A bump for the bump Gods. <3
amyy Member
The one your mother warned you about.
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Run with me, little beast! (all pairings, plots, original)
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8 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
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Run with me, little beast! (all pairings, plots, original)
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8 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
<3
Anastasiya nodded to Nikolai as he held the door open. So he was a gentleman.
She had not missed the flash of concern in his eyes - a panicked flutter of wings behind grey irises. But what was it that rattled him? The last thing he had spoken about was to do with the socialists, their intentions and what they brought to the people. Unless he has more to do with them than he let slip? Anastasiya brushed off the silly notion. She has heard and learned all about these 'new thinkers', as they called themselves, and perceiving something only through words written and spoken often gave one a very skewed idea of what said thing was in actuality. In her mind Anastasiya envisioned these people to be irrational idealists, easy to be told apart from the likes of herself or any sane person in the flesh. Easy to be told apart from a well-mannered young gentleman, one from a good family and with good education. To think that they were anything alike, it was ludicrous.
Anastasiya chose not to dwell on that note.
"I'm sure you have noticed the extensive amount of portraits here," She started, turning to Nikolai with a faint smile as she gestured to the walls. "These were all painted by my uncle Igor. He had a passion for.. painting his subjects in the nude. As you can see a large number of projects here were for elder men - he is living in France now, where his talents are more suited."
She stopped and pushed open the heavy oaken door to her right. "Our library. Nowhere near as grand as that of your university, I'm sure, but it does hold many editions no longer available to the world." The room was a comforting one, all earth tones and lit by warm orange lights. Woodwork everywhere, holding rows of books and gleaming dully around bearskins and crackling in the fireplace. "You are welcome to browse them whenever you like - you are staying at least for the night, I hope? It must have been a long journey for you and your family."
Anastasiya turned to face the man, looking up at him slightly now that they stood closer. He was the taller of the two - Anastasiya's eyes came to rest on his cheeks, if she were to look straight ahead. "Do you ride, Nikolai? I want to show you the stables."
She had not missed the flash of concern in his eyes - a panicked flutter of wings behind grey irises. But what was it that rattled him? The last thing he had spoken about was to do with the socialists, their intentions and what they brought to the people. Unless he has more to do with them than he let slip? Anastasiya brushed off the silly notion. She has heard and learned all about these 'new thinkers', as they called themselves, and perceiving something only through words written and spoken often gave one a very skewed idea of what said thing was in actuality. In her mind Anastasiya envisioned these people to be irrational idealists, easy to be told apart from the likes of herself or any sane person in the flesh. Easy to be told apart from a well-mannered young gentleman, one from a good family and with good education. To think that they were anything alike, it was ludicrous.
Anastasiya chose not to dwell on that note.
"I'm sure you have noticed the extensive amount of portraits here," She started, turning to Nikolai with a faint smile as she gestured to the walls. "These were all painted by my uncle Igor. He had a passion for.. painting his subjects in the nude. As you can see a large number of projects here were for elder men - he is living in France now, where his talents are more suited."
She stopped and pushed open the heavy oaken door to her right. "Our library. Nowhere near as grand as that of your university, I'm sure, but it does hold many editions no longer available to the world." The room was a comforting one, all earth tones and lit by warm orange lights. Woodwork everywhere, holding rows of books and gleaming dully around bearskins and crackling in the fireplace. "You are welcome to browse them whenever you like - you are staying at least for the night, I hope? It must have been a long journey for you and your family."
Anastasiya turned to face the man, looking up at him slightly now that they stood closer. He was the taller of the two - Anastasiya's eyes came to rest on his cheeks, if she were to look straight ahead. "Do you ride, Nikolai? I want to show you the stables."
<Snipped quote by Vilageidiotx>
Also in the southern hemisphere it's summer holidays.
Classes/work/life approaches at maximum velocity.
Anastasiya watched the man hesitate. It was the first time - ever since Nikolai had come in the door he had spoken freely, and now he seemed to choose his words with care. She listened all the more intently, nodding when he was finished.
"Russia is a country of many things but it is not wealthy. The land does not produce enough to feed its people and winter is harsh, some starve or die on the fringe of it. The Tsar mourns. But what is a father to do when there is not enough food on the table for his children? If bread is all that they want it would be simpler but from the way they talk, Nikolai. I'm afraid like any man starved long and hard enough they will be satisfied with nought but blood." Anastasiya seemed to speak on one breath and when she caught herself, settled back properly into the seat she'd started to perch on the edge of. From what she could make out Nikolai held.. favour? Or sympathy for the socialists, and she ought to learn more about him. Anastasiya rose from the chair.
"But I am being rude. Have you had time to acquaint yourself with the house yet? I will give you a tour if you like."
"Russia is a country of many things but it is not wealthy. The land does not produce enough to feed its people and winter is harsh, some starve or die on the fringe of it. The Tsar mourns. But what is a father to do when there is not enough food on the table for his children? If bread is all that they want it would be simpler but from the way they talk, Nikolai. I'm afraid like any man starved long and hard enough they will be satisfied with nought but blood." Anastasiya seemed to speak on one breath and when she caught herself, settled back properly into the seat she'd started to perch on the edge of. From what she could make out Nikolai held.. favour? Or sympathy for the socialists, and she ought to learn more about him. Anastasiya rose from the chair.
"But I am being rude. Have you had time to acquaint yourself with the house yet? I will give you a tour if you like."
"We wouldn't send anyone back to their family." Maria answered quietly. "They have either died or fled, tracking them down would a useless and unnecessary mission. If any of us dies here, there's a pit that's waiting. There will be no body bags for us."
When the prisoner was out of sight, the woman allowed herself to look a little weary. It was always the same, at the end of the road - these men antagonize the world, the system, her. And where was her choice in all of this? Where was her say when she received the phone call to tell her her hometown had been compromised and this was the only thing she could do to help? We'd be the survivors. She thought, but left the answer to the second question unsaid.
As the guards escorted the man to the showers, Maria headed to the kitchenette. It wasn't much, since all of their meals were microwaveable. She pulled out a container with colours of brown and white and green from the fridge and set the timer. It looked like mush, but probably still an upgrade from prison food. In the time it took to heat up, Maria considered what the prisoner had told her. Not in the best of health, if he was on a bunch of meds just to function likes a normal human being, but these max security inmates rarely were - and compared to the ones that came before him he was in fairly good shape. Maria filled up a glass water as well and set it on what passed as a dining table with the plastic container. When Ajax comes back he would find Maria sat in the chair opposite, scribbling into a notebook she'd pulled out of her labcoat.
@SgtEasy
When the prisoner was out of sight, the woman allowed herself to look a little weary. It was always the same, at the end of the road - these men antagonize the world, the system, her. And where was her choice in all of this? Where was her say when she received the phone call to tell her her hometown had been compromised and this was the only thing she could do to help? We'd be the survivors. She thought, but left the answer to the second question unsaid.
As the guards escorted the man to the showers, Maria headed to the kitchenette. It wasn't much, since all of their meals were microwaveable. She pulled out a container with colours of brown and white and green from the fridge and set the timer. It looked like mush, but probably still an upgrade from prison food. In the time it took to heat up, Maria considered what the prisoner had told her. Not in the best of health, if he was on a bunch of meds just to function likes a normal human being, but these max security inmates rarely were - and compared to the ones that came before him he was in fairly good shape. Maria filled up a glass water as well and set it on what passed as a dining table with the plastic container. When Ajax comes back he would find Maria sat in the chair opposite, scribbling into a notebook she'd pulled out of her labcoat.
@SgtEasy
In the time that it took Nikolai to complete the sketch, Anastasiya was quiet, studying at the man curiously as his eyes flickered between her and the page. It was a strange feeling, being intently examined as if she were something to be understood and then recorded.
"That's very good, Nikolai." Anastasiya smiled as he showed her the drawing. In ways the sketch was much more than the oil portraits painted of her and her family - simple, but only capturing the essence of the subject and unfazed by a myriad of details. "So you're a man of many talents." And so far proving to be much more impressive than the previous 'matches' her parents had pressed her to consider. She could see why her father had been enthusiastic to say the least, when he brought up Nikolai.
"And what of hungry men? What will demotivate them?" She pressed on an earlier subject. The prospect of conversing on this topic with someone was an exciting one for Anastasiya - her father did not deem it of importance and her mother wished she would speak more about the fashions of Paris and London. Nikolai ought to be learned on the subject, from what she's heard, and Anastasiya was interested in digging his brain. "These socialists, their supporters grow by the day. They're mostly peasants on empty stomachs, lead by idealists filling their minds with ideas from film machines in darkened rooms. People start to think they have much to gain from overthrowing the Tsar and - while that sounds far-stretched, who is the Tsar going to lead if there is no one left willing to be led?"
Anastasiya sat a little straighter in her chair, speaking with a passion and urgency her mother often wished she wouldn't show for such crude matters.
"That's very good, Nikolai." Anastasiya smiled as he showed her the drawing. In ways the sketch was much more than the oil portraits painted of her and her family - simple, but only capturing the essence of the subject and unfazed by a myriad of details. "So you're a man of many talents." And so far proving to be much more impressive than the previous 'matches' her parents had pressed her to consider. She could see why her father had been enthusiastic to say the least, when he brought up Nikolai.
"And what of hungry men? What will demotivate them?" She pressed on an earlier subject. The prospect of conversing on this topic with someone was an exciting one for Anastasiya - her father did not deem it of importance and her mother wished she would speak more about the fashions of Paris and London. Nikolai ought to be learned on the subject, from what she's heard, and Anastasiya was interested in digging his brain. "These socialists, their supporters grow by the day. They're mostly peasants on empty stomachs, lead by idealists filling their minds with ideas from film machines in darkened rooms. People start to think they have much to gain from overthrowing the Tsar and - while that sounds far-stretched, who is the Tsar going to lead if there is no one left willing to be led?"
Anastasiya sat a little straighter in her chair, speaking with a passion and urgency her mother often wished she wouldn't show for such crude matters.
"Yes, I have heard all about it. And that is an interesting take. How do you propose we strip a man of his will to fight?"
Anastasiya had grown up with books of warfare, of ancient Egypt and China, of tribesmen in far away lands with arrows, of galleys and cannons. In her lifetime she had seen again and again rich men declare war, and poor men die conducting it. Sometimes it was to expand borders and reap the gold of others, sometimes it was out of misunderstanding and spite. From what Anastasiya understood of the world - men will always want to fight. But she held her tongue and moved to sit. When her father was who he was and she was who she was, it was a rare thing to hear someone not echo whatever came out of her mouth. Anastasiya thought back to what she had heard about Nikolai.
"Architecture? Nature? Your university?"
She used up her three guesses all at once. Me? It wouldn't be the first time, but how conceited for a lady to assume that.
Anastasiya had grown up with books of warfare, of ancient Egypt and China, of tribesmen in far away lands with arrows, of galleys and cannons. In her lifetime she had seen again and again rich men declare war, and poor men die conducting it. Sometimes it was to expand borders and reap the gold of others, sometimes it was out of misunderstanding and spite. From what Anastasiya understood of the world - men will always want to fight. But she held her tongue and moved to sit. When her father was who he was and she was who she was, it was a rare thing to hear someone not echo whatever came out of her mouth. Anastasiya thought back to what she had heard about Nikolai.
"Architecture? Nature? Your university?"
She used up her three guesses all at once. Me? It wouldn't be the first time, but how conceited for a lady to assume that.
In
Run with me, little beast! (all pairings, plots, original)
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8 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
Updated & still looking! <3
"I suppose that's a freedom reserved for those without the burden of a family name." Anastasiya mused. She's moved on to the daggers now, cleaning and giving them the attention they missed. "My mother did not get that choice. My father.. well." She smiled to herself, "And I doubt their parents before them got any say in the matter either. It does sound quite catching though, doesn't it? The son of Russia's greatest weapon merchant and the daughter of the Tsar's first general."
Finally she set down the things in her hands and turned to focus her full attention on Nikolai. The riding outfit made no attempt to obscure the figure underneath it - curved at the right places, with evidence of strength that came from her time spent with the horses. Anastasiya tilted her head in the slightest as she watched the man work over his notebook.
"What are you drawing?" Curiosity got the better of her.
Finally she set down the things in her hands and turned to focus her full attention on Nikolai. The riding outfit made no attempt to obscure the figure underneath it - curved at the right places, with evidence of strength that came from her time spent with the horses. Anastasiya tilted her head in the slightest as she watched the man work over his notebook.
"What are you drawing?" Curiosity got the better of her.
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