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[returntheticket]

Ivan has never been very good at providing for his own meals. Either women have made them for him, or servants have; even when he was a student, he lived so frugally that he could not be said to have cooked

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[colored_gowns]

As he comes back up and she comes down, Mrs Strange finds herself nearly causing a collision in the dim cellar light.

"Oh! I beg your pardon," she says, pulling up short, with luck, just in time.

[returntheticket]

He keeps himself from cursing, making her a quick little bow--European, not the deep Russian bow. "Your pardon, madame. My lamp is failing."

[colored_gowns]

"Not at all," she says, offering a curtsy in return. "The fault was mine. Please pardon me, Mr--"

[returntheticket]

"Karamazov. What is your name, madame? And what were you trying to find?"

[tinylittleonion]

Alyosha, on the other hand, has never seemed to notice whether he was living on someone else's labor or not -- he can let someone cook for him, he can cook for someone else, but he's never at a want for food. Somehow he makes a breakfast of crepes, fresh fruit and juice, and he goes to see whether Ivan's fever has gone down and he's well enough to eat.

If the door to his room is open, he'll leave the breakfast there on the table. If it's locked, he'll slip a note under the door, informing Ivan there's food for him in the kitchen in the cold white box. In either case, Alyosha walks away eating only a peach, and is contented by it.

[returntheticket]

The door is locked, indeed; Ivan will find the note after his adventure in the cellars, and wander down to the kitchen for the promised meal. He will take it outside to eat, balancing the plate on his lap as he sits on the swing, because the warmth and sunlight are good after the disquieting shadows of the cellar.

[tinylittleonion]

And since he's been meaning to pester his brother, Alyosha might as well pick up this thread -- he comes back from one of his walks wherever-it-is-he-goes, beaming (as it were) like the sun. "Ah, Ivan -- you're awake!"

[returntheticket]

"And well fed--the iced box is a clever idea. I must find whoever made it." He moves aside, making room for Alyosha to sit if he likes.

[zjendjan]

The house may have no master, but it does have a servant, even if he is currently between jobs. The whole thing with the plothole has made Zjendjan quite happy over all. Scarcity creates need, and who better to satisfy that need than himself? After all, he only lives to serve.

But for now he's only serving himself and he backs out of one of the many cellar rooms. There is a bottle of vodka in each hand and he's really quite pleased with himself, up until the moment he bumps into someone else. Then he just swears.

[returntheticket]

Ivan will tense, caught halfway to a snarl before he realizes that this is only a boy (and not a demon; he is not used to a waking world without demons). "Have a care!" he snaps anyway.

Typist: I may or may not be on tonight, but I'm just tagging in to say that I love when your characters show up and I hope to answer all your tags by tomorrow.

[zjendjan]

Zjendjan is about to make a nasty remark in reply, but merely curls his lip instead. It's a Muscovite. Of all the things in the world he could bump into, it had to be a Muscovite. He sounds like he could be quality though, so Zjen steps back and bows (half-mockingly, although that's hopefully hidden by the dark). "Sir."

[returntheticket]

And there will be a matching lip-curl in return. It had to be a Pole. "You're with the Polish officers, aren't you--the ones who testified at the trial."