Pasha and Eva started their morning off at the bar with drinks for themselves and a plate of fish heads for Misha.
“…she drowned her father in the creek, rickity tickity tin, the water tasted bad for a weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek- and we had to make do with gin!” Pasha sang lustily.
“With gin!” Eva chimed in.
“With gin! And we had to make do with gin!”
Pasha and Eva took swigs of their respective drinks. Misha gave them a yellow-eyed stare over her plate of fish.
“Whooo… you should be the bard, Pasha.” Eva giggled. Pasha reached over and took her drink from her.
“It’s only eight, Ev. No more for you,” He patted her hand, “Hey, barmaid. Can you get my friend here some strong coffee?”
The barmaid gave him a surly nod. Pasha handed over Eva’s glass.
Matvei came staggering downstairs, bleary-eyed.
“Morning.” He yawned.
“How long have you been putting your own pants on?” Pasha asked Matvei. He shrugged and slumped onto a bar stool.
“Awhile.” He mumbled.
“Yes, well you seem to have forgotten them this morning.” Pasha hinted none-to-subtley. Matvei looked down at his thin cotton shorts and sighed.
“Oh, to hell with it. Barmaid, coffee, please.” He grumbled.
Eva giggled again. The barmaid set down a cup of black coffee in front of Matvei and another in front of Eva.
“Sleep well?” Eva asked over the rim of her coffee mug.
“No. Irina was up all night whining and harrassing me. We should have let her stay with Rus.” Matvei complained.
“Rus was busy last night.” Pasha said.
“Yeah, I heard. I didn’t think he’d bring a wench up to entertain with Isidor sharing the room.” Matvei blew into his coffee.
Eva sobered quickly and exchanged looks with Pasha.
“Erm, yes. Some people have no scruples.” Pasha agreed.
“Morning!” Isidor sing-songed, taking a seat next to Eva. Eva nearly broke into spastic laughter.
“Get any sleep, what with Rus banging a wench and all?” Matvei asked.
“Not a wink. Don’t call me that. Coffee, please.” Isidor said chipperly.
“Don’t call you what?”
“…the Queen of All Argyll oh if you could have seen her lads, boys if you had just been there…” Pasha quickly started up a rousing chorus. A few lines in, Matvei handed over the tiny harp that Ruslan made him carry and Isidor joined up with the accompaniment. The company (and several drifters up and down the bar) made it well into the third verse before Irina came flouncing downstairs. Misha gave a few low growls. Eva reached out to pet the cat and he swatted at her wrist.
“Morning, Irina!” Isidor called out. The singing died out and Irina bounced over.
“Morning, gentlemen.” She said cheerfully.
Irina successfully monopolized conversation with tales of her dreadful uncle for the rest of the morning.
“How old are these figs?”
“Fresh, m’lady, I swear it.”
“They smell fresh, Eva.”
“A bag, then. Here… twelve’ll cover it?”
“With some to spare. Thank-you.”
“Any sign of Rus?”
“No.”
“He’s hiding. The sod.”
“Like you wouldn’t be doing the same, Pasha?”
“I was taught some morning-after etiquette, thank you very much.”
“Morning-after etiquette for when you shag a man?”
“All right. So I might be hiding a little.”
“Not to mention he’s going to be terribly sore.”
“Eva.”
“What? It’s the unvarnished truth.”
Eight