ax_main | Clarice and Yuri, October 13 and 14

Yuri wants pirozhkis. Clarice wants a winter coat. There's a deal to be made in here... and an unlikely friendship.

Concentrating hard on what she'd been shown in class, Clarice laid into the heavy bag the way she'd been shown in self-defense class. She wasn't a particularly aggressive person, as she saw it, and she'd generally prefer to avoid a fight than go charging into one ... but that shit in the park the other month had showed her that sometimes it didn't matter what she'd prefer. And that being true, she wanted to be ready, in case it ever came up again.

Bright green eyes narrowed in concentration, she landed a series of punches and kicks into the weighty, hanging back, just like she'd been shown. Her knuckles and shins were a bit sore now, and a sheen of perspiration had broken out across the lavender skin of her face and arms, and whatever other skin showed beneath her blue Bahamian Independence Day tank top. She had to toughen up, either which way. Even if she only ever ran, Clarice needed endurance. And it didn't hurt to know how to throw a proper punch, whether it was only meant as a distraction or not.

Next was target practice. She was getting much better at landing her javelins of teleportation energy where she wanted them, but there was still plenty of room for improvement.

Yuri was just about to do some work on the beam when the purple girl who'd been treating the bag like her mortal enemy suddenly... flashed. It was just out of the corner of his eye, so Yuri sat on the beam, legs dangling, and watched. And--yep. That... had just happened. "What is that?" He asked, with his usual disregard for pleasantries.

A magenta eyebrow went up a the ... straightforwardness of the question. But she'd certainly met blunter people in her life; her own family could probably drive Miss Manners to drink, when they got ready. So she answered simply, "Teleportation. Is what I do." To illustrate, she tossed one of her javelins at an unattended basketball nearby, transporting it in a blink twenty or so feet up in the air. At the same time, she formed another portal behind her and stepped back through it, blinking into place under the now-falling ball. She managed to catch it before it hit the ground, but only barely; she definitely wasn't scoring any style points with that desperate, tips-of-her-fingers lunge-snag. But it still probably illustrated her point.

"Is mutant school, ay'? Plenty kids 'round here do weirder stuff than this."

Yuri watched with interest, nodding and looking mildly impressed. "I don't know about who's winning the weird Olympics, but that is a very useful power. I met Illyana--so you're the other teleporter. How far can you make things go?"

"I can take myself and other people, too," Clarice asserted. "Not just things." The attention made her flush slightly, her cheeks growing a darker shade of purple. "I went to Antarctica, once, just to test it out. It's cold, and there are penguins. So ... I guess anywhere I want?"

Yuri actually smiled a little, one corner of his mouth turning up. "It's an excellent power. It just looks weird. The purple is dead cool, though. Automatic fashion."

"I ain' know how fashionable it is," she admitted, wiping some of the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "But I guess I've got used to it." Belatedly, Clarice realized where he was standing and asked, "You a gymnast, or somethin'? Not a lotta kids use the beam, that I've seen."

"Skater." Yuri cocked his head. "Your English is different."

Clarice managed not to point out that his English was pretty different, too, but just barely. Instead she just nodded, and said, "I'm from the islands, ay'? Is how we talk." And, since it was polite, "Where you from?"

"Moscow. Then St. Petersburg." Yuri narrowed his eyes, taking her in. "What islands?"

"The Bahamas," she said. Then added, though doubting it would mean much to him, "Man-O-War Cay. Is nice. You should go."

Yuri looked almost impressed, then. "That actually is pretty cool. It's warm there all the time, yeah?"

"Well, around winter time it can get into the sixties, which is pretty cool for us locals," she said. "But bein' up here, I guess that ain' sayin' much. I think I'mma have to find me one coat made out of space heaters, or something, to survive the actual winter."

Deadpan, Yuri said, "That is not cold.

"But if you want a good coat, you should go to Moscow. Take me there to get Pirozhkis and I'll get you the best, warmest coat in the world."

Now that was an interesting offer, and probably one of the better ones she'd had for a while. At the very least, she was feeling less like she'd have to dunk this kid in the lake, like she had Inu-Yasha. He was ... blunt. Probably even abrasive. But he hadn't been deliberately insulting yet, and that was something.

"They prolly do make really good coats in Moscow ..." she allowed thoughtfully. Russia got really cold, after all, so it stood to reason they'd be good at it. Wasn't that how they'd beaten Germany in World War II? Either way. "What's a P'rozhki?" Clarice asked suddenly, just to make sure it wasn't something that would get her in trouble. Or cause her to get kidnapped by the Russian mob, or something.

"They're--ah--little pies you eat with your hand?" Yuri wasn't sure if there was anything similar in the US. "Like a bread roll and inside is meat or potatoes or something. It's delicious."

"Oh!" Clarice exclaimed happily, as if that explained everything. "Is food. I get it. I've teleported back home a couple times for some genuine conch fritters. Ain' nothing' like 'em." She nodded. "Sure, I'll carry you home for P'rozhkis. I'm Clarice, by the way. And I usually like to know the names of the people I's break the laws of time and space for, ay'?"

"Yuri Plisetsky," he said, cocking an eyebrow. Breaking the laws of time and space... cool. "What's a conch fritter?"

She wrinkled her nose. "If I tell you, you prolly won' want it. Tell you what--I'll bring you some next time I go home, and after you try it, I'll tell you what it is. I promise they good."

"That doesn't sound like a good deal," Yuri said with a frown. "But if you take me to visit my grandfather for pirozhkis I'll eat whatever you want *and* get you a good coat."

"Deal," Clarice agreed immediately, wondering where her good sense had flown off to. But opportunities to test the limits of her powers were always welcome, even when she wasn't sure they were such a great idea. And she was going to need a good coat, before too much longer. "When you wanna go?"

Yuri had to bite back an excited RIGHT NOW. "Maybe tomorrow? I have to text grandpa to make us pirozhkis."

"Tomorrow, then," she agreed. "Just come find me whenever you're ready. I ain' hard to find." What with the purple skin and all.

Yuri smiled hugely, genuinely, and nodded. "Okay! You won't regret it. I'll tell him to expect us."

***

Explaining things to Grandpa via text message had been a little complicated, but in the end he'd humored Yuri and said he'd make pirozhkis and expect Yuri and his friend for dinner--which meant noon in New York. Yuri could hardly hold still through his morning classes, and as soon as they were over, he raced to find Clarice. "Are you ready to go?" he asked as he swung around the corner into the rec room, where they'd agreed to meet.

The boy's enthusiasm was startling, but also weirdly endearing--a far cry from the prickly attitude he'd demonstrated the previous day. Clarice smiled and tapped the image inducer at her wrist, skin shifting from its usual lavender to a light and perfectly mundane caramel. "Ready," she affirmed.

After concentrating a moment, a portal blinked into existence just to one side, opening onto a dark street Clarice didn't recognize. "That should be pretty close, I think."

Yuri nodded and took a few steps, then hesitated. Then set his jaw and stepped through.

The cars sounded different. The street smelled different. The air was grayer, even in the dark. People speaking sounded like... home.

Yuri looked away so Clarice wouldn't see his face and led her down the street, pulling up his hood so he wouldn't be recognized. Now was definitely not a good time. "That building there. Third floor."

Rather than reply and give away her obviously-from-not-there heritage, she reached out suddenly to rest a hand on Yuri's arm. There was another blink, and the two of them were suddenly standing inside a hall that was in no way familiar to her, but stairs leading up and downstairs could be seen from where they stood. A number of doors stretched down the corridor, and the carpet was a brilliant scarlet color, shot through with gold, that had probably been fairly luxurious in its day. It had faded with time, though. As the building, in general, seemed to have.

Yuri didn't notice anything but the door. It was the same apartment Nikolai Plisetsky had lived in most of his life, first with his own family, then with Yuri. Not for long, though. Not for long at all. It was all Yuri could do to keep from running to the door and knocking it over, but instead he opened it and spilled through, then leapt to catch his grandfather up a huge hug. "Deda!"

"Yuratchka!" Nikolai sounded more surprised than anything else, at first, but then he wrapped his arms around Yuri, enveloping him almost completely and making him seem even smaller than he was. "How did you do it, though?"

The furniture was well-worn, but comfortable. The place smelled like baked goods and supper. The TV droned on in Russian about sporting news. Yuri didn't notice any of it.

"This is Clarice. She doesn't speak Russian--she's from the Bahamas." Yuri didn't stop hugging, though, even as he switched to English. "She's like me--except she's a teleporter."

Recognizing that part, Clarice offered a shy wave from just inside the door. It was hard not to feel like an intruder--especially when Yuri had just shown a face so markedly different from their first meeting. And her nervousness around strangers was suddenly extremely acute. "I can go back to the school and come back in a coupla hours, if you two wanna catch up," she suggested, already beginning to step back into the hall again. If nothing else, she got close family stuff.

"No, come," said Nikolai, peeling Yuri off him then waving to Clarice. "I make pirozhki for you."

"He means he already did," Yuri said, though he felt no embarrassment. He was proud of his grandfather for learning any languages at all. He was still smiling. "You have to try them, at least. Come in."

She hovered hesitantly inside the door for a moment, her reluctance to intrude warring with the certainty that it would be rude to leave, now she'd been properly invited by the Yuri's grandfather. Finally, she stepped into the apartment with a soft, "Thanks for having me."

When the smells of ... whatever it was had been prepared for them hit her, though, her stomach gave a faint rumble, and Clarice immediately blushed. But, like most Bahamians, she was easily won over by food. Unlike most, she was rarely reluctant to try new things. In fact, she'd kind of learned to enjoy expanding her horizons. When it came to things she could eat, anyhow.

And, anyway, Yuri looked so happy. It was such a far cry from the irritable expression he usually wore at the school, she really didn't want to do anything to spoil it.

"Welcome, welcome," Nikolai said as he left for the kitchen--a small, open-framed doorway in the nearest wall.

"Don't worry, he likes guests," Yuri said, flopping at the table and gesturing for Clarice to join him. "Welcome to Russia."

"Thanks," she said, sitting down a lot more carefully and, for some reason, very mindful of her posture. Respect for her elders was a thing that had very much been drilled into Clarice's head, as a child. "Isn't as cold as I expected, but I'm still glad for the coat."

"We'll go shopping after this," Yuri assured her. "And find you something really nice and thick--with feathers. The small feathers, you know? They pick them out of nests." He didn't know the word, but it was warm. "Also, some good fashion."

Her smile was a touch self-conscious, now. "I ain' know much about fashion," she admitted. "E'en less about fashion coats. So I'm glad you're here to help me pick somethin' out. I'd prob'bly just go for whatever looked like the warmest thing." Clarice glanced back toward the kitchen, but managed to keep herself from asking whether or not Yuri's grandfather needed help with anything. She was uncertain of the exact proprieties of the situation, and didn't want to give offense by offering what her own, obviously very different upbringing suggested was simple courtesy.

Nikolai reappeared carrying a huge plate of small, oblong bun-looking things, still steaming slightly from the oven. Yuri snatched one the moment they were settled on the table--plates were already there, but he held the pirozhki in his hand like he didn't even notice. He took a bite--mmm, beef and rice and spices all in this soft little hand-pie. Tasted like...

Home.

Before he could think about that too much, he said, "Vkusno!" through a full mouth.

Nikolai looked proud and gestured for Clarice to take one. "Please. Eat, eat."

She took hers more cautiously. "Spas'bo," she said quietly, reciting the one Russian word she'd made a point to learn and practice before she'd met up with Yuri again. Clarice was fairly certain her accent had mangled it beyond comprehension, but manners--at least, when it came to meeting somebody's gradpa, even if that somebody was a virtual stranger himself--pretty much forced her to at least make the attempt. She fingered the unfamiliar bun briefly before bringing it to her mouth at taking a bite, and as she did her eyes widened so suddenly that the image inducer had difficulty keeping up, resulting in a flash of brilliant green.

Four too-large bites later, and the pirozkhi was gone. She would cringe about it later, but it was so good. A class apart from the beef patties they made back home. "'S great," Clarice gasped, once she'd finally swallowed it all down. "I could have another one?"

Yuri grinned at the Russian word in her mouth.

Nikolai beamed. "Please, take as many as you like. Yuri eats so many, and I made double that."

Already reaching for his second, Yuri shot his grandfather a dirty look. "I have to keep my strength up!"

"Yes, Yuratchka." Nikolai mussed his hair. "You're a strong young man, and will only get stronger.

Yuri flushed and stuffed his face with more pirozhki.

Clarice hid her grin behind another of the meat-filled buns, then helped herself to another monstrous bite. It was kind of hard to believe this sweet old man was related to Yuri ... but, then again, it was hard to believe this Yuri was the same one she'd met, the other day. She couldn't help but wonder why. "This really is the best," she told him. "Thanks for havin' me along." Even if she did have to wear the inducer. Definitely worth the trip.

Yuri nodded, watching as Clarice's eyes went back to "normal". He wanted to tell her she could be purple here. But he didn't know how. Maybe next time. "We can do it again. Grandpa doesn't mind, right?"

"Of course not, you come, you bring your friends," Nikolai assured them both.

This time, it was a blush Clarice was trying to conceal behind her greedy bites of pirozkhi. She wasn't sure she and Yuri were friends, exactly, but she felt a lot closer to it, after this. And she wanted to ask if there was anything, anyplace the old man might like to see, since he'd been kind enough to treat her to the best meal she'd had since leaving home. That probably would have just been awkward, though. Maybe if they did come again. "Thanks," she murmured between bites. "Spas'bo, I mean."

Yuri’s mouth was stuffed full or Pirozhki, but he nodded in approval of her continued efforts to thank Grandpa in Russian. Nikolai beamed, looking back and forth from the girl to his grandson happily.