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Andrei had sent his bartender home early today. Told him to take the day off. The town had come to a standstill after the day-long plague. He heard it was gruesome, that it felt like coarse sand scraping your every orifice, that it felt like your blood was boiling in your veins, that it made your skin crackle like that of a spit-roasted pig. He heard that it was an agony so inescapable that many begged for death to take them. He only had to walk a few yards behind the bar towards the train tracks to see them drag out the bodies. He doesn't remember if they've called off the search for survivors but, he's sure he would have heard if they had found anyone alive.
Andrei rubs at a particularly tough old stain in the wood of the bar with a rag. He's loath to admit it, but he's anxious that Aleksander has stopped by the bar in three days. He likes to spend some evenings in the crude sprawl, reading, sometimes writing, or watching people, taking in the chilly steppe air or whatever. He gives up on trying to clean and carelessly tosses the rag onto the bar. He could just not have visited because of all the commotion. Not that he had any obligation to visit Andrei, it's not as if they had any sort of agreement, it's just that he had grown accustomed to Aleksander's presence over the last few months.
He hears the rattle of the bar door being opened upstairs. Good, a customer. Maybe they will bring some news or at least some idle chatter and some distraction from the anxious thoughts that twist and writhe in his gut. A cloaked woman comes into view at the top of the stairs. She's clad in a simple red stained leather cloak that flows down to her ankles with the hood pulled up to cover her hair and face. Her heeled leather boots make a distinctive clack that resonates through the nearly empty bar as she descends down the stairs. She walks directly to the bar and stops to visually appraise him. She was a young kin woman, pretty enough if a bit plain. Her hair was done up in a loose and messy bun top of her head and her eyes were rimmed red, like she had been crying. He imagined tears were in no short supply considering the day-long plague.
He waited for her to make the first move since she seems to clearly be here on a mission. She seemed to mull over her words before she spoke “You are Andrei?”. The Russian words seemed unnatural from her mouth, they often did with these steppe people. In response, Andrei bowed in an exaggerated manner, dipping his head and looking up at her from under his lashes with a cheeky smile. “Andrei Stamtin at your service. What brings a beautiful woman such as yourself into my bar, asking for me by name?” He says with a wink. “May I pour you a drink? I assure you, this one is on me.” She looked at him with a look of vague disgust before she schooled her face into a more neutral expression. It was not an expression Andrei was unfamiliar with.
When she spoke next, she spoke with great economy. “They found his body. He wanted you to have this.” She then reached under her cloak into her waist pack and pulled out Aleksander’s tan, worn, leatherbound notebook. Sticking out of it was a torn and folded piece of paper. She shoves it into Andrei’s hands and he barely manages to grab it before it falls to the ground. For a moment Andrei felt nothing, time was slowed down, measured in centimeters not seconds. She starts to turn away from him. Adjusting her cloak before she heads out again. This must be Enguun. Who else could it be? Aleksander was orphaned, and Enguun was like a sister to him. Not many people knew of their tryst and she was the only one who would care enough to come here and deliver what was willed to him. Before she could walk away, he grabs her by her wrist. “Enguun, please.” he looks at her with wide desperate eyes. The name feels clumsy in his mouth and for the first time in his life he wished he had learned how to speak the steppe tongue. She looked at him in surprise, and jerked her wrist out of his grasp. He belatedly realizes that he doesn't know what he is pleading with her for. It felt odd to let her walk away without another word, or at least some token of appreciation. He wants to at least thank her for the news. He's rewarded many for much less. He quickly reaches under the bar to pull out a fifth of twyrine, unopened. He offers it to her as, and she eyes it with disdain. “Please let me repay the favor. Thank you for…” Andrei couldn't finish the sentence, words stuck in his throat. He felt parched. He felt like he was going to cry. He felt like he was going to collapse in on himself. He feels hollow and yet so full he can barely breathe. He barely feels at all. She turns to leave but speaks to him one more time “Thank me by leaving Khatange alone”.