The party, for Andrei, has dragged on at unbearably stagnant pace. Despite only being minutes, the minutes drag and cling on the clock Andrei fixedly watches like a hawk finding an escape from a murder of crows. Something between a deep yet quiet grunt and sigh heaving his broad shoulders, he strikes a match against the wooden paneling of walls, not caring if offended the hosts if he scratched their precious paneling. Party be damned, Andrei huffed tersely on his cigarette and chomped his frowning lips.

Aside, he notices Katya dancing with Kuzka. So apparently, the pup's sweetheart was his loon, after all. Ah, he thinks, he's probably a better match for her.

As he ruminates on this, he huffs more angrily, causing his cigarette to glow and ashen quickly.

Behind him, he hears Galkin's voice. Galkin is loudly talking about the Civil War and talking about his upcoming project to write a play about the Civil War's heroes. He looks towards Andrei's direction, hoping to get a chance to talk to him again.

Seeing the official effortlessly weave his way towards him, Andrei stiffens and turns his back to him, hoping Galkin didn't notice that he, Andrei, noticed him.

Galkin: I hear that there is a Civil War hero here, who can give us writers good insight into how it was like to fight on the side of the Bolsheviks against the Whites and all the other counter-revolutionaries during those formative years.

Galkin raises his eyebrows and looks at Andrei expectantly.

Andrei keeps his back turned and irascibly distracts himself by lighting another cigarette.

Andrei: *under his breath, in sheer sarcasm* I wonder who the hell the hero is....*draws a drag on his lit cigarette, exhales the smoke through his nostrils*

In front of him, he sees a tall man with reddish brown hair with his back turned towards Andrei.

The man turns around as he finishes getting his drink and glares at Andrei with interest. His eyes are a frightening watery greyish blue and his face is old, tired, and full of cunning.

Commissar Dashkevich by charcoalfeather

Galkin: Ah, Commissar Dashkevich!

The man--Commissar Dashkevich, apparently--gives Galkin a nod as he heads towards Galkin's table and takes a seat. He gives Andrei another suspicious look and gives him a spine-chilling smirk.

Dashkevich: So that's our hero, isn't it?

Andrei: *follows the commissar with his eyes intently, uneased, like a wolf facing another wolf who can herald a larger pack* *continues to ignore them, turning his head and back aside. He draws two sharp drags on his cigarette*

Dashkevich: So...

Galkin: His name is Polkovnik Novokshonov. He has a great deal to share about his heroic acts in the Great War. I think he said he put down some of the riots that happened down South. Is that correct?

Andrei: *stiffens slightly, bristles like a wolf stroked the wrong way at the mention of his name and inaccuracies of his actions* Is someone addressing me? You better come over here and look me in the eyes if you are. *gruffly yet straining to be civil*

Galkin steps up to him.

Galkin: Why yes, I am. I invite you to come to our table and talk to us. You were talking to us previously, after all, and never ended the conversation. *his tone is polite and clean*

Andrei: *huffs tensely through his nostrils and chomps his lips* When someone leaves, it means the conversation is over. Maybe the manners are different here. Thanks for the offer, but I'd much prefer to stand. What do you want?

Galkin: That's your preference, sir. But my friend here, the Commissar, seems interested. Wouldn't you like to make his time here more interesting?

Andrei: *eyes widen somewhat at the mention of the title Commissar. A spike of terror pierces Andrei like a rude slam of a lance. He stills himself, suddenly his brashness is taken out of him. He remains mute and stiff for a long, awkward moment*

The Commissar rises and approaches Andrei.

Dashkevich: So, Polkovnik Novokshonov. You seem...familiar. *his voice is cold and slick and elegant*

Andrei feels the panic a toothless wolf feels when cornered by a wolf with more cunning and a full set of strong teeth to boot. Sweat pricks at his temples, and he draws a quiet breath and attempts to level his eyes with the Commissar's unsettling light-grey eyes, that even look wolfish*

Andrei: No, sir.

Dashkevich: You remind me of some people I knew from the South. Who were they called again? *whispers* Cossacks?

Andrei: *is bristled by the Commissar's close gesture and remark. He knows the Commissar, like all commissars Andrei has stomached after the Civil War, is provoking him, baiting with a seemingly innocent remark which is actually incendiary* What of it? Besides, who told you I was from there? If you have questions, sir, ask me, don't reply on hearsay and gossip.

The Commissar laughs heartily and takes a bite out of a pastry.

*Andrei winces slightly at the tone of the word "Cossack", as though his countrymen were some extinct species*

Dashkevich: Alright, then. I was just trying to break the ice, so to speak.

Andrei: Well, sir, what do you want?

Dashkevich: Nothing that you wouldn't want. I just want what's best for all of us...

He gives Andrei another smirk.

Andrei: What do you want to know, then? *grows defensive, almost slightly aggressive, like a wolf raisin his hackles cautiously before an intimidating oppostion*

Dashkevich: Nothing that you would feel uncomfortable revealing...

Andrei: Well, then, ask sir. I have little patience and don't like to waste words and breath.

Dashkevich: That'll be for another time.

Andrei: *fixes his eyes on him with a poorly masked stoniness*

Dashkevich: But I do recall...that the Cossacks were true barbarians. How did you hold them back? How did you get Bolshevism to triumph over those barbarians?

Dashkevich's voice is quiet and calm, but underneath, there is a barely sensible current of hatred and mockery.

A flash of ire is ignited instantly within the tall brawny man. His eyes take on a fierce, unsettling glower, and he strains to restrain himself from punching the Commissar and tossing him like a rag doll. Andrei's ire stoked, he channels it into a finer edge. He approaches the Commissar, shaking with a silent rage and quietly whispers into his ear:

Andrei: You better learn who you might be speaking to. It depends who is the barbarian at that time. Who was killing whom? Does it matter who is what now? We're all Red, dyed in the blood or by the State, either way! Commissar, you should know you are talking to a barbarian before you. *backs off*

Dashkevich laughs loudly, as if Andrei had told the greatest joke had ever heard.

Dashkevich: I'll remember you, Novokshonov--you're a memorable man, with that sense of humour you have.

Andrei: No. It's no sense of humor. That's a fair bit of caution, sir. *snarls a bit* I'm not joking.

Dashkevich laughs again.

Dashkevich: I'm sure we'll have the fortune to see each other again...very soon. *he almost winks at Andrei*

Andrei: For both our sakes, perhaps not. *snarls a bit and shakes a bit*

Dashkevich: For both our sakes, fate may have it otherwise, whether you like it or not, Novokshonov. *downs another glass of vodka* Are you enjoying yourself here, by the way? Heard from Comrade Galkin you came here with a young lady--your daughter?

Andrei: Not hardly. She's a friend. I'm not that old if you're not as old as you look, sir. *briskly takes a vodka shot and shots it down with a rude terseness, still glaring*

Dashkevich: A friend! I see. You are fortunate to have her, I think. But she is currently dancing with this other man, I have heard?

Galkin nods.

Galkin: In fact, she's dancing with my writer, Kuzma Ardalionovich. I never knew that they knew each other so well!

Andrei: *huffs a sharp breath and turns away, downing another vodka shot rudely*

Galkin: Absolutely. I'm glad that Kuzma Ardalionovich is getting more social exposure. He seems awfully stale, bored, and even socially awkward. One would not have expected that he can even lose his status as a single man...

Dashkevich: *notices Andrei's reaction* What, are you jealous?

Andrei: *ignores the Commissar, as though he pretends not to hear him, downs another Vodka rudely*

Dashkevich: Someday, all of this is going to hit you in the back of the head, quite violently, good Polkovnik. *very quietly*

Andrei: *eyes widen at the silent, subtle threat, knowing all too well that tone and choice of words, evoking his time at the prison camp. He tries to find his voice but is shocked still as stone*

The Commissar is no longer looking at him, but talking to Galkin, as if nothing had happened.

Andrei: *remains still, as though his limbs were set in concrete*

No one speaks to him.

*A tray fall, shattering glass with sharp sound that crackles through the room*

Jolted, Andrei quickly and silently weaves his way through the hall and out the door.

He makes it outside, wanting to escape the threatening party. His mind is racked with fear and resurrected memories.