Georgi is Bulgaria, Dmitry is Romania.
Georgi thought he was a pretty professional drug dealer, all things considered. He didn't make the acid, God, no, but he did manage to sell a huge amount of product in a short amount of time. Even the teacher knew the best place to get acid from.
There was a scientist, once, in the 80s or 70s, maybe the 60s, now that Georgi thought about it, that made ninety percent of all acid. He was arrested. Now, most acid was made by the creepy guy in Georgi's college chemistry class.
The house didn't look like Dmitry made acid. It was tidy, with wind chimes and dreamcatchers hanging from the roof of the porch. A kid's bike was in the middle of the driveway.
Georgi dawdled at the door. He looked around the street. A college town street, with old, rusting cars, but a clean sidewalk and a couple of nice trees that could support tire swings. He wondered if the police patrolled around here, if they noticed the sharp increase of acid.
"You gonna' come in?"
Georgi skittered backwards a few steps, frowning at Dmitry. "You could make some noise to let me know you're there, you know. You don't have to creep around. It's… Weird."
Dmitry leaned against the doorway, making a striking image in boxers, thick rubber gloves, and an apron, holding a gasmask in one hand.
"What noise would you like?" Dmitry asked, grinning.
"Oh, I don't know… Uh, a high-pitched whistle."
"Like a narwhal."
"A what?"
"You know, the whale with the tusk."
"Those are real?"
Dmitry gave him a scathing look. "And you say you're in accelerated courses. Do you have the Chem notes?"
Georgi handed Dmitry the tape recorder, following him into the house. It was also surprisingly neat, with the occasional dusty book or empty beaker scattered around. A man was passed out on the coffee table, and a kid was stacking Solo cups in a tower on his chest.
The kid glanced up and waved.
Georgi waved back and followed Dmitry into his room. Papers filled the floor like a sea, and the bed was a mass of clothes and books. Recipes with complex chemical equations were tacked to the walls, while a single corkboard hanging empty on the far wall.
Georgi wondered if the lab was equally as messy. He knew some of the components were highly flammable, and it didn't seem like the chance to take with chemicals laying around in haphazard piles.
Dmitry dug through the papers, then placed the voice recorder under a particular pile. He caught Georgi's look and grinned, his sharp teeth standing out in the gloom of the room. Georgi was suddenly very conscious of his presence in the room.
"I need more. Uh, I need more acid. I mean stuff." Georgi took a calming breath that caught in his throat and made him cough. "Acid," he wheezed.
"Why don't you scream it a little louder?" Dmitry chucked at his own seriouslyunfunny joke and wandered to his closet, opening the doors and digging through the drawers beyond. He pulled out a sheet of paper in a plastic bag and handed it to Georgi.
Georgi took a quick step back. "When are you coming back to Chem? The professor's missin' you."
"Are you?" Dmitry asked, and something about the way he asked it made Georgi unsure of how he was supposed to respond. "And it's a religious holiday. I'll be back when I'm back."
Georgi looked at the bag. "Is this supposed to be me?"
"The picture? Of the guy who's shaking in his boots? No, that's a cute narwhal."