The Start Of Something Beautiful

Ahh~ back in my beautiful Россия. Snow falls like feathers from the purple sky as the sun sets over Moscow. I shove my hands deeper into the fur lined pockets of my coat, sighing as heat seeps into the appendages. It's good to be back home... but I just can't help but miss my crew-mates, back in America – either visiting family (like Hikaru, Nyota and Dr. McCoy), "relaxing" at Star Fleet HQ (like Mr. Spock and The Keptin) or working on the repairs of the Enterprise (Mr. Scott) – Which is expected since have just left the very small confines of a ship in outer space.
Irrelevant. I smile as snow lands, and then precedes to melt, on the end on my nose. Looking, I murmur to myself "снегов все тяжелее... (Heavier snow...)" then scurry out of the near darkness into the closest building. Above the door the sign reads "Паша уголок (Pasha's Corner)". Irony, da?

The inside is very... normal. What's remarkable is the variety of people in here, a German, a Japanese man, a Chinese man, two Italians, a Frenchman, an Englishman, an American and a fellow Russian - hmm... seems like the start of one of the Keptin's jokes - Each and every one in their own little worlds and conversations. Ignoring the strange cacophony of nationalities, I shuffle to the bar and order a double of shot of vodka. The barman stares at me, then pours the drink. Why must everyone think me under-age, I'm 18 Ради бога (for heaven's sake)! I down the liquid as soon as it is poured into the glass, leans back and close my eyes. Never, no matter how much Mr. Scott fiddles with the replications on the Enterprise, replicator vodka will never beat the true stuff. Signaling for a refill I get myself comfy on the stool.

I down the fifth shot and slam the empty glass onto the bar and another is poured as my head falls forwards. My curly hair falls in front of my eyes as I raise my head to drink the vodka.
"поднимите голову вверх, таким образом я могу видеть ваши светлые глаза, да?  (Lift your head up, so I can see your bright eyes, yes? )" slowly, I glance to the side to see clear violet eyes staring at me with childish innocence.
"а ты кто?  (And who are you?)" Turning my body on the stool to look at the possessor of the violet eyes, to be confronted with the Russian from that strange mishmash of men.
"Павел... и Ваше имя, незнакомец? (Pavel... and yours, stranger?)"
his deep, masculine, yet carefree voice rushes over me and sends shivers of pleasure down my spine "У меня много имен, но вы, мой дорогой Паша ... называйте меня Иван (I have many names but you, my dear Pasha... call me Ivan)"
Ivan...