IN PLAIN SIGHT

Where: Dining Hall

Who: @aliasiris​

THE CORNER OF THE ROOM SUITED DIMITRI THE BEST. He could see anyone who wished to approach, and would not be surprised by the sudden appearance of someone behind him. That is what he thought anyway.

“Good grief, you scared me. Well, yes, sit down, dinner will be served soon.”

❛  and  yet  ,  ❜  they  remove  their  gaze  to  sip  ,  calmly  once  more  from  their  drink  .  ❛  it  is  you  in  my  home  ,  committing  sins  against  those  who  have  welcomed  you  .  much  like  your  countrymen  .  ❜           ❛  inside  is  not  your  safe  bet  ,  ambassador  .  ❜  they  finish  the  alcohol  ,  and  turn  towards  them  .  ❛  i  am  .  tell  me  what  you  know  of  the  american  intelligence  operations  ,  &  and  i  can  ensure  your  husband  &  that  sweet  child  will  not be  disturbed  .  go  inside  now  or  speak  of  this  to  anyone  …  well  .  manage  your  expectations  upon  returning  home  .  ❜

At the mention of his child, his blood begins to boil. The thought crosses his mind to physically restrain them, to hurt them the way they were planning on hurting his family; but rationality wins, and Deion feels as though he has already lost.

“You’re disgusting.” He spits at the ground, “What have they ever given to you that isn’t tainted in red and ruin? You believe America to be the cesspit of the world, and yet you live here. Look around you, tovarishch, they’re starving. People are being taken from the street on the mere suspicion of anti-Soviet thought, and you believe that to be fair? To be normal? How immoral do you have to be in order to let those around you die for an ideal that is worthless.”

His tirade had been yelled in a whisper, but even if he had been screaming it to the heavens it felt as though no one would truly hear him. His head drops and he does not look at the person in front of him.

“When I first met you, I thought you could be saved. I know now that was an impossible thought to begin with.”

The image of his future child, bright eyed and filled with wonder crosses through his mind. A nervous smile and a whispered, “Uncle!” makes him hesitate. A funeral attended by one floods his vision. There is a right and a wrong choice — in the end all men are wolves for themselves.

“There is an American spy ring under the codename PORSCE, they are low level American agents who happened to find a voice recording planted by what I assume is a Soviet defector. Inside, there are two coordinates for the location Soviet bombs. I’m not sure what they’re planning to do with that information, but they seem hellbent on not letting it be leaked. If I had to guess, your side is starting to crumble from the inside out.”

zinaida stands with anna, her own fur draped about her shoulders in turn. there could be no fear of the cold for those born in this winter-land, and as a sentimental creature she craved the look of grounds and gardens covered in white — still, the edges of her coat are tugged tighter as they exit onto the terrace.  “un—” just as she stops at the edge of the steps, so too does the word uncle halt on the very precipice of zinaida’s tongue, one verbal toe left hanging off the edge before she tucks it back into place. “vanya?”

moving to take the stairs slowly, she looks forward and replaces her expression back where it belongs: impassive and clean, like a sheet of ice. how did she know about that not-uncle from so long ago, in a past buried by snow-drifts and political machinations, and what made his status pitiable? “— and why is it you say that?”

Anna does not stop walking even as she feels her companion falter for the mere second that she did.

“I’m surprised, haven’t you heard?” There is nothing kind about her. “He jumped into a lake to save some poor girl from drowning.” 

“I’ve heard he is recovering, but that was some time ago.”

Her small chuckle is muffled by the snow surrounding them in the garden. She bends down near a bench and picks up a hellebores that had emerged from snow.

“Our existence is fleeting, Sabitova. Every breath we take is not ours to catch, we exist on the whim of mere chance. Do not be fooled and think for one second that one life is more precious than another. We are all equal here, do you understand?”

“You will have America realize this fact.” She places a hand on Zinaida’s shoulder, stopping at her side. “You will make the Soviet Union proud.”

A nod is given again. Everything was clear now. “But you are still here.” Another pause. “Do you know something?”

They looked at Anna. “What does he need to say? Or do.”

“He believes me to know something which could incriminate him as well.”

Anna mops the floor while talking, an excuse should anyone come in.

“Find what he is trying to hide, and remind him that if I am to be discovered — my downfall will be his end as well.”

Yelena lets herself breathe a sigh of relief at Anna’s reaction. Somehow, she’d managed just the right tone, just the right word choice, something to play her cards right this time.

“I’m sure she will,” she says politely, “But all the same, you’re very kind.”

She follows Anna’s gaze briefly, looking but not quite seeing what Anna must be seeing. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” she says, concern flashing just slightly across her face. Come to think of it, it was strange for a high-up like her to be so obviously lacking a bodyguard. “Please do excuse me if this is an intrusion, but …may I possibly be of any help? To shoo them away, or … ?”

She leaves this hanging. Despite her fantastic physical shape, Yelena Kuznetsova is well and truly no good in a fight. But she supposes she could quite easily stand there and look intimidating. Or speak to the miscreant. That would spook them.

So, patiently, unsure of what will happen next, she waits.

ANNA TURNS TO THE EMPTY SPOT BESIDE HER, AND FROWNS. Her nephew was useless.

“I highly doubt you would be able to help, this is a rather . . . . personal problem.” She smiles at Yelena for he first time, a knowing look on her face. “I do appreciate the offer.”

She looks at the clock once more and locks eyes with someone across the dance floor. “I apologize for my rudeness, but I must go, time does not stop for anyone.”

The modest dress Anna wears shimmers underneath the light of the chandelier, and glimmers as she turns back to Yelena. 

“Do tell your father I look forward to meeting him on Thursday. I enjoy our little chats.” 

“thank you, ms. lebedev.” her response pauses to accommodate a sip of the newly arrived drink, a thing clear in both its colour and the way it burns down her throat. her gaze skitters briefly across the bar-top at the representative’s measured words, her lips curved gently in a kind of amusement. “i can only hope to be a fair representative to those such as yourself.”

her eyes turn to the politburo member briefly at her next statement, nodding after a beat. “indeed.” she twirls the stem of her martini glass absently, watching it turn in clean, slow circles. “even diamonds in yakutia could not compare.”

zinaida straightens up once more, leaning one elbow onto the bar as she draws again from her drink and eyeing the beautiful woman over the rim. “sometimes i think it a waste to spend an entire evening indoors when the grounds look as they do tonight.”

“Then shall we continue our conversation outside?”

Anna stands up to leave before Zinaida can do so, and grabs her fur coat that hangs off the back of her chair.  She waves off her bodyguard to stand behind her, and raises her hand in a dismissive motion. The man nods his head and gives her ample room, still following from behind.

“I can spot a Vagnova student anywhere,” there is an unnerving levelness to her disposition, and slowly she pulls out a cigarette from her coat pocket. “And a recruit from Raskolnikov with a mere glance.”

they  nod  ,  turning  to  face  him  .  ❛  by  my  understanding  ,  you  will  be  returning  home  soon  .  is  that  not  true  ,  ambassador  ?  ❜  ❛  that  is  the  danger  of  expectation  ,  is  it  not  ?  you  never  know  when  it  will  ruin  your  evening  .  ❜  their  face  remains  blank  &  unaffected  .  ❛  or  perhaps  something  even  more  important  .  ❜

“What are you trying to say?” He eyes the entrance leading inside. “Spit it out.” A looming sense of doom hangs over his head, constricting his throat.

“And you Soviets wonder why the West distrusts you — “ Deion stands rigid, balled up fists rest at his side.

A nod is given, and they quickly took both. The sign was put outside the door, before they entered the restroom again. Looking around, they saw there was no one else, and turned the lock before facing the other occupant. 

“Nox,” a pause, “I can help you.”

Anna freezes, a look of scrutiny on her face.

“I thought they would send someone less — ” she does not finish the sentence but the confusion on her face reveals her thoughts. She takes a photo out of her purse, it’s small and in black and white but one could recognize their face undoubtedly.

 “He needs to be dealt with. I don’t care how — he simply needs to stop holding my past as hostage.”

She looks at Nox, a steely gaze.

❛  evening,  ❜  they  greet  ,   free  hand  splaying  on  the  bannister  while  the  glass  bottom  of  their  drink  rests  against  the  marble  .  for  a  moment  they  observe  the  view  ,  before  looking  to  the  ambassador  .

❛  the  night  must  have  treated  you  well  ,  to  wear  such  a  smile  .  ❜

“Indeed, I expect my time here to be coming to an end. Not that Moscow isn’t lovely, but I prefer the winter chill of Massachusetts.”

He finally takes a look at the person next to him and his features harden. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

date: december 16th, 1961 — 9:39pm location: the foreigner with: anna, @deuxnpc

the french might have named their drinks apéritif and digestif, splitting them appropriately, but the russians had another system of division altogether: namely, start and don’t stop. the veikiy’s bar is appropriately lined with patrons finished with their meals, a preference for liquor establishing itself domineeringly over the newly opened dance floor. zinaida, tall and dark as she is in her black dress, moves through the crowd on the benevolence of their extended arms. please, please, go ahead. she nods her thanks in return. “dry martini.” the sweeter kvaysa would wait till later. her gaze rolling to the side, she spots another woman among the barrage of grey suits. an acquaintance. “and whatever tovarisch anna will have.”

“A volga for me.”

Anna is not surprised when Zinaida makes herself known. 

“Congratulations, Sabitova.” She taps her hand against the drink slowly. “I would not expect anything less from a potential prima. It gives me great comfort knowing that someone such as yourself, a model Soviet citizen, will be the star of our tour.” There is a weight in words, unspoken.

The clock ticks and Anna looks to the window outside before resting her gaze on Zinaida. “The  snow in Moscow is beautiful.”

Where: Terrace

Who: @agentonyx​

THE LIGHTS OF MOSCOW NEVER CEASED TO AMAZE HIM. Russia had been his home for so long that he felt almost saddened by the thought of leaving. However, the vision of his future returned to his consciousness and with it a dreamy smile. So lost in thought Deion had not noticed when the other person had arrived at his side.

“Good evening.”

Yelena does her best not to flinch under such an uncompromising gaze. Such indifference, such – was that revulsion, even? – is certainly not what she is used to.

“Why yes, of course.” She says this brightly, just barely resisting the urge to spit it through gritted teeth.

“It’s been such a unique learning experience, to perform such a variety of roles, you know?” She flashes the woman her warmest, most relatable smile.

“Wonderfully egalitarian, in a way. I’m sure such an effort in teamwork, in working with other talents to keep the entire show on its feet, in between the shiny, attention-grabbing headlining roles.”

God, how Yelena hoped she would buy this. All of this anti-individualist sentiment, none of which she had been feeling as of late in the slightest.

“I’m sure, as someone so committed to hard work and a communal ethic, will appreciate that. And I’m confident that this little detour into the duties of soloist will do so, so much to improve my performances as a principal in the future.”

“ Zinaida Petrovna?” Well, that sure didn’t take long, she thinks. Barely a second in and all she can talk about is the Union’s precious jewel. “Do you know, I’m not sure. Tied up with Councilor Godunov, I expect.”

Time to stall, to charm, just a bit.

“Odette is an absolutely fantastic part, really, and one I’m sure Zinaida Petrovna and Ms. Miro will thrill to play. When I performed it – not so long ago – it was a punishing, incredibly emotive task…But I’m being silly. You might remember. Perhaps you saw it?“

“…Do you tend to like the ballet, personally?”

If Anna had doubts about the Pearl of the Union, they had been assuaged. The woman had her head about herself, she was assured.

“I saw your last performance, quite emotive I must say. Sabitova will need to put on an excellent performance to compare to you.” 

“I do, I very much appreciate the hard work all those who participate endure for their craft.” Her gaze wanders to the dance floor before landing on Yelena once more. “I apologize if I seem distracted, there is someone here who vexes me to no end. If I am being quite honest, their mere presence unnerves me.”

She merely blinks at the sudden sharpness of his words, not unlike her own when she’s at the head of rehearsals nor when she had been a dancer and barked at. “He sent his finest, but, no. They decidedly do not compare to our own.” It is a simple truth. Those who had not been trained by their own would never compare, and the a prideful gleam in her eyes betrays the former prima ballerina’s bias. 

Not everyone is enthusiastic about the art of ballet. She knows this, can see it in the way he avoids her gaze. Alina takes a sip from her glass with a hum, nodding as she lowers it once more. “The show will make for a wonderful social occasion, although I’m sure that even during the show you’ll have politics on your mind. Regardless, we will be honoured to have you in the audience.” 

Dimitri makes a non-committal noise, swirling his glass of vodka. 

“I will be honored to attend.” Although his words seem affable, there is a disinterested tone in his voice. “Is there anything else you require of me?”

// He’s losing interest, if you wish to keep talking to him you need to engage him once more. You can do so by rolling hot or cold (hot to charm him, or cold to let him know you’re not someone to dismiss so easily. )

Yelena’s eyes swept the room yet again, looking for an even vaguely familiar face in the sea of good taste, measured elegance and impeccable suits. Surely there must be someone around her she could talk to, flash her impeccable smile .  . .to have even a shot at changing her country’s mind about her.

Or, more accurately, really, to stave off any suspicions about her and her future life choices.

Before she could find anyone, however, she heard the pressing precision of a voice behind her and swiveled around to take a look.

“Oh –! What a surprise!” She shuffled out of the way, but only slightly.

Here, she thought, came her chance.

“Are you enjoying the festivities tonight? I, for one, have been having a truly fantastic time!”

Anna looks at the woman with disdain before recognition hits her. The grimace remains.

“I am glad. This event is meant to celebrate everyone’s contributions to the partnership. There is no role too small or insignificant, is there.” A pause. “Speaking of which, have you seen Sabitova? I must congratulate her on receiving the role of Odette.”

Where: Restroom A

Who: @aliasnox​

WHY THERE IS A POOL OF WATER ON THE FLOOR, Anna has no idea. The other occupant of the room looks surprised, like a bird caught during its takeoff.

“Are you alright.” A careful eye examines the mess and sighs. “Let me help you, tovarishch. There is a closet door behind you, grab the sign and mop. We will need to fix this quickly.” 

“What happened here.”

“Of course.” Her wrist turns once, swirls the liquid in her glass once as she continues. “It’s a welcome moment to pause and appreciate what we’re working on.” Then, a shrug. Noncommittal as she’s critical of each dancer and every centimeter they move. 

“One must be to qualify for this endeavour, and Balanchine has sent his finest.” Alina takes a sip from her glass. “Will you attend the premiere?”

“Of course, none of them compare to our own — correct?” There is a sharpness in his words. “I will be in attendance, however I will admit I know close to nothing about the art of ballet. I find it rather . . . . ” Dimitri does not finish his sentence rather he looks off to the fireplace, an unreadable expression on his face.

// Roll ‘dark’ to see if Alina can correctly read his inner thoughts.

THE FIREPLACE IS WHAT DRAWS HER TO THE ROOM, a moth to a flame though she’s never been burnt— no, the flames that scald merely warm her, pressure like this soothes her. But, remaining on her feet is invites more conversation than not, so she seats herself, content for now to watch rather than dance. 

“Good evening, Minister.” Formal, yet the curve of her lips permits some degree of warmth as she half-turns in her seat towards him. “How are you enjoying the festivities?”

HE KNOWS HER FACE, had been educated on her position in the Bolshoi Theater. 

“The evening has been pleasant,” he takes a sip of his drink. “I do hope the same can be said for you.” Dimitri holds the glass above his line of vision, watching her, waiting for her answer.

“I hear the Americans are quite talented.”