[The Blue Light was rather nice. Full of booze at any rate. And Howl found that conjuring currency was frighteningly easy in this place, like no one's set up any safe guards against it at all. Now he's several beers deep and in danger of breaking into Sosban Fach any moment. He does always get rather sentimental when he's been drinking. He leans against the wall in the hallway, trying his hardest to make everything stop being so wibbly and gives Peter a firm look.]
[Chekov opens the door cautiously (more because he thinks Peter is a little crazy than because there is someone butchering his name and pounding on his door).]
Mr. Vincent? Howl?
[What are you doing outside of my apartment and why are you drunk.]
Ah. [He seems reluctant to let them in, but eventually steps aside.] Again with hobbies.
Come in, please. Sit--it is as cheap as standing.
[The apartment is sparsely furnished (except for the kitchen, which McCoy apparently used more than any other room). There are chairs, however, and a desk with a gutted computer on it. A portion of the floor is littered with metal and wires and all sorts of bits of pieces; a low table is stacked with papers, protractors, and pencils. Overall, one gets the sense that the apartment would be terribly messy if there were more things in it.]
[to Peter] Yes, please be quieter. I have neighbors. Ones who are asleep. [Because that's what normal people do at night, guys.
In reference to the papers.] Not hobbies, just notes. Crude maps. Ideas for making a phaser. [All written in Cyrillic, and the pictures that accompany the notes are not terribly good. The lines are straight and the circles are circular, but Chekov is clearly not an artist.]
Mr. Vincent, do you know the hour? [He'd guess not.]
Phasers are standard weapons at home, both on ships and for officers. They are particle weapons, and the kind issued to personnel can be adjusted in many ways. I do not think that the technology here is capable of producing nadions.
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What exactly are we doing here again?
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I told you. Chekarly lives here.
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Curly-haired. Russian. Jailbait. Oh fuck it, you'll see him in a moment.
[He pounds on the door.]
OI. CHEKARLY. WAKE UP.
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[He waves his hand around a bit, narrowly missing smacking it up against the wall.]
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Mr. Vincent? Howl?
[What are you doing outside of my apartment and why are you drunk.]
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[Peter stumbles forward and wraps Chekov in a big hug.]
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[Oh what. He doesn't even--it's like going on shore leave with Kirk.]
You are very drunk.
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Come in, please. Sit--it is as cheap as standing.
[The apartment is sparsely furnished (except for the kitchen, which McCoy apparently used more than any other room). There are chairs, however, and a desk with a gutted computer on it. A portion of the floor is littered with metal and wires and all sorts of bits of pieces; a low table is stacked with papers, protractors, and pencils. Overall, one gets the sense that the apartment would be terribly messy if there were more things in it.]
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Interest of yours, Pavel?
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[THAT WAS LOUD.]
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In reference to the papers.] Not hobbies, just notes. Crude maps. Ideas for making a phaser. [All written in Cyrillic, and the pictures that accompany the notes are not terribly good. The lines are straight and the circles are circular, but Chekov is clearly not an artist.]
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What's a phaser? It sounds dirty.
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Phasers are standard weapons at home, both on ships and for officers. They are particle weapons, and the kind issued to personnel can be adjusted in many ways. I do not think that the technology here is capable of producing nadions.