#serdtsefought

The bars just off of Little Garden Street were rife with potential clients. Grusha never dared venture so close to the Nevsky Prospekt military installment; Dominkia preferred the docks. But Natasha had been in the business too long to fear soldiers. Many of them were willing to turn a blind eye to her work - or a lascivious one - because she ran a fairly reputable prostitution ring (if you could call three girls a ring) and did her job well and for a reasonable price. The bartender won’t throw her out either; he’d been friends with her grandfather. He knows her in a different way than her clients know her body. He knows that this is how she can get by, since the Cheka raids destroyed her tavern and brothel. She tries not to think of loss, but instead of gain. She presses her rouged lips together and scans the room. 

She spots a familiar form down the bar. She licks her teeth before approaching.

She knows him - not Biblically, yet - but he is a first lieutenant at the Nevsky Prospekt Division. He’s one of many underlings who serve the high-and-mighty General Vaganov. Always kind to her, this lieutenant walks her personally to the general’s office when she comes with weekly reports. He has a lilting, laughing voice, and eyes that sparkle. Natasha thinks that if she can part him from a few coins, she can give him a night that’s a little more then routine. 

She touches his arm and stands in front of him.

                     The reporters had gone back to whatever void they called home when not clamoring for exclusives, the dowager empress had been soothed back into her apartments, and Anya had retired for a well-earned rest. Lily, though used to taking care of publicity for the empress, was still wrung out. A haze of exhaustion covered her already world-weary eyes, but she had one last thing to do.

             “Monsieur.” She called, crossing the now empty hall to the man who’d remained silent through the entire affair. “I don’t believe we’ve met properly yet, but the princess has told me what you’ve done.” It was strange to see the Countess’s face so serious. Her self-appointed role in life seemed to be to please those around her, be it the Empress or those at the club. Now wasn’t the time.

“Your majesty, if we live through this remind me to get baptized.” Because perhaps this was cutting it a bit too close for comfort- him and death. Even for her too, but he had a feeling she was already experienced in that aspect of life. Swallowing thickly he peered around the alleyway while keeping one arm extended across her in order to shove her back and out of sight if their pursuers managed to spot them. Luckily thus far things seemed to be in their favor…for now at least.

It was moments like these that he regretted his path. In a way. It brought him to her and for that he was glad to be able to stand in the gap between life and death. He had been sent on a mission- eliminate a threat, but as soon as he laid eyes on the woman he knew he couldn’t do it. Before she could even know why he was there he confessed as to who he was and what he was sent to do before emptying his gun and tossing it aside in favor of offering something else. His services of protection knowing the government wouldn’t be pleased that their officer not only failed in his duty, but warned the enemy of their intent. So he did what he knew he could do. Protect and serve. His home was a battleground when it came to the discussion of the Romanovs, but he always had pity and empathy to the four daughters of the tsar. No one deserved a fate like theirs.

It echoed a tragedy close to his own heart and so he knew he’d never be able to play a part in this. No more women and girls would die because of chaos and fear. Not on his watch.

          it would be less absurd  ( and she would have less to blame herself for )  had she not been warned specifically against this.   do not go overseas, begged aunt xenia, practically on her knees.   there is no reason to venture so close to finland. so within reach of the regime that has taken everything from them  ---  the regime which would gladly see a bullet in the head of every last remaining romanov.  

          which is exactly the root cause of her present situation.   had she not ignored dear auntie’s advice with such proficiency, she wouldn’t be caught in her present situation   ---  hiding behind a brick wall, while a former (?)  russian operative sent to kill her has taken on the role of protector.   all tatiana wanted to do was provide aid to her exiled countrymen   ;;   she has no desire to actually end up like her unfortunate family.   now, with her stomach in her throat and her heart in her shoes, it seems very likely that she may.   the only person she has to rely on is one of the men who would have seen her family dead in the first place.

  “well that’s why i’m here general. i can’t stop. i refuse.” granted he knew that was not what his supervising officer meant, but it applied either way. he fought hard to rise up in the ranks as fast as he could. he knew the higher the rank the bigger the influence. but his temperament also led to a lot of roadblocks which were luckily torn down by his persistence. eyes lifted to meet the general’s eyes briefly as a faint smile appeared on his lips before he looked away with a shake of his head.

“once i have a plan. i follow through with it. i complete my mission no matter the cost. that’s just who i am.”

Gleb smacked his desk as he rose to his feet. The pens on it clattered as they rolled around. 

“You didn’t have a plan!” he snapped. “Your mission was simply to observe and instead you jumped in the middle of a fight. I should have you dishonorably discharged for your reckless behavior!”

Stupid boy! Did he have a death wish? There were a thousand ways to die in Leningrad these days - he didn’t have to sign up for the army to do it anymore. Balling one fist inside the other, Gleb walked away from Lt. Mikhailov and looked out the window, staring out to the Yusupov Palace in the distance. He sighed and shut his eyes. When he opened them and faced MIkkhailov again, he was collected once more. 

Gleb: I did. Excellent work, Lieutenant.

Luka: Thanks, Dad.

Liesel: Did you just call General Vaganov "Dad"?

Luka: What? No, I didn't. I said, "thanks, man."

Gleb: Do you see me as a father figure, Mikhailov?

Luka: NO! If anything, I see you as a BOTHER figure because you're alwayws BOTHERING me!

Gleb: I have a headache, but it comes and goes.

Luka, running in: Are you done with your appointment? Gorlinsky says I get to shadow you today!

                 “Mmm, no.” Lily clicked her tongue, looking over the ensemble Luka had stepped out in. As Vlad had taken in Anya to make her a princess, his lover seemed hellbent on turning Luka into a Count. Maybe at least a Baron. Start small.

          It wasn’t the boy’s fault that he’d been born in the least fashion conscious, most miserable period of Russia’s great history, but it was something that was proving difficult to teach. The suit he’d chosen for himself was two sizes too big, not to mention –

                  “That color doesn’t suit you.” She stood from the chair provided to her by the long-familiar department store clerk and turned him around to face the mirror. “See, it’s turning your skin ruddy.” It was true, the mustard in vogue didn’t seem to be doing him any favors. “And you have these beautiful eyes, Luka, we need something that reflects them.” She fiddled with the tailoring, lips screwed up as she bunched up fabric around his back, released it, and then started the process over again.

          Clothes didn’t make the man entirely – she had a bet on with herself to present the newest member of her circle to the Empress before year’s end, and he had a long way to go before then – but it would at least be a start.