[ He trails after the other slowly, simply because he has nothing better to do- or at least that's what he chooses to tell himself. His face remains in that half-scrunched up, judgemental way, assessing the other's table with a silent, yet critical eye. He makes no secret of the way he absorbs the other's scratching, leaning over to get a better look, his lips pursed thin. ]
"Electrical." The shit that powers the lights. [ He barks it out, tapping the circled word, before moving to sit across from the other, hauling out a chair and flopping down into it like the Russian punk he claims to be, one foot coming down on the chair beside it, legs open in as his back bent into what probably looked like an uncomfortable position, but wasn't for Yuri. He stared across the table at the other, frowning. ] Moscow, Russia. 2017.
no subject
"Electrical." The shit that powers the lights. [ He barks it out, tapping the circled word, before moving to sit across from the other, hauling out a chair and flopping down into it like the Russian punk he claims to be, one foot coming down on the chair beside it, legs open in as his back bent into what probably looked like an uncomfortable position, but wasn't for Yuri. He stared across the table at the other, frowning. ] Moscow, Russia. 2017.