At a non-distinct, non-descript bar of a greyish, bland, "burnt and rust" deterioration, two men enter.

Another man, of a slender build, wearing a light grey that could pass for off-white, slips in discreetly. Another man, an artistic type with slightly disheveled hair, slips in also. Another man, a darkly clothed, somber type, cautiously enters in.

Two women follow, pretending to look for a wayward beau. All of this party know they must enter with discretion and with the strictest of being furtive. All pretend, except for the two men and two women together, respectively, not to know each one another. The man in the white suit slips behind the counter through a dimly-lit hallway.

The two men, looking around to see if anyone is watching them, nod to each other and slip into the hallway. The artistic type slinks in, followed the sombre man. The first woman pretends to follow the sombre man. Then her friend tails her gingerly into the hall's recesses.*

Kuzma: Seryozha, we're finally here. *he looks a bit exhausted from the day's work as he takes a seat across from the man with the disheveled hair, who has already taken a seat in the corner*

Sergei (Tkachenko): I know. It's interesting that there are more people this time. Seems like the work that's being accomplished here is getting quite the audience. *he looks quite excited as he looks around, as if he can't wait to get to know more like-minded individuals*

Two other men descend down the stairs to another recess, a lower level extending down from the hall. The first man (Mirka) pops up, gives a curt if discreetly urgent nod to the others to come down.

They start walking towards the room.

The sombre man: *speaking to the first woman* No one saw you? And her too? No one saw her?

First Woman: No, I told, they haven't. *waves her hand curtly*

Kuzma blinks, realizing once again how dangerous the situation may be, but just as the paranoia resurfaces, it disappears again. He is too focused on the upcoming discussions to worry too much about what could possibly happen.

All several of this party slip into a back room. It's part of the bar. The bar was once a watering hole for the wealthier students who gathered with revolutionary ideas. Vestiges of its glamor remain, though worn, and dilapidated past its previous glory. The walls are varnished with fake cherry, the counters are cracked, yellowed marble, and the seats are a musty velvet.*

A rugged, tired looking late-middle aged man is there already. His heart suddenly in his mouth, Kuzma realized with trepidation that this was his father, whom he had not seen for nearly half a year. He now looked so old, tired, and defeated. Kuzma nearly felt sorry for him.

Andrei: *glances sharply above the heads of his party, over at Ardalion. His eyes narrow in discreet suspicion. He notices Kuzka's reaction- is that man over there a lackey for the State?*

A few months before, Kuzma's father had started to join in the discussions, feeling that he too, was being forced underground. Once a former Red Revolutionary, due to the purges and the shuffling of government officials, Ardalion had now lost everything and said he was willing to start all over again.

Andrei: Kuzka*voice is a rough whisper* Who is that? Anyone we should beware of?

Kuzma shakes his head reluctantly.

Kuzma: *whispers back, softly* No, he's just my father. He's been wronged by the Reds as well. He wouldn't betray us, I'm sure of it. He has more to lose than we do. He's being blackmailed by the State, as it seems. He won't tell me all of his story, but that seems to be the case. He's a lost case, my father. He's been slowly losing his grasp over reality.

Ardalion: It's you, son. I can't believe it--these meetings are actually making us interact as if we're father and son. Making up for the time we had squandered before, eh? *he tries to laugh, but just ends up hacking* It's nice to meet the others here as well. *looks at Andrei with a tad of suspicion but then his eyes soften for whatever reason--perhaps, Kuzma reasons, he is just tired of always being paranoid*

Ardalion: Perhaps I should introduce myself to all of you, seeing as only the young man over there who happens to be my son is the only one who seems to know me. And to think I used to think I was famous, huh? But now, in retrospect, it works in my favour that I am not as famous as I used to think I was.

Andrei: *shakes his head in hard, harsh sympathy, as his nature befits him* That's fate of many like him. Still, be careful around him. He might be desperate enough to sell us all to the State for a tin star and a pension. He'd even sell you, his own son, to get a bone from the State. Sometimes, the kicked dog still serves his master. *eyes focus on Ardalion sharply but furtively*

Kuzma: *nods quietly, taking in what Andrei has said and feeling a surge of paranoia* There's nothing we can really do, though, Andrei. He's here, and if he wants to betray us, then he can do it if he wants to. At this point, what can we do but be cordial?

Andrei: Be cautious. And if need, take measures to protect ourselves. Use force on him, if necessary. Who knows? Maybe he'll spare us on your account. He might have a soul, yet. Still, I won't count on that. Not yet!

Kuzma nods, looking tired from all the nights of worry he's had to put up with for the last couple of weeks.

Kuzma: Thank you, Andrei, for the advice. You're right. We need to be vigilant. That's something I must learn.

Ardalion: So, what will we be talking about today? *sounds a bit awkward, wondering what others are saying about him and if he's going to be purged* Seems like we've gathered quite the crowd here!

Andrei: *curtly nods at Kuzma* Here he comes. Say nothing to him about why we are here. Be careful, Kuzma Ardalionovich.

The somber man: And you are, sir?

Kuzma nods once again and looks at Ardalion, and then at the somber man. He's not sure when he should begin speaking, if at all.

Ardalion: I am someone who chooses to keep his true name hidden, but you may call me Illarion Ivanovich!

The Somber man: Ah, what an unusual name! Your parents were an old-fashioned sort, were they? You may call me Lera for now, Illarion Ivanoich. Or shall I call you Ilya?

Ardalion: You may call me whatever you want. It is nice to make your acquaintance, Lera. *smiles at him*

Lera: Ilya, it is, then. So what brings you here? You don't seem like one for small talk. We're here to drown our sorrows and lighten our burdens through that faithful mistress- alcohol!

Ardalion: Ah, alcohol, an old friend of mine, but no longer! I may not be a poet like my son is, but I know a few words here and there. I just like to observe these days. Not really into small talk, as you yourself have noted.

Ardalion looks even more tired now, especially after Lera has talked about drowning sorrows through alcohol.

Lera: Ah, what are you now? A teetotaler? Then you have come to the wrong table. My friends and I, we drink, as Pushkin said, "with the savageness of Scythians".

Ardalion laughs, recalling that Pushkin quote.

Ardalion: A well read man, aren't you, Lera? I too, used to fancy myself a scholar, but I was never that well read. I was just full of hot air. I became much more practical as I grew older, eschewing books for action.

Sergei, finding the conversation boring, decides to open one of his notebooks and starts doodling.

Lera: Well-Read? I suppose I am. And I suppose you're a reformed and repentant braggart. You're boring me so far. Perhaps we will bore you, Ilya.

Kuzma takes a look at what Sergei is doing and notices that he is sketching Kuzma, one of his favorite hobbies.

Lera: But maybe I can introduce you to my friends, then?

Ardalion: of course, that'd be wonderful.

Kuzma: *under his breath* Again, Seryozha? Drawing me again?

Sergei: *gives him a little smile* You look very flustered and confused right now. It's a good study. You show the most subtle expressions I have ever seen.

Lera: *looks uneasy, away from Ardalion, and looks to Andrei for an answer. Andrei scowls in reproach and turns his head away from Lera, as if saying, "You're on your own!" Lera chuckles nervously and clears his throat, trying to resume his coolness*

Ardalion glares at them suspiciously, now looking a bit confrontational, but tries to hide this discomfort. He wonders if Andrei and Lera are working with his son to report him to authorities and have him purged. He bites his lower lip and growls, trying to hide this fear of his. There's nothing more he dislikes than showing weakness in front of people.

Lera: This is Seryozha *points to Tkachenko*, and this is Mirka,, and this is the lovely siren, Polya, and the equally ravishing, Anya. Ah, here are our two genuine Scythians, Mirka and Dron. And this is Kuzya.

Andrei: I told you to stop with that name, Lera. And we're not Scythians!

Ardalion snorts as he hears the names and then smiles, nodding at all of them.

Ardalion: Lovely indeed, those two ladies. It's great to make your acquaintance, Polya and Anna.

Ardalion's gaze lingers on them for a while before he focuses on Andrei and Mirka, giving the men a curt nod. Finally, he settles on his son, whom he looks over with a dismissive glance, but then looks at him again, this time with a subtle tenderness.

Lera: Quiet, Dron. I like that name for you. Doesn't it fit, Ilya? The name, Dron? And yes, I imagine with your temper, you must have some Scythian blood in your sinewy veins, Dron. Wouldn't you agree, Ardalion? How about you, Polya? Anya?

Ardalion: Dron indeed fits him. He looks like a stony warrior type.

Lera: Exactly as I said. See, Dron? Even our new friend Ilya agrees. *notices Ardalion's expression at Kuzma* Ah, so you know our Kuzya, here, then, Ilya?

Ardalion: Not really. Yes and no. Anyways, it doesn't matter, does it? We're 'underground' here. We have a chance to reinvent ourselves here. The people we knew in our other lives, they don't really matter anymore. *sounds more and more cryptic* I'm not here to recall the past, anyways.

Lera: *a second ago, was sipping his absinthe, a rare drink to come by, now he sputters it out, his eyes widened and bulged in shock* What! *coughs* What? Underground?

Ardalion: *sigh* For a man like me, the past is nothing but a despicable burden, tying me back from maintaining even the slightest modicum of dignity!

Lera: Who said this was underground?

Ardalion: Common sense said it was.

Andrei: *raises from his chair defensively* It's not. Just some friends coming to forget the day with a bottle.

Lera: Yes, it is. That's all it is, Ilya.

Ardalion laughs.