[When they come out the other end they're crossing into Little Italy, made evident by the sudden swirl of Italian in the air and the smell of the food.
Sometimes Firo marvels at how each little enclave in the city can feel like a different country. Even his childhood home of Hell's Kitchen was that way; though a mix of Italians and Irish, each group had their own few streets.
He glances back at Ivan, looking to make casual conversation but also to learn more about the guy.]
[ Well, at least the food smells good. Ivan's head tips to the side, eyes bright and wide as he looks around at all the people flitting around. It's...nice, and very, very, different from the world he's used to. But at the same time, there's some similarities he can already pick out. ]
Nyet--no. [ A little smile catches at the corner of his mouth, the English still odd after a lifetime of Russian. ] It is -- how you say? -- out of way?
[ More like, he's obviously an immigrant, and not one from Italy. It's a lot easier to just hang with his crowd of ruskies, okay. ]
[ There's a soft little noise, acknowledging even as his gaze roves over people and building alike. Once Firo points out Alveare, Ivan's eyes widen a bit before he finds his mouth curving in an easier smile. But still, his tongue trips over the foreign word. ]
Alfeyaare? [ That's...close enough right? His cheeks tinge pink, embarrassed a bit by the clumsiness. ]
[The word glides off his tongue fluently, his very American accent momentarily melting away. His mother didn't speak a word of Italian, but Firo quickly picked it up from the immigrants who lived all around them (and, in some cases, helped raise him).]
'Cause it's a honey store.
[He smirks a little as he says the last part. Yes, they sell honey, but there's so much more.
He holds the door open for Ivan, beckoning for him to go in.]
[ Alveare, he tries once more, tasting the word upon the tip of his tongue. It's still not quite right, but closer, maybe. In any case, Ivan quirks a brow at the sudden little smirk curling up at the corners of Firo's mouth. He's no fool, and clearly there's something else about this store.
Still, he nods and shoulders through before Firo, looking about curiously. ]
[Firo just keeps smiling his little smile and strides into the store. Between the barrels of honey, shelves of honey, and the counter, it's a little cramped.
The loud woman behind the counter makes the space feel even smaller as she "greets" Firo with snarking about how long he's been gone and what trouble he must have gotten up to and why he's dragging home yet another stray. He responds with laughs and shrugs and the pointed comment that this guy is a new friend, but an all right guy.
After that, the woman relents and Firo waves for Ivan to follow him to a nondescript metal door on the other side of the store. The woman keeps her eyes out on the street and nods when it's all clear. Firo opens the door and leads Ivan through before letting the door clang shut behind them.
The speakeasy is a classily decorated contrast to the drab little honey shop, with shiny clean floors, thick red curtains, and sleek wooden tables and chairs. Firo beams and turns around.]
[ It is cramped, and yet it's almost homey. The barrels and shelves of honey filter amber light, and it distracts Ivan enough for the loud accented noise of a woman greeting Firo to filter into white noise until he hears Firo reply. The laughter, the lilted tone behind new friend; Ivan turns back, curious and steady behind Firo's shoulder.
It doesn't mean he's at all prepared for the way the nondescript door and cluttered store gives way to the beauty of the speakeasy. He blinks, stepping forward onto clean, shiny floors, and looks around like he's never seen anything like it.
But really, he hasn't. Which means, when Firo asks, his answer is an honest: ]
[Firo smiles back at him, absolutely no trace of modesty.]
Isn't it? Sena--that's the lady out front--has run this place for years.
[He sashays over to an empty booth and stands by it until Ivan takes a seat.]
It's on me, so get whatever you want.
[...There's no menu, though, and Firo isn't making a move to get him one. Having eaten here more or less every day for more than a decade, Firo's kind of forgotten about the need for such things.]
[ Ivan listens intently, curious in this little slice of the world. Firo is larger than life, accent and gestures and the absolute lack of modesty when it comes to the pride of his family and world. It's all somewhat exciting, the true picture of America that had been painted for him, eve of it isn't the exact same situation.
So he moves and sits in the booth with Firo, easily, but carefully. He's well aware of his own bulk and frame. ]
Ah, I--[ How embarrassing! His ears flush pink. ] I do not know food here?
[ He knows good homecooked Russian foods, even the Belorussian, the Ukrainian, the Polish -- but Italian? It is far from his ken. ]
[ It sounds more like pleeze, but he looks perfectly fine with this situation irregardless. The English terms are certainly better than the Italian ones, but that doesn't mean Ivan knows them all. Eggplant, for instance, is -- confusing? It's an egg? But it is also a plant?
English is weird. ]
Eggsplant, what is this?
[ Curious look, because yes, good, cheese and chicken, he knows and likes these. When he can get it. ]
[ Firo that wriggled motion means absolutely nothing to Ivan, given it's kind of just vaguely curvy, though his brow furrows and he thinks it over. A big, purple, veg--oh! ]
Ah, baklazhan!
[ His face brightens in understanding, nodding enthusiastically for a brief second. ]
[Any worldliness or confidence that may have been in his mien a moment ago vanishes in favor of extreme concentration. Ivan's not the only who'll be learning new things today.]
[ He gestures, mirroring Firo's own prior ones, a look of eager concentration on his face. Ivan might like learning new things, but he also likes teaching people too. Maybe a hold out from helping to raise his little sister. His smile curves easily. ]
Baklazhan. [ Although the zhan sounds more like john. He kind of looks like he wants Firo to parrot it back to him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Leading poor, sweet farm boys astray--! /headshake
Sometimes Firo marvels at how each little enclave in the city can feel like a different country. Even his childhood home of Hell's Kitchen was that way; though a mix of Italians and Irish, each group had their own few streets.
He glances back at Ivan, looking to make casual conversation but also to learn more about the guy.]
You come this way at all?
poor dear never stood a chance /smh
Nyet--no. [ A little smile catches at the corner of his mouth, the English still odd after a lifetime of Russian. ] It is -- how you say? -- out of way?
[ More like, he's obviously an immigrant, and not one from Italy. It's a lot easier to just hang with his crowd of ruskies, okay. ]
Oh well /patpat
Yeah. And not your turf, I get it.
[If he'd gone into other neighborhoods as a kid, he'd stick out too. And sticking out means trouble.
He points to a row of shops coming up ahead.]
Ours is the one with the beehive--that's what "alveare" means.
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Alfeyaare? [ That's...close enough right? His cheeks tinge pink, embarrassed a bit by the clumsiness. ]
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[The word glides off his tongue fluently, his very American accent momentarily melting away. His mother didn't speak a word of Italian, but Firo quickly picked it up from the immigrants who lived all around them (and, in some cases, helped raise him).]
'Cause it's a honey store.
[He smirks a little as he says the last part. Yes, they sell honey, but there's so much more.
He holds the door open for Ivan, beckoning for him to go in.]
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Still, he nods and shoulders through before Firo, looking about curiously. ]
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The loud woman behind the counter makes the space feel even smaller as she "greets" Firo with snarking about how long he's been gone and what trouble he must have gotten up to and why he's dragging home yet another stray. He responds with laughs and shrugs and the pointed comment that this guy is a new friend, but an all right guy.
After that, the woman relents and Firo waves for Ivan to follow him to a nondescript metal door on the other side of the store. The woman keeps her eyes out on the street and nods when it's all clear. Firo opens the door and leads Ivan through before letting the door clang shut behind them.
The speakeasy is a classily decorated contrast to the drab little honey shop, with shiny clean floors, thick red curtains, and sleek wooden tables and chairs. Firo beams and turns around.]
Whaddaya think?
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It doesn't mean he's at all prepared for the way the nondescript door and cluttered store gives way to the beauty of the speakeasy. He blinks, stepping forward onto clean, shiny floors, and looks around like he's never seen anything like it.
But really, he hasn't. Which means, when Firo asks, his answer is an honest: ]
It's wonderful.
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Isn't it? Sena--that's the lady out front--has run this place for years.
[He sashays over to an empty booth and stands by it until Ivan takes a seat.]
It's on me, so get whatever you want.
[...There's no menu, though, and Firo isn't making a move to get him one. Having eaten here more or less every day for more than a decade, Firo's kind of forgotten about the need for such things.]
no subject
So he moves and sits in the booth with Firo, easily, but carefully. He's well aware of his own bulk and frame. ]
Ah, I--[ How embarrassing! His ears flush pink. ] I do not know food here?
[ He knows good homecooked Russian foods, even the Belorussian, the Ukrainian, the Polish -- but Italian? It is far from his ken. ]
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[And because Firo is so damn nice, he'll use the English terms rather than the Italian.]
How do you feel about eggplant? Cheese?
[He looks the guy up and down. He's big and he'll probably need some meat to maintain that build.]
Should do some chicken too, probably...
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[ It sounds more like pleeze, but he looks perfectly fine with this situation irregardless. The English terms are certainly better than the Italian ones, but that doesn't mean Ivan knows them all. Eggplant, for instance, is -- confusing? It's an egg? But it is also a plant?
English is weird. ]
Eggsplant, what is this?
[ Curious look, because yes, good, cheese and chicken, he knows and likes these. When he can get it. ]
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[He wiggles his hands in an approximate indication of the curves of an eggplant.]
Sena knows a place where you can get 'em pretty fresh, not rotten or anything.
[As so much of the produce in these areas is.]
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Ah, baklazhan!
[ His face brightens in understanding, nodding enthusiastically for a brief second. ]
Da, da, I know this.
Pff, that was too cute
[Any worldliness or confidence that may have been in his mien a moment ago vanishes in favor of extreme concentration. Ivan's not the only who'll be learning new things today.]
Bak-laz-on? How's that?
he tries ahaha
[ He gestures, mirroring Firo's own prior ones, a look of eager concentration on his face. Ivan might like learning new things, but he also likes teaching people too. Maybe a hold out from helping to raise his little sister. His smile curves easily. ]
Baklazhan. [ Although the zhan sounds more like john. He kind of looks like he wants Firo to parrot it back to him. ]
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[He looks up as he draws closer to the correct pronunciation, as if looking for approval.]
So it is the same, I think. You'll like that, right?