Rodya had been out for a walk. He enjoyed taking walks in an effort to clear his head. To get away from the things that haunted him from his distant but close past.
The young Russian walked around with his hands tucked firmly into his jacket pockets. He was dressed in rather old fashion garments, the type that showed a man struggling to make a living. Simple materials lacking in any sort of pattern or eloquence, a green jacket covering it.
Rodion stopped when he saw the man sit down and peered at him curiously. He seemed to be in some sort of distress. Walking over, he peered even closer. "Sir, are you alright?" he asked, his accent quite clearly not Russian... Oddly, English sounding.