Snippet #1563059

Rüdiger slung his backpack and ambled slowly closer to the steps which would eventually lead down to the docking ramps. As he made his way across the deck an excited kid ran across his path, causing Rüdiger to almost knock him down.

"Verdamnt!" he grunted, glowering at the kid as he ran to his mother without realising what had just happened. Rüdiger exhaled in annoyance and resumed his stride. He saw the door to the stairwell, and next to it noticed a pleasant looking young thing with reddy-brown hair who seemed to be by herself. A smirk snaked across his lips, and seeing as it was the direction he was going in anyway, he sidled up and propped himself against the wall on the opposite side of the door from her.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and slid one out for himself. He then tilted the packet towards the girl, turning his head and offering her one.

"Vy govorite po-russki?" he said, his voice thick with his Bremen accent. When she initially didn't reply, he added, "Welcher sprach? Deutsche? Or are you English?"

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Somia power walked her way from the cafeteria to a room where people were starting to gather eagerly, as the moment of landing came nearer. Spirits were clearly running high, as in various spots tempers flared, restless children whinged and cried, and all over the place Russians - bloody raucous Russians - laughed and jeered and sang patriotic songs. Who in God's name would be happy to call this country 'home'?

Somewhere nearby a phenominally camp voice pierced her head like nails on a blackboard. Combined with the crass suggestion the words conveyed, Somia silently cursed that she's gotten herself stuck in a jam of bodies so close to the one thing she'd considered it a small mercy she could hope not to encounter too many of in Russia. At least in the 'motherland' most of the gays were still quite 'manly'. But you could never account for 'imports'.

Looking around she spied the perpetrator; a very distinctive man in an equally distinctive fur coat. Well at least he's done his homework. Somia had been to Russia before, and particularly up in Siberia she'd had to endure never-ending heckles about the fact that she'd worn a faux-fur coat and hat. This time she'd been wiser, and planned to purchase a real one in St Petersberg (claimed for on company expenses of course) before boarding the train to Udachnyy.

Another announcement came over the tannoy, first in English and then again in French, then Russian: [i]Ladies and gentlemen we are now approaching the passenger dock, please stay clear of the doors. On behalf of the captain and crew we'd like to thank you for travelling with us, and we wish you an enjoyable stay in St Petersberg."