Now that we’re back in Ponikla, my players’ thoughts are turning to infrastructure and character development. The friend who runs Alexei Brandt, the less-unhinged of our teenage PCs, sent me this look into Alexei’s motivations and downtime activities. (The same player runs Pettimore.)

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“ACH DU KACKE!!!”

Alexei swore as he jerked his head back from the shower of sparks that erupted from the old fuse box. The teenager dropped the screwdriver he was holding and stumbled back.

“Well, THAT wasn’t good.” He shook his head and surveyed the damage. There was a short SOMEWHERE in the old junction box, but damned if he could find it.

He’d been working on the power in the old storefront for a few days now, trying to suss out the bugs and get the lights back on. The building would be perfect for the radio station, IF he could restore the power and IF he could KEEP it on.

“Need a break?” the voice behind him asked. A young woman with shaggy, roughly cut brown hair had poked her head around the corner, an outstretched hand holding one of Magda’s pączki.

Alexei eyed the doughnut hungrily. “Absolutely. Danke, Lena.” He took the pastry and sat on the floor, the fuse box forgotten for the moment.

Lena dropped down next to him, pulling a pastry of her own from her pocket. “How goes the rewire?”

He shook his head. “There’s some sort of short in the verdammt wiring, and it’s pissing me off!”

She gave him a wry smile. “Soviet-era wiring has a habit of doing that. At least you haven’t had to spend the day listening to Stanislaw talking about his wolf-girls.”

Alexei shrugged. “Puppy love. What are you going to do?” Lena snorted. “Oh, listen to the man of the world! You should stick to electrical work. You’re better at it.”

Alexei smiled, then pointed to the fuse box. “Any ideas?”

Lena glanced around. “Burn it to the ground?

Alexei lightly punched her arm. “Seriously?

Lena shook her head. “Why are you so determined to make this work? The others think it’s próżny trud.”

Alexei looked around the dingy room.

“When I was a little kid in Kreuzberg, my dad was a Party clerk for Erhard Krack. He worked in this tiny office, no sunlight, just gray block walls and a picture of Gorbachev. My father spent nine, ten hours a day in that cramped little room stamping documents, making copies, just…drudge work. I used to wonder how he kept smiling in that bureaucratic nightmare. Then one day, I decided to surprise him by bringing him lunch. I walked down the hallway to his office, and I could hear … a piano. I opened his office door, and he had this tiny cassette player on his desk, with the most beautiful music pouring out. My father was leaning back, his eyes closed. I..I had never seen him like this. My papa was…crying. I had never seen him weep, not once. He always had a smile, but now…”

“Rachmaninoff”, he whispered. My father opened his eyes, and his expression was peaceful.

“Dad, is… is everything all right?”

“Yes, spatz. All is well. Come in.”

I found out my father’s secret that day. Whenever he felt overwhelmed or like the walls of his office began to close in, he would shut his door, turn on his little player, and the world would just get…bigger. The walls would seem to gain color, the air would get… lighter, I guess? Anyway, he would feel better, like there was something to look forward to, to hope for.”

“After that, I started listening to anything I could find, and well…”, he gestured at his jacket. “Here we are.”

“That’s how music makes ME feel, Lena. When I listen to my tapes, I feel…free. Not like the bombs never happened, but like MAYBE there’s something more out there. I want to share that feeling. ” He gestured at the pile of equipment in the corner. “If I can do something to wipe away the cinderblocks, even for a little while…it’s worth getting shocked a few times.”

Lena chuckled, a small smile on her face. “Alexei Brandt, saving the world one pair of ears at a time.” She stood and offered him a hand up. “Come on. This graty won’t fix itself.” Alexei took it and clambered to his feet.

Three days later, a small group of teens and adults stood clustered in the storefront, now crammed with old radio equipment. Alexei stood next to the fuse panel, his hand on the main breaker switch. Lena stuck her head around the front door and said, “Good to go!”

Alexei looked at the group in the room, and cleared his throat.

“I feel like I should say something. I was going to start this off with a bang, but…”

He flipped the breaker. Behind him, the banks of equipment began to softly glow, warming up. He turned and walked to the cassette player wired into the old transmitters. Taking a battered cassette from his pocket, he gently slotted it in and pushed play. As the notes of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto 2 began to waft from the old civil alert speakers throughout town, he closed his eyes.

“One pair of ears at a time, Dad. One pair at a time.”