches from the sudden movement and even grips Burakh's shoulders to keep himself from falling even though Burakh of all people definitely wouldn't let him fall, unless he wanted to.
Their faces are inappropriately close.

"Ha! Got you."

"Have you decided to learn to tango, Burakh?" Dankovsky asks, clinging to Artemy's ankle with his foot. "If so, you've got the wrong kind of music."

"Is this tango?" Artemy asks with genuine interest. "You can tango? I never would've thought. I would assume waltz, but this…"

Daniil's foot climbs higher and he pushes Artemy forward. With Burakh's impressive size this should have been a futile effort but Daniil knows where to push. Artemy dutifully surges forward and kisses Daniil carefully, if that's what he wants. Such initiative accompanied by Daniil's foot firmly stuck to his ankle was especially welcomed by Artemy and perhaps that's what he wanted all along. Burakh couldn't think of a better appreciation of his efforts than the playful notes in Dankovsky's voice and the way he clings to him, almost in a death grip, twisting their bodies and limbs between each other; all of that will forever drive him crazy.

"I haven't tried it myself, but I have seen it done," Daniil smiles into the kiss.

"I heard somewhere that tango is the dance of hate and I couldn't think of a better option for you myself, erdem," Burakh exhales warmly into the man and stands upright, holding his partner up above the floor at the same time and spinning them both around slowly.
Daniil lets himself be raised up even if he can feel his ribs start hurting. It doesn't last long anyway and soon enough his feet are back on the soft carpet and Artemy bends slightly, ready to take it easy and let the Bachelor take the lead.

"I am astounded at the lack of culture in this house, really," Dankovsky smiles. "Can't do tango, can't even decorate a holiday tree properly."

"...Do you like it?" Artemy asks when their palms find their rightful places on top of each other.

"What exactly?" They settle into their usual dance, something between a classic waltz and holding each other while marching in place. "I like your face. The decorations are a bit much, but I haven't expected anything else from you. Murky is sure to appreciate them, at least."

"Why, thank you, I like your face too, surprisingly," their steps are a bit off rhythm, marching to their own beat, one much more comfortable to both of them. Burakh holds Dankovsky steadier, close to how a proper waltz requires: rib to rib, shoulders parallel to each other, but their eyes are on each other instead of the line they're dancing on, making this a much more personal affair. A step a bit too far away, a new wave in the melody - and the tempo speeds up so Artemy spins, twirls Daniil around the tree in the center, lights moving past them and turning into patterns of light. "What do you mean by 'much', though, hmm? Everything is just enough and if you insist on nitpicking, then…"

Burakh releases Dankovsky from their position and throws his arm forward, making him spin by inertia, "this can be for Murky's eyes only, and that's it," but the Haruspex catches him instead of sending him off back to the door.

"I worked really hard on this, you see. And this isn't even everything, it wouldn't take me two days to just decorate the house," the man smiles slyly.

"Yes, I can see that," Daniil's smile mirrors his. "Every corner is practically shining with effort. When did you even have the time?"

Dankovsky's head starts to spin slightly from all the twirling Burakh is having him do, so he takes over the dance, slowing the tempo to a classic "one-two-three". The Haruspex is fine with that: he'll do anything as long as they're both comfortable. All of these intricate moves and patterns are only a consequence of his overflowing emotions taking hold: they are up for a wonderful evening.

"You know, last year Eva brought a tree twice her height, which is quite a feat being as tall as she is, into the Stillwater and decorated it overnight," Daniil's smile melts and softens a bit as it always does when he's talking about Eva. "And I hadn't even noticed until that morning. I don't know if that says more about me or you two."

"If that's a serious question, it's you," Artemy answers softly. "You're hard to surprise, kheerkhen, we have to get creative. You're very prickly. Although Eva does have more taste and imagination than me… too bad I didn't see it."

Burakh exhales peacefully, burying his nose into the top of Dankovsky's head. They're barely moving now, enjoying each other's warmth and company without hurry.

"Would you just think," Artemy says, "we met a year ago, fell in love and now you're my husband, my everything, and we're having a holiday as a family. Back then it would probably be funny to even think about something like that…"

Daniil laughs and rolls his eyes.

"'My everything' is a bit far… I can't quite believe it myself. I'd think about it sometimes and start chuckling nervously," his voice is quiet and soft. "I don't know if I could ever get used to this. But that's good, I suppose. Habit breeds stagnation."

Artemy is about to answer when he's interrupted by a knock of a snowball hitting the window and loud whistling from downstairs.

"Go, open the door," Burakh detaches himself and squints.

Daniil turns to the window, trying to figure out what happened, then turns back to Artemy, giving him a sceptical look.
"Did you invite someone? Have you decided to take in your little brood for New Years?" Artemy's face is so overflowing with excitement that it doesn't give up even a single detail. An insistent knock comes from downstairs and Dankovsky has to give up and leave to open the door.

"I'm going, I'm going, if you don't stop knocking I'll shove your hands w--" He doesn't get to finish that thought because as soon as he opens the door he gets trapped in Andrey Stamatin's tight hug.

"What are you so angry for, Danya?" The architect asks, patting Daniil on the back, probably hoping to shake his insides out of him. "It's New Years, a time for jolly!"

"Am I supposed to be jolly to see you?" Daniil mumbles quietly. "Let me go."

Andrey does so, but Daniil immediately gets wrapped in a different hug, one that gets much more pleasant as soon as he realizes who is hugging him.

"Eva!" He hugs her back. "I hadn't expected to see you until next year."

He hears Andrey stage whisper "but we don't get special treatment" to Peter and glares at him over Eva's back but the man doesn't even blink.

"Artemy invited us," Eva says, stepping back a little, and gives him a bright smile. Winter always looks good on already beautiful Eva, adding red to her cheeks, peppering her blond hair with snow that looks little jewels on her, and the fur coat makes her look like a sweetheart from the Capital; although Eva herself would probably take offense to that comparison - she only started wearing shoes in winter after an especially bad sore throat and a personal admonishment from Dankovsky, as well as a lecture from Burakh about how the Earth is asleep in winter so the Brides don't need to go barefoot and you, Eva, especially don't need to.

"And he didn't tell me," Daniil raises his eyebrows and smirks. "Very smart, Artemy Isidorovich, very smart indeed."

"You've got a good man, for the record, putting this much effort," Andrey states impatiently, twitching his legs. "Are you gonna let your guests in or what? Gonna leave us here to freeze, you heartless bastard?"

"Come in already and stop whining, you houseplant," Dankovsky answers sarcastically, letting all of them in.

"I've seen the amount of scarves you wear, brother, you're one to talk," Andrey closes the door behind Peter and takes his coat off. Peter leans into a hug as well, a fast, lightweight one that doesn't require anything of Daniil. The decorations quickly attract his attention; he looks at each one closely and grimaces silently.

"Do you like it? Did this all by myself," Burakh leans on the corner of the wall, admiring the ribbons and figurines proudly.
"Bitterroot!" Eva, still all fuzzy in her fur coat, throws herself at Artemy and they both laugh. "Thank you for your letter… I've missed you all so much, I don't even know how I would've celebrated back there alone!"

"Eva?" Peter turns to her with a worried expression on his face. "You didn't think you couldn't visit us without an invitation, did you?"

The woman slips off Burakh and bats her eyelashes.

"I'm used to making arrangements! And besides, who knows if you're busy or out of town, it's New Years after all," she shrugs. The Haruspex rolls his eyes a bit: even Eva doesn't know about the surprise coming from the Capital.

"That's crazy talk, darling," Andrey takes his lover's coat off so gently, it's as if she was made of glass. "You're always welcome with us, my dear brother practically howls at night without you… and you're welcome here as well, isn't she, Danya?"

Both Stamatins chuckle. Even Peter looks fresher than usual: his hair is clean and is in a ponytail and even though there's some stubble already sticking through his skin, it's clear that he shaved in the morning and is currently in a bright, festive state of mind.

"Of course you're always welcome here," Daniil smiles widely and touches Eva on the small off her back to accompany her to the living room.

"So, where's the party? Lead on!" Andrey waves his arm. Only now does Artemy notice that his brother isn't hunched out of habit but from the sheer amount of bags and fat packages in his hands, so he takes them from Peter.

"Careful!" He feverishly grabs the handles and passes the bags to Burakh firmly.

"Please tell me there's no twyrine," Artemy frowns.

"No, no, it's just… champagne, brother," Stamatin throws his hands up innocently.

The company moves to the living room. While Burakh is busy laying the presents aside, Dankovsky offers the guests to appreciate the interior, pushing down the giggle fit that was threatening to come back with a vengeance.

Peter is silent, looking at the tree with an unreadable look on his face, while Andrey shoves Dankovsky and asks:
"Did you let the children decorate it?"

"No," Daniil answers, voice only a little quivering. "You're underestimating the kids and overestimating Burakh. That's his doing."

Andrey doesn't even try to hide his laughter; Daniil takes Andrey's head and buries it in his shoulder to muffle the sound at least a little, even though he can't hide his own smile.

"I like it," Peter states quietly but seriously. "It's an original approach to decoration. Transforms the entire space, a real challenge to the classical aesthetic tradition."

"'Transforms' is a good word," Andrey keeps laughing into Daniil's shoulder. "It's like a worm cemetery."

"No it's not," Eva interjects. "Stop laughing at cultural differences. It's very pretty, Bitterroot, you did a good job!"

"Thank you, Peter, thank you, Eva," Artemy pointedly ignores Daniil and Andrey's commentary. It was fine when it was just Dankovsky, but the presence of one of the Stamatin brothers instantly makes him competitive.

"And the music…" The architect looks over a record cover with a dame amidst a picturesque winter landscape on it appraisingly. "Huh. I wanted to complain, but it seems you've got the latest hits playing! How did you even get your hands on this, Daniil?"

"Still me."
Burakh loudly pushes a sizable table in front of the tree.

Andrey whistles, impressed.
"You're kidding, this is all you?" He even looks around again, chuckling at the garland once more. Peter feels it thoughtfully, squinting and drawing back, admiring it at different angles. "You single handedly made this into Ded Moroz's family house, my brother. Do you maybe want to help out with our construction?"

“A talent like that can't be wasted on construction, brother," Peter objects. "This is an entirely raw view of the world…"

"I get it, this is very interesting to you both, bayarlaa," he pulls out the tablecloth, "but you're overdoing it. If you don't mind…"

There's a knock on the door again: a heavy, insistent one.

"Oh. If you don't mind, I'm going to open the door and bring some food while I'm at it."

Daniil watches him go.
"Did he invite the entire town or something?" He mumbles.

"He probably could," Andrey says, taking off the record and putting on a new one, even more obnoxious than the last. He offers Eva a hand. "May I have this dance, beautiful?"

Eva's laugh is clear and bright as she takes his hand; Andrey twirls her all around the room and eventually she starts to spin by herself, quickly moving her legs to the rhythm. Her light blue embroidered dress flies up above her knees and starts glittering in the candlelight, and you could only hear her laughter with her flowing hair hiding her face. Andrey starts singing along to the record, apparently not fazed by the fact that his voice couldn't quite match that of a young soprano.

"Andrey, I'm begging you, no singing while I'm sober," Dankovsky says, looking over Stamatins' bags. He pulls out one of the bottles, which ends up indeed being champagne and an expensive one at that. Daniil looks it over appraisingly. "Would you look at that, did the Kains start paying you again or where did you get the money for such treasures?"

"Do you think twyrine is cheap these days?" Andrey retorts with a bold smile, avoiding the subject of the Kains. It seems his brother and him haven't yet reached an agreement on that particular matter. "On the contrary, your Burakh's 'achievement' was exceptionally good for business. Created a deficit out of thin air, you wouldn't believe the heights I can raise the prices up to."

Daniil gives him a sceptical look.

"And if you actually run out of twyre?"

"That will be between me and the Kin," Andrey is unrelenting. “No more business talk on a holiday."

When the Haruspex opens the door, thick smoke instantly fills the house. He squints, trying to make out the shapes behind it.

"Grief, leave the cigarette, I'm not letting you in with that. No smoking in the house," Artemy says strictly and fans away the smoke.

"Hello to you too, mate!"

"We tried to tell him," Lara steps into the house, wipes her fur boots on the carpet and rubs her hands together, hidden inside a white muff, "but when has he ever listened to anyone?"

She gives her friend a barely-there smile. She was the only one Burakh confided in regarding his plans: Gravel of all people could be trusted with the darkest of his secrets and she has never let him down. Although she was worried about the arrival of certain guests, and that worry still hasn't left her, leaving its mark on her slightly furrowed eyebrows.

"Happy New Year, Cub," Ravel is all warmth: her expensive wool headscarf and the washed out father's coat on her shoulders sufficiently protected her from the long winter cold. Artemy hugs her for a long time and kisses her into her hair, all messed up under her hat.

"Impressive," Rubin comments matter of factly, apparently noticing the decorations first. "And we have this for the entire night?"

Grief throws the cigarette out and then throws himself onto everyone.

"You've got steppe magic to spare, don't you, Wonder-Cub?"

Burakh laughs loudly and pulls everyone into a tight embrace. They can probably be heard from upstairs.

"Alright, enough, take your shoes off. Did I scrub all the floors for nothing yesterday?" He moves away from his friends. "Take your clothes off as well, fast, you can get the presents later, I need your help with the food right now."

Lara takes a look into the kitchen and gasps in awe.

"Boys, would you look at that…" everyone else looks over the doorstep as well. "There's even more than I remember!"

"Is that… is that beef? Teacher's recipe?"

"Now that's the Burakh hospitality I remember!" Grigory takes his boots off at the speed of light, rolls up his sleeves and flies into the kitchen to get the biggest plates.

"Grief, if you drop them--"

But Filin skillfully maneuvers around the company, climbing the stairs with an entire tower of food in seconds. Yelling is heard from upstairs: Andrey met Bad Grief.

"Please don't tell me you actually invited the Stamatins," Stakh sighs heavily. Artemy responds with nothing but a pointed look.

"You two can start taking the food up and I'm going to go see that no one gets quartered up there," he takes a giant plate of salad and goes upstairs.

Andrey immediately grabs Grief by the scruff of his neck, not letting him put the plates down. Daniil sighs.

"Well!" Andrey's smile is toothy and mean. "I didn't know they let crime bosses into respectable homes on the holidays."

"No one asked for a brothel owner's input," Grief bites back, trying to simultaneously kick Andrey with his foot and stop the plates from falling. "Stamatin, leave me alone, you fuckwad--"

"Watch your language when there are ladies present," Andrey lifts him even higher.
Grief turns to Eva and Daniil takes the plates from him before he can manage to attempt something even remotely resembling a curtsy.

"Mademoiselle citizen Yan," Grief fails to mock-bow after all, but he still gives her a wide smile. "Nice to see you."

"I can't say the feeling is mutual," comes Eva's surprisingly cold response.

"Why? Scared? I'm done with the criminal business," he manages to hit Andrey's knee. "Stamatin, damn your ugly face, let me go!"

Daniil puts his hand on Eva's shoulder, watching the quarrel to make sure it doesn't become a fight.
"Grief is alright once you get used to him. He is a lot," he sighs, "but he is also Artemy's friend."

"Stop that right now!" Artemy, as if summoned, flies into the living room, holding a bowl of salad close to him with one hand and snatching Grief from Andrey with another. "Alright, that's enough, teneghe."

"Suits Filin right, hiding behind daddy, huh, Filin?" Stamatin lets Grigory go easily, and the man hits the ground and steps back behind the Haruspex's shoulder, glaring with disdain.

"Enough, you hear me? You're not in the pub. Or do you have nothing better to do?" Burakh puts the plate on the table and Grief follows suit, looking around cautiously. Andrey makes a face, supposedly to scare him, and Peter elbows his brother, making them both chuckle quietly.

"Artemy," the artist calls for him quietly, "is everyone here? Can I?... "
He slaps the champagne bottle.

"No, no, not everyone is here yet," Burakh looks at the clock and sighs. "Just… ten more minutes, alright? Stakh, Lara, put these here."

Rubin and Ravel come into the living room holding even more food: hot meat dishes, desserts and pastries. Lara makes sure Stanislav arranges the plates to look nice on the table; Artemy corrects the results.

"You can help too, just so you know," he raises an eyebrow to everyone else, "we could use some extra hands."

"Thank you for your permission," Daniil sneers with a smile, but there's no real bite to it, making Eva giggle behind him.

He takes her downstairs, the Stamatins reluctantly joining them soon after.
They finish plating the table surprisingly peacefully; Andrey and Grief are kept at separate ends of the table in a move deserving some sort of a diplomacy award. Peter showcases an incredible decorating prowess, doing wonders to the Burakh familial cutlery. Artemy's efforts were clear on this front as well: the table was overflowing with food in an abundance that could make even Big Vlad jealous. They could probably survive on the leftovers alone for at least three days. Dankovsky considers the results of their labor with quiet pride, moving aside the thoughts of salad for breakfast.

A knock comes from downstairs yet again, quiet but clear.
Dankovsky counts the guests in his head. Everyone in Town whom they could call a friend was here, not counting Maria who was celebrating at home, and the kids. That's when he remembers he hasn't seen the kids all day.

"Artemy," he comes over to Burakh and eyes him suspiciously, then glances at the window where it was already dark. "Where are the children? They can't be at Lara's because Lara is here."

"Dumb question, emshen, they're still outside," Artemy pats Daniil on the shoulder. "Don't worry, they'll come back, with Clara. They promised. And I can't make our guest wait," he pecks the scientist on the forehead before hurriedly leaving and going downstairs.

The present guests fell silent, trying to listen: everybody clearly guessed the same thing as Daniil and everybody was intrigued. Peter was even going to follow Artemy before Eva caught him and held him close.

"... Let him finish his surprises," Yan says quietly, warranting a 'shhhh!' from everyone present, still struggling to hear even a whisper from downstairs.

Finally, they hear footsteps on the stairs and the tell-tale rustling of many bags. Burakh comes out first, obscuring the mystery guest. He puts the bags by the doorstep and triumphantly steps aside, revealing…

"Yulya!" Eva instantly releases Peter from her patient hands and throws herself onto Lyuricheva. She smells of winter, the stale scent of the train and cigarettes. Eva buries herself into her shoulder, bending over and squeezing her with her entire body, breathes her in, remembering how it feels to hold Yulia in her arms. Andrey stands up from where he was sitting, Peter comes over, and everyone circles around the woman, hugging her.

"And here I was wondering who the train would bring today!" Grief exclaims and hugs Lara's shoulders. She looks a bit tense, as if she's scared to see Yulia, but as happy as everyone else nonetheless: she has hope.

The Haruspex watches the scene with expectant fondness. He comes over to Dankovsky and softly pushes him in the back.

"Come on, go say hello. It took a lot of convincing."

Daniil shifts his surprised gaze from Yulia to Artemy. He's smiling, obviously proud of himself, and Daniil can't help but laugh a little.

"How long have you been planning this?" He asks softly, clearly impressed. "... Thank you. I'm not sure what I did to deserve this, but thank you."

He comes up to Yulia last, after all the greetings and hugs are over and only Eva remains, not willing to leave her girlfriend's side, as if, should she do so, Yulia would disappear.

"Daniil," she opens her arms for an embrace a bit awkwardly - neither of them was a hugging person but when else could you do that if not on New Year's Eve? He holds her tightly with both hands, and, once they part, says:

"How fares our dearest Capital?"

"Bad, as usual," Lyuricheva smiles knowingly. "Your Artemy barely got me out."

"Well, let's be glad that he did, then," Daniil finally leaves Yulia in her lover's arms and looks back to Burakh.

A simple show of gratitude from the Bachelor - and all the effort and frustration suddenly seems worth it to Artemy, making him elated with success. Burakh gives Dankovsky nothing more than a look, a silent answer to all the praise: "all of this is for you, I love you, and your happiness is more than enough for me because as long as you're with me, you're going to get everything you couldn't have before and I'll try for you, always." It was a look filled with devotion and the desire to make amends for everything Daniil had to endure last year and before that, promising that life will be safe and normal now and that the Haruspex is going to see to that personally. He doesn't know how much of that Dankovsky can get from only a look but the way he softens in the festive atmosphere, relishing from the attention, is enough to give Artemy peace of mind. Still silent, Artemy takes Daniil and holds him close, as if that was his entire world, leaves a hand on one of his shoulders and snuggles the other one to his chest.

"Thank you, Bitterroot," Eva is shining brightly. "What would I ever do without you…"

"Now is everyone here?" Peter asks, looking between Yulia and Burakh, clearly hinting at opening the champagne. The guests sigh impatiently: Artemy was impossible to talk with when he's immersed in his family.

"Huh? What are you waiting for, hayaala! Open it!"

"Years pass, but you all stay the same," Yulia smirks.

Everyone brightens up: Grief whistles as soon as he hears his friend's words and Peter pops the cork with delight, clearly finding his own joy in doing so. The champagne glitters in the candlelight.

"Wait!" Before Stamatin can start pouring out the drink, Burakh leans over and turns off the light, leaving only the tree's soft glow illuminating the room. "Who's going to say the first toast?"

Peter carries on in the half darkness, clearly used to similar conditions, while everyone else looks between each other.

"What, Danya, not taking the chance to talk?" Rubin asks, a quiet, familiar dig at Daniil.

"I doubt you want to hear my toast," Dankovsky sneers back. "I'm used to talking about scientific topics, after all, not simple matters of the heart."

"Really? You can't tell," Stanislav mumbles with delight, earning a cold glare from Dankovsky and a jab from Lara; she isn't defending Daniil, though, as much as she's calling on Stakh to behave.

"I can start, if you don't mind," Eva says, sitting down next to Daniil.

"Please," Dankovsky says to no one's objection.

Eva takes a glass and raises it up to make the light from the candles fall on the glass and glitter in the champagne.

"I'm not going to take long, I promise," Eva smiles awkwardly, suddenly shy from all the eyes drawn to her. Yulia holds her little finger with her own and Eva quickly finds her footing. "I want to raise a glass to the future, for every new year to be better than the last, for the prosperity of the Town on this side of the river and the growth of the Town on the other side. And… " she stops to think, "to love. Love is the most important thing there is. It cultivates the soul."

Burakh stands up to hold his glass close to Eva's.

"I couldn't have put it better myself," he enjoyed her toast, to the entire table's understanding.

"What else do you need to put here, Cub, this place is already full!" Grief jumps up as well, almost spilling all of the champagne. Stakh has to lean over to his glass to prevent disaster.

"To love," Lara repeats quietly. "You have to touch the men's glasses last, or…"

Yulia laughs quietly at the superstition, so Ravel stops talking and silently clinks her glass with the other ladies' and then looks away in embarrassment.

"Do you know something about that?" Artemy whispers to Daniil under the cover of clinking glass. Daniil shrugs - if there was history between Yulia and Lara, he didn't know about it.
Burakh carefully touches his glass to Dankovsky's, a small gesture, before joining everybody else's toast.

"To the future!" Andrey repeats especially enthusiastically, finding his own meaning in Eva's words.

"To new things, to love," Peter answers much more thoughtfully. "... To the dream, friends?"
Part of the table nods excitedly and the room is once again filled with the ringing of glass.

Everyone calms down a bit after the toast, some starting on the food, and the atmosphere in the room turns completely warm.

"What is it about the men, Larochka?" Eva asks, smiling.

"What is it?" Lara answers reluctantly.

"Well…" Eva stalls, her gaze stopping on Rubin. The champagne already got to her, Daniil notices, judging by her wobbly smile. "I thought you had it all figured out with them."

"I'm not complaining," Lara answers dryly, hiding her face in her glass. "It's just… if you touch their glasses first, you won't have any money."

"You, worrying about money?" Andrey sneers.

Grief joins the conversation, unable to stay away:
"Gravel was always popular! Right, Gravel? A woman of romance!" He holds Lara close under Rubin's sceptical gaze. "You remember Saingai? There's a fun guy, left twyre under her and her father's house when it bloomed. The kid had a crush! And then Cub found him, told him what the twyre meant. Will you remind us, sir healer?"

"An entire life of infertility," Artemy laughs to himself, remembering the story well. "That was blood and black twyre. It grows on misery and, well, blood."

"And then Captain Ravel started looking for him in his yard, and when he found him - oof! He was a strict old geezer, that captain."

"Stop it, boys, come on, this way we'll spend all night talking about my old suitors," Lara blushes under the attention (and thanks to the champagne's swift work). Andrey suddenly looks at her with interest, like he hasn't considered her in that way before. Ravel turns her face away from him insistently, avoiding curious looks, but he stops lingering on her as soon as she changes the subject. "Cub here was the best looking guy in Town! So was Stakh. Does anyone else remember his curls?" Lara lovingly pets Rubin's head, holding it close and smiling lively. Everyone but Daniil nods.

"What about me?" Grief asks, offended. "I had game!"

"Not with your face, Grief," Stakh huffs mockingly, "I bet girls only dated you because you're a batshit crazy idiot. Some people are attracted to that, you see."

"Yeah, good luck getting laid with your bald head," Grigory kicks Stakh under the table.

"Wait a second, am I missing something?" The Haruspex interrupts, still processing the information Lara provided him with. "Since when am I the best looking guy?"

"Artemy," he hasn't ever seen Lara's face make an expression this condescendingly scoffing, or at least he forgot if he had - he's seeing her right as he did when he was a kid, "having only our group for company definitely wasn't helpful. Although… none of the girls would confess to you anyway."

Burakh blinks, stunned.

"It's just… I'm ugly."

Ravel laughs loudly, a sight Artemy wasn't used to.

Daniil looks at him weirdly, clearly also surprised by his statement.
"No, you're not," he says as if Artemy just said the stupidest thing in the world.

"Says the man who was so infatuated with Death he decided to destroy her," Burakh doesn't even try to hide his blush, giving Dankovsky a bold look, "well then, dear oynon, if you like my not-ugly face so much, why don't you marry it?"

"My god, would you look at him!... That was part of the reason, too. Oh, how they sighed when you left…"

"Eh, what's the point," Filin taps on the table pompously and continues in a stage whisper: "Last fall, there he is, coming up to see his old friend after all these years, no greeting - starts talking about the Bachelor right away, tell me, Grief, you know everything about everyone, right? Back then, I already got suspicious…"

Artemy hums bashfully instead of answering, with a bit of self-deprecation.

"And then when I found out! This idiot hadn't even noticed when he cracked, it took me one question, one, you get it? Daniil this, Daniil that, we're deeply in love, and his love is so big, and my bed is so cold, can't even go a moment without him…"

Eva can't help but laugh into Dankovsky's shoulder.

"Grief, Grief," Lara's laughing too, but she pulls on Filin's sleeve to be polite.

"You guys haven't seen young Bachelor Daniil Dankovsky in his student years!" Andrey grins devilishly to his brother's approving nods.

Daniil is too stunned with the newly acquired information to realize he's being made fun of. Artemy, thinking he's ugly?

"What story can you possibly tell about me, Andrey," he finds himself quickly, though, "that wouldn't involve yourself?"

Surprised whispers mixed with impressed laughter go around the table. Rubin hums knowingly.

"I've got a reputation, brother, you won't surprise anyone with me," Andrey's eyes shine, unaffected by alcohol. "You, on the other hand…"

"I didn't bring girls to our apartment every evening."

"No, because you ignored all of them while being half the students' number one crush," Andrey laughs. "Do you know how many girls flirted with me just to get close to you, huh?"

"And you still slept with them," Dankovsky answers coldly. Andrey only shrugs with a proud look on his face and Grief even gives an impressed whistle. "I didn't have the time for such things."

"Right, right, you little ice prince. You two," he points to Daniil and Artemy, "deserve each other, I see."

Eva keeps laughing, muffled by his shoulder, and Dankovsky snaps:
"I don't understand why the conversation suddenly turned all about m--"

"And 'no time' is a bit of stretch, isn't it?" Andrey talks over him excitedly. "We've seen a few guys come and go into our apartment, huh?" He shoves his brother a little and he starts nodding enthusiastically again.

"In suspenders," Peter adds, as if that changed anything. Yulia, at least, seems impressed.

"I wore suspenders," Artemy squints and eyes Daniil suspiciously. Then he notices the confused looks Lara, Grief and Stakh were giving him. They had never seen Cub in suspenders, or in anything that even resembled official clothes or the stuff they wear in the Capital: only rags and ceremonial clothes, embroidered and filled with a meaning they will never understand. "In the Capital, I mean. Mind you," Burakh feels like a detective unraveling a particularly interesting mystery. People at the table are riveted, watching his movement with reverence when he holds up a finger, "not when I was a student. No, that was almost the same as now. This was when I went to the Capital with Danya and he convinced me I positively must get appropriate clothes. Can you imagine?"

"I can confirm," which Yulia does, hiding her smile being a glass.

"That's so sweet!" Eva smiles blissfully. "I would have felt flattered…"

"Well, at least I know why that happened," the Haruspex hums, a bit too full of himself, as if Daniil's previous passions wearing suspenders meant anything more than simple fondness for that piece of clothing. Andrey is wearing suspenders as well, and they exchange a funny look, realizing this at the same time.

It's possible Burakh has crossed some kind of line but the company was too warmed up for details and too willing to hear any story these two might offer now. Daniil slowly lowers his face into the table, covering himself with his hand and mumbling something under his breath.

"How did you even get to the conclusion that the suspenders mean anything?" Daniil says with a tired voice, not moving his head from the table. "Burakh, when I chose your clothes for the trip, my own enjoyment was the last thing on my mind, if you would forgive me such candidness," he rolls his eyes.

"Ooh, I recognize the tone," Andrey's smile keeps growing and the only thing stopping Dankovsky from throwing food at him right now are his manners.

"Maybe it should have been on your mind," Artemy, red from embarrassment, finds a small saving grace in whispering with Daniil. He sticks a spoonful of salad into his mouth matter-of-factly, stroking the back of Daniil's head with the thumb of his free hand. A small smirk. "Couldn't you guess? You don't have to explain yourself, kheerkhen, but a warning would be nice next time."

"I can't warn you about something that never happened," Daniil hisses, but the fight leaves him quickly. It isn't worth it. "Ah… Think whatever you want, if it brings you this much enjoyment."

"... I can only imagine what you got up to back there…" Stamatin continues slowly, stretching his words, raising an eyebrow, innuendo obvious in his tone.

"Cub said they weren't at that stage yet," Stanislav's face is completely blank but his voice is dropping with acid.

"Yes, I did. And you know why? Because Stakh said, only a few weeks after Daniil and I started seeing each other, that it was always obvious that we were sleeping together!" In trying to distance himself from Andrey's dumb insinuations, Burakh completely forgets himself. Filin groans.

"You're kiddin'! You didn't, at all?"

And only then does Artemy realize what he said.

He has to fix this, quickly.

"No, it's… Stakh said that right when we started dating, he's confusing you, and the trip was later… and besides, the beds in the Capital are even worse than the ones we have here, they would've heard us at the Inquisition headquarters and that's on the other side of town," that doesn't help. Shut up, you dumb piece of menkhu. He drops his forehead into his palm, mirroring Dankovsky who has already helplessly covered his head with his hands, nose planted into the table.

"It's not like they would mind…" Lyuricheva laughs to herself distantly.

"There, shudkher! I don't know why you're picking on us when Yulia has a much more interesting story."

"It might be interesting, but you're the hosts, and besides, it's clear who all of this is intended for…" Yulia closes her eyes and shrugs, "and you wouldn't like my story anyway."

The situation, which was mostly that Burakh kept embarrassing both himself and Daniil, was saved by Eva who took to the change of subject and shoved Yulia's side.

"Is that the Inquisitor lady story?" she stage whispers.

"... Yes," Yulia gives her a surprisingly pointed look.

"Oh, then we really shouldn't," Eva quickly deflates. "It's a sad one."

"All of our stories are like that, it seems, each one sadder than the last," Grief chuckles to no one in particular.

"How did you even end up being… the three of you?" Lara asks, unsure, clearly not knowing how to approach such a topic and if she even should do so. "You and… Eva and… Andrey."

Yulia opens her eyes to that and hums smugly. Her stature changes: before Lyuricheva would keep her distance even from subjects as intriguing as this, but now she just confidently adjusts her collar and leans back on the chair, pulling Eva up on her shoulder.

"That is indeed a long story, miss Ravel," her voice is cold and her face emotionless, but everyone present understands that it's nothing but an act to confuse the curious Gravel. The woman just screws up her nose. "Why the sudden interest in our relationship?"

"I…" Lara leans back into the chair herself, hugging her shoulders, looking for support from the warmth of Stakh and Grief next to her. They exchange looks and discreetly move a millimeter closer to her. "I just think that it's a bit outside the box. I haven't seen that in my life, ever, and… I would like to understand."

"How are Daniil and Artemy any different?" The answer is obvious yet it still catches Lara off guard.

"There aren't three of them."

"So it's not just about me and Eva."

Silence hangs in the air: tense, awkward, the kind Ravel was afraid of this entire time. At least her friends are here; Cub might be surprised, not entirely understanding the situation they're in, but she still feels his support. If only the Bachelor wasn't with him! He of all people is probably enabling Artemy's desire to just see how this conversation plays out.

"Well, Ravel, cat got your tongue?" Yulia leans over to pour herself some more champagne but Peter stops her hand, doing it himself.

"You can't possibly assume I hold such an opinion, Yulia," Lara answers carefully; it's obvious that she's cornered.

"We're not talking about prejudice and you understand that perfectly well," Yulia waves her glass slightly.

Stakh gives Lara a small, careful push, and their hands slowly hide under the table, clutching each other.

"That's enough," the woman shakes her head, not defeated but firm. "I didn't mean to open old wounds, you must understand."

"And yet that is exactly what you achieved," Lyuricheva shrugs half heartedly. "But why am I being difficult, indeed? I'm certain everyone is interested in hearing what happened between us. Between all of us. So why not give them a show? I've been meaning to tap into that particular area of expertise myself."

Yulia looks entirely laid back, transforming into someone more resembling Andrey than a serious, rational scientist.

"My story, as I mentioned before, is not that interesting. I met Eva when she arrived in the Town with our highly respected architects," she nods to the Stamatins. Andrey leans back into his chair, pleased, snapping his fingers as if confirming her words, and Peter gives her a modest smile. "We didn't notice each other at first. It would be better to say that she noticed me," Yulia takes another sip of champagne. "And when I did notice her, she took over my attention entirely," Eva giggles, burying her nose into Yulia's shoulder. "There was, of course, the matter of her relationship with Andrey, but…"

"Eva can sleep with whomever she wants," Stamatin adds. "I don't keep her at bay and she does the same for me."

"This is a bit deeper than that, though," Yulia raises her eyebrows fondly, if quizzically.

"You know I love you both, right?" Eva, a happy drunk, stretches her hand over the table to Andrey.

"Yes, well…" The man suddenly falls silent, with a stupid smile on his face, and takes her hand carefully.

"And as to the more interesting story…" Yulia leans forward. "I think you should be the one to tell that one, Ravel."

A shot in the air. Lara's face remains unchanged: Rubin squeezes her hand tighter, and she stays silent. Yulia almost looks disappointed: the thrill of the argument got to her after all.

"And you say you didn't mean to offend," her chair scrapes under her when she stands up sluggishly. Ravel's gaze is on her at all times, afraid to lose sight of her as if Lyuricheva could sneak from behind and descend upon her with all of her adversity. Yulia, however, doesn't let such dark emotions linger, and her own solution is simple. She doesn't get involved, whatever happened - happened. "I'm going to go get some fresh air if you'll allow me."

"Yeah, that's a wise idea," Peter wraps his blanket around him and pulls out a cigarette case.

"Not next to the windows," Artemy instructs, letting Daniil out so he could stand up as well. "I'm going to let some fresh air in while you're out."

"Eh, don't mind if I do…" Grief stands up but one look from Rubin sits him right back. He won't abandon Lara. "But later, later. The window is off limits at all?"

"At all, Grief," Burakh lets out a tired sigh. Eva and Andrey leave right after Yulia. The Haruspex waves to Dankovsky. "Go, if you want to. I doubt the conversation is going to be much different here… a bit more cultured outside, maybe, " he says without the judgement you would expect when his friends were being offended. Artemy understands how this works and purposefully doesn't take sides. He has a feeling stuck in his chest, giving him goosebumps, that tells him that it's better to hear Gravel out.
Dankovsky looks between Artemy and Lara. He would prefer to stay, if he was being honest, but it was obvious from the look she was giving him that Ravel doesn't trust him, and Dankovsky had learned how to take a hint a long time ago.

"If you insist," he says and leaves.

Burakh turns around.

"What does all of this mean?" He's the only one to ask a question.

Rubin and Grief are silent, and Lara drinks their silence in. Burakh stands beside them, sees that he can't get close to Ravel, and moves the table a little, dishes rattling, to plant himself right in front of her. A picture from their childhood: Stakh and Grief could never offer support out loud but their presence itself was encouragement enough, having something inherently calming about their friendly touch and sympathetic looks. Cub and Gravel were the ones talking in situations like this. Lara was basically the master of compromise, but now she needed someone to do that job for her.

"At this point it's obvious what this means, isn't it?" She looks almost exhausted, as if this is some sort of vicious circle for her, and sighs, rubbing her temples. Rubin looks at her with terrible worry; Filin - with awe. They'll only listen to her. "She can say whatever she wants, people already say I'm bloodless. I wonder whose fault that is…" Lara laughs bitterly and her gaze turns empty for a second before she's back to her usual steel firmness, "no, never mind. It's not important."

"Gravel." Burakh insists and takes her free hand, caressing it fondly. Ravel's usually neat fingernails were all chewed off: this has been on her mind for a long time, clearly bothering her. Artemy grips her tighter.

"No, it's fine. I hoped she wouldn't cling to this but it's that pettiness of hers… Yulia likes to feel in control and this is her way of controlling everything around her." Lara sounds confident. "I'm no better, though, really, you don't have to feel sorry for me. Don't. She's still human, as much as she wants to seem like a simple machine, and I'm glad she started accepting that. Eva is a good influence," the woman ends with a hint of a smile.

"Don't bring that into the new year, basaghan. You believe in omens," the foreman says it like a wise man giving advice, like Lara needs the help of a menkhu. His friend's eyes start watering a little at that.

"... Yes, I should tell her that. I don't doubt she's already in agreement with me herself, downstairs. We're both adults… but we still have our weaknesses," her words carry acceptance but something makes her get defensive as well, fiery. "But I'm not going to let her provoke or manipulate me. I've had enough of that."

Burakh nods in understanding.

"Gravel. Were you in love?"

Stanislav and Grigory don't react: they're both wrapped up in Lara.

"No," she shakes her head. "Just compassion." Looks in the window, mind all made up, with nothing but melancholy left in her. She squeezes Cub's hand one last time before releasing it. "Right, boys, that's enough, enough. Don't think about this for too long or your head'll start hurting, this winter will change things. Give me a drink."

Grief obediently pours champagne into her glass and they toast between themselves, silently, as if mourning someone. To the past.

Downstairs, a safe distance from the front porch, Yulia clicks on a gas lighter from the Capital. There were multiple smoke streams: the only people not smoking were Eva, who always went outside to keep company, now especially, and Peter, who, Daniil knew, got sick if he smoked while drunk.

"What was that?" Dankovsky doesn't waste any time, lighting his own cigarette.

"The alcohol must have gotten to me," Yulia is deadly calm. "Usually I don't let her agitate me like that."

"You haven't spoken to her in a long time…" Eva adds quietly.

"What makes you think she wanted to agitate you?" Daniil asks, already regretting getting into this. This happened every time - why people considered him even remotely competent to sort out their personal differences, Dankovsky had no idea.

"What else could she possibly want?"

"Perhaps she was genuinely curious. I've spent enough time in the company of Burakh's friends to believe that," but whatever he says, Yulia still looks sceptical. So he changes tactics. "Fine, it doesn't matter. Just tell me if your… interaction is going to be a problem every time we want to invite both of you over."

"No," Yulia answers confidently. "We're both grown ups, are we not?"

"That hasn't stopped you before," Daniil pointedly raises his eyes to the opened window on the second floor, where a weak light was burning.

"That… was my weakness," Lyuricheva sighs. "I won't let that happen again."

Eva silently leans on Yulia's shoulder. Silence falls between them for a second; you could hear snow crunching under Andrey's feet while he did his third lap in front of the gate, hear music from nearby houses, some lonely dog's sad, faraway barking.
Each of them goes into their own thoughts, clearly far from the situation at hand, but all three of them, a New Year's miracle, perhaps, come to the same conclusion.
"I think you should let her go," Eva is the only one resolute enough to say it out loud. "Make amends or burn all bridges. Otherwise you'll just stay in this… this…"

"Purgatory?" Dankovsky suggests.

"Very religious," Yulia laughs while Eva scrunches up her nose. "You seem very keen on that, it's a bit unexpected."

Daniil shrugs. There's some sort of ruckus happening by the gate but neither of them pays it much mind.

"Metaphors aren't my strong suit."

"I still get what you mean," Yulia throws away the cigarette with a small smile. The ruckus becomes louder and she finally turns around, letting them see Sticky destroy Andrey Stamatin with a seemingly endless array of snowballs while Clara laughs brightly, an uncomfortable sound.
Murky makes her own snowball behind his back, looking determined.

"He deserved tha--" Dankovsky starts to gloat when his own face is hit with snow.

He doesn't even need to wonder about the perpetrator: Clara's laughter gets even louder.

"I'm going to cut your hands off if you do this again," he manages to finish speaking before a second snowball hits him. "Clara."

The Changeling hides behind the fence and Dankovsky was ready to end the matter at that - he was an adult, a scientist, and he wasn't about to lower himself to taking revenge on underage children, but as soon as he turned around, a third snowball hit the back of his head. Then his patience runs out.

Clara evades his own snowball with gleeful shrieking while Eva and Yulia laugh fondly, his angry glares making it even worse.

"Some people only learn from their own mistakes," Dankovsky is decidedly not making excuses.

Burakh hears noises coming from the window, which makes him take his glass and look outside, leaning on the window sill. These were, of course, the sounds of his home. He finds the top of Murky's little head, all bundled up in scarves to keep her warm, Clara's red hat and Sticky's hair, naked in the freezing air and pale in comparison to the white snow. Yulia and Eva are laughing, Andrey is defending himself and his brother, and Daniil… Daniil is throwing snowballs at Clara, waving his arms, aiming, losing his balance and almost falling into the snow.
Burakh keeps a smile on his face, unable to stop his admiration: here, everything best for the children, the thing he gave everything for. He thinks about how times will change, the kids will grow up, but they'll always find a place on the swing in his yard, will always keep in mind the sandbox that's been here since his father, will always take a dive in the fresh snow. Artemy will tend to his yard, will let children in and let them live without worry, and the Bachelor will stay beside him, will emerge from his long rest, from himself and his own thoughts, to remember what it's like to live in the Town.

Sticky stands still and sees his father in the window. The Haruspex drinks his champagne slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Sticky.

"Aba, we're home!" He waves his arms.

"Young man, where's your hat?!" Burakh leans out from the window a little bit to smile impishly at the boy. The kid scratches at his head perplexedly before remembering himself.

"I… it's… I lost it, aba, don't be mad!" At least he's wearing mittens. He evades a snowball and hits the Stamatins with one of his own.

"Ooh, you're gonna get it! I know you left it at home and I'm gonna make sure you wear it," Burakh moves away from the window, not letting Sticky answer, and silently nods to Grief. The man jolts up and leaves the table and both of them go downstairs quickly, not bothering to put on all of their clothes: the Haruspex's coat is unbuttoned, and he has no hat, scarf or gloves on, not particularly bothered by the cold with his bullish frame. Filin throws Sticky a hat and Burakh, emerging from behind his back, throws a thick snowball right into Dankovsky's back.

"Assistance has arrived, captain Burakh," he nods to Sticky and the boy laughs mischievously.

"Burakh," Daniil turns around, deeply offended. "Et tu?"

He gets another snowball in the face instead of an answer and after that all of his pretend pride instantly disappears, and Daniil starts getting vengeance.
The Burakh yard turns into a proper battlefield. Snowballs are flying in every direction; it was easier to notice yet another bundle of snow coming at you than the person who threw it. On top of that, the only sources of light were the streetlights and the windows of the house, making navigation even harder. Daniil sends snowballs in every direction, attempting to notice movement before it results in snow in his face, and every time he hears an especially affronted yelp, a small, slightly more evil Daniil in him laughs in malicious glee.

Artemy throws every part of himself into this fight. Grief, his eternal ally, stands at his side and doesn't dare to throw a missile his way: it's that feeling of comradery that Burakh could never find in the army. Murky almost never gets hit by his snowballs; she artfully evades them, even more skilled at it than Sticky, who was on her side. The only person who could take her by surprise was Clara: she had a way of sneaking from behind and bringing down an avalanche of snow on her, after which they fight, laughing, until the Changeling starts drowning in the snow and pulling Murky down with her. Sticky gets distracted by this and yells, face all red and excited, and gets hit in the face by a gust of snowy wind, part of a snowstorm that started back again right in the middle of their fight. Yulia and Eva successfully hide themselves behind a door, not letting themselves be hit, and Peter and Andrey combine their forces to attack both the Bachelor (no man is an island after all) and Artemy with Grief. Grief ducks, sees an opening in (much too carried away) Dankovsky's defenses, and kills him with one hit. One enemy down, and the men continue their snowy exchange.
That one particularly vicious snowball from Grief knocks Dankovsky off his feet, sending him straight to the ground. Daniil attempts to stand up but finds that it is, actually, kind of nice to lay in the snow. Above him, snowballs whistle and stars shine, and Daniil, suddenly achieving some sort of inner peace, could lay here forever if not for his completely soaked boots and coat, promising a solid week with a sore throat.
Dankovsky begrudgingly raises his head above the snow.

"I'm surrendering," he says as loudly as possible, so the entire yard can hear it, and gets a snowball in the chest for his efforts. "I said, I'm surrendering!"

But Clara and Murky have already got out of the snowy trap, which meant it was time for revenge: they get their snowballs together and prepare to attack the surrendering Daniil, who only provoked them with his declaration. Andrey and Peter react as well, preparing to rain down an entire world of snow on the Bachelor…
The legs carry Artemy themselves. He steps fast, snow up to his knees, raising up his legs as high as he can, and gets to Daniil before the snowballs hit. He falls on his hands, positioning himself right above him, and takes the brunt of the attack.

"Hey, hey! Stop it! C'mon!" He hides his snowy face with his hand, wet all over, his skin red from the cold and tiny scratches he got from the ice. Snow, descending from above, coats his jacket and hair white, gets under his collar, but Burakh doesn't care. When the artillery stops he looks back at the Bachelor: disheveled, lying in the white snow.
Like Snegurochka, or Snow White, with hair sticking out every which way and looking pitch black on the snow, in a slick coat, with snowflakes stuck in his eyelashes. And his cheeks are impossibly red because of the paleness of his skin - the entirety of him is black, red and white, a distinct, beautiful spot, safe from the snowstorm under Burakh's body. Daniil looks at his rescuer, all covered in snow, panting, ridiculously handsome, and falls back into the snow, laughing.

"My hero," he says in between laughs, keeping his eyes at the sky, a substantial part of which was occupied by Artemy's face anyway, lit up from behind by streetlights. He laughs until he feels tears freeze on his face and he tries to wipe them away with a slippery, wet sleeve and it only makes things worse, which makes him laugh even harder.

Burakh looks right at Dankovsky, not understanding at first why he's laughing. But Daniil looks so charming in his ferocity… there is probably nothing better in the world right now than this loud laughter, ripping out in shreds, in tears, red lips and cheeks, in fists propped against Artemy's chest, and knees rattling in every direction as if in a cage. The Haruspex breaks, has no choice but to laugh together with the Bachelor, the man draining any tension that might have remained in him since the beginning of the year, every worry and bad memory. They spill out of him in loud laughter and tears that trickle down his nose and fall somewhere down below, probably into Daniil's collar - Artemy's entire body folds, he presses his chin down to his neck, and his hands, as strong as they are, give out, and he remains on his elbows, completely pressing Daniil to the snow.

"Oh fuck off, you made it boring," he hears Grief's disappointed voice. The man leaves for the house, judging by the door squeaking. Daniil still doesn't want to get up, so he listens to everyone else going past him, snow crunching right in his ears. Two legs in prickly wool stockings and giant shoes stop right next to him, halfway drowning in snow. He lifts his head up to look Clara in the face.

"Are you in hysterics, Bachelor?" She kicks him with her shoe a little and he answers with a half heartedly thrown snowball. It hits the target, only because Clara didn't have the space to maneuver around it.

"I'm having a nervous breakdown," Daniil says gravely. "I've been meaning to have one but could never find the time."

"You're both insane," Clara chuckles as well and looks around. "Get up, dorks, or you're going to be bedridden for ages! Ah, to hell with you, it's way too cold," the Changeling sneezes, hugs herself and runs for the house.

Silence falls around the two healers, the kind that comes along with the snow, a wintery one, fragile like ice, interrupted only by heavy breathing. Burakh's eyes are still glittering when he lifts his head, which had managed to bury itself somewhere in Dankovsky's chest, and looks over him again. There's a layer of ice on Daniil's face now and Artemy sniffles, instantly realizing he has something frozen on his face as well.
If he kisses him right now, will they stick together or will they hear the ice crack? A thought is a lonely thing, as all thoughts are, and it stays in the Haruspex's head until he finds the Bachelor's lips. He himself doesn't know if he is warm or cold right now. To Dankovsky Artemy is always warm like a walking furnace, and Daniil would forget all about the snow and the ice on his face if not for the biting cold creeping up his wet legs and the snowball that hits both of their faces.

"If you idiots get sick," comes Rubin's disgruntled voice accompanied by laughter from the company congregated by the window, "and leave me to deal with the clinic alone on the holidays, I'll bury you both myself."

"I would tell you where exactly you can go, Rubin," Dankovsky gets out from the snow, pushing Burakh away softly, and tries in vain to clean himself up, "but I am a decent man."

"I'm not," Stakh rolls his eyes. "Fuck off."
He steps aside to let the healers into the house.

The hallway is helplessly dirty and filled with water and melted snow; Daniil sighs heavily and starts thinking about ways to make Sticky clean it up in the morning.

"You were alone with Lara for a long time up there," Artemy manages to take a dig at Stakh while he lays a cloth under the door. Rubin doesn't respond, taking a bowl of salad from the kitchen instead, and goes upstairs, proudly eating it by himself.

The house is blissfully warm, but Daniil still has to go to the bathroom to wash his face, and to the bedroom to change his impossibly wet socks.
Burakh forcefully washes his face with hot water and realizes that he wasn't actually that cold. Probably because of the alcohol. Drunks die on the streets on New Year's exactly like that… They were lucky to avoid such instances so far.

"You can see the Lines?!" Sticky had perched himself up on the stove as he didn't want to change clothes and preferred to just let them dry on him.

"No," Peter waves his glass with a laid back motion, engrossed in the boy's questioning.
It was obvious he hasn't spent much time with someone from the regular folk who could appreciate his unique genius: Sticky, it turns out, is exactly the fortunate soul he needed. "I can't see the Lines, kid, I can create them."

"That's a bold statement," the menkhu sneaks up from behind, making Stamatin jump. "Twyrine does that to people?"

"You're cold, brother! Step to the stove… yes… one particularly talented architect indeed could see the Lines…"

"Farkhad?" Sticky suggests enthusiastically.

"Yes, yes, him. And Yulia… Him and Yulia could rebuild the Town."

"I don't see the Lines, my dear Peter, I calculate them," Lyuricheva swings her leg from side to side. Lara doesn't interest her as long as she's listening to her friends' and Burakh's kid's conversation. "It's much more interesting when a person has talent."

"The Lines are a particular concept… many people have explained it to me. That's why I create them, kid, new ones."

"I was always curious as to what my father thought about your machinations," Burakh rubs his hands and sits back at the table. In front of him stands a pot of dumplings; Sticky put at least half of them in his plate. Rightfully so, since he shaped them.

"Isidor didn't mind, he was even approving of our collaboration with Simon," Yulia shrugs.

"I… can't recall…" Peter quietly raps on the table with his fingers, closing his eyes in contemplation.

In the hallway on the way back to the living room Dankovsky spots Murky sitting on the floor by one of the doors. Daniil knew that Murky liked being alone, and it wasn't in his habit to bother the children without a reason, so he would leave her be if not for the girl's tiny hand grabbing at his pant leg.

He stops and lowers his head and that's when it hits him: Murky must have been waiting for him here.

"There's a big tree outside of Capella's house," Murky tells him, standing up. Daniil nods in understanding. "We made a snowman next to it so it would be pretty and so he would protect it. But now I'm scared that someone will break him while we're gone and we'll come back tomorrow and he won't be there anymore."

"Who is going to break him? Everyone is celebrating," Daniil says, but Murky is not convinced, still looking at the floor. He tries something else:
"Besides, if it's in front of the Lump then no one would dare. Everyone is far too afraid of Big Vlad and Capella," that seems to be a strong enough argument for Murky, because she lifts her head up and nods very seriously, clearly taking the weight of the situation into her account. "And I'm sure he's too pretty for anyone to ever break him."

"No. He's ugly. It's on purpose," Murky turns her head and looks down the hall, to the open doors of the living room. "I like ugly ones better."

"Even more so, then," Daniil agrees.

They go to the living room together, Murky relaying the snowman's backtory, which turned out to be extensive, the entire time, as well as fun facts from his family tree, and Sticky and hers plans regarding the future of all snowmen in Town-on-Gorkhon. Dankovsky listens, and listens carefully, just as she would have listened to him.
Such was their arrangement.
But as soon as Murky crosses the living room's doorstep, her eyes leave her father and turn to the giant tree which glitters in the half light, reaching the ceiling. She must have only heard about these from dreamy orphans, like she heard about the sea or steppe fairytales. The tree glistens in its own candlelight with its garlands hanging from the branches, it fills her entire soul with something familiar and yet mysterious from the sheer size of it, like she could probably hide under it. And the toys! The trinkets! The glittery ribbons! The decorations are so big they could only fit in both of her palms, and so pretty and detailed that you could look at them forever…
With her mouth open she lowers her gaze and sees the table, filled with food. It was much smaller and simpler last year, she remembers that clearly, and her stomach starts rumbling from one look at the amount of dishes and plates, and she has to hold it to satisfy its need for attention.
Then… she looks under the tree. Lots of presents, more than there are guests, she couldn't even count them on her fingers, couldn't count them 'till hundred, but she still has to try! One, two, three, four… what's that music? What's that smell? What's that small and orange in aba's hands?
And Sticky, Sticky looks so glad, he's warm and he's happy. And her father is right here and he listened to her story about the snowman, and there's no snow to protect this tree, but she has Stakh and her dad instead of a snowman, both of them as big as the tree itself, and they can protect everyone, Murky, too, and Sticky, and everyone they care about…

"Murky?" Burakh turns around to the sound of wool socks sticking to the carpet. "Murky, sunshine, what's the matter?"

Artemy comes up to the girl who was wiping her eyes in embarrassment, and lifts her in his arms.

"Let me go, I'm not a little kid anymore," she punches his shoulder weakly, unable to take her eyes off of the tree. Tears are still rolling from her eyes, and she hides from the guests', close friends, surprised looks in Artemy's sweater. "Nothing… everything… it's just the tree…" She sniffles, could she be sick?

"What? You don't like it?" Burakh strokes her hair softly, calmly, and Murky shakes her head.

"No! It's really pretty, like… like… I don't know, everything," she quietly whimpers and stops talking, closing up.

"You're just hungry, you little beast, and it's making you upset," Artemy is filled with relief.

"Not true," Murky wipes her face with her sleeve defiantly and Burakh turns her away from the guests, giving Daniil a silent smile.

Daniil… freezes. He was never any good with other people's tears, especially children's, but Murky's tears, it seems, are the result of being excited, not upset. And Burakh is smiling at him, so he calms down a bit, returning his smile with a wobbly one of his own.
Murky's eyes shimmer, not from the tears but from the sheer awe the surroundings seemed to inspire in her: she probably hasn't had a proper New Year's Eve, with decorations, food and a tree, in years if at all. Even last year was, Dankovsky remembers, much more humble and… uncertain, most of that night Murky spent outside with her friends. Now they all feel way more stable, and Murky has a proper home now, and a family and a future. That thought could pull a grown person off balance, let alone a nine year old child.

"Haven't I said she was sure to appreciate your efforts?" he shoves Artemy slightly. "It's beautiful, right, Murky?"

Murky, still painstakingly wiping her tears, nods firmly.
Sticky appears from behind Burakh, trying to hide his concern behind a smile.

"Mishka, c'mon," he holds out a tangerine so big it could easily pass for an orange. "Want a tangerine?"

Murky accepts the gift and looks at it as if it was a world wonder or a bomb; the tangerine appears even larger in her hands.

"What is this? she asks.

"A tangerine. Haven't you seen one before?" Murky shakes her head and Sticky suddenly looks like he's been entrusted with a particularly responsible mission. "Oh, we can't have that. Look…"

He starts on an explanation on how to properly peel a tangerine, how to eat it and how to spit the seeds out so they land in someone's glass, and Murky listens to him, tears completely forgotten, engrossed instead in this new mystery of the universe that was the tangerine.

"'Appreciate' is one way to put it…" the Haruspex almost can't believe his eyes.

"Hey, what about me?!" Clara reaches for a bunch of tangerines.

When Artemy ordered them, he found out that there was a shortage of tangerines in the Town; he hadn't even seen them in stores last year, only in Andrey's pub. Which is why, he supposes, his guests are so surprised to see there's enough tangerines for everyone… Stakh, apparently, has never tasted them at all, which wasn't that surprising considering he used to live entirely on his own and wasn't in the habit of celebrating with anyone but the radio.
But… if Stakh weren't with his Teacher during the holidays, then who would breathe life into an empty, childless house? An image appears in Burakh's head: his father, with patients in the other room, sitting behind this very table, writing him a letter wishing him a happy new year.
He smiles.

"What are you on about, kid, you stole half my stock yesterday!" Andrey protects his tangerine from the Changeling.

"But you have money and I don't,” Clara keeps stretching her hands.

"Here, take mine," Rubin breaks the fruit in half with his hands and gives one half to Clara.

"Sticky, let her have proper food first," Artemy takes the tangerines from the children and puts a soft meat pie in front of Murky instead. She doesn't seem disappointed at all and bites into the treat as if this were her last dinner.

"What about the radio? We have to listen to the radio, it's almost time!" Grief stands up from the table and turns off the gramophone.

"Grief, are there gonna be fireworks this year?" Sticky asks with hope in his eyes.

"You bet! But shhh!" Filin winks at the boy, hiding some sort of bag behind the tree.

Their whispering doesn't go unnoticed by Dankovsky.

"Grief," he raises his eyebrows as a warning. "If you have more than ten pieces of explosives in there, I'm going to make you work the clinic all winter. You're going to tend to everyone's burns personally."

"Don't get so worked up, it's scary, the only thing you're missing is a revolver at the hip," Grief jokes around while he pushes the bag further back. "We're learned men over here, it's going to be fine, a first class performance, even!"

"Do you mean 'fine' like you meant 'fine' last year?" Dankovsky sees those endless fireworks that rumbled through the sky all night last year, in his nightmares; Grief got an earful from him back then as well but he doesn't seem to learn from his mistakes.

"Last year was your fault, uncle Bachelor," Grief drawls Dankovsky's child nickname mockingly.

"Since when is it my fault?"

"Whose idea was to set off fireworks in the first place? Huh? Your idea, your fault."

"No one made you buy a year's worth of fireworks and set them all off in one night," Dankovsky points a finger at him. "I am not responsible for your execution of my idea."

"But you--"

Grief is interrupted by a radio hitting the table with a loud thunk. Rubin frowns:
"You're going to break it that way, Clara," but the girl doesn't care and she continues to mess with the handle, trying to find the right station despite clearly not understanding how the whole thing works.
Dankovsky lets her be - Burakh or Rubin are gonna take it from her in a few minutes anyway, and sits at the table next to Eva, who was fiddling with her own tangerine in deep thought.

"Oh, you know," she lifts her head up suddenly with a blissful look on her face, "I just remembered that there's a tradition about kissing someone when the clock strikes midnight on New Years, or you won't have luck in the new year."

"I thought you're supposed to make a wish on New Years?" Daniil frowns perplexedly.

"Yep, wishes," adds Clara, whose opinion wasn't actually needed.

"Wishes, too… But this is a foreign tradition, they do this in England or America, I think," this gets a moment of consideration.

"And where exactly are we?" Stakh mumbles from the other side of the table.

"I just thought that if they do this, so can we," Eva protests. "Traditions don't just appear out of thin air!..."

"It's not our tradition, is it?" Artemy isn't particularly enthusiastic about the idea. "Now, I could offer a few of my own…"

"Cub, no," Rubin waves him off. "Kis… kissing is better."

"Are you just saying things to be contrary?" Burakh suddenly takes interest. "Come on here then, brother."

"Hey! That's unfair! Who do I get then?" Grief leaves his bag halfway and returns from the tree, putting his hands at his sides. "The Bachelor, obviously, is going to be with Cub, the wonder trio has each other in multiple variations, my best friends left me for each other," he frowns dramatically, completely and utterly offended. "And this one," he points at Peter, "is fine with being a lonely fuck all his life!"

Clara covers Murky's ears with a scandalized look on her face and Peter just smiles demurely.

"That's true, my brother, true… cheers to that," Peter raises his glass to Andrey's confusion. "An artist must be alone all his life. Why would he need a muse otherwise?"

"Alright, I suppose," Andrey smirks and turns to Filin. "Why don't you kiss me then, honey? We're old friends, after all, nothing to be ashamed of, no one would mind!"

"BEGONE!" Grigory flaunters to the architect's loud laughter. "Your gross twyrine spit on my beautiful face is the last thing I want!"

"That's the first time someone said that to me…" Andrey wipes an invisible tear and lowers his head on Eva's chest dejectedly. She rolls her eyes with a fond smile, smooths down his hair and kisses him on the top of his head.

"Grief, do I have to spell it out? Behave, there are children present," Lara frowns and steps closer to Stakh, apparently to be out of Grief's reach.

"Oh, you can go on, I'll just get a snack!" Sticky got back on the stove as soon as he was told to leave his sister alone and sat there ever since, unnoticed in the fire's shadow. Burakh rubs his temples, unable to hold in a smirk: a curious boy is curious in everything and there was no point in shielding him from bad influences.

"Sticky is grown enough, and he can't get that sort of stuff from books," he says quietly to the guests. He's drowned out by the radio turning on, which captivated Murky, distracting her from what's happening at the table.

"Artemy, you're my last hope, help out a friend… I'm not asking, I'm appealing to your conscience…" Filin throws himself at Burakh and sighs sensually. He didn't drink much except for the holidays, but when he did…

"There, there," the Haruspex mercifully kisses Grief's eyebrow and gives Stakh a pointed look. "But let's… give this a special spot or something."

"A… this doesn't count?" Grigory steps away from his friend disappointedly.

"No, the rule is that you have to do it exactly at midnight," Eva admonishes. "We can't all fit if there's only one spot."

"What do you mean by 'all'?" Rubin asks no one in particular.

The holiday music on the radio, which wasn't much different from what was playing on the gramophone before, fades out with a whelp and gets replaced by a radio program about the celebrations in the Capital. Murky frowns in disappointment.

"They still have the same announcer," Daniil notes with surprise. "I thought they had him replaced."

"He got pardoned," Yulia responds. "As far as I know, of course, which is not firsthand. It happened exactly a year ago."

"Ah." Dankovsky nods with understanding and smirks harshly. "So miracles do happen."

The program, flickering in and out either from the radio's age or from the flimsy signal, shifts to reading listeners' letters out loud; the air is filled with hellos to friends, mothers and fathers, messages to brothers on the battlefront, various wishes of health, joy and, of course, a happy New Year. It's all so joyful and so distant that Dankovsky has trouble believing these were written by actual people - that someone out there could be this happy.

"We should send a letter too," Grief rolls his r, "next year. But with a complaint, shake things up a little."

"You fancy yourself a cossack?" Andrey laughs.

"What?" Grief blinks.

"Eh, forget it," Andrey says with a wave of his hand, "you're a waste of a good joke."

"Since when are you a fu… freaking scientist?" Grief almost starts getting agitated again but one firm look from Lara glues him to the chair.

"How much time 'till midnight?" Clara jumps up, looking around for a clock.

Burakh unceremoniously takes Dankovsky's hand and looks at his watch.
"...Half an hour," he says, surprised. "Half an hour until the new year and we haven't opened the presents, barely made a dent in the food, almost haven't danced even… What else? Sticky, get to the table!"

Sticky jumps off the stove on command and runs to the table, sitting down and squeezing himself in between Murky and Clara.

"Well, kids, tell us what good deeds you have done this year. Stakh is going to judge you," Burakh crosses his arms and looks at Rubin critically.

"... Are you insane? Why me?" Stanislav doesn't seem very happy with his new position.

"Because you're always here all day long, swearing at everyone, setting a bad example," Burakh's tone remains strict and Clara snickers quietly, "and you, girl with religion, since you're best friends with Stakh, are gonna go first."

The Changeling covers her mouth with her hand.

"You have a present for me?! Ripper!..."

Artemy nearly softens, but Clara's huge eyes can't break him. Murky tensing up, on the other hand, gets much closer to making him break character.

"Well… speak,” Stakh shrugs awkwardly.

"I! I did so much good! There's…" Clara suddenly takes her hat off and scratches her head perplexedly. "I can't really remember right now…"

"You brought me food a lot," Rubin, to everyone's surprise, helps out. Clara really does soften him.

"Right! And I saved an entire gaggle of kittens and brought them to Notkin!" The girl claps her hands excitedly. "And I was with Grace a lot, which is good. It's good because she likes people a lot but doesn't talk to them much, but she talks to me," she puts a hand on her chest proudly, "every day! Not even to Capella or to you!"

"...Yes, that's enough, yamar berkhe. Uncle Rubin, your verdict?"

"Deserving of a present," Stakh nods firmly and Clara lets out a victory screech, fists pumping the air.

"Sticky," Burakh addresses his son thoughtfully.

"Learned the Lines - one! Made dumplings - two! Helped out around the house - three! Didn't tease Murky - four! Brought the tinctures - five!" Sticky quickly lists off his achievements, clearly proud of himself.

"That's it?" Artemy asks with a condescending smile.

"...And I told my parents that I love them - six," the boy mumbles.

Stanislav turns to Burakh in confusion, and he nods approvingly.

"Right. Deserves a present. Murky…"

"... Is a good girl. No questions here," Artemy gives up quickly with a wave of his hand, and the way his daughter's eyes light up when she hears that makes him melt. Daniil looks at him knowingly. In a few years she'll have him completely wrapped around her little finger.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Sticky exclaims in a fit of indignation, looking at Murky with an upset face. The girl sticks out her tongue at him.

"This is not negotiable," Burakh is unrelenting. He shakes his head and looks to Daniil. "How about we sum up our achievements this year, dear colleague? We have more to brag about than just the children."

"Are you asking as a colleague? If so, that can be arranged," he ignores the face Clara makes in front of him. "Avoided a flu epidemic, that's one. The Dogheads started breaking their legs less, that's two. Started to diagnose food allergies, very important, I can't believe you lived here like this--"

"We get it, get on with it," Stakh interrupts.

Dankovsky rolls his eyes.
"Three, then," he turns to Artemy. "Did I forget anything?"

"Well…" Burakh raps on his own shoulder impatiently, "a lot of things. Did I ask you to speak just to tell everything myself?" The guests laugh quietly, and Artemy lets out an especially heavy sigh, as if Daniil was some nitwit. "Me and Bachelor Dankovsky, dear friends… shudkher, I'm really not good at this… ahem, dear friends, have achieved much this year and I hope that we will achieve even more in the next one. Very importantly, our trip to the Capital. Actually, you all remember that story, that was stupid of me… ah, does anyone know that we actually got the money for our equipment? Stakh insisted. Thank you, Stakh."
Stakh coughs quietly.

"Maybe I forgot something? Does anyone want to hear about non-colleague achievements?"

"Me!" Eva raises her hand and Artemy smiles softly.

"As to personal achievements…" Dankovsky swoops in, "...we, well, we got married." Eva lets out an excited 'whoop' to that, and Daniil pushes back a smile, reaching for the ring that hangs on his chest. "Quite."

"I will never understand how you managed that this fast…" Rubin mumbles under his breath.

"Do tell if you will," Daniil's smile is only partly ironic. "But that was the latest thing. I moved here," he gestures around himself, "this year as well. Speaking of which, we sent off a dear friend," then to Yulia,"to the Capital. On that note: does anyone else have something they want to share?"

A brief silence falls over them and Artemy looks around. He starts applauding quietly, with the rest of the table joining him soon enough: Stakh with respectful nods, Lara - with pride, Grief is off rhythm, Peter - uncharacteristically excited, Andrey with passionate exclamations, Eva with a truly wide smile and Yulia with silent approval. Clara starts clapping with enthusiasm, perplexed Murky and Sticky following suit.
Burakh exhales quietly, relieved that he could use the few leadership skills he actually has, coupled together with Daniil's ability to hold a crowd's attention.
He takes the Bachelor by the hand, the one making circles on the ring on his chest, and holds it right there under his heart. There's an admiration of Dankovsky's words bubbling up in him: they survived another year, an entire year, probably the best year he's ever had just because they got to spend it together, shoulder to shoulder, loving each other all the while. That's why he's not afraid of anything. Artemy is ready for anything with a ring on his chest. He's not afraid. Not afraid of anything, past, present or future, as long as he can hold this hand, and that was their promise.

"Notkin's a good kid and now he's under my avian supervision! Good thing he's a cat person and I'm a predator bird, we'll see who eats who," Filin starts talking over the applause, which dies down, letting him speak. "But I'm gonna look after him. He's got a future, that kid, he sees the big picture - I can see myself in him, except even smarter! And while the Olgimskys got their back turned, I started overseeing the warehouses again and the trains, too… I'm no good as a watchmaster in the Cathedral, sitting on my ass all day. Our train schedule is a damn mess!" Grigory snaps his fingers. "But don't worry, fellow citizens, I'm gonna set that place right, it's gonna be brilliant, I'm telling you."

Grief gets his round of applause. He bows and raises a glass and then gets down on one knee in front of Lara, clearly giving her the floor.

"...A school," she starts timidly, but then her voice gets stronger and her face brightens. "We started getting a proper school class together. First grade! Six year olds, seven, nine… and they really came, with their parents, and so did the first teachers. The girls wearing ribbons, the boys wearing ties, and the bell is ringing now. And the Shelter isn't empty anymore, it started welcoming people, we get hot water and food enough for everyone. Alla Grigoryevna, an old woman, got left behind by her children, but she found a new family there, under our roof, and--" Ravel sighs blissfully, rubs her thin hands, "and my friends, my best friends, are alive and moving forward. And so am I."

Artemy can't hold back a fond look towards his friend. Even Yulia looks at her with surprise and starts clapping first.
Applause for Lara. Stakh hugs her shoulders.

"I'm actually alive and I'm… surprised. Through all the hardships, the ups and downs… only to help out two smitten idiots and attempt to find my own way," Rubin turns to the window. "I had a lot of things on my plate this year because everything bad that happened to these people, happened to me as well. Especially Dankovsky, and Cub and Clara. But… goddammit, I honestly don't know what to make of this."

"Are you happy?" Clara asks hopefully.

Stakh nods.
She starts applauding first. Artemy's claps seem louder than everyone else's.

"Great construction has finally begun on the other side of the river!" Eva exclaims after the last round of applause had died down. "I have nothing to do with that, of course, but I'm still very proud of everyone involved," her warm smile was clearly intended for the Stamatins, but they didn't seem to share her enthusiasm.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Eva," Andrey still smiles at her and raises his glass. "Put it that way, something has begun this year and we'll have to see if anything good comes of it. But it was a good year for the pub!" He laughs and Peter nods absentmindedly, but stays silent.

After that Yulia takes the floor:
"My achievements are few and far between this year, especially compared to some," her gaze stops at Lara and she smiles a little. "But I can say that I started working on my book. Too bad I can't invite you to the Capital anymore, Artemy," she says that like an old inside joke and Dankovsky huffs.

He checks his watch again - five minutes to midnight, which he immediately announces. Empty glasses are yet again filled with champagne (or milk) and the room stills in anticipation.
Horns start to push through the radio frequency, accompanying a male voice: a clear, loud one, with good pronunciation and enough spirit for the entire country.
The voice of the Motherland.

"Fellow tovarischy!..."

"Isidorych, hit it!" Grief barks and Burakh raises an eyebrow in confusion.

"Hit what?"

"Cub, we've been waiting for this ever since you came back, come on, like when we were kids… do your. Voice." Lara looks at him pleadingly. Stakh nods as well, to complete the picture.

"Oh, you mean that!" Artemy coughs but the longer he listens to what's being said on the radio, the more disgusted he feels. He looks at Daniil for a moment, checking if he was alright, before turning off the radio with a swift motion.

"Hey, I wanted to listen!" Clara frowns.

"No. We don't need that in our house. How was it… aaargh-khem," the Haruspex clears his throat, holds one hand behind his back and raises his glass with the other. He squints, but only in one eye, and every adult in the room suddenly understands: he's mimicking the old leader who died before the war. For regular people that man represented hope, but for anyone even slightly involved in politics his squinted eye was only associated with the start of a bloody era: the arrival of the Powers that Be and the establishment of the Inquisition.

Peter blinks, Andrey laughs, unbelieving, and Burakh…

"Deahr cohmrades," his voice mimicked the one you could hear on the radio ten years ago precisely, down to the vibrations, "a new year approaches, which means we've lived another twelve months in this new era… ahem… and for a whole year things in our precious Town went smoothly. There were ups and downs, successes and failures, but the most important thing is that at the end of the year we are still fellow countrymen and that we are together. There… were…" Burakh breaks character for a second to cough. This act was tough on his vocal chords. "We have achieved great progress this year. A school was established, the train station received new leadership, lives were saved, a new Town has transformed, a new Menkhu has started training, an old friend has returned… and love has come into our lives. Let's honour our dead loved ones with a moment of silence and drink to new beginnings!"

The radio turns back on again, broadcasting the midnight countdown.

"It's almost time to kiss!" Eva looks like she's about to burst.

"Happy New Year!"

The clock strikes twelve and the Haruspex gets yanked down.
Daniil doesn't know where Eva got this tradition from, and if it exists at all, but he only needs an excuse - and so, he kisses Artemy as soon as the new year starts.
Shenanigans abound all around them: Eva hurriedly kisses first Andrey, giggling and missing his lips drunkenly, and then Yulia, Grief and Sticky yell "WOO!" on behalf of everyone (Sticky closes his sister's ears beforehand), Stakh modestly kisses Lara's cheek, and Clara uses the chaos to pour herself some champagne.
Daniil doesn't pay them any mind; for a couple of seconds his world narrows down to a single spot. Burakh isn't distracted either, surprised by the sudden gesture and, it seems, deeply touched. Maybe foreign traditions aren't so bad after all.

"Happy new year," Daniil says, breaking the kiss, and he's probably wearing the same stupid smile he had a year ago. Maybe just a bit calmer, not tinged with ten different emotions at once, but just as happy.
Burakh holds back for a moment, remembering what exactly this smile reminded him of, and laughs - only between them while they have this small, intimate moment in the residing chaos. He softly leans his forehead to Daniil's, knocks their noses together and wraps his hands around his shoulders carefully, so he doesn't spill the champagne.

"Did you like my impression?" Artemy asks quietly, kissing him again and again, on the corner of his mouth and on the cheek, until he's brought back to reality.

"It was horrible. Absolutely disgusting, treating a dead man like that," Daniil leans into the kisses and his smile is wide in a way he's still getting used to. "So yes, I enjoyed it. A lot."

"Presents!" Murky shotguns a glass of milk and slams it on the table.

"Hey, what about the toast? Clara, that's a straight path to alcoholism, you know," Artemy says, putting his chin on Dankovsky's shoulder and talking through it. Daniil himself is so full with champagne, kisses and festive spirit that it makes him feel warm and comfortable like he hasn't felt in the last five years at the very least. A bit more and he's going to melt.

"You're on the path to alcoholism, I'm a dignified taster!" Clara says with a pompous look on her face, taking a sip. "And how do you know if I can't drink already?"

"So you're an adult, then?" Dankovsky sneers. "I'll tell Capella the good news! And I'm sure Khan will find out soon enough."

"Don't try to intimidate me, snake," Clara sticks out her tongue. "Me and Capella are equals now."

"'Capella and I'," is the only thing Dankovsky says on the matter. Somehow, he didn't feel like winning that particular argument.

"Well then, are we toasting again?" Eva, who managed to sandwich herself in between Andrey and Yulia, raises her glass.

"Yes, we are," Burakh doesn't dare to move from Daniil's shoulder, finding it way too comfortable.

Now, feeling the warmth of a familiar body and the prickling of a drunken blush, Artemy feels like a student again, except way more content with his life. Maybe if he spent his student days with better people, like the ones sitting in his living room right now, he would remember them with more fondness, maybe as filled with wonders the kind he never cared about when he actually experienced them: his first trips to the Capital bars and restaurants, first time wasting money on frivolous things, running out of it quickly, first time gambling in big company, first time playing board games and chess (properly, an actual fight), first fireworks and popped bottles of champagne, etcetera, etcetera. But no friendly shoulder could replace the warmth of the Bachelor's waistcoat.

"Burakh, you've been talkative today, brother, do a toast! As the host of this party, at least," Andrey raises his glass as well.

"I've got my hands full, hayaala," Artemy leans his prickly jaw to Daniil's neck.

"You can still talk when you sit," Stakh gestures widely toward them, "how is this a problem?"

Burakh takes a second to think silently and then matter-of-factly raises Daniil up and sits him on his lap, letting himself stay in the same place. Dankovsky rolls his eyes, mostly out of habit, and mumbles something under his breath, but does make himself comfortable, stretching like a content cat.

"And now," the Haruspex takes a glass with his other hand and raises it up, "I want to make a toast! A toast to my family and new friends, to the lives of all our guests who are here with us tonight. Let mother Boddho warm our footsteps and preserve our bodies, bite kharaan, you are all very important to us. You keep the Town standing," he says it with such fervent belief that flames light up in everyone's eyes, and they raise their glasses, meeting them in the middle.

"Now, presents?" Murky mumbles impatiently.

"Now, presents," Daniil agrees even though he sorely doesn't want to get up. But Murky, as if reading his thoughts, runs to the tree by herself; Sticky quickly follows suit. "Yours have your names on them, you can't miss them."

Presents to Sticky and Murky were a joint enterprise of the Haruspex-and-Bachelor Corp, under the mutual agreement that that would be easier for everyone: Artemy had more ideas and Daniil had more ways to make them into reality. Besides, that was the only way Dankovsky could possibly outdo his gift for Sticky from last year: a huge, beautiful edition of a book on herbs.
Murky opens her present carefully, with a nine year olds tiny reverence, and pulls out a set of watercolors, two brushes and a small album.
He had to consult the Stamatins for this one, which proved to be mostly useless - neither of them had used watercolors after university, so they had very little expertise. Dankovsky ended up just having them order the most expensive set of paints he could afford, and he could only hope that Murky would be satisfied.
The girl looks at the album as if it were made of gold; the watercolors lie beside her, temporarily forgotten.

"These are for painting," Daniil explains just in case. "If you don't know how to use them I could show you, although I am, frankly, a poor artist."

"A strictly naturalistic one, maybe," he adds to himself, "specializing in beetles."

Murky turns the watercolors to the light: the safety glass glows with novelty and the pigments burn with color. She tries to imagine how they would look on paper, looks at the brushes, breaks the packaging and puts her fingers into the hairs, and, surprised with their softness, strokes her nose with interest.

"A tiny genius, that one… open ours as well, girl," Peter gives a subtle nod to other gifts under the tree, next to the ones her fathers put there.

A silver mirror. Murky looks into her own giant eyes, messes with her hair and squishes her face, holding the beautiful handle, all sparkles and engraved flowers, tightly. The girl breathes on the mirror glass, wipes it with her sleeve and puts it on the floor carefully.
Yulia gifted her writing utensils, and Grief collaborated with Notkin for the present, which was a small knife. She hides it under her knees where she's sitting. Lara gave her a headscarf… the scarf Murky herself called "so so pretty, the most prettiest one" earlier this winter because of how it emphasized the beauty of Ravel's hair with its own intense color. She wraps the scarf around her - and it still smells of Lara! And she notices… another gift. A small letter. When she takes it in her hand she feels Stakh's gaze on her, so she puts it into her pile. She will look at the rest in her room, before going to bed: one look at the huge holiday offerings makes her heart beat faster and her lip start to quiver.

"I don't have anything for you all… I didn't even make anything," sadness takes over her yet again and she wraps herself up in the scarf and brings the presents closer to her. The adults stay silent.

"I don't have anything for you either!" Clara slaps her knee gleefully.

"I do have one for you… And you, Sticky, too… And…" She starts looking for them in the pile of other presents but only manages to find the one she intended for her brother.

Sticky sits beside Murky and smiles at her in anticipation.

"Here," the girl purses her lips and gives him a tiny bundle. Sticky opens it, impatiently but skillfully, making red necklace strings fall onto his palms; red, orange, black stripes roll around on them. "You can wear the… charm on it," Murky sniffles and Sticky instantly envelopes her in a tight hug. She whimpers.

"Bayarlaa!" The boy kisses his sister's head. "Man, you got a lot of presents… oh, here's mine," Sticky takes his own packages, counts them and turns to the Stamatins.

"Where's yours?"

"We're making you tougher, you're gonna be a real strong man without presents!" Andrey gives him a thumbs up and feels Peter kick him under the table.

"...Why didn't you bring him anything?" Peter whispers.

"Why didn't you? He's gonna break it or something, he's Burakh's kin," Andrey frowns and turns to Eva.

Sticky doesn't seem that troubled by having one gift less, though: he hasn't ever in his life held this many big gifts at the same time. The street kids knew the tradition but the presents were small or handmade, these had bows and ribbons that were fun to untie, and they were signed with a caring hand, which made the boy think that someone actually needs him, that he isn't some street urchin, an orphan or some sort of klutz, not just a boy and not just Sticky, whose nose you can pull, call him a lofty and forget about him in a minute. The old man hadn't made him feel this way either…

"Are you crying now too?" Murky scoots closer. The boy feverishly wipes his face with his dry forearm.

"Nope!" And he starts on the gifts.

"Ours first," his father reminds him. Sticky savours the moment. He's having a holiday, a real one, with his friends and family, and he's sitting under a tree, a big one, and for the first time in his life the world around him isn't too small because he's not too big for it. His fingers suddenly start tangling with each other, and finally, he opens the present.

"What is this?..." he says as if he doesn't understand what he's seeing, like it isn't meant for him.

"That, kid, is your first razor. Be careful or you'll slice yourself right open."

Sticky examines the razor from all sides, tries to slash with it a little bit - carefully, so as not to hurt anyone, but it was obvious that he wanted to try again.

"What did he just say about being careful?" Dankovsky nips the idea in the bud. "You'll have to learn how to use it properly before it can become entirely yours. I can help with that. Or Burakh, if you want."

"The kid is lucky, so much choice!" Grief laughs to himself.

Sticky gets lost in his reflection in the razor - the only thing he could see were his eyes, huge and yellow in the muddled reflection; Notkin would've called him a cat.
He suddenly feels so responsible - if he gets trusted with a razor, almost an adult - if he gets trusted with a razor, that he gets a little scared. Scared and excited. He's in no hurry to grow up, of course, obviously, but the responsibility was also that of a doctor, of a menkhu, it was his inheritance.

Murky pulls on his sleeve.

"Are you gonna open the rest?" She sounds like she's worried for his presents as if they were her own.

The next present is a medical textbook from Yulia, the most recent edition she was able to find, a leather bag from Lara and Stakh ("for herbs and tinctures and, you know, stuff"), and a homemade crossbow from Grief. The crossbow, to Sticky's great disappointment, wasn't charged, but Grief promised to get the boy to shoot when it gets a bit warmer, with blunted bolts, obviously, stop looking at me like that, Cub.

The radio resumes its program and instantly gets turned off, and Andrey gets up to put the record back on.

"Don't know about you people, but I could dance some more," Andrey starts swinging his hips from side to side and swaggers up to Eva. "Encore?"

"I wanted to… er… ask miss Yan to dance!" Sticky bites his lips, trying desperately not to blush, and leans on the table, looking at Stamatin with huge eyes. Eva herself puts her hand over her mouth - such scandal! - and pats Andrey on the back. "Dance with someone else, Andryusha. I'll dance with the boy first and then with Yulya and then with you, alright? There's enough of me to go around, don't worry!" She promises easily and stands up from the table. "Danyusha, you've got a dashing boy here… Sorry, which one are you?"

"Sticky!" The boy happily takes Eva's hand and stands on his toes, to the table's quiet entertainment. Andrey sighs without any actual bitterness.

"Come on, somebody dance with me!"

"You're scary, mister," Murky wipes her hands and goes up to Peter. "I like this one."
Peter raises his eyebrows in phlegmatic surprise.

"You mean me, girl?"

"Your hair is pretty. Can you give me a ride?"

"Murky, the magic word!" However distracted Burakh might be, he can always find time for parenting.

"Please," Murky adds with determination in her voice. "To music."

The artist looks first at his thin hands and then at the girl, who was a child of a quite healthy size for her age, and hums quietly.

"I can twirl you like a Capital lady, girl."

"Stakh, I want that too!" Clara perks up and grabs Rubin by the collar. "And you, Grief, come do a round dance with us!"

"Sounds good to me," the redhead shines his teeth and pulls Stakh from the table.

Lara shares a quiet look with Andrey.

"Be careful," Ravel gives him her hand when he approaches her.

"'Gentle' is my middle name, madame."

Burakh sways to the music with Daniil still sitting on his lap, watching the room brighten with the children's happy faces and people dancing, whirling around like the snow outside the window. He watches them and thinks about how easy it can be to bring people together. Here's them turning the radio off in unison, here's them all coming together to make two kids happy, and then Clara's head will start to spin and she'll trip, look under her feet and… there's her gift.

"Gift…" Artemy purrs into Dankovsky's shoulder and raises his eyes to Daniil, who sits relaxed, with his limbs all over Artemy, as is his right. Burakh pokes his nose into his neck and lowers his head, pressing it to his collarbone, blinking against the bare skin and feeling the weight of Dankovsky's jaw on his curls. They have lost any shape he might have tried to put them in, the snow fight leaving them no chance, and now they stick in different directions even more than before, all tangled up. "I really don't feel like standing up, Danya. Just tell me your gift, I'll believe anything. I hope it's a skeleton or something," he smiles, breathing warm air into Daniil's chest.

"Yes, an eight foot tall one," Daniil smiles as well, absentmindedly wrapping a curly strand of hair around his finger. "We'll put it on the roof so everyone can see what kind of people live here."

He has to turn around when Clara almost crashes into the table in a fit of wild joy, saved by Stakh at the last minute but still managing to shake a couple of glasses. Even Clara's whole… thing didn't bother Dankovsky at the moment, and he watches contently as she twirls Burakh's friends around the room.
Sticky beside her is leading Eva in a dance so earnestly, standing up straight and proper despite the height difference and his face being red, and Eva is smiling so warmly that Daniil feels something akin to a father's pride for a moment. Sticky had progressed from "student" to "son" quite some time ago, but it always surprises Dankovsky how much he worries for the boy sometimes, how proud of him he can be.
He turns his gaze to the tree. His gift to Artemy was actually still in his home office; he forgot to get it and didn't notice until it was too late.

"You're very hard to find a gift for, do you know that? You never need anything, and I can't make heartfelt homemade gifts every year," Daniil takes Artemy's face in his hands and raises it up to look him in the eyes.

"Ime beshe, of course I don't. My friends seemed to find them easily enough," Artemy smiles at the sight of Stakh, who, it seems, started to get into the dance, and then turns his eyes to Daniil. "Obviously, oynon, I live as a true shaman, with no wish for material things. The only things I need are spirituality, Boddho's blessing, a connection to Suok or a melody of Bos Turokh. You should have gifted me drums made of bull skin, respectable erdem, do you have no tact?" Burakh raises an eyebrow and leaves Daniil's shoulder to finish his glass of champagne and put it on the table. "Hayud, hayud, oynon… You're no better. A handsome man from the Capital such as yourself, a scientist, you probably got everything under the sun gifted to you, and even this," Artemy knocks on the top of Daniil's watch, "is of no use to you. Nothing surprises you, not expensive liquor, not fancy ties…"

Burakh leans back slightly and embraces the Bachelor's waist.

"Shovels are always useful, if you're interested. But good ones, sturdy, not the most expensive or fancy ones… the one we have right now is this close to falling apart. Or a toolbox, otherwise Stakh will have to keep bringing them to me one by one, he's the real master," the man chuckles. "Or are you, Bachelor, too much of a romantic to give such a non-sentimental gift?"
He pokes his rib.

"I shall see to the drums and the shovels next year, but this year, I'm afraid, is a miss," Daniil pushes Artemy's hand away. "And don't accuse me of sentimentality, Burakh, until you see what I prepared for you."

He stretches slowly - every body part that could fall asleep, did - and stands up.

"The watch was a very practical gift, by the way, since I'm no Victor," he reaches for his glass. "But do keep telling me how handsome and smart I am."

"Not more practical than the ring, I think," the Haruspex shrugs and stretches his knees, which have lost the pleasant pressure and the warmth. The rings did a good job for them this year. "I'll gladly tell you how handsome and smart you are when you'll tell me how handy and clever I am," he stands up as well. His gift lays under the tree. "Because my real gift to you all is what's happening right now. They don't do this in the Capital, do they?"

Artemy smiles with the corner of his mouth before going around the Bachelor to get his gift. He has to duck under Stakh and Grief's interlocked hands to get to the tree. Taking the box, wrapped with a red fabric which was embroidered with Khatange patterns, he turns to Daniil and gives him a quizzical look.

"Mine is in the office," Daniil crosses his arms and steps closer. "I didn't have time to get it, what with all the surprises."

Behind him Clara throws herself on a chair, scraping the floor violently.

"That's it, ouch, my side's hurting!" She's completely out of breath, but that doesn't stop her from talking at her maximum volume. "Oh, are you exchanging gifts?" She scoots closer, scraping the floor again. "I want in! I even have a gift for you idiots."

Burakh sighs. He's tired, tired from the talking and from constantly going around the house…

"Where?"

"Look in the window! Now!" Clara points to the window and Burakh does as he's asked. When Daniil turns around as well, fireworks boom.

"Fireworks!" Sticky twirls Eva in front of the window.

They keep mesmerizing Burakh. He watches the display with such awe on his face that Dankovsky completely forgets to get mad about them. It was an actual wonder that they delighted Artemy every time, even when he should have gotten used to them. But Dankovsky didn't mind - awe was a good look on Artemy. "The curls, too," he adds to himself. They softened his edges, as uncombed and sticking out in every direction as they are; he looked like a mess and for once, it wasn't because of constant exhaustion or a deadly infection, but because of problems completely mundane, the kind Dankovsky still considered a luxury even after a year and a half.
After the fireworks stop rumbling, something sticks up their backs.

"Happy new year, Ripper," the Changeling gives him a toothy smile and a bouquet of twyre. Fresh twyre.

"How did you?... What? When?" The leaves are soft and full of water and blood, and the smell makes his head spin like in September.

"I'm a magician, a witch, don't you remember?" She takes the other hand from behind her back just like a magician and shows to Dankovsky his own brooch. The one that was holding his cravat earlier this evening.

"... You've got fast hands. Did you take this," Artemy shakes the herbs, "from my laboratory? How did you get in?"

"Firstly, an establishment secret," Clara says matter-of-factly, "secondly, I didn't. I can bend reality! Bam, and it appears."

"Can you make a field of these?" Dankovsky says dryly, taking his brooch from her.

"Keep dreaming," she sticks her tongue out. "Will I get anything?"

"Not from me," Dankovsky hasn't even considered getting her something. Maybe next year, if she can manage to remain in his good graces. "And, if you'll allow me, I'm going to go get my present for Artemy."

Burakh watches Daniil go silently.

"Clara, I didn't like how this sounded…"

"Oh, do you want to hear a poem? I know a good one! Ded Moroz, Ded Moroz, beard made from schmutter…"

"Oh," Burakh chuckles nervously, having remembered how that one ends, "don't."

"Have you brought us all nice gifts, you fat m--"

"Just take your gift," Burakh nods to the tree and Clara reaches towards it. She quickly fishes out something wrapped in the same fabric as the Bachelor's gift and shakes it impatiently. It's heavy and doesn't make any noise, so she decides to give up and just takes off the wrapping.

"Wow! An entire bull skin!" The Changeling smiles. "Why would I need that, you dummy?"

"Open it first."

Inside the skin is a small sewing kit.

"I can't sew," she still attempts to sound disappointed. "Why?"

"Bull skin is a good material, if you learn to sew you could make a jacket or a tent from it, in case you still don't find a home," Artemy answers firmly. "It could be helpful."

Clara rubs the skin thoughtfully.

"Is this your work, then?" She traces the edge of the canvas with her finger.

"The booha was me, yes, but the rest was the Kin's tanners," he nods. "Watch over the party for us, will you? We'll be back soon."

"Ooh! I'm in charge!" Clara declares triumphantly and Burakh leaves the living room, holding the present in his arms.

They meet in the doors of Dankovsky's office.

"... It's quieter here," Burakh takes Daniil back inside the room and closes the door.

Dankovsky holds his package close to his chest and raises his eyebrows.

"Is that so? What, you needed an intimate environment?" But all his sarcasm quickly dies down; his head already started hurting from the music and alcohol. "Fine. Your gift."

He gives the package to Burakh and waits until it's opened to give his commentary. He even feels a little bad for the wrapping - the present was packaged very neatly and tied up with a pretty red ribbon.

"They're special gloves," he explains when Artemy pulls them out of the package. They were made of leather, fingerless, cut at very specific places, "so your hands don't get blistered when you're working the alembic or anything else, really. Regular ones would do, of course, but these don't restrain hand movement as much and I'm saying that from experience. And you'll look good in them. That's personal experience too."

Holding the package in his hands, Burakh suddenly feels something: something is changing inside of him, and in the air as well. Maybe it is the intimacy, but he can feel some sort of vibration around the gift. Like feeling Lines. Curious.
The Haruspex doesn't waste any time, unpacking it right away, and walks up to the table distractedly to put his present to Daniil aside and look at the gloves in better lighting.

"Hand blisters… of course it's in your best interest that my hands stay soft. Could've bought a hand cream," Artemy chuckles under his breath and puts one glove on, stretching it over his knuckles, feeling it on his tendons like second skin. "Come here." He raises his eyes and beckons Dankovsky closer with his gloved hand.

When Daniil comes closer, Burakh covers his face with his hands and traces its edges with his thumbs. He tries, explores, with no malicious intent, not trying to mock, just caressing his skin with the back of his hand and trying to understand how much things change in the glove. Goes down to the neck, finds every muscle, as if counting them. He can feel his rapid pulse and him holding his breath even through the fabric.

"Does it feel different?" Burakh squints, not giving any hints as to whether or not this question should have an answer. ("... Yes," Daniil answers hoarsely.) "You touch the Earth with your bare skin. I only used gloves in infected houses, but everything else that belonged to mother Boddho I always touched only with my hands. The entire world, to put it simply, oynon, because that is how it feels the warmth of my blood, the life of my nerves and the firmness of my bones, and I feel it. That's why the Brides always go barefoot… can't even imagine collecting fresh twyre in this. Especially when it's this sensitive." Artemy sighs and looks at the glove again. "It's good skin, good quality. They're pretty, I'll feel bad working in them. But…" he hums thoughtfully, "... I'll definitely use them. I can feel what's happening inside… er… a body better in them. Like my senses are heightened. I don't know how to explain it. They fit very well, like they were made for me. I'll look good, you say? What do you think?"

Daniil feels like he's being molded like clay.
"I wasn't suggesting you pick twyre in this," he says. "But I was right. You do look good."

Burakh takes his own present and holds it out to Daniil. Inside, in a peculiar container sits a dried out plant, unusual in its own right: with spotted leaves and a black flower bud, its petals resembling fat whiskers and stretching out to the container's edges where they would bend like roots.
There was also a small bag, which contained seeds, taken carefully from the bud.

"This is a dead plant, it hasn't grown anywhere for a long time. It used to grow in rare parts of taiga, I saw a record of it in one of my father's diaries. It also contained the location of its last specimen. I ended up reaching out to some smugglers but… I wasn't tricked. The name has long been forgotten, but it is recorded that it can be used in medicine, with properties close to those of opium… and you could bring it back to life, if you wanted to."

Dankovsky takes the container carefully, examining the plant with genuine interest.

"I doubt my usual methods would work on this, but I suspect you'll make a botanist out of me yet," he smirks.

The flower was surprisingly beautiful in its death. Dankovsky has never considered death beautiful - it was a blemish on humanity, his main adversary, in short, anything but beautiful. And yet here it is, localized in a tiny plant, a beautiful gift too, and Daniil is surprised he isn't in hysterics from the irony. But he still smiles excitedly: he can already feel the anticipation of bringing something back to life, even something so far removed from his original goal.

"Curious," he says after a half a minute of examinations. "Thank you."

"Goe, you like it. I'm glad," Artemy looks at that smile and mirrors it before falling silent and lowering his gaze to the container and the other man's hands. The glove makes the menkhu's hand pull itself to the other’s flesh, and Burakh touches Dankovsky's wrist thoughtlessly, caressing his radial bone with his thumb, and closes his eyes, leaving himself to this silence and the feeling under his fingers.

"I thought you needed something interesting to occupy your mind. You said you wanted to hear me praising you?" The Haruspex pushes down a stupid half-smile, exploring the space between the elbow and the palm as if it was unknown territory, just meat and the throbbing of veins. "I'm not joking. I never joke, you know that, right?"

Artemy pulls Daniil closer slowly, slowly and subtly, talking the entire time.

"You… changed a lot, oynon. I even know why, and so do you, because your life has changed as well. Lost your home, left it forever, it turns out…" The only barrier between them is the container, pressing into both of their ribs, slowly slipping down from the pressure, making Artemy and Daniil move closer. Burakh feels a warm breath on himself, slightly sparkling with champagne, and smells the complicated, tarry smell of perfume and soap coming from Daniil's hair in patches, the office dust and the smell of wood. "Your mind changed too. You always knew how to think outside the box, but that wasn't enough, because you couldn't accept the parts of the world you couldn't understand, and now… that's shifted, hasn't it? I'm proud of that. And I'm proud that I get to kiss the main star of every science journal. I get to do that, can you imagine? Look at me."

Artemy turns slightly so their faces wouldn't be so close and Daniil could actually look at him.

"Did you just find an exquisite way to call me narrow minded?" Dankovsky raises his eyebrows and smiles, feeling excited for some reason. Maybe it was the champagne, maybe - the promise of a future that he can actually hope to be better. "Yes, the main star of every science journal is spending the rest of his life in a small town in the middle of nowhere, married to a local shaman and the best part is, the star doesn't even mind. Quite on the contrary, actually."

"Your turn," Burakh mesmerizes Daniil with nothing but a look.

He finally removes the container but keeps his distance, keeping his gaze firmly on Artemy's face.

"It is remarkable, you know," when he starts speaking again, it's with a soft, dedicated fondness, "how fast you made this Town yours again, even finding a place for an outsider like me in it. It changed incredibly thanks to you, and I would never… grow to appreciate it without you. You turned it from my tomb to something I could possibly even call home. And it happened so subtly that I couldn't even estimate a progression. Almost every day I wake up and I'm surprised that all of this is real, simply that it exists and that you make a place for me in your life every time."

"It's real," with nothing to stop them, Artemy's hands move under Daniil's shoulders and hold his waist tightly, moving on the fabric and the body under it like a wooden board on waves. Slipping, drowning, diving. Something calls for Burakh there, makes him search for Lines that would become right under his careful hand and give Dankovsky goosebumps. There are mere inches between them, air and yellow light. "I get it, it is hard to remember every morning that this is our life now," the Haruspex listens to Daniil's breathing in between his words, "but… you understand that the Town needs us now. Us. It can't live without your calculations, without an outside perspective and your determination. You reach up. And that… shudkher, that's not romantic at all, is it?"

"Oh, I don't know, contemplating your purpose in life is considered very romantic in certain circles of the Capital," Daniil laughs. He can't seem to stop laughing in weird situations today.
A silence falls between them during which they ask themselves similar, yet different questions.
When did they start such a serious conversation? When did Daniil's tone turn so peaceful?

"I just need you to be here. I do. It doesn't matter if you left a borrowed home, you're with me now. Maybe that's where you belonged all along. An incredible man should stay in an incredible Town… you fit in here, as funny as that sounds."

Dankovsky's eyes are almost glowing. Just like that, after the champagne and the party and the soft words, and the necessary ones, the ones they found together, and Artemy can't stop looking in them.

"You'll always have a place. Here, and in my heart."

When did Artemy's gaze turn so piercing?

"Your heart…" 'A heart is just an organ' Daniil wants to say, make fun of him a bit, 'very poetic', but Artemy's bluntness, as always, knocks him off his feet (and it takes a special kind of man to speak in dumb metaphors while remaining ridiculously straightforward), so he can't do anything but do the same in response. "That's good. It's a good place to be."

He doesn't know how long they spent in there, but evidently long enough for Grief to start making suggestive noises when they come back. Grief earns a shove from Lara for that.
Murky goes to bed first, sleepy and with a tummy full of tangerines, quietly, in her own way excited about all of her presents; usually Artemy sings her a lullaby but tonight Murky takes the floor, and they listen about what pictures she's planning to draw and how pretty her new scarf is going to look on her, until she falls asleep.
Sticky insists on spending the rest of the night outside, with Grief's enthusiastic approval, and half of the company leaves the house to merrily roam the town - Dankovsky leaves them with insistent warnings and asks them to be careful, or "you're either going to get your hands ripped off by a firework or by me."

Daniil and Yulia go outside to smoke again at around three in the morning. The night was alive: somewhere on the other side of town the last fireworks were fizzling out, lights were on in every window and there were more kids on the streets that at daytime. Snow had stopped falling and you could even see the stars, although you had to look at them through at least a dozen smoke streams that were coming from every home that was celebrating; but Daniil still raises his head to the sky.

It had always called him, but especially here - here he comes back to it again and again.
As a rational person he understands that the sky is the same wherever you go, but as a person touched by the Town (and perhaps a bit touched in the head as well) he considers this sky special. They had their own conversations, Daniil and the sky; sometimes he sees impossible images in it, things it's impossible to see in a regular sky, as if he's still in the Polyhedron, and then Daniil feels at home. At home, like he feels with Artemy's warm hands around him or when he throws himself at a yet another problem.

Daniil can't tell when exactly he wakes up the next morning. Memories take their time returning to his buzzing head, but he does remember falling asleep when it was already light outside. He wants to go back to sleep again, but his rumbling stomach seems to disagree with him, and Artemy seems to, in turn, disagree with his stomach's opinion: he's dead asleep on Dankovsky's stomach. The night had worn him out, so he fell asleep the instant both of their bodies assumed horizontal positions - never mind their intentions. His needs won that game.
Burakh couldn't even be woken up by a ray of sunshine shining directly into his eyes right now if not for the movement and the squeaking of the bed under him. He opens his eyes to look around in panic before he even wakes up, but all he can see in front of him is the Bachelor's drowsy face.

"Good morning," he lays his head back down and yawns. "We're home today, right? Please tell me we're home today," his voice is hoarse but still incredibly soft.

"We are home, but all emergencies are still to go to our home," Dankovsky recalls, pushing back a yawn of his own. "Good morning."

He puts his hand into Artemy's tangled hair and starts slowly, strand by strand, untangling it; he thinks better when his hands are busy and it helps him to remember their plans for today.
The plans were these: lie in bed and maybe eat.

No, they'll have to get out eventually, at the very least to see their guests off, but for now they can lie with their legs entangled and savour this moment; time wasn't real yet, or stopped temporarily, and there was nothing in the world but the cold winter sun coming through the window, and this room.
Last year still flows around their minds like a wave coming away from shore, and whatever noise still exists dies down slowly, leaving complete silence. The streets are empty: the entire Town stands still, waiting for someone to do something, but the thing was that no one, not a soul, not even the Mistresses will move a finger right now. That was their mutual understanding: this is their last chance to realize what last year had meant and what the new one must become.
Breakfast is at noon, Artemy decides. The guests… why would they leave when it's freezing outside? Eva, Lara and Yulia live so far away, they can stay until tomorrow. Tomorrow the morning's pale cover will definitely disappear like an illusion, so why hurry when they still have extra time? They've spent all their life hurrying, walking, ruining their shoes, and when else will they have the chance to forget about the world around them and just lie with their loved one, cooling down from the celebrations?

"Plans can wait," Burakh insists. Without any stubbornness: he already knows they're in agreement.

Somewhere downstairs Yulia and Lara are talking, porcelain cups in their hands; Grief and Andrey are smoking silently by the porch; Stakh is showing Murky how to use the watercolors while Eva and Peter look over his shoulder.
Tomorrow will be a new day. That's when time will go again, and that's when they'll start thinking about an after.
Right now, there's nothing but love in this house, and that's enough. To them, at least, that's enough. Burakh holds Dankovsky close and doesn't let go, doesn't let go until a new day starts and everything takes its course again with the rising of the sun.