{{under the cut is the first part of the intro that isn't important in relation to current events, but could be mildly important in regards to personality}}
Yuriy attempted to unpack his bag, but gave up after a few minutes and collapsed onto his chosen bed. He only remained lucid long enough to kick off his shoes before he was pulled into a simple, plain dream--just him sitting on a couch, watching static on a wide screen television. Living the life.
And then… actually living the life, and waking up to the sound of noise. And a back ache. He sat up and groaned, rubbing his eyes. Stupid kids and their stupid, grating voices. He was still in his two day old clothes, but he’d be damned if he actually cared enough to change. He got off the bed and slipped his shoes back on, then walked over to Oswald’s bed.
He yawned and stretched out his back. “Ozzie, I’m gonna make the a-holes some breakfast, you up for bursting their eardrums?”
Oswald gave the affirmative, and Yuriy gave him two thumbs up before stumbling out of the cabin bleary eyed. The sun was bright and he already wanted to go back to bed, but he had to do what he was getting paid for.
The building that contained the kitchen was, surprisingly, spotless, so he threw an apron on and started the burners. And prayed that someone had enough foresight to stock the fridge and pantry.
