[Unlike some other residents of the Nexus, Volgin was not a psychic. He was letting Raikov savor the sight and smell of the dessert varenyky while he considered the former birthday pie. It was now cool, and luckily, for all of the mercies there were in the world, Volgin was spared further embarrassment with not having carved a birthday wish on its crust. It was the first time in all his fifty-something years of existing on the living, breathing plane that he actually wanted to articulate an honest wish of good will towards another human being for the sake of sentimental business; he better make it count.

So, he took a knife and delicately began etching something anyway, the Cyrillic letters rough and crude:

"For better days, long as they are now, but still as sweet as before."

Finishing, barely fitting it all in, the giant surveyed his writing. Good enough.]