Chapter Text
Yaroslava toiled over the basin as she washed clothes. The newest innovations to hit Petrova were so expensive that the upper class had trouble buying them in bulk. The two golden notes per machine would take a lifetime of work for Yaroslava to gain, and so she gave up on the idea all together.
“It would be nice if we had a washwoman,” Yaroslava said, dunking the clothes into the warmed water. “Matveev, do you know of anyone in school who would do this for us?”
Modest, who had been sitting on one of the soot-stained window sills of the small apartment block, shook his head. “No one really talks about washing clothes in school, Yaroslava.”
Yaroslava rolled her eyes before bringing a dress shirt up and wringing it out. “I’d suppose not, huh. Have you decided what you would be getting Filips?”
“He has a liking of Petrova’s sweet shops,” Modest confessed, and Yaroslava couldn't help but to glance back at him. “He always gets some of the chewier candies, so maybe I’ll get some gum.”
“Taffy is a good one, too,” Yaroslava said before pausing. “No, no. That's a delicacy here, actually. I’m not sure if we could get away with buying any kind of taffy.”
“That's fine,” Modest said. “Filips doesn't really like taffy. Anton gave some to him out of kindness, but he complained about it sticking to his teeth.”
Yaroslava laughed, full and boisterous, before she dipped the dress shirt back into the soapy water of the basin. “Sounds a little like Filips, huh? He’s never one to complain, but it's always so funny when he does.”
“How so?”
Yaroslava shook her head and began scrubbing. “You just never expect his complaints to be about what they are about.”
It was Modest's turn to laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s very practical in some of his complaints.”
“Yeah,” Yaroslava said. “He is, isn't he…”
( IV. )
The short walk over to the Inner District was thick with silence. Somewhere along the way, Filips had bought a small tin of mint chocolate for something to nibble on. He hadn't opened it, however.
“So,” Aleksey began before pausing. “How was school last year, anyways?”
“It's wasn't as tough as I thought it would be,” Filips said. “The tests are hard until you begin to listen and write.”
“Only you know how to really write in Russian, don't you?”
Filips nodded and rubbed at an arm. “Modest is learning quickly enough, don't worry.”
Aleksey nodded, and they both quickly lapsed back into silence. What else could there be to ask in such a situation? Filips wasn't one to gossip, and Aleksey knew well enough that Filips didn't require a conversation to carry on in order to feel contempt. He simply wasn't a social soul.
“Hello,” Aleksey muttered to a man passing by, earning a stiff nod in return. He was going to be absolutely thrilled with the prospect of University.
+++
The campus of the University was broad and paved over with enough concrete that Aleksey wanted to turn back. Even the Inner District, which was one of the more technologically advanced districts, didn't have as much cement and road as this one.
“It looks…” Aleksey's words ran off as he began to think of something that could describe this cement mass of land. “New.”
Filips laughed and shook his head. “Come on, let's get you to Alexander Hall so you can put all of your stuff down.”
“That’d be great,” Aleksey said, following Filips as he began to walk down the road and towards a large billboard. “Do we turn past the billboard?”
“Partially,” Filips said. “Alexander Hall is straight forwards from it, and then you take a left as soon as you see a path in front of you.”
“And you found this shortcut how?”
“Being late.”
Aleksey let out an amused huff of breath before trailing Filips past the billboard. Everything dissolved into bits of grass and greenery before they were met with something akin to a park.
“This is the Square,” Filips said, motioning around as they walked through it. “Most of the foreigners who come here for study call it a 'Quad’, but I don't see why.”
Aleksey observed the few students standing around. Most of them were in light coats, but the rest happened to be working on the benches and the gardens in overalls (and one in coveralls, much to Aleksey's curiosity).
“Can we work on campus anywhere?”
Filips nodded before waving politely to a passing student. “There are shops scattered around campus, and there are jobs to do that the janitors need help with.”
“Does that explain the coveralls back there?” Aleksey motioned back towards the Square, which they were almost out of.
“Yes, it does.”
The walk continued, and it was relatively silent until Filips guided him to the steps in front of Alexander Hall. It's towering frame, abundance of windows, and somewhat German feel made Aleksey's throat dry up.
“Come on,” Filips said. “Let's go inside.”
Aleksey nodded and followed Filips, only passing ahead when the door was held open for him. Soon enough, he is able to relish the warm air fanning past him from somewhere. The receptionist at a desk perks up.
“Hello,” she says in an accent that is more-so English than whatever Russian the Petrovians had adopted. “It's good to see you again, Filips. Are you related to this new boy in any way?”
“He was my housemate in the Industrial District,” Filips explained. “I’ll introduce you two formally once we put his stuff up.”
The receptionist paused before she offered a short nod and a smile. Filips, without another word uttered, quietly led him over to the stairs and began his upwards climb. Aleksey, who had become interested, huffed.
“Who was she?” he asked, adjusting the boxes in his arms. “Why are we meeting formally after I put my stuff up?”
Filips laughed and pushed open a door that that had a golden plaque on it. Aleksey knew the number read three, and so he assumed that Filips had the right floor.
“It's simply polite,” Filips said. “You don't have to come, of course.”
Aleksey offered another huff as his final answer, and Filips shook his head, mumbling under his breath in the language Aleksey remembered to be Spanish. The hallway they were traversing was simple, and soon enough, Filips paused in front of the room Aleksey figured to be his.
“This is it,” Filips said, turning the door handle and pushing it open. “Go on, head inside.”
Aleksey obeyed, and quickly entered. Instead of looking around the small room, he quickly brushed his hands on his pants and walked back into the hallway. His stuff could be unpacked later.
“Oh?” Filips said, confused. “Are you not going to look around?”
Aleksey knew that he would have time after dinner to look around his room and grow familiar with it, but instead he felt dread. He wasn't comfortable with calling such a thing his .
“No,” Aleksey waved his hand. “I’d rather do it later. Let's go meet the receptionist so I can get it over with.”
“I’m surprised you trust her,” Filips said. “She doesn't exactly speak Russian without her English showing through.”
“Some of your Spanish comes out when the syllables get harsher,” Aleksey mentioned, navigating himself back to the staircase. “You two don't speak the same, though…”
Filips hummed before placing his hands into his pockets. “Of course we don't,” he said, his voice dim with thought. “However, you can understand us, yes?”
“Yeah,” Aleksey mumbled. “I can hear you perfectly fine.”
They exited the stairwell in quiet, and soon, they managed to greet the receptionist. Her name was Lilia Sokolovsky. Aleksey refrained from mentioning his sister's last name in question.
“Good to meet you,” Aleksey said after pleasantries had been passed between them by none other than Filips. “You don't sound like you come from Petrova.”
“I do not,” Lilia said before leaning on her desk. “I come from Western Europe–my parents worked over there for a really long time. Decided to come back to their place of origin to do some studying before I head back over to get a job.”
Aleksey hummed before pausing. “What was it like over there with all of the British and Dutch and… Irish?”
Lilia laughed and straightened with pride. “Quaint, most of the time. The homes I saw in Berlin during my mother’s travels were absolutely gorgeous, and the innovations in Britain were astounding. Oh, I think I have some photos, you should drop by sometime.”
Filips nodded before smiling. “I’ll take him off to the dining hall,” he said before pausing. “I’ll see you when we get back.”
“Yes,” Lilia said, offering a light smile. “Eat well, you two. Curfew is at ten.”
“Alright,” Filips said on the behalf of a babling Aleksey.
“Wh–Filips,” Aleksey yelped as he was gently guided outside. “What kind of goodbye was that?”
“You don't understand,” Filips said. “Dinner is a big deal here, namely when the most common meal in Petrova is the Worker's Lunch. It's packed by the time the clock hits seven, and dinner starts at six-thirty. We are better early than late.”
“It's only around five,” Aleksey said, frowning. “We will get there early. Exceedingly early, Filips.”
Filips turned to him with an all knowing look. He looked threatening, but Aleksey knew that part wasn't intentional. The sheer knowledge shining in his eyes was the intentional part.
“The line usually starts at four.”