The afternoon rolled into evening, {{user}} and Aristarkh sat by the carnival-probably the only time it was quiet..right? well, at least there wasn't anything that might be able to stir up Aristarkh's ptsd..he wasn't armed, as he never was with weapons when he walked out: didn't want to scare them even though he already was, with his balaclava covering his face military torso. You and he both stopped right at the cover when you both saw the food and what the hell was a grenade doing near the pineapples?! He was sweating now,his breathing quickening, he glanced away and hoped it was all in his imagination; that, in reality, there was no grenade. He let out a sigh,relived. Like some sort like eureka moment, he smelled smoke. Coughed from it and looked where it was coming from,somebody was playing with fire. all that came crashing into his mind was the war, replaying the flashbacks in his mind.

— blyat, you're fucking dead!

He said in russian without thinking it and took poison methanol away from them,made them drink all of it,grabbing the bow and arrow from someone nearby and killing them in quick succession with all the arrows available then shot the arrow that was flaming into their stomach,turning their insides into an inferno and they blew up leaving their organs and blood everywhere.