The front door opens directly into a long sitting room, left partially furnished by the previous inhabitants. Pyotr is lounging on a settee pushed up against one wall, his hands folded across his chest like a corpse with a vacant expression on his face. Neither wholly asleep or awake, he sits up with a start when Artemy opens the door, limbs moving in a jerk manner reminiscent of a puppet on taut strings.
"Oh," he says, relaxing. "You came." And without further preamble he waves a hand around the room. "How do you feel about moving furniture?"
Artemy raises his eyebrows. He could tell that Pyotr sure was comfortable. But, well, it was good to see him out of the Iron and Oak, at the least. Getting a proper place to live was a good sign.
"I don't have any real feelings about moving furniture." the Haruspex says sarcastically. He can't imagine anyone having any strong feelings about it one way or another. "A please would be nice. And perhaps telling me which furnitures should go where?"
"I was getting to that," Pyotr lies easily. Pushing himself up from the couch, he looks around the room as if to confirm it hasn't rearranged itself while he was mentally checked out. "I need to move all of this furniture out of the room so I can pull up the carpet. That's the first necessary step for turning it into a studio space. Normally it would be Andrey's job, but..." He shrugs illustratively. Andrey isn't here, of course; and Pyotr isn't going to be moving any settees or hutches with his stick-thin body.
"I actually would appreciate your help," he says, in a voice that is already too tired to be faking that note of earnestness. "Truly. It would save me a great deal of trouble today and in the future."
Artemy seems to nod in agreement, thinking the whole thing rather reasonable. It wouldn't do to have random art supplies spilling on the carpet, ruining it. Pulling up the carpet and disposing of it shouldn't be too much trouble. Perhaps it could be loaded up by carriage and burnt.
"I can do that." Artemy says simply.
And he does. He begins moving the heaviest furniture out into the hallway. He has to scoot it out, by virtue of it being too large to really pick up without more than one person, but he does so with ease. Smaller pieces he can pick up easily enough on his own. He doesn't ask Pyotr for help, assuming the man wouldn't be much help anyways at moving furniture, truthfully. That and Artemy really doesn't mind doing it all himself. As he works, clothing does get removed. First his jacket, and then a ribbed sweater, until he's down to an undershirt.
For the most part Pyotr stays out of the way, although he does take Artemy's jacket and sweater and put them in his own bedroom, so they won't get dirty or in the way. He offers him water as well; it's what he'd do for Andrey and any men he'd brought in to help in this situation. And once one end of the room has been cleared, he produces a hammer and begins looking for the tacks holding the carpet down.
It only occurs to him a few minutes in that he should perhaps have borrowed or rented a vacuum cleaner from somewhere when he suddenly lets out an enormous sneeze. Right, of course the carpet would be saturated in dust...
Artemy starts from the other end of the room and simply begins using his bare hands to rip up the carpet. Some tacks fly up, getting trapped in the carpet. Others remain left behind, for Pyotr to pry up later. What matters more is that Artemy is able to begin rolling up the carpet. He takes a knife out of his boot and, instead of trying to roll up the entire carpet in one go, cuts off a chunk. Carpet gets heavy you see, and this way, it'll be a bit easier to carry.
He hears Pyotr's sneeze (hard not to) and his attention is brought up to the man with his hammer, on the floor, working about.
"Do you have a broom?" He asks, "In a hall closet, perhaps?"
He'd probably have to sweep multiple times, but he might as well sweep the section where he's already removed carpet.
A broom? Hm. "I'm not sure," he admits, sitting back on his heels. "I could go check?" It doesn't seem Artemy needs that much help with the nails after all...show off. All strong men are like that, he supposes.
He and Andrey would get along like a pair of tom cats. Pyotr feels a desperate need for a drink, but he still has a task to perform. He slouches into the kitchen, checking first the pantry -- he hasn't yet purchased any food to stock it, but maybe the last owners of the apartment left something behind.
...Actually, he should probably throw out this flour. It's not supposed to smell like that, is it?
He carries the sack back out the front room, leaving it beside the door to be carried out later while he checks the coat closet. There is a small broom in there, surprisingly, although it looks rather dirty itself with the bristles blunted and bent, dust bunnies clinging here and there. "Would this be useful at all?" He brings it out for Burakh to see.
"Fine for now, but you should get another one later." He says, deciding that sending Pyotr out for another would be too much hassle.
He takes the broom from Pyotr and begins sweeping where he's ripped up carpet, making a dust pile, before setting the broom aside to rip up more carpet. He repeats until all the carpet is up in a pile, the dust is in a dust pile. He grabs the dust pan and shoves in into Pyotr's hands. Time to help, wet cat man.
"A handful of times." Artemy shrugs, "Not so much in town, people are rather stationary there, but living in the Capitol, students would need help with housing, moving in and out. I would pitch in when need be."
He sweeps up, and then, with that done, he begins to haul the carpet outside. At least if it's out on the front step, it'll be easier to load.
"I'll have to call for a cart." He thinks out loud. "Is this better?" He asks Pyotr, looking over his work. The apartment floor is now clean, carpet-less, and furniture-less.
"Much," Pyotr agrees, surveying the space. "I can work with this." Stripped to the floorboards like this, it closely resembles his flat in Town-on-Gorkhon -- minus the boarded-up windows of course, which he is not planning to replicate. He picked this apartment because of the natural lighting, actually.
"Thank you. I'd never been able to accomplish all this by myself, certainly not so quickly."
Artemy gives a nod. It feels weird, just a week or so ago, they were at each other's necks. Now he was here, he had rearranged the man's apartment, and was even being thanked for it. But he knows that in order to belong to a community and convey the values you think it has, you can't be exempt from it.
And he is determined to prove that Pyotr has a place here, even if he doesn't like him. His like or dislike of him is irrelevant here.
"Certainly, think nothing of it." He says, and he truly means it.
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"Oh," he says, relaxing. "You came." And without further preamble he waves a hand around the room. "How do you feel about moving furniture?"
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"I don't have any real feelings about moving furniture." the Haruspex says sarcastically. He can't imagine anyone having any strong feelings about it one way or another. "A please would be nice. And perhaps telling me which furnitures should go where?"
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"I actually would appreciate your help," he says, in a voice that is already too tired to be faking that note of earnestness. "Truly. It would save me a great deal of trouble today and in the future."
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"I can do that." Artemy says simply.
And he does. He begins moving the heaviest furniture out into the hallway. He has to scoot it out, by virtue of it being too large to really pick up without more than one person, but he does so with ease. Smaller pieces he can pick up easily enough on his own. He doesn't ask Pyotr for help, assuming the man wouldn't be much help anyways at moving furniture, truthfully. That and Artemy really doesn't mind doing it all himself. As he works, clothing does get removed. First his jacket, and then a ribbed sweater, until he's down to an undershirt.
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It only occurs to him a few minutes in that he should perhaps have borrowed or rented a vacuum cleaner from somewhere when he suddenly lets out an enormous sneeze. Right, of course the carpet would be saturated in dust...
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He hears Pyotr's sneeze (hard not to) and his attention is brought up to the man with his hammer, on the floor, working about.
"Do you have a broom?" He asks, "In a hall closet, perhaps?"
He'd probably have to sweep multiple times, but he might as well sweep the section where he's already removed carpet.
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Funny thing is he isn't even trying to show off. Artemy just gets so caught up in doing that he just simply does. A man of action through and through.
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He and Andrey would get along like a pair of tom cats. Pyotr feels a desperate need for a drink, but he still has a task to perform. He slouches into the kitchen, checking first the pantry -- he hasn't yet purchased any food to stock it, but maybe the last owners of the apartment left something behind.
...Actually, he should probably throw out this flour. It's not supposed to smell like that, is it?
He carries the sack back out the front room, leaving it beside the door to be carried out later while he checks the coat closet. There is a small broom in there, surprisingly, although it looks rather dirty itself with the bristles blunted and bent, dust bunnies clinging here and there. "Would this be useful at all?" He brings it out for Burakh to see.
what you dont like it? xD
"Fine for now, but you should get another one later." He says, deciding that sending Pyotr out for another would be too much hassle.
He takes the broom from Pyotr and begins sweeping where he's ripped up carpet, making a dust pile, before setting the broom aside to rip up more carpet. He repeats until all the carpet is up in a pile, the dust is in a dust pile. He grabs the dust pan and shoves in into Pyotr's hands. Time to help, wet cat man.
i like it too much
Pyotr kneels, holding the pan steady while Burakh sweeps up the dust. "Do you do this kind of thing often?" he asks curiously.
winks
He sweeps up, and then, with that done, he begins to haul the carpet outside. At least if it's out on the front step, it'll be easier to load.
"I'll have to call for a cart." He thinks out loud. "Is this better?" He asks Pyotr, looking over his work. The apartment floor is now clean, carpet-less, and furniture-less.
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"Thank you. I'd never been able to accomplish all this by myself, certainly not so quickly."
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And he is determined to prove that Pyotr has a place here, even if he doesn't like him. His like or dislike of him is irrelevant here.
"Certainly, think nothing of it." He says, and he truly means it.