#convo:andrei

Andrei pushed open the apartment door with his shoulder, the handles of three different grocery bags in each hand, closing the door behind him with his foot. Music was leaking out from the living room as he set the bags down on the kitchen counter, and footsteps came up behind him as he started to unload them and put away the groceries. “They were out of peaches,” he said without looking over his shoulder to whichever of the two of them had come up behind him. “I got apricots instead.” In one of the bags was also a box of the tea Pierre liked -- they had been out -- and a jar of jam especially for Natasha.

Andrei turned back to the moka pot on his stove as Juliet explained her idea to him, though there was no reason for him to, as the water was still only starting to boil. Still, he wanted to hide the grimace on his face from her. “I seem to recall that some bakeries do charge a fee,” Andrei said dryly in response to her ridiculous idea. “And I doubt that we would make a convincing enough couple.”

“You know, I’m surprised you haven’t had any children yourself, Pierre,” Andrei said, and though he smiled wide, there was a dullness in his eyes and a crease in his forehead that seemed like it would stay there permanently. “Even if your marriage has, as you say, ‘ended’ with that duel of yours... You do so well with children, I think,” the prince said ironically. It was clear that he was saying these things to be contrary.

“I am glad he’s so fond of you,” Andrei said, looking down at the side table, where a letter from Bilibin that he had received earlier in the day lay, still unread. Nikolai was in lessons with Monsieur Dessales at the moment. “I’m told that so often children don’t take well to step-parents. You seem to make him quite happy.” In fact, the ringing peals of the child’s laughter were growing ever and ever more common, something that seemed strange to Andrei yet was not unwelcome.

His face was more haggard than usual, the bags under his eyes more pronounced. Still, when he saw his friend, Andrei Bolkonsky managed a small smile, even if he could not help an ironic twist. “Juliet,” the former prince said. “It seems Paris is smaller than one would think -- we keep finding all sorts of old friends here.” If his tone of voice was colored by some bitterness, it at the very least was not directed towards her in particular. 

Andrei Bolkonsky managed a cordial, if tight-lipped, smile as Anastasia approached him from his relatively secluded spot against the wall, where he was watching the former aristocracy swirl in droves around the Dowager Empress. “Grand Duchess,” he said, with a slightly ironic twist in his tone. “What can I do for you?”

Andrei sat down next to Raoul on the couch, a heavy sigh escaping him despite his best efforts. His phone dinged -- like it had been doing all day -- with a text from either his sister or his father, but he ignored it as he hesitantly, wordlessly, rested his head on Raoul’s shoulder.

“They say what they think is true. People have always been mistaken and will remain mistaken.” The spirit studied the little girl. It was hard for him to tell the ages of the living, now. Still, she seemed remarkably young to not be frightened, as little girls were often wont to be.