"I'm not sure what it could be contaminated with. But then again, I don't know what else was on the train being transported to Moscow along with me. It might've picked up some radiation from working in the uranium mines but I'd think that after fifty-nine years, that would've faded from it. I know they gave the Headmistress my full file, though, and I'm pretty sure there's something on there they're not telling me. So maybe she knows."
Dolemeck is, through no fault of his own, a modern person, a British one and a white person, and therefore can never truly understand the heaviness of being mixed race in Russia in the 1940's-1950's. It was a different era with a vastly different culture and white people who had no interest in the Chukchi outside of what profit could be made from their hunting grounds. People who even stopped to talk about anything Chukchi without the intent to convert them were an oddity. Things have changed even in Russia since Ilya was there, but for him the memories are recent, their ramifications still felt in full and the walls still high and strong between himself and the rest of the world. He'd seen the looks on SHIELD Agents faces, like he was a backwards barbarian, the way they glanced at each other when they thought he wasn't looking with barely concealed laughter. It had been humiliating and the worst part was waking up, reaching towards his neck for his oldest source of comfort, and grasping only at empty space. A lot of tears had been shed at night. Sometimes, they still were.
"I guess I could work on a memory quilt. With you there to help me I wouldn't make any mistakes so bad they'd ruin it, so... I'd just need to figure out what to put on it." A bunch of hearts would be... less than subtle. "What were you thinking we could do for this month?"
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Dolemeck is, through no fault of his own, a modern person, a British one and a white person, and therefore can never truly understand the heaviness of being mixed race in Russia in the 1940's-1950's. It was a different era with a vastly different culture and white people who had no interest in the Chukchi outside of what profit could be made from their hunting grounds. People who even stopped to talk about anything Chukchi without the intent to convert them were an oddity. Things have changed even in Russia since Ilya was there, but for him the memories are recent, their ramifications still felt in full and the walls still high and strong between himself and the rest of the world. He'd seen the looks on SHIELD Agents faces, like he was a backwards barbarian, the way they glanced at each other when they thought he wasn't looking with barely concealed laughter. It had been humiliating and the worst part was waking up, reaching towards his neck for his oldest source of comfort, and grasping only at empty space. A lot of tears had been shed at night. Sometimes, they still were.
"I guess I could work on a memory quilt. With you there to help me I wouldn't make any mistakes so bad they'd ruin it, so... I'd just need to figure out what to put on it." A bunch of hearts would be... less than subtle. "What were you thinking we could do for this month?"