I did it!
Right, I'm finished. That's good because there's only a week of holidays left :) The newest are at the bottom, because I didn't really want to sort them. The ACs are grouped however, so "Regrets" has been moved.
Uhm, on with the show then...
Claim: Dimitri
Themes: NEW: Hate, Day, Night, Friends, Thank you, Rose & Cinema
Completed:30/30
Snow
He couldn't sleep. All around him he could hear the even breathing of those sleeping. Quietly, carefully he climbed over the shadowy figures of the other servant boys, sleeping on the floor, making his way to the only window in the room. Finally it loomed in front of him. His tiny hand grabbed the frame for support as he began climbing the windowsill. Pressing his warm face against the glass, the four-year-old boy stared into the darkness. Snowflakes were falling. Dimitri smiled. How he longed to play in the snow, but he was never allowed. Smiling, he began to dream.
Cold
Trudging through several feet of snow Dimitri made his way to the black market. Vlad would arrive in a few minutes. Standing in the biting cold, Dimitri rubbed his hands, softly blowing them. They were red. He buried the tip of his nose in his scarf, hiding the lover half of his face. Never had a winter seemed this cold and grey. Small ice crystals had formed in his lashes. When they'd have the ten million roubles he would never go out in winter. He would sit in front of a blazing warm fire. He would never feel cold again.
Sleep
The storm had passed. Gently rocking the ship almost lulled him back to sleep, but he couldn't. He had promised her to stay awake, to guard her. Running his hand through his hair he turned around. His eyes had long adjusted themselves to the darkness. He saw her sleeping form, caressed by the moonlight. Her features were soft and peaceful when she was sleeping. He remembered her shivering body pressed against him only hours ago. He had felt the strong urge to protect her. Never before had she seemed so vulnerable and small. She sighed in her sleep. Dimitri smiled.
Luck
"Good luck," he whispered and blew a kiss to the window. The car stood empty in front of Sophie's house. He wouldn't be there, because she would not want to say goodbye and to be there meant to hope she would. To wish her good luck was the only thing he could do now. He meant it. She would have her beloved grandmother back, her family. He remembered now: the anniversary, the look of joy on her face when her grandmother had promised her a reunion in Paris. Luck had made this promise come true. Who was he to interrupt?
Music
The music mounted to a crescendo. The giant ballroom was illuminated and an enormous chandelier was putting the sun to shame. Hundreds of people were dancing, wearing colours Dimitri had never seen in his life. He rubbed an apple on his shirt, watching the crowed in silent amazement. The music the servants played was wilder and yet, mournful and sad. It told stories. This music didn't, it was dead music, artificially composed. It resembled the well choreographed dance on the floor, which was nothing like the dances he knew. Then he heard it: a haunting melody sung by two voices.
Dead
There was a soft thump seconds before the pain came. All he could see were blinding white sparks, but he could feel the ache. It felt as though his skull would burst. Like fire it travelled down his spine. His legs gave in and he fell. Blackness embraced him. Was he dead? Was this how it felt: numb, blind, deaf? He couldn't feel the air on his face, the air that carried the remnants of their terror. He didn't see her victory over her past. It was only him and a blinding light. He didn't want to leave, not yet.
Fight
He saw the green light from afar, the glow which he had come to fear. Dropping his belongings Dimitri started to run. Chasing the light, he arrived at a bridge. Huge horses loomed like vultures. He heard her frightened scream. It rang in his ears. There, on the bridge, stood a man dressed like a holy man. But he was none, Dimitri knew. His fist smashed the man's face, but Dimitri didn't give him a second glance. Anya. Sliding down the destroyed part of the bridge, Dimitri grabbed her hand. They would fight side by side for their life together.
Ring
Heavy boots hit the pavement, tripping over the cracks. Dimitri was gasping for breath, hoping he wouldn't be too late. He entered the decaying room. An old man with a withered face looked at him. "Dedushka," Dimitri sat down on the bedside. "Mitja," the old man whispered. With visible effort, he lifted a hand to stroke Dimitri's hair. The old man pulled his hand from underneath the cover and opened it, revealing a beautifully crafted ring. "It was your grandmother's," he paused," I want you to have them…mine and hers." Dimitri nodded. He sat with his grandfather holding his hand.
Family
He couldn't remember their faces. His mother's must have been loving, he imagined. And his father? Serious? Loving? Strict? He didn't know. He remembered the day they had given him away. It wasn't their fault. Not really. The land they worked hadn't offered enough for them. His grandfather had taken him away. Even though he had stopped talking to his daughter, who had married a man he didn't like, had he offered to take care of him: the youngest son, a kitchen-boy in the palace for so many years, a con-man in St. Petersburg, a husband and father in Paris.
Memories
Tasha. It was the name of the ship that had brought them to Paris. A nightmare and a waltz had brought them together. Nikolai was the name of her father, and of their eldest son. Vladimir, his best friend, passed so many years ago. The wall, which he had opened to let her escape; the Palais Garnier, where all was nearly lost; Rasputin, the terror that haunted her dreams; Pooka, a dog who led her to him; a music box and a secret lullaby, a princess and a kitchen boy. Memories from long ago, passing like shadows through his mind.
Book
Vladimir looked at the young boy. Surprise and shock were evident in his face. "You can't read?" The boy shook his head, strands of hair hiding his face. "Well you will learn." It was the boys turn to look baffled. The tall man laughed. "Don't look at me like this. Those are very useful abilities, both reading and writing, especially in this city, where they are rare, but needed." The boy looked at him puzzled. Vladimir pulled a dusty book from one of the tsar's library shelves. They'd gain a reputation for writing. Not books, but things sorely needed: papers.
Sky
Dimitri stared at the sky. He had seen this man, who flew a plane. Charles Lindberg. If only he had a plane and could fly. He'd fly away now. Fly away before the morning came, when they would send for him. The day he would have to let her go. He wouldn't take the reward money, because every coin he'd spend would remind him of her. He had betrayed the one he loved. His things were packed. He had taken the liberty of keeping the suits Sophie had bought him, though they would be of little use back in Russia.
Alive
Laughter flew through the air like music, when he lifted her and swung her around. Her arms around his neck they whirled, finally together, in Paris. The stars sparkled, mirroring the mirth that shone in her eyes. With amazement he remembered the softness of her lips when she had kissed him. He had never felt so alive. Finally, he had found a place he belonged. Wherever Anya was, his Anya, he would be home. He looked at her beautiful face, memorizing each curl of her red hair. Though her dress was dusty and torn, she looked like a real princess.
Endings
Clouds of smoke hung deeply in the sky. The reflection of fire dancing on them they stayed where all life had left. Everything that had once been, was no more. The smell of burned wood stained the air. Flames had licked the old walls of the palace, but it hadn't given in to their seduction. Where there had been crying and laughter mere hours ago was now only emptiness. The halls and ballroom lay in eerie silence like a sleeping giant in an old fairy tale. This was the ending of the life he had lived for so many years.
Beginnings
A woman screamed. Nodding approvingly an elderly lady wiped the sweat of her brow. It wouldn't take long; it would all be over soon her eyes seemed to say. Hazel hair stuck to the young woman's head, darkened by perspiration to a deep brown. Briefly she wondered what life had in store for her baby. She didn't have much time to dream and what she wished for was simple: a healthy, strong child that wouldn't die during its first winter. She was tired of losing. Beginnings were tough, but she felt that this time, she would see it grow up.
Time
What time was it? He didn't know. Her small body was pressed against him, her heart beating slower and steadier, now. Maybe he should have let her go. She hadn't cried, but still her head was buried in his chest. Was it improper to hold her? To feel the warmth of her body through her soaked clothing? Did she want to be held? His shirt was clinging to his body, but he wasn't feeling the cold. Maybe only seconds had passed since he had pulled her back? Maybe they had been standing like this for hours? Maybe time didn't matter.
Pain
It hurt to see her dance with another man. She was stunning. How could he have mistaken her for anything but what she really was? Who she really was: a princess, his princess, heir to the Russian throne and he a humble servant. The new clothes Sophie had bought him didn't fit. He felt uncomfortable in the glittering world of Paris, where everything was flamboyant and gay. He had never felt a pain like this. It stung and he knew it would never heal. Gone was his Anya, the obstinate brat. This was Anastasia. He could only watch her dance.
Stars
He recognised Vlad's footsteps. The heavy boots sounded much too loud on the boards of the ship. Dimitri knew that he'd want to talk about what had happened. Fat chance he would get an answer. He didn't even know himself. But instead of interrogating him, the elder man just stood beside him, leaning on the rail, staring at the trail the ship left. Dusk came and they still stood there, not talking, as they approached their dream. Dimitri relaxed. He could make out the first stars on the horizon. Unbelievable that they always shone, but you couldn't always see them.
Mail
Unbelieving he watched her place the crown into a small box. Nobody would guess that this package held such a treasure. He vividly remembered thousands of people bowing their heads to the bearer of this crown, just like he had on a staircase. He smirked as her brows furrowed in concentration. She was carefully wording a letter to her grandmother, letting her know that she had chosen him. She had chosen him. He hoped he wouldn't wake. If this was a dream, he wanted to sleep forever. Finally she had finished. Whoever had heard of a crown returned by mail?
Fear
The thick carpet didn't muffle their steps. Closer and closer they came. He pushed the girl through the opening. Her blue eyes locked with his. Both of them scared. She turned away and ran. The wall closed, swallowing the girl and her grandmother. He was left alone with his fear. His heart was thumping loudly, the blood in his ears was roaring deafeningly. Still, he could hear them: boots hammering, voices calling orders, doors slamming, screams of terror, frightened voices, and commands mingling to form the voice of terror. There was no way out. Suddenly, the door was pushed open.
Rain
The rain fell like curtains. Dimitri stared into the night. He took a deep breath of fresh air. How he loved the smell of rain. The huge window was opened wide and he sat, leaning against the frame, his bare feet stabilizing him on the other side. The wet pavement reflected the flickering lights of the streetlamps, shining like stars in a world turned up side down. He tilted his head slowly, his brown hair hiding his face now. There was another rainy night he remembered very well. Whatever would happen, he would always treasure the memory of this night.
Love
"Of course I do," he exclaimed while balancing a cup of scalding hot water over to the bed. "Even if you look as hideous as you do right now," he winked and ducked a pillow. With a heavy sigh she had turned around, demonstratively showing him the cold shoulder and her curvy back. He sat down, still balancing the teacup and stroked her back. "I do love you… I do, I do, I do…and I forever will, even when you have a cold." Slowly her head crowned with tousled hair turned around. "Bweally?" He nodded and offered her the cup.
Hate
Hatred, burning like fire under a cold surface of ice. The handprint still visible on his cheek, he picked up the brush and started scrubbing again. Grinding his teeth he climbed half-ways into the large pot. He wouldn't cry. A large lump was forming in his throat. One day nobody would be able to hurt him. He would take no more. Embarrassment and humiliation would be left far behind. He could hear her laughter, mocking him. Why, if she upset the pot, the chef would be angry. But he couldn't scold her. Instead he turned on him…it was only logic.
Night
A limousine carried them through the endless streets of Paris. He felt oddly out of place in his fancy suit. Lights were flashing, blurring into a multicoloured stream. Who could miss St. Petersburg in this city, which was pulsing with live? Even the dark sky of the night seemed alight, far away. A smile stole across his lips. Watching people through the cars window, he let his mind wander. Vlad was shifting nervously in his seat. Why was he still worried about the plan? Nothing could go wrong now. Besides, Vlad had his Sophie, he didn't need the money anymore.
Day
Another day. Dimitri sighed and rolled over in bed. Frost was icing the window. Opening his eyes, he blinked into the daylight. Vlad was humming somewhere. Slowly, Dimitri got up and crossed the room to the bathroom. There would be no warm water left, there never was. He picked up a small pot and headed to the window to get some snow. Soon the samovar was bubbling merrily next to a pot of boiling water. Carefully Dimitri started to shave. He had considered growing a beard similar to Vlad's. Sipping his tea he studied the papers he had finished yesterday.
Regrets (AC1)
It was his fault, he supposed. He had let his guard down and love had snuck in. Quietly it had taken down all the walls he had built up so carefully. But instead of the wonderful feeling he had been told to expect, there was nothing but shame. Her words rung in his ear: "You used me." Yes, he had. It had seemed so easy. Find an impersonator and get the money. Never had he thought about the hurt he would inflict. Regrets didn't work. There was no way to undo what had been done, however much he longed to.
Friends (AC 2)
Arms wrapped around him. An embrace returned. The concern in Vlad's voice was evident. Similar memories of happier days, days that didn't mean goodbye. Swimming in icy rivers, fishing on the first days of summer, stories told during sleepless white nights, sliding down snowed up roofs, games of chess in their small room, laughter, shouting. He knew they were an unlikely pair of friends, but that hadn't stopped them. He wished him all the happiness in the world. Without Vlad his live would have been a bit colder. He selfishly hoped that his friend felt the same way about him.
Thank you (AC 3)
He watched her sleeping. Her chest heaving with every breath she took. The moonlight softened her features, curls of hair caressing her outline. "Thank you," he whispered into the dark of the night, "for saving my life." Of course she couldn't hear him, so she wouldn't answer. But he knew that by the light of day it would seem a thing too strange to do. They always brushed away any comment about those moments, making them appear less threatening than they had actually been. A small arm snaked around his hip. "And thank you, your grace, for letting her go."
Rose (AC 4)
A rose, is a rose, is a rose. His fingers caressed the soft petals. She was still his Anya. The little brat, thorn in his side, who made him smile. She still was the woman who had taught him to waltz on a ship. Even though she looked like a princess now, the princess she was, heir to the Russian throne. She was the one he loved and he was about to let her go without telling her. Whatever her answer would be, it would end all pointless musings. A rose, is a rose, is a rose. Anya - Anastasia.
Cinema (AC 5)
The room grew darker as the lights were slowly dimmed. Then the flickering beam of the processor became clearly visible and suddenly the white screen came to life. This was the moment he loved: when the title appeared and the excitement got almost unbearable. It wasn't the least like a theatre. The air was different here. Finally the piano player took his seat at the front of the room, which fell silent at once. Dimitri watched the adventures of Oswald the Rabbit in silent amazement. It was unbelievable that simple drawings could come to life, making him laugh and cry.
AN:
A rose, is a rose, is a rose. Quote from Gertrude Stein, I believe.
Uhm, on with the show then...
Claim: Dimitri
Themes: NEW: Hate, Day, Night, Friends, Thank you, Rose & Cinema
Completed:30/30
Snow
He couldn't sleep. All around him he could hear the even breathing of those sleeping. Quietly, carefully he climbed over the shadowy figures of the other servant boys, sleeping on the floor, making his way to the only window in the room. Finally it loomed in front of him. His tiny hand grabbed the frame for support as he began climbing the windowsill. Pressing his warm face against the glass, the four-year-old boy stared into the darkness. Snowflakes were falling. Dimitri smiled. How he longed to play in the snow, but he was never allowed. Smiling, he began to dream.
Cold
Trudging through several feet of snow Dimitri made his way to the black market. Vlad would arrive in a few minutes. Standing in the biting cold, Dimitri rubbed his hands, softly blowing them. They were red. He buried the tip of his nose in his scarf, hiding the lover half of his face. Never had a winter seemed this cold and grey. Small ice crystals had formed in his lashes. When they'd have the ten million roubles he would never go out in winter. He would sit in front of a blazing warm fire. He would never feel cold again.
Sleep
The storm had passed. Gently rocking the ship almost lulled him back to sleep, but he couldn't. He had promised her to stay awake, to guard her. Running his hand through his hair he turned around. His eyes had long adjusted themselves to the darkness. He saw her sleeping form, caressed by the moonlight. Her features were soft and peaceful when she was sleeping. He remembered her shivering body pressed against him only hours ago. He had felt the strong urge to protect her. Never before had she seemed so vulnerable and small. She sighed in her sleep. Dimitri smiled.
Luck
"Good luck," he whispered and blew a kiss to the window. The car stood empty in front of Sophie's house. He wouldn't be there, because she would not want to say goodbye and to be there meant to hope she would. To wish her good luck was the only thing he could do now. He meant it. She would have her beloved grandmother back, her family. He remembered now: the anniversary, the look of joy on her face when her grandmother had promised her a reunion in Paris. Luck had made this promise come true. Who was he to interrupt?
Music
The music mounted to a crescendo. The giant ballroom was illuminated and an enormous chandelier was putting the sun to shame. Hundreds of people were dancing, wearing colours Dimitri had never seen in his life. He rubbed an apple on his shirt, watching the crowed in silent amazement. The music the servants played was wilder and yet, mournful and sad. It told stories. This music didn't, it was dead music, artificially composed. It resembled the well choreographed dance on the floor, which was nothing like the dances he knew. Then he heard it: a haunting melody sung by two voices.
Dead
There was a soft thump seconds before the pain came. All he could see were blinding white sparks, but he could feel the ache. It felt as though his skull would burst. Like fire it travelled down his spine. His legs gave in and he fell. Blackness embraced him. Was he dead? Was this how it felt: numb, blind, deaf? He couldn't feel the air on his face, the air that carried the remnants of their terror. He didn't see her victory over her past. It was only him and a blinding light. He didn't want to leave, not yet.
Fight
He saw the green light from afar, the glow which he had come to fear. Dropping his belongings Dimitri started to run. Chasing the light, he arrived at a bridge. Huge horses loomed like vultures. He heard her frightened scream. It rang in his ears. There, on the bridge, stood a man dressed like a holy man. But he was none, Dimitri knew. His fist smashed the man's face, but Dimitri didn't give him a second glance. Anya. Sliding down the destroyed part of the bridge, Dimitri grabbed her hand. They would fight side by side for their life together.
Ring
Heavy boots hit the pavement, tripping over the cracks. Dimitri was gasping for breath, hoping he wouldn't be too late. He entered the decaying room. An old man with a withered face looked at him. "Dedushka," Dimitri sat down on the bedside. "Mitja," the old man whispered. With visible effort, he lifted a hand to stroke Dimitri's hair. The old man pulled his hand from underneath the cover and opened it, revealing a beautifully crafted ring. "It was your grandmother's," he paused," I want you to have them…mine and hers." Dimitri nodded. He sat with his grandfather holding his hand.
Family
He couldn't remember their faces. His mother's must have been loving, he imagined. And his father? Serious? Loving? Strict? He didn't know. He remembered the day they had given him away. It wasn't their fault. Not really. The land they worked hadn't offered enough for them. His grandfather had taken him away. Even though he had stopped talking to his daughter, who had married a man he didn't like, had he offered to take care of him: the youngest son, a kitchen-boy in the palace for so many years, a con-man in St. Petersburg, a husband and father in Paris.
Memories
Tasha. It was the name of the ship that had brought them to Paris. A nightmare and a waltz had brought them together. Nikolai was the name of her father, and of their eldest son. Vladimir, his best friend, passed so many years ago. The wall, which he had opened to let her escape; the Palais Garnier, where all was nearly lost; Rasputin, the terror that haunted her dreams; Pooka, a dog who led her to him; a music box and a secret lullaby, a princess and a kitchen boy. Memories from long ago, passing like shadows through his mind.
Book
Vladimir looked at the young boy. Surprise and shock were evident in his face. "You can't read?" The boy shook his head, strands of hair hiding his face. "Well you will learn." It was the boys turn to look baffled. The tall man laughed. "Don't look at me like this. Those are very useful abilities, both reading and writing, especially in this city, where they are rare, but needed." The boy looked at him puzzled. Vladimir pulled a dusty book from one of the tsar's library shelves. They'd gain a reputation for writing. Not books, but things sorely needed: papers.
Sky
Dimitri stared at the sky. He had seen this man, who flew a plane. Charles Lindberg. If only he had a plane and could fly. He'd fly away now. Fly away before the morning came, when they would send for him. The day he would have to let her go. He wouldn't take the reward money, because every coin he'd spend would remind him of her. He had betrayed the one he loved. His things were packed. He had taken the liberty of keeping the suits Sophie had bought him, though they would be of little use back in Russia.
Alive
Laughter flew through the air like music, when he lifted her and swung her around. Her arms around his neck they whirled, finally together, in Paris. The stars sparkled, mirroring the mirth that shone in her eyes. With amazement he remembered the softness of her lips when she had kissed him. He had never felt so alive. Finally, he had found a place he belonged. Wherever Anya was, his Anya, he would be home. He looked at her beautiful face, memorizing each curl of her red hair. Though her dress was dusty and torn, she looked like a real princess.
Endings
Clouds of smoke hung deeply in the sky. The reflection of fire dancing on them they stayed where all life had left. Everything that had once been, was no more. The smell of burned wood stained the air. Flames had licked the old walls of the palace, but it hadn't given in to their seduction. Where there had been crying and laughter mere hours ago was now only emptiness. The halls and ballroom lay in eerie silence like a sleeping giant in an old fairy tale. This was the ending of the life he had lived for so many years.
Beginnings
A woman screamed. Nodding approvingly an elderly lady wiped the sweat of her brow. It wouldn't take long; it would all be over soon her eyes seemed to say. Hazel hair stuck to the young woman's head, darkened by perspiration to a deep brown. Briefly she wondered what life had in store for her baby. She didn't have much time to dream and what she wished for was simple: a healthy, strong child that wouldn't die during its first winter. She was tired of losing. Beginnings were tough, but she felt that this time, she would see it grow up.
Time
What time was it? He didn't know. Her small body was pressed against him, her heart beating slower and steadier, now. Maybe he should have let her go. She hadn't cried, but still her head was buried in his chest. Was it improper to hold her? To feel the warmth of her body through her soaked clothing? Did she want to be held? His shirt was clinging to his body, but he wasn't feeling the cold. Maybe only seconds had passed since he had pulled her back? Maybe they had been standing like this for hours? Maybe time didn't matter.
Pain
It hurt to see her dance with another man. She was stunning. How could he have mistaken her for anything but what she really was? Who she really was: a princess, his princess, heir to the Russian throne and he a humble servant. The new clothes Sophie had bought him didn't fit. He felt uncomfortable in the glittering world of Paris, where everything was flamboyant and gay. He had never felt a pain like this. It stung and he knew it would never heal. Gone was his Anya, the obstinate brat. This was Anastasia. He could only watch her dance.
Stars
He recognised Vlad's footsteps. The heavy boots sounded much too loud on the boards of the ship. Dimitri knew that he'd want to talk about what had happened. Fat chance he would get an answer. He didn't even know himself. But instead of interrogating him, the elder man just stood beside him, leaning on the rail, staring at the trail the ship left. Dusk came and they still stood there, not talking, as they approached their dream. Dimitri relaxed. He could make out the first stars on the horizon. Unbelievable that they always shone, but you couldn't always see them.
Unbelieving he watched her place the crown into a small box. Nobody would guess that this package held such a treasure. He vividly remembered thousands of people bowing their heads to the bearer of this crown, just like he had on a staircase. He smirked as her brows furrowed in concentration. She was carefully wording a letter to her grandmother, letting her know that she had chosen him. She had chosen him. He hoped he wouldn't wake. If this was a dream, he wanted to sleep forever. Finally she had finished. Whoever had heard of a crown returned by mail?
Fear
The thick carpet didn't muffle their steps. Closer and closer they came. He pushed the girl through the opening. Her blue eyes locked with his. Both of them scared. She turned away and ran. The wall closed, swallowing the girl and her grandmother. He was left alone with his fear. His heart was thumping loudly, the blood in his ears was roaring deafeningly. Still, he could hear them: boots hammering, voices calling orders, doors slamming, screams of terror, frightened voices, and commands mingling to form the voice of terror. There was no way out. Suddenly, the door was pushed open.
Rain
The rain fell like curtains. Dimitri stared into the night. He took a deep breath of fresh air. How he loved the smell of rain. The huge window was opened wide and he sat, leaning against the frame, his bare feet stabilizing him on the other side. The wet pavement reflected the flickering lights of the streetlamps, shining like stars in a world turned up side down. He tilted his head slowly, his brown hair hiding his face now. There was another rainy night he remembered very well. Whatever would happen, he would always treasure the memory of this night.
Love
"Of course I do," he exclaimed while balancing a cup of scalding hot water over to the bed. "Even if you look as hideous as you do right now," he winked and ducked a pillow. With a heavy sigh she had turned around, demonstratively showing him the cold shoulder and her curvy back. He sat down, still balancing the teacup and stroked her back. "I do love you… I do, I do, I do…and I forever will, even when you have a cold." Slowly her head crowned with tousled hair turned around. "Bweally?" He nodded and offered her the cup.
Hate
Hatred, burning like fire under a cold surface of ice. The handprint still visible on his cheek, he picked up the brush and started scrubbing again. Grinding his teeth he climbed half-ways into the large pot. He wouldn't cry. A large lump was forming in his throat. One day nobody would be able to hurt him. He would take no more. Embarrassment and humiliation would be left far behind. He could hear her laughter, mocking him. Why, if she upset the pot, the chef would be angry. But he couldn't scold her. Instead he turned on him…it was only logic.
Night
A limousine carried them through the endless streets of Paris. He felt oddly out of place in his fancy suit. Lights were flashing, blurring into a multicoloured stream. Who could miss St. Petersburg in this city, which was pulsing with live? Even the dark sky of the night seemed alight, far away. A smile stole across his lips. Watching people through the cars window, he let his mind wander. Vlad was shifting nervously in his seat. Why was he still worried about the plan? Nothing could go wrong now. Besides, Vlad had his Sophie, he didn't need the money anymore.
Day
Another day. Dimitri sighed and rolled over in bed. Frost was icing the window. Opening his eyes, he blinked into the daylight. Vlad was humming somewhere. Slowly, Dimitri got up and crossed the room to the bathroom. There would be no warm water left, there never was. He picked up a small pot and headed to the window to get some snow. Soon the samovar was bubbling merrily next to a pot of boiling water. Carefully Dimitri started to shave. He had considered growing a beard similar to Vlad's. Sipping his tea he studied the papers he had finished yesterday.
Regrets (AC1)
It was his fault, he supposed. He had let his guard down and love had snuck in. Quietly it had taken down all the walls he had built up so carefully. But instead of the wonderful feeling he had been told to expect, there was nothing but shame. Her words rung in his ear: "You used me." Yes, he had. It had seemed so easy. Find an impersonator and get the money. Never had he thought about the hurt he would inflict. Regrets didn't work. There was no way to undo what had been done, however much he longed to.
Friends (AC 2)
Arms wrapped around him. An embrace returned. The concern in Vlad's voice was evident. Similar memories of happier days, days that didn't mean goodbye. Swimming in icy rivers, fishing on the first days of summer, stories told during sleepless white nights, sliding down snowed up roofs, games of chess in their small room, laughter, shouting. He knew they were an unlikely pair of friends, but that hadn't stopped them. He wished him all the happiness in the world. Without Vlad his live would have been a bit colder. He selfishly hoped that his friend felt the same way about him.
Thank you (AC 3)
He watched her sleeping. Her chest heaving with every breath she took. The moonlight softened her features, curls of hair caressing her outline. "Thank you," he whispered into the dark of the night, "for saving my life." Of course she couldn't hear him, so she wouldn't answer. But he knew that by the light of day it would seem a thing too strange to do. They always brushed away any comment about those moments, making them appear less threatening than they had actually been. A small arm snaked around his hip. "And thank you, your grace, for letting her go."
Rose (AC 4)
A rose, is a rose, is a rose. His fingers caressed the soft petals. She was still his Anya. The little brat, thorn in his side, who made him smile. She still was the woman who had taught him to waltz on a ship. Even though she looked like a princess now, the princess she was, heir to the Russian throne. She was the one he loved and he was about to let her go without telling her. Whatever her answer would be, it would end all pointless musings. A rose, is a rose, is a rose. Anya - Anastasia.
Cinema (AC 5)
The room grew darker as the lights were slowly dimmed. Then the flickering beam of the processor became clearly visible and suddenly the white screen came to life. This was the moment he loved: when the title appeared and the excitement got almost unbearable. It wasn't the least like a theatre. The air was different here. Finally the piano player took his seat at the front of the room, which fell silent at once. Dimitri watched the adventures of Oswald the Rabbit in silent amazement. It was unbelievable that simple drawings could come to life, making him laugh and cry.
AN:
A rose, is a rose, is a rose. Quote from Gertrude Stein, I believe.