Galina's dark eyes glanced to the black-lacquered cane she had heretofore thought a simple Western affectation, to the leg it seemed pained the man with the gentle smile. Her eyes did not linger though, not for more than a moment. Whether she would or no, his admission of weakness struck a chord in her, a thrum of sympathy - pity even - though not a jot of it showed on the sweet, uncomplicated face of the Baronessa. He was far too young to be lame, and there was nothing of a deformity about him she had noted, that suggested he was born so. All the years of a warrior should still lay ahead of him. Such a wretched waste...
The Baronessa, abashed as she seemed by the paucity of her English, could still follow the erstwhile man's gestures, and his own heavily-accented words. It seemed she and the young Japanese man might yet be the answer to one another's prayers this evening.
Though her cheeks were still rose-blushed, she eagerly nodded her understanding, and held out her hand to accept his invitation-of-a-sort, qualified as it might be. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Galina slipped her arm beneath his own, the length of her forearm running along his entirely. Her fingers and thumb wrapped about his wrist as she nodded her head gracefully, still smiling as she walked toward the staircase. A near imperceptible dip of her head said without a word passed between them, that he should take the thick oak banister with the other hand - that for this ascent, she would be the cane that no man would see.
If she seemed far stronger or sturdier than a gentlewoman ought, Galina doubted her companion would comment or complain, even if he should take notice. With her free hand, she lifted the lengths of her skirt just enough to clear the exquisitely carpeted risers.
The couple moved slowly, sedately. There was no hurry, after all. To all appearances, they would have been most thoroughly enjoying one another's company, in absolutely no rush to part or see an end to this lovely evening. Lovers, or simply art lovers, it mattered not at all. The pair blended easily into the elegant ensemble at the Winchester Estate.
"Galina," she said softly, her voice not much louder than a whisper, meeting her new companion's gaze as they began their ascent. "I am Galina. Galina Demidova. I call you... ?"
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That would be wonderful, to hear from you both today LP and Hellis, when you finish your posts!
And I have to admit, I'm ridiculously excited to see what a collab between Dot and Heroes is going to look like... *grins*
And I have to admit, I'm ridiculously excited to see what a collab between Dot and Heroes is going to look like... *grins*
Wonderful to have your post in Serge, and yes! Better yet, that you'll be able to interact more meaningfully with the group as well *cheers* 
Galina nodded and smiled, though not too widely of course, not too brightly. These Americans were, after all, the descendents of Puritans still rapt with their precious Victorianism - and a good five years behind the more fashionable East Coast styles at any rate. As was appropriate, Papa had brought her a program, and a dance card... How quaint.
Her dark eyes widened in something that might have resembled demure acquiescence - or perhaps a plea for mercy? A promise of impending doom? No, no certainly not that...
The young woman remained at her father's side, surreptitiously slipping the program and dance card into her beaded hand bag as if it had never been, skillfully dodging the interested gazes of any single-seeming young gentleman with a facade of gentle shyness, or a coy inability to understand the English language quite yet. All polite smiles and blank, slightly startled looks and gentle laughter as bright as cut crystal in candlelight, Galina maneuvered through the glittering crowd on her Papa's arm, like a clipper through the choppiest seas.
And always in the back of her mind, the layout of the Winchester home was moving from two-dimensional blueprints she had spent days memorizing, to a three dimensional map as she surreptitiously studied every least detail, from ceiling height to furniture placement. By no means did she avoid looking toward the grand stairwell, leading to the second floor mezzanine that surrounded the magnificent great room. Avoidance, after all, can be a clarion call to notice, even in such a large, merry-making crowd as this.
The triple sets of French doors were opened to the back veranda, the warm California night breeze and the strains of music floating in from the gaily lit lanterns festooned over the immaculately manicured lawns where the dancing had begun. Baron Demidov looked to his daughter, so sweetly reluctant to join such a large gay crowd who spoke a language she still found so unfamiliar.
And besides, the young Baronessa had already been introduced to many thus far as an aspiring student of art and architecture. A father's eye could easily see she seemed enthralled by her love wood and stone; that the call of beam and angle and exquisite craftsmanship had overcome her at any rate. She would far rather explore the nooks and crannies of this magnificent home than make pained attempts at small talk. Always with her papers and parchments and charcoal-stained fingers, his little artiste.
Yet Papa must make his way among these acquaintances and potential business partners, political allies and foes alike. There was simply no help for it. Galina and her father spoke briefly, a tender kiss to her forehead as they walked by that grand stairwell. The Baronessa laughed softly, shooing her father toward the music, watching his back as he disappeared into the night and the dance.
And it was at that moment, Galina bit her lip softly, realizing her mistake as a few of the older matrons passed by where she stood. Prudish, shriveled American faces scowled in disapproval of her obvious male escort-less-ness. Of course...
It was all the she-wolf could do, to force her dark eyes to fall to the floor demurely, and not bare her teeth and snarl fiercely at their presumptuousness. But if she were going to try for quiet, unnoticed anonymity, neither snapping at these dried up old husks nor remaining here by herself so "brazenly" would much help that cause. Galina took a deep breath, her gaze darting about for a suitable escape route -
- And landed on a Godsend, wrapped and handed to her as if by the hands of the Divine Himself. Oh truly, He was with her this night. A smiling young man, well-dressed and handsome - and obviously a foreigner as well, with the Japanese cast to his face. Just perfect. Made to order, in truth. Though he might have little love for the Tsar, something about that pleasant, charming smile said he would not object to obviously at the least, to the imposition of one of Russia's darker lights.
"Dobryy vecher, ser,"* she said, her voice only barely above a whisper as she approached him, bowing her head respectfully, "Oh... Excuse... Good even? English, is no good." Galina allowed a blush to rise to her cheeks, as if she were truly mortified by both her forwardness and her inability to speak the language of these lands.
She let one hand gesture toward the mezzanine above them, toward the gallery where a few of the guests were walking and talking, observing the various masterpieces that Winchester money could afford. "You like... Art? With me?"
(( *Good evening, sir ))
Her dark eyes widened in something that might have resembled demure acquiescence - or perhaps a plea for mercy? A promise of impending doom? No, no certainly not that...
The young woman remained at her father's side, surreptitiously slipping the program and dance card into her beaded hand bag as if it had never been, skillfully dodging the interested gazes of any single-seeming young gentleman with a facade of gentle shyness, or a coy inability to understand the English language quite yet. All polite smiles and blank, slightly startled looks and gentle laughter as bright as cut crystal in candlelight, Galina maneuvered through the glittering crowd on her Papa's arm, like a clipper through the choppiest seas.
And always in the back of her mind, the layout of the Winchester home was moving from two-dimensional blueprints she had spent days memorizing, to a three dimensional map as she surreptitiously studied every least detail, from ceiling height to furniture placement. By no means did she avoid looking toward the grand stairwell, leading to the second floor mezzanine that surrounded the magnificent great room. Avoidance, after all, can be a clarion call to notice, even in such a large, merry-making crowd as this.
The triple sets of French doors were opened to the back veranda, the warm California night breeze and the strains of music floating in from the gaily lit lanterns festooned over the immaculately manicured lawns where the dancing had begun. Baron Demidov looked to his daughter, so sweetly reluctant to join such a large gay crowd who spoke a language she still found so unfamiliar.
And besides, the young Baronessa had already been introduced to many thus far as an aspiring student of art and architecture. A father's eye could easily see she seemed enthralled by her love wood and stone; that the call of beam and angle and exquisite craftsmanship had overcome her at any rate. She would far rather explore the nooks and crannies of this magnificent home than make pained attempts at small talk. Always with her papers and parchments and charcoal-stained fingers, his little artiste.
Yet Papa must make his way among these acquaintances and potential business partners, political allies and foes alike. There was simply no help for it. Galina and her father spoke briefly, a tender kiss to her forehead as they walked by that grand stairwell. The Baronessa laughed softly, shooing her father toward the music, watching his back as he disappeared into the night and the dance.
And it was at that moment, Galina bit her lip softly, realizing her mistake as a few of the older matrons passed by where she stood. Prudish, shriveled American faces scowled in disapproval of her obvious male escort-less-ness. Of course...
It was all the she-wolf could do, to force her dark eyes to fall to the floor demurely, and not bare her teeth and snarl fiercely at their presumptuousness. But if she were going to try for quiet, unnoticed anonymity, neither snapping at these dried up old husks nor remaining here by herself so "brazenly" would much help that cause. Galina took a deep breath, her gaze darting about for a suitable escape route -
- And landed on a Godsend, wrapped and handed to her as if by the hands of the Divine Himself. Oh truly, He was with her this night. A smiling young man, well-dressed and handsome - and obviously a foreigner as well, with the Japanese cast to his face. Just perfect. Made to order, in truth. Though he might have little love for the Tsar, something about that pleasant, charming smile said he would not object to obviously at the least, to the imposition of one of Russia's darker lights.
"Dobryy vecher, ser,"* she said, her voice only barely above a whisper as she approached him, bowing her head respectfully, "Oh... Excuse... Good even? English, is no good." Galina allowed a blush to rise to her cheeks, as if she were truly mortified by both her forwardness and her inability to speak the language of these lands.
She let one hand gesture toward the mezzanine above them, toward the gallery where a few of the guests were walking and talking, observing the various masterpieces that Winchester money could afford. "You like... Art? With me?"
(( *Good evening, sir ))
Play hard indeed, T - it looks like we certainly will be, with all the lovely posts in the night and morning! XD Yes, I'll take Thad along happily, but I'll wait [for just a bit ;) ], for people who've said they intended to post.
There we go! Finished up the post, and had a touch of fun this morning. And... *lobs ball at your head with a cheeky grin* Right back at ya there 
Rich chestnut hair piled stylishly atop her head, the lengths were left to fall in a cascade of waves from beneath her stylish, dove grey chapeau. The stately lines of her ice blue and pale grey evening gown wove perfectly into the charcoal suit of the tall man beside her, their slow steps as they ascended the polished granite stairs in perfect time.
"Da, Papa. Of course." Baronessa Galina Demidova smiled sweetly up to the stately gentleman at her side, her gloved hand resting elegantly on his arm. He cut such a dashing figure still, salt and pepper hair cut short about the nape of his neck, his neatly trimmed beard lending a certain gravitas to his presence that Galina found eminently comforting.
"Tonight will be most... Abundant." Galina laughed, her thickly accented voice warbled in the evening air between them, filled with warm music.
Dark laughing eyes, the very match of her own, looked down at her full of tender affection and unending devotion. How he loved the sound of her voice. In another life he mused, she might have been an opera singer, a chanteuse to make men weep with joy or despair at the slightest whim of inflection. But that life would have to be one lived without duty, without honor or fealty or undying purpose. Even so, Baron Vasily Demidov would take what enjoyment he could in this world. He was, after all, one of only a handful of men who heard his daughter's unparalleled voice, and continued to walk this good Earth.
A smile to match her own as he spoke, reaching to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear. "Third floor office, fourth door to the right. Not terribly original, but these are Americans after all, lacking a subtlety that many long centuries will bring a people. You will be on your own from there. God watch over your every least step, moya malen'kaya noch' volk."*
"He watches over my every least breath Papa; knows the number of hairs on my head." Galina patted her father's arm with her gloved fingers, gentle reassurance. "Shall we?" She nodded her head to the top of the stairs with a knowing smile.
Introductions were made, Baron Demidov politely acquainting his daughter with Mr. and Mrs. Winchester, a great deal of small talk made with the charming Russian nobleman so well-connected with the Tsar, the entirety of the Romanov family in truth, and wasn't that just lovely? Nobility was so rare to find in America, much less here in California! And isn't your daughter simply lovely - perhaps some of our gentle guests will help the sweet child find her voice, and practice her English if she should wish? We pray you will find Americans to be some of the friendliest people in all the world, sir...
And with precious little fanfare, the wolves traipsed into the sheep pen through the front gate.
(( *my little night wolf ))
"Da, Papa. Of course." Baronessa Galina Demidova smiled sweetly up to the stately gentleman at her side, her gloved hand resting elegantly on his arm. He cut such a dashing figure still, salt and pepper hair cut short about the nape of his neck, his neatly trimmed beard lending a certain gravitas to his presence that Galina found eminently comforting.
"Tonight will be most... Abundant." Galina laughed, her thickly accented voice warbled in the evening air between them, filled with warm music.
Dark laughing eyes, the very match of her own, looked down at her full of tender affection and unending devotion. How he loved the sound of her voice. In another life he mused, she might have been an opera singer, a chanteuse to make men weep with joy or despair at the slightest whim of inflection. But that life would have to be one lived without duty, without honor or fealty or undying purpose. Even so, Baron Vasily Demidov would take what enjoyment he could in this world. He was, after all, one of only a handful of men who heard his daughter's unparalleled voice, and continued to walk this good Earth.
A smile to match her own as he spoke, reaching to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear. "Third floor office, fourth door to the right. Not terribly original, but these are Americans after all, lacking a subtlety that many long centuries will bring a people. You will be on your own from there. God watch over your every least step, moya malen'kaya noch' volk."*
"He watches over my every least breath Papa; knows the number of hairs on my head." Galina patted her father's arm with her gloved fingers, gentle reassurance. "Shall we?" She nodded her head to the top of the stairs with a knowing smile.
Introductions were made, Baron Demidov politely acquainting his daughter with Mr. and Mrs. Winchester, a great deal of small talk made with the charming Russian nobleman so well-connected with the Tsar, the entirety of the Romanov family in truth, and wasn't that just lovely? Nobility was so rare to find in America, much less here in California! And isn't your daughter simply lovely - perhaps some of our gentle guests will help the sweet child find her voice, and practice her English if she should wish? We pray you will find Americans to be some of the friendliest people in all the world, sir...
And with precious little fanfare, the wolves traipsed into the sheep pen through the front gate.
(( *my little night wolf ))
1899 - San Jose, California
The Winchester Estates
The grand staircase ascending to the sprawling Victorian mansion was lit with oil lamps encased in bejeweled-colored glass that illuminated the steady, stately stream of celebrants to the Winchester Estate. Similar lights festooned every one of the numerous windows facing out to the cobbled circular drive, as if to drench every shadow with emerald and sapphire and ruby hues.
Which was only ever appropriate. This night was for the crown jewel of the Winchester family, the lovely Annie Pardee Winchester Howe. The only child of William and Sarah, it mattered not in the least she was well into her third decade, married and mother of two growing boys of her own. The birthday of the scion of the Winchester family was no trifling matter.
All the dizzying variety of foreign dignitaries, businessmen, and high society to be found in California converged on the mansion tonight had reasons to be here this night. To see. To be seen.
To steal blind.
Galina's laughing dark eyes surveyed the swaying silks and dapper suits and shining leather finery of those ascending the stairs ahead of her, to be greeted by their host and hostess. The strains of violins flowed from the doorway as a gentle summer stream, tripping lightly down the white granite steps to play in the jewel-colored nighttime lawns.
Some small part of the lady wished she might as well, but that was silliness and Galina had put such childish notions away long, long ago. But that did not mean such thoughts did not occasionally roll off their carefully collected shelves.
The Winchester Estates
The grand staircase ascending to the sprawling Victorian mansion was lit with oil lamps encased in bejeweled-colored glass that illuminated the steady, stately stream of celebrants to the Winchester Estate. Similar lights festooned every one of the numerous windows facing out to the cobbled circular drive, as if to drench every shadow with emerald and sapphire and ruby hues.
Which was only ever appropriate. This night was for the crown jewel of the Winchester family, the lovely Annie Pardee Winchester Howe. The only child of William and Sarah, it mattered not in the least she was well into her third decade, married and mother of two growing boys of her own. The birthday of the scion of the Winchester family was no trifling matter.
All the dizzying variety of foreign dignitaries, businessmen, and high society to be found in California converged on the mansion tonight had reasons to be here this night. To see. To be seen.
To steal blind.
Galina's laughing dark eyes surveyed the swaying silks and dapper suits and shining leather finery of those ascending the stairs ahead of her, to be greeted by their host and hostess. The strains of violins flowed from the doorway as a gentle summer stream, tripping lightly down the white granite steps to play in the jewel-colored nighttime lawns.
Some small part of the lady wished she might as well, but that was silliness and Galina had put such childish notions away long, long ago. But that did not mean such thoughts did not occasionally roll off their carefully collected shelves.
Well it's a start at the very least, and a setting! I apologize that the brain is not working near so well as it should - but at least our thread exists!
Welcome back Panda, and it's good to have you back, and good to hear you had a great weekend - even if a touch tired and tiring. And looking forward to your post, Serge :)
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