Post by ∂яινє му ωσℓƒ ωιℓ∂ ♥ on Sept 17, 2014 12:12:04 GMT -5
The first thing she heard while tip toeing down the cool hardwood stairs of the Institute was heated whispering; she recognized those voices. However, she hadn't seen that woman in six years. Frowning with a hurt fury blooming like a dry forest fire within her heart, she tried to keep her breathing soft and even while padding silently to the study door, pressing against the wall. It was times like this that she thanked her teachings; sneaking around to eavesdrop most likely wasn't on the agenda when she first started classes, but it came in handy.
"The more they know, the more of a threat the outside world is to them, Mitya." The woman whispered, her tone frantic with a hiss, and she peeked around the corner in time to see the side of her face before she turned, brunette hair sweeping around her shoulders, her frame illuminated by the moon's light through the window she now stood in front of, her hands resting with white knuckles on the sill. She could recognize that face anywhere; after all, she had a bit of those same qualities in her own. Alexandra's chin, the last Tsarina; Nicholas's smile, the last Tsar.
Clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering both from the cold and her tense, now trembling, body, she peeked around to see her father, Dmitri, standing with his back to the door, glowing from the fire that licked the provided logs in the fireplace.
"The less they know, the more likely our home is left to ruin."
"They wouldn't want a rule again, Dmitri; they didn't before, why would anything change?"
"You are a legend, Anya!" Came her father's hissing breath as he snapped his head to the side to present her mother with a sharp look. "You are famous from your disappearance alone! Do you know how relieved and awestruck the public would be to find that you're still here?"
"And looking no older than a thirty five year old woman?!" She exclaimed, rounding on her husband. "It's too risky. I know you're getting cabin fever, but... no. I don't want to lose my family again."
Frowning, the young girl turned and tip toed back to her bedroom, where she was enveloped by the warmth of her bed yet there was still a chill in her bones.
- -
The practice room was filled with the sound of grunts and pained moans, a thick 'thwack!'ing a sign that someone was using the rubber and hard foam mannequins to vent their frustrations. The brunette stood, her hair tied back into a loose bun and her body covered in the black and leather uniform they often wore on their raids. Her eyes, trimmed with coal, were narrowed, and the bright blue inside was dark and unrelenting.
"Your anger's understandable," a male voice murmured from beside her. A man with arms crossed over his chest, toned though not overwhelmingly so muscles sliding at the movement, and the same physical traits, was leaning against a heavy duty shelving system of Pilates equipment and boxing equipment. The wall behind him was adorned with weapons of all sorts, mostly blades. "But is this really necessary?"
"Sasha, not now." She grunted with another swing, and he turned his head away from her, looking at the metal door that was firmly closed. It kept the 'thwack'ing sound from appearing so prevalent behind the sound proof walls.
"You're avoiding the problem."
"And so are you!" She lashed out, throwing down her weapon and turning to look at him, a lock of hair falling from its loose hold and settling to frame one side of her maturing face. "Don't act like you don't already know."
"Know what?"
Giving a frustrated sound, she kicked the mannequin with the toe of her boot, thankful for a split second that the toes were covered with a steel plating. "I hate this."
"You'll get your mission very soon, моя сестренка. Until then, practice, and try to spend as much time as you can with our parents. They won't stay very long, you know that."
"The more they know, the more of a threat the outside world is to them, Mitya." The woman whispered, her tone frantic with a hiss, and she peeked around the corner in time to see the side of her face before she turned, brunette hair sweeping around her shoulders, her frame illuminated by the moon's light through the window she now stood in front of, her hands resting with white knuckles on the sill. She could recognize that face anywhere; after all, she had a bit of those same qualities in her own. Alexandra's chin, the last Tsarina; Nicholas's smile, the last Tsar.
Clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering both from the cold and her tense, now trembling, body, she peeked around to see her father, Dmitri, standing with his back to the door, glowing from the fire that licked the provided logs in the fireplace.
"The less they know, the more likely our home is left to ruin."
"They wouldn't want a rule again, Dmitri; they didn't before, why would anything change?"
"You are a legend, Anya!" Came her father's hissing breath as he snapped his head to the side to present her mother with a sharp look. "You are famous from your disappearance alone! Do you know how relieved and awestruck the public would be to find that you're still here?"
"And looking no older than a thirty five year old woman?!" She exclaimed, rounding on her husband. "It's too risky. I know you're getting cabin fever, but... no. I don't want to lose my family again."
Frowning, the young girl turned and tip toed back to her bedroom, where she was enveloped by the warmth of her bed yet there was still a chill in her bones.
- -
The practice room was filled with the sound of grunts and pained moans, a thick 'thwack!'ing a sign that someone was using the rubber and hard foam mannequins to vent their frustrations. The brunette stood, her hair tied back into a loose bun and her body covered in the black and leather uniform they often wore on their raids. Her eyes, trimmed with coal, were narrowed, and the bright blue inside was dark and unrelenting.
"Your anger's understandable," a male voice murmured from beside her. A man with arms crossed over his chest, toned though not overwhelmingly so muscles sliding at the movement, and the same physical traits, was leaning against a heavy duty shelving system of Pilates equipment and boxing equipment. The wall behind him was adorned with weapons of all sorts, mostly blades. "But is this really necessary?"
"Sasha, not now." She grunted with another swing, and he turned his head away from her, looking at the metal door that was firmly closed. It kept the 'thwack'ing sound from appearing so prevalent behind the sound proof walls.
"You're avoiding the problem."
"And so are you!" She lashed out, throwing down her weapon and turning to look at him, a lock of hair falling from its loose hold and settling to frame one side of her maturing face. "Don't act like you don't already know."
"Know what?"
Giving a frustrated sound, she kicked the mannequin with the toe of her boot, thankful for a split second that the toes were covered with a steel plating. "I hate this."
"You'll get your mission very soon, моя сестренка. Until then, practice, and try to spend as much time as you can with our parents. They won't stay very long, you know that."
