and a long skirt, her dark hair strewn about the armrest. She lay there on her side, breathing slowly, unaware of
the young man that stood there staring at her. Reno was about to slowly walk around her when she opened her
eyes. Their eyes met for a second, and then she screamed.
“Agh! Кто черт возьми-”
“Hey, I-“
“Убирайся! Получить ебать отсюда!”
“Excuse me, I-“
She sprang out of bed and grabbed the closest thing her hand could reach – which was a hardcover
book. It hit Reno on the shoulder as he twisted away. The next thing that hit him was a handful of pens. Reno
stumbled as the pens clattered to the floor, and found himself shouting back profanely as he started toward the
door.
“Hey, what the hell is your problem?! I’m just-“
“мудак!”
Reno was cut off as a tissue box hit him in the face. The woman was still confused and angry as hell,
and Reno had no interest in confronting the situation. He slipped quickly out the door, slammed it behind him,
and leaned against the wall as he caught his breath.
What the hell?
Reno stared at the door, considering knocking, but thought better of it and walked up the stairs to his
own apartment. The wooden handles were well craved but the paint was chipping and the ornate wallpaper
was peeling at the edges. The building was like most of the people in it; maybe it was once something worth
admiring, but now it consisted mostly of run down relics and nostalgia.
He stopped in front of his door; he heard the faint outlines of a violin playing. Reno stood there for
a time, his ear against the wood and his eye staring at the “306” metal plaque on the front. The only time his
daughter would play the violin, earnestly, anyway, was when nobody was there to watch. She hadn’t played in
front of anyone since her mother had died three years ago. He closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the
door, and let the strings whisper into his ears, as the rain pounding out a rapid rhythm on the windows outside.
Reno had been standing like that for maybe ten minutes when footsteps interrupted his meditation.
Malkova walked down the hall, stern as ever. Behind her, Reno’s enigmatic assailant shyly trailed. She was
carrying a bag of groceries, and Reno realized he had left it in Malkova’s apartment.
They walked up to him as Reno stepped away from his door, warily eying them. Malkova got straight
to the point.
“Naya wants to apologize for 10 minutes ago. She was recovering from a hangover and thought nobody else would be in the house.”
Naya smiled tiredly at Reno, her eyes the image of playful apology and warmth. She had tied her short
dark hair back into a stubby ponytail, which revealed the edges and landmarks of her face. She had a hooked
nose, defined lips, and arching eyebrows that made her face look all the more mischievous. Her eyes were dark
and steady, but instead of sternness they conveyed a confidence.
“Собираетесь ли вы принять это или нет?”
Reno blinked, and found the Russian lady-girl thrusting the bag of groceries out towards him. He took
the bag and felt his hands brush against Naya’s. They were smooth and cold, like a sheet of paper left outside
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