Re-posting for your reading pleasure.
"Katzchinksi, you're slow as all hell. Man, I thought we were bros, how could you leave us freezing out there for so long? I knew I should have called Sven." moaned the Turk while rubbing his fingers, huddled together on the back seat. "I mean, man, I feel like uncle Achmed's frozen kebabs before he puts them into the rotary grill! What took you so long?"
Katzchinski, the pair of eye-rings jammed in behind the steering wheel of the '90 VW Passat estate just gave him one of those glares you'd give a bum who suddenly walked into your living room to set up his sleeping bag and said "Gee, I don't know, maybe the fact that it's half past three in the morning and I was just home from the most amazing business deal ever? That didn't involve getting shitfaced with numbnuts like you, for once?"
Kat is the local Pole in Turk's circle of acquaintances. Pole might not sound like much of a description but for some reason Kat managed to follow cliché so hard he almost broke it all by himself. He drove a different car every other week, all of them used. Wherever he went, small objects went missing. His old soviet army jacked was so ratty you expected rodents to drop out of it any second now. And finally, he was the most trusted fence and black market hub that both the Turk and the Russian knew. None of these made Kat happy.
"Oh yeah, like what, shipping surplus gas masks out of old soviet bunkers to all the little trash stores in Canstatt? Going legit was a crapshoot for you from day one, man."
Kat had been trying to get out of the 'shadow' he was stuck in for more than three years now; but his "Import-Export Special Items Shopping Store" in a back alley around the Main Station just wasn't getting anywhere without him abusing his 'import-export' connections to cut corners around insubstantial things, like the law.
"Hey screw you, dude! It's going great!" It wasn't. "I'm setting up a deal right now," He wasn't. "-quality beer from the Americas! I know a guy over there, he knows all the people, man! I'm going to be outta this slump in no time!"
The Turk blinked.
"Since when do the Americans make beer worth importing? Since when would any of these potatoes here buy it one way or the other?"
"Ey man you have no idea! This will go off without a hitch and I'll be swimming in money in no time!"
Sadly, he wouldn't.
"Whatever you say, man." The young guy in the back seat slumped down, knowing his friend's hardheadedness. He rubbed his eyes. "Man, what a night. Screw your little store, I saw a fairy today. A real one, that shot lasers and what was in a maid costume. And she was, like, a girl scout too or something. Hell, and some killer demon spider chick. Still can't figure out what that was about."
The Pole chuckles and gives him a look over his shoulder. "Didn't go easy on the weed tonight, did you?"
The Turk narrows his eyes at him. "You ain't seen what I have seen, man."
Kat just laughs flat out. "Yeah, I certainly don't got the THC in my blood to do!"
THC does not give you hallus, you little twit. is what the Turk want's to say, but is interrupted by the Russian slamming the third bottle of water he was emptying onto the dashboard. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Farmer is not lying. We have seen magic. Little girl shot ball lightning with hand and floated like hydrogen balloon. Was about as explosive too. Bad time is ahead, I fear. Was talking about being scout for kommandant. Sound like omen. Bad omen."
The Pole was not happy about this. The Russkie was very sober, as unlikely as it sounded. He also had his priorities straight and a surprisingly good intuition. When he said something, it carried weight, only further supported by Rus' general lack of humor. Then again, he was talking about fairies.
Kat shrugged. "Yeah, I'm not buying it, you're just fucking with me. Anyway, here's your hut, get home well, yadda yadda, you're totally paying for that water by the way, see you all around. Bye."
Before both of them knew it, they were standing back out in the cold again, the only thing reminding them of Katzchinski two red lights in the distance and the leftover smog of a badly tuned diesel engine. Before them was their apartment building, a six-story affair with no discernible features except how it aggressively lacked any discernible features. Snow was still falling from the sky, muffling noise like a blanket draped around one's head and coating the already white city further in cold. After a mutual round of shivering, both of them stomped towards the door.
"Still, makes you think, right? I wonder what else is out there. Orks? Trolls?" The Russian just shrugged at him. "Baba Jaga, maybe? I cannot know. Best idea is to hole up, prepare for worst case and wait for knowledge from unlucky ones crashing with them."
"Yeah, word bro." agreed the Turk, fishing a key ring out of his pocket and fumbling the door open. "But man, I still- woah, it's warm, did that geezer of a janitor finally turn up the hea-"
The rest of his sentence died in his throat as he saw that he was standing on soft soil, he heard the twittering of birds and the blue sky above his head was partially obscured by thick branches of leafy green. With a click, the door fell into it's lock behind him and then fell over together with it's frame and a part of the wall it was set in, slamming onto a chunk of concrete sidewalk covered in fast-melting snow.
The forest had something primal to it, the trees bigger and taller than usual, the air thick with the smell of pollen, earth and... something neither of the two knew, but somehow touched a sense in them somewhere.
"I don't think we're in Canstatt anymore."
"Da. And don't call me Ivan."
They both look around, apprehensive, jumpy. A moment or two later they both peeled out of their jackets since it really was pretty warm out here.
"Okay, think on your feet. We're in the place the fairies and that brown chick came from, no doubt man. This is too fishy. We gotta get moving. If there's more of them around here we're in trouble man."
"Agreed. We must find safe place. Other humans. Any ideas?"
The Turk pointed off to a side, a beaten footpath leading in between the trees to a lighter part of the forest. "Looks like a way out of the woods."
"Good idea. There is other option; water is that way." Said the Russian and pointed to another side where the rushing and splashing of water could be heard in the distance. "Villages often close to water, no?"
[2 votes already counted] Water.