@pacemaking.
The air is cold this fine night. It hurts Andrey’s lungs to breathe it in, which is exactly what he wants from it -- it helps him focus to ignore the very real threat looming in the shadows of the evening.
It isn’t entirely dark yet. It’s close, the sun hanging low on the horizon, but not quite dark yet. Peter had warned him about the dark in his own, terrified-and-terrifying way. Whatever was hunting them, it liked the dark.
Well. If he’s out late, then he’ll deal with it then. Preferably with the heavy hammer slung across his shoulders.
He’s not expecting others to be out in the graveyard, but seeing Yulia isn’t entirely a surprise. And he just gives her a two fingered salute as he walks past the jagged gate, pausing only a few feet in.
Farkhad’s grave stands as they designed it: terrible to look upon, sharp rocks with an eye painted upon it. He knows Peter painted it, even if he doesn’t remember when he did.
The inscription is familiar as well: From inconsolable brothers in arms P. et A. gemini. A little tongue and cheek, if he has to say so.
“ Yulia, whatever you hear, keep it to yourself, yeah? ”
He says it even as he hefts and swings the hammer the first time -- he had some work to do before he could get the tomb beneath open.
