Piotr waved Megan's complaints off as he walked away. He had no idea what she said, and only a vague clue as to what language she was speaking it in. If he hadn't known her heritage, he would have been completely lost. The steel man heard the sounds of everybody else laughing and bowling behind him as he went, missing what Peter had done - or it would have sparked his memory for sure. He looked around to find what it was he sought, and nodded when he spotted it.
Piotr disappeared into a darkened corner of the bowling alley. It smelled like centuries old tobacco smoke and spilled liquor. He paid no attention to most of it as he went through the western-style swinging doors and vanished within. He was a man on a mission.
After a while, his voice - offended - could be heard, though perhaps not as loudly over the racket of bowlers and background music. He wasn't yelling, but he wasn't being very quiet, either. It didn't matter to him if he was overheard, and he didn't seem to have any concern over anyone being scared by him - size and power or otherwise.
"Nyet. Nyet. Nyet nyet nyet nyet. This ... what is this? Made in Canada? What does Canada know of ... You would serve me mule piss? Come now you can do better. Nyet. No, not that either. otvratitel'no. Blueberry? Try again. Peach is not better than blueberry. It is worse, I think. Much worse. It smells like a baby hooker. I would not serve this to the grandmother of my worst enemy. Look for Russian. Russian. No, that is from Iceland. Just because it sounds like a Russian name does not mean it is... ostanovit' yego... Idiot. Move. I will look. I know what I am looking for. Let me do it."
A pause, some incoherent yelling.
"I told you to move, did I not? You do not move, I move you."
Irritated gibberish flowed out in a steady river until the vocal party seemed appeased by something or otherwise quieted. A gift, a threat, the end of the Russian invasion, there was no outward clue other than a slow cease of the stream of expletives wafting out into the rest of the bowling alley.
"Nu i nu! Brilliant. This will do. Yes. The whole bottle. Six glasses. No, do not bother. Wait. Give me that, too. Yes, I know how to use it, it is not that hard. I do not need an engineering degree to work a flat plastic dish. Oh. Wait. And here is this for your trouble. We keep this between us, yes? Good." Piotr appeared from the room carrying a tray containing six shot glasses and a bottle of Russian Standard vodka. He brought it down to the table nearest their party and waved everyone closer. His motions were insistent and left no room for argument. There was no mention or indication of what had just gone on in the bar. Piotr was smiling as if he'd just wandered in and gotten what he'd wanted right away.
"Friends." He said as he poured out six shots, filled to the very brim of the glasses. Each one filled got passed to one of his companions, without care that there might be underage parties receiving alcohol. "We must have a toast. Za fstryé-tchoo, to our meeting and Dlya nashey druzhby , eto mozhet prodolzhat'sya do tekh por , kak my vse dyshim ! To our friendship, may it last as long as we all breathe! Drink, everybody, drink!"
Piotr's own vodka was gone in a flash. He waited as the others finished theirs before going at the bowling thing again. He was no better at it this time, but he felt a little less surly with the flavor of his homeland on his tongue.