... Really, honestly? There was no way she could refuse a face like that. "All right. Let me pack up."
So much for looking in the archives today. Perhaps another time.
~ * ~
Natalia's apartment-- well. the Koutolikas' apartment, rather-- is in an enclave of immigrants from the same country, likely right near to the pleasure district, though most of them were a bit too poor to show up as customers. It's also a little closer to the port, where many of them worked.
Natalia greeted some of the others around warmly, and conversations were winding, animated, and entirely in Natalia's native language. If Maomao can follow such conversations, at least one person is thanking Natalia for the work she did a little earlier this week; another for finding his 'lost Anya', who turns out to be the little dog in his arms.
Still, each time, she explains she's taking this friend of hers to meet her mother, and everyone nods understandingly.
That said, if Natalia is cold, her mother-- Her mother is just delighted. Full figured, ruddy, strong, if it wasn't for the shape of face and the eyes, it would be hard to say they were related. "Natashenka! And you have made a friend at last~!"
"Ah-- I don't know that she would say that," Natalia replies. "and 'Natashenka'? Eej, I am sixteen. Natasha."
"Oh, so stiff to her own mother," Lenya says, but there is vast humor in her eyes.
"Eej, this is my classmate, Maomao. Maomao, this is Lenya Koutolika, my mother."
Inside, there's a small herb garden, and some attempts at vegetables in pots; pinned to a corkboard are several index cards with measurements, and lengths of silk and thread to go with them.
no subject
So much for looking in the archives today. Perhaps another time.
~ * ~
Natalia's apartment-- well. the Koutolikas' apartment, rather-- is in an enclave of immigrants from the same country, likely right near to the pleasure district, though most of them were a bit too poor to show up as customers. It's also a little closer to the port, where many of them worked.
Natalia greeted some of the others around warmly, and conversations were winding, animated, and entirely in Natalia's native language. If Maomao can follow such conversations, at least one person is thanking Natalia for the work she did a little earlier this week; another for finding his 'lost Anya', who turns out to be the little dog in his arms.
Still, each time, she explains she's taking this friend of hers to meet her mother, and everyone nods understandingly.
That said, if Natalia is cold, her mother-- Her mother is just delighted. Full figured, ruddy, strong, if it wasn't for the shape of face and the eyes, it would be hard to say they were related. "Natashenka! And you have made a friend at last~!"
"Ah-- I don't know that she would say that," Natalia replies. "and 'Natashenka'? Eej, I am sixteen. Natasha."
"Oh, so stiff to her own mother," Lenya says, but there is vast humor in her eyes.
"Eej, this is my classmate, Maomao. Maomao, this is Lenya Koutolika, my mother."
Inside, there's a small herb garden, and some attempts at vegetables in pots; pinned to a corkboard are several index cards with measurements, and lengths of silk and thread to go with them.