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Mar. 14th, 2019 09:30 pmBaba had come to New York and liberated him from his little flat, and now he was standing outside of Prokopenko's place, a moving van parked behind the Evo, a couple of strapping Ukrainian men moving his things into the house.
Prokopenko wasn't even there. Kavinsky had called on the way down, and he'd been at work. Kavinsky had laughed it off then, but he hadn't expected baba to have a key to the place, prepared to break them in and start moving the few things that he had into the house while there was no one there to stop them.
"I will make lunch," she proclaimed, walking into the house with great aplomb. Kavinsky could do nothing but follow her.
"Shouldn't we wait for Illya?"
"Pah, he knows we are coming. If he is late for lunch, this his problem."
Kavinsky swore under his breath, scrubbing at his hair. He didn't think Proko was going to have a problem, but he wasn't sure how happy he was going to be about how unceremonious this was.
Prokopenko wasn't even there. Kavinsky had called on the way down, and he'd been at work. Kavinsky had laughed it off then, but he hadn't expected baba to have a key to the place, prepared to break them in and start moving the few things that he had into the house while there was no one there to stop them.
"I will make lunch," she proclaimed, walking into the house with great aplomb. Kavinsky could do nothing but follow her.
"Shouldn't we wait for Illya?"
"Pah, he knows we are coming. If he is late for lunch, this his problem."
Kavinsky swore under his breath, scrubbing at his hair. He didn't think Proko was going to have a problem, but he wasn't sure how happy he was going to be about how unceremonious this was.
