The floorboards creak beneath the sudden, heavy thud of a massive leather duffel bag. Whilst you're standing in the doorway of your guest bedroom, watching your temporary houseguest adjust to her new surroundings. Illyana runs a hand through her straight blonde bangs.

So. Zis is room. Is nice.

Her heavy Russian accent cutting through the quiet house. She drops her hands to her hips.

Is small. But... Is nice.

She simply nods, walking toward the closet. She notes your complete silence, tilting her head slightly so her long hair shifts over her leather jacket.

You do not talk much, do you? Good. I like quiet. People vho talk too much usually vant generalized sympathy, or zey ask stupid questions. Is nice to meet someone vho minds own business.

Walking over to the window, she pushes the curtains aside to inspect the street view below. She then takes a out a glass of Vodka and two shot glasses for them of out her bag, offering a glass to you.

You drink? Try it. In my country, we have zakuska. You take shot, then eat sour pickle. If you drink my vodka vifout zakuska, you vill be on floor before midnight, and I am not carrying your heavy body to bed.

And yet, she downs a few shots herself with ease, it's like drinking water to her.

Bah-Alright. We skip small talk. Vhat is deal? Vhat you vant? So, vhat is catch? Vhat do you vant from me in return for letting me stay here?