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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Sept 27, 2013 12:15:38 GMT -8
Anastasia did not know where she was. She supposed the sentiment was common enough, as people got lost every day, but for her it was a much grander scale. She knew, in a general sense, that she was in America. She knew that she'd flown into Los Angeles International airport, and that she'd been picked up there by an American with her name in English on a sign (with her name in proper but rudimentary cyrillic underneath). He'd taken her somewhere, but where that was she had no idea. For that matter, she couldn't have properly placed Los Angeles on a map, nor could she have told you what state it was in. She was fairly sure it was somewhere on the west coast, but that hadn't been any bit of knowledge she'd had, so much as a simple observation out the window when the plane had started to descend.
She had never seen the ocean before that day, and she didn't know what to feel about seeing it in those circumstances. She felt numb, dead inside and unable to process things. Before she'd been tired, exhausted after packing what she owned and doing it all in a rush. She'd slept on the plane which had taken away the sleepiness and left the exhaustion, and she'd found herself unable to do anything but stare out the window for the last hour of the trip.
She'd retrieved her two bags without issue, and found the man holding the sign not long after. He had nothing to tell her--nothing to really explain to her, beyond that he'd been told to pick her up and where to take her, and that she was going to a friend of the family. She wasn't even entirely clear which friend. She had been given a letter from her parents--an in case of death kind of letter, and it had been horribly, painfully vague. It had been more than two pages long and still managed to tell her absolutely nothing, and it had only left her with more questions. Why the vagueness? Where was she going? Did she have some long lost family she was being taken to? Why the need for all the secrecy? Why wasn't she being told anything?
She'd nodded off in the car, being woken by the man who had picked her up shaking her shoulder gently. She'd mumbled an apology in Russian he couldn't understand and fetched her bags, eyeing the door as the driver waited. It took her a few moments to gain the nerve to approach the door, a heavy bag in each hand. She set one down and knocked a single time, utterly unsure of what was going to happen. |
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Sept 28, 2013 21:25:21 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasya Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. There were a lot of things he expected in his line of work, and very few that he downright didn’t. He expected to have a coffee at the office every morning, and a stiff drink (or seven) when he got home every night. He expected to be swamped almost daily, and to brace for an impending swamp if there wasn’t already a pile of work on his desk when he arrived. He expected to call or send an email home and have it returned within half a day, and usually by Anya and sometimes Magnus.
What he wasn’t expecting was his phone to ring one day, and for the person to tell him that a close friend of him was dead. He was given a run-down like it was his job, and technically it was. Both his old friend and her husband was dead, and something peculiar had been brought up in the will. It was a very ‘what now’ sort of feeling. He had to go through these files on an almost daily basis, but having come cross such a peculiar detail without his prior knowledge was unsettling.
He was now the guardian and sole caretaker of a 17 year old girl. Figures.
Well, perhaps not figures, but he remembered something offhanded and vague about promising to take care of his friend’s daughter if anything happened to them. He supposed they took him much more seriously than he had stated it, but a promise was a promise.
For the first time in ages, he took the two days off he was given to prepare for her arrival. He set up a room for her, which was as utilitarian as his own, and put various things in place. She’d live with him until things were sorted out, perhaps until she was 18 if the need really was there. He didn’t know how he felt about that, but he went about organizing until the hour chimed and he heard a knock at his door.
Well, there she was.
Pasha stared at the door for a second or two before approaching in long strides and opening it without a single hesitation.
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Sept 28, 2013 22:06:38 GMT -8
PASHA • MAY 8TH • 3PM • notes There was a growing tension in her stomach that she couldn't make go away. She didn't know who was going to be there when the door opened. She didn't even know if she would know who they were. She had thought that she knew most of her parents friends--knew their names, their jobs. None of them lived in America. American hadn't even been mentioned in their household, and yet that was where she had ended up with them gone.
She winced at the thought. Dead. Not gone, dead. Gone implied they might come back one day, and she knew better then to try and ignore the reality of it. She didn't even know what she was doing there. Maybe she wasn't coming to live there. Maybe this was just some far off relative who would take care of her until... until what? She couldn't think of any other option, any other reason for her to be flown across a whole ocean. It just didn't make sense.
When the door opened, she wasn't sure if she was supposed to be relieved or not. He was an old friend of her parents, and while she hadn't seen him a lot, he was familiar. Only she hadn't seen him for at least three years, and all of a sudden she had to wonder if it was because he'd moved. Why had her parents never mentioned it? How had they never even discussed it in her presence? Why hadn't they told her?
She decided none of that mattered, and she made a point to straighten up, then snapped off a quick salute. Even if she had never made it to the military, she still new how to salute, and she spoke in clear Russian when she finally addressed him.
"Pasha Illyich? They told me to come here, but I can't say I know what's going on." Why in gods name was she in America? Why was he? |
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Oct 6, 2013 9:34:42 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasya Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. There was a lot he’d seen in his years of service, both to the IS and the military, USSR or otherwise. He’d seen death, of course. Someone in his line of work didn’t get through a run without seeing a dead something, and dealing with the whims was just another thing one did to cope. Still, Pasha had wrapped his head around his friend’s death, yet he still felt a pang of something in his stomach when he let himself sit and think about it too long. His friend had been tough; he hadn’t expected her to just die while he was away, let alone leave a child to him.
But so was life, wasn’t it? He needed to take it in stride and it, too, shall pass.
He opened the door and was greeted by a girl. She had blue eyes and short, blond hair and was wearing nondescript clothes that he supposed was standard in transport. For a second, there was a familiarity in her eyes before she straightened up again. She had some composure, at least.
A pause where he stood, then he stepped aside. ”Come in. We’ll speak about this.” She needed to bring all her things to her room, then he’d consider laying it out for her. It was a bit more to his benefit; he was equally as confused as to where oh where the promise that he’d take care of her come from.
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Oct 6, 2013 10:08:50 GMT -8
tag • date • time • notes Pasha was not the sort of person one thought of as 'welcoming'. He was tall and intimidating, and his face looked like a bear had decided he'd make a good snack. It was littered with old scars that had healed over the damage but still left him looking intimidating. He looked like someone's very scary uncle, not the sort of person you'd expect to be your legal guardian.
Because he was. That much had been made clear, and she stepped inside, letting him guide her up the stairs to what she could only assume was her room. It was bare and utilitarian, carrying only the absolute minimum required. There was a bed, a closet, and a desk. There was nothing else--no decoration or anything, and if she hadn't known better she'd have assumed it was a guest room meant to be bare. Pasha didn't seem the kind who would decorate his house though, and she had a feeling it would be staying as it was.
She sat on the bed, setting her bag beside her as he set herself up. She was well practiced in that at least, and it took her less then five minutes to her her clothes all hung and put away. A small laptop was set on the desk, and a single framed picture of her family was set there as well. There was nothing else to tend to though, and that left only discussion.
She didn't want to discuss, but she supposed there was no way around it. "I'm not sure why I was brought here." Her parents had never been terribly social, but good god, they had other friends. The neighbours would have been a better place to live then here. Even if they might have trusted Pasha more then the neighbours, they'd have at least been close. She'd have been able to continue on by herself, and instead she'd been uprooted and sent around the world to a strange country with a man she barely knew. There had to be some reason. |
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Oct 15, 2013 15:34:08 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasya Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. In a certain way, perhaps it was her looks or how she acted, or perhaps a bit of both, she vaguely reminded him of Magnus. Of course, to a certain extent, he missed Magnus and Konrad and his family in general, but they were all back in Russia. As far as he was concerned, aside from a call a week, he didn’t hear much from them. No news was good news, he supposed. If anything happened, he’d be first to hear about it within an hour or else he’d be a very, very unhappy man. Usually, saying one would be unhappy didn’t carry much weight. But if Pasha claimed he was unhappy, that was a whole different animal.
He let her get set up. ”You may add things, if you’d like.” Though Pasha preferred his rooms clean, neat and utterly bare, it was up to her whether she wanted to put things down. It’d be her room for the next little while, after all. A photo of her family was set up at the desk, and he glanced down at it for a second. Ah, yes, his old friends. Perhaps a little older looking, with a couple more grey hairs, but it was them alright.
”Your parents named me your guardian in their will. I said I would a long time ago.” Realistically, it could have also ended in that, but it didn’t. There was just so much more that could have been said, all of it rather confidential but necessary.
”There are other things. You’ve been given a debrief, yes?” A very, very curt one no doubt.
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Oct 15, 2013 15:48:53 GMT -8
tag • date • time • notes Add things. Anastasia didn't want to think about decorating. Decorating would just make it real. It would just mean that her parents really were dead, that she was going to be staying in America, that she might very well never see anyone she'd grown up with for years. A part of her knew that she was going to have to face up to it soon. Denial wouldn't help her, wouldn't get her anywhere but worse off then she already was. But so much of it was simply unresolved and unexplained. Why send her to America? The fact that he was her guardian didn't even explain things. It just made things even more confusing, because it still didn't answer the simple question of 'why'.
The next thing he said didn't explain things, but it did tip her in the right direction. Had she been debriefed? She knew that her parents were spetsnaz. She knew what that meant, and she had learned not to ask what they were working on. She wasn't even entirely clear on if they were still active agents or not, but that had been another thing she knew better then to ask. Her face stayed blank as she looked up at him, then shook her head once. "No. No one debriefed me. They just told me that they were dead, and that I needed to come here."
Which meant that her parents had a secret. They'd been doing something dangerous, and suddenly her flight to America made more sense. They probably had enemies, and it was possible that their death had been less of the sort of death you expected when you worked in the spetsnaz, and more of a flat out murder. They had enemies, and they'd send her across and ocean to escape them.
The only question was who those enemies were. |
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Oct 15, 2013 17:15:12 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasia Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. There had been no debriefing. There had just been a flight that flung Anastasia halfway around the world and right into Pasha’s lap, unwilling or ill prepared as he was, and now he had to take on the task of explaining everything to her. Nobody had even bothered up until that point? Fuck.
He sighed deeply, nodding to himself for a second before looking back over at the girl. ”I’ll explain as best as I can.” Soon, probably. Now seemed to be a good time, but how was he supposed to explain a secret world history and their place in it within a couple of minutes? He wouldn’t, that was what.
”Come downstairs to the living room when you’re ready.” Because he needed her to be seated, and he needed a couple of texts to lay it all out. It was like going to war, and he was not a man to go ill or unprepared. He was surprised that it was never mentioned to her whatsoever, but then again, if she had it mentioned to her then he would have her on file somewhere.
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Oct 15, 2013 17:19:21 GMT -8
tag • date • time • notes It was something big. That much was obvious. Probably something that went through the whole government, something that meant she could not possibly escape them within Russia. The question was if Pasha was staying with a splinter group in America, or if he'd come here simply to hide. It made sense that her parents hadn't mentioned his departure when put into that context, and when he told her to come downstairs when she was ready, she didn't wait. She simply stood up and nodded.
She'd been raised military, and that meant always being ready. Even if her mind was still trying to wrap her head around the possibilities, knowing would make that easier. Understanding why her parents had died would be the first step towards closure, as far as she was concerned, and she kept her steps light as she followed him down the stairs through the couch to what she was fairly sure was a living room. Relatively bare and barely used looking, but it fit the rest of the house, and the couches and chairs indicated that was it's purposed. After a moment she took a seat on the couch, waiting for him to begin.
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Oct 15, 2013 17:54:18 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasia Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Well, he always appreciated someone that was eager, he supposed. Either eager, or already came with some extent of training. Anastasia would’ve been trained for the military, if nothing else. She wasn’t eighteen yet, though, so her file would’ve never made it onto his desk, even if she’d been in his jurisdiction. At least Anastasia seemed ready for an explanation, and he let her go down to the living room before him.
He had to stop in his office, drawing forward a few books; some dusty tombs, a couple records as thick as a bible here and there, leafing through them to organize his own explanation before finding a way to condense it as far as he could for her. The Impedio Society was a secret, so nothing about it ever really passed his lips when it came to explanation. If you didn’t know, then you’d never know; that was all. Both Magnus and Konrad had grown up immersed, with no express explanation given, just an intuition that they grew up with and understood.
Pasha arrived soon enough, putting all the books down onto the table. To most, they wouldn’t have meant anything. They would’ve thought they were scribbled ramblings or parts of fantasy novels, even.
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Oct 15, 2013 18:10:49 GMT -8
tag • date • time • notes Anastasia had let it all settle into her mind. A conspiracy. Probably something secret. Someone had needed killing, and her parents had been involved. A terrorist group maybe? Someone taking control of the Russian government? More than was already known anyway.
But Anastasia was not mad enough to believe in an ancient conspiracy. She did not believe it was possible for some grand secret--some shadow government or what have you--could have existed more than a decade or so. Her eyes fell on the books that Pasha had fetched, a selection of obscure titles in Russian and English, laid out on the table. Several of the books looked older than Pasha, and almost all of them were older then she was. Unless he opened them up to reveal a secret cache of documents, whatever she'd thought was going on wasn't.
Even so, she sat in silence, staring at the books and waiting for an explanation. Hopefully one that didn't start with 'it started a long, long time ago'. |
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Oct 20, 2013 18:41:07 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasia Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Now, how would he go about this? How could he possibly begin to sift through years upon years and generations of history passed down with a few dusty tombs and a half hour of time to let her to breathe and then continue because dear god it’d take forever to get her through.
Pasha opened up one of the books, flipping through a page to an old, frayed looking fold-out map. It showed landmasses and ocean, but they looked fairly different than the traditional map you got now. Hell, it looked radically different than the ones they had over a hundred years ago.
”This would be a good time to brush up on your history.” A freaking lot of it. ”Because there’s more to it than what you’d ever find in a textbook.” He poked at the various countries on the map that was turned to Anastasia. ”You’ll probably think we’re insane at first. That’s fine. You’ll think we’re just some delusional conspiracy theorists. That’s fine, too.”
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Oct 22, 2013 14:00:30 GMT -8
tag • date • time • notes As a rule of thumb, Anastasia did not swear. She'd been raised better than that. Not as a lady, but as someone who could manage to express themselves without needing to be unnecessarily vulgar. Why tell someone to fuck off when you could glare at them to the same effect? Even internally she didn't swear much, but as Pasha started giving her what sounded like a textbook 'there's a great secret about the world that's been kept from you' speech out of some fantasy novel, her internal monologue could largely have been summarized by 'oh fucking hell'.
Because it was bullshit. Her parents had just died and now he was showing her some fantasy world map, and as much as he'd tried to be calm and collected and not freak out, everything she'd known had just been abruptly jerked away from her, and she wasn't going to stand for it. Her jaw clamped, threatening to grind her teeth to dust, and it took her a moment to work up the control needed to talk without yelling.
"Just start with proving it, if you're going to start with some nonsense fantasy story. I'm not going to be paying attention to the details if I'm spending the whole time going 'this sounds like nonsense'. Just start with the proof, and then we can go over whatever else." She said in brisk Russian, her voice tense.
Because of course he had to have proof. |
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Oct 26, 2013 14:49:41 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasia Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Of course, there was the issue of proof. Practical people always wanted proof, and for that, Pasha could applaud the girl. It was good for her to want proof before believing anything, and he understood that well. Still, proving that there was a secret history wasn’t an easy task. Making it sound anything less than a fantasy novel was diminishing it, and that couldn’t be done.
”Well, if you’re willing to follow me, I’d be glad to show you proof.” They needed to head somewhere without pedestrian traffic or buildings cluttering. Perhaps an empty park, or perhaps near the mountains. Either way, it was going to look odd walking through the city with a shield on his arm, but it wasn’t like he had too much choice in the matter.
”You’re a practical girl, just like your mother. You’d like physical proof. Anybody can write anything in a book.” It was, nearly word for word, what her mother used to say to him while talking about proof.
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Oct 26, 2013 16:11:34 GMT -8
tag • date • time • notes What he had said wasn't just similar to what her mother had said--it was almost identical, and Anastasia nodded as she stood up. "My mother told me not to believe things I am told. If they sound like nonsense, they probably are." Which was fairly good life advice, all things considered. "See for yourself. If someone says that someone else is lying to you, assume they're both lying until you can prove it for yourself." She'd been given plenty of nuggets of advice like that from both parents, and all things considered, she probably wouldn't have gone with Pasha at all if he'd been a stranger.
But he wasn't. He was her guardian, the person that her parents had chosen to send her to. That, if nothing else, was letting her not dismiss his ludicrous claims right away. If what he was saying was true, and there really was some insane conspiracy, then it explained why she was there. It explained why her parents had chosen to send her halfway around the world to someone else who was involved in it, rather then sending her to someone who was ignorant of it. She trailed behind him, letting him guide her to wherever he needed to go.
He hadn't even mentioned magic yet.
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Oct 28, 2013 18:23:09 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasia Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Good. Very good. Pasha nodded at her, then got up and brushed his pants off. ”Wait here for a minute.” He needed to go get a few things. Well, one thing in particular, and perhaps another book or so for her to carry. He’d look odd enough as it was walking through the city with a shield on his arm, let alone a pile of old books. He already knew of a place to go; a nearby park that saw very little, if any foot traffic during these times. He knew when people came and went.
The shield leaned against the wall behind his desk, made of heavy iron that hadn’t been seen in many, many years. To people coming in, the thing was merely decorative; it looked much too large to actually hold up, and who the hell used an actual shield for defense now, anyways? It was all about bulletproof vests and such, lightweight Kevlar that wouldn’t even dent when shot at. Pasha was old, though. Maybe that was it.
He picked it up, weighing it in his hands before strapping it around his forearm with the metal loops. It was heavy, but it was lighter for him than others. The shield felt familiar on his arm, and he almost sighed before heading back downstairs. This was getting all too familiar; he hadn’t picked up the shield in a while. Being taken out of Russia meant facing different beasts, and there weren’t too many fearsome ones in the city. If any did pop up, and unless it got wildly out of control, his lesser handled it.
”Come along. We need to head out for this.” Because magic was magic, no matter how stupid it sounded. Pasha was a very practical man, and he was incredulous of all this every day of his life, despite being immersed in it.
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Oct 28, 2013 19:50:27 GMT -8
A shield was not what Anastasia expected Pasha to be fetching. She didn't know what he was going to fetch, but she'd assumed something more... normal. Papers. Another book. God knows, something other then a giant shield. It was a tad conspicuous, and when he passed her some books to carry, she decided it was going to have a hard time being any more conspicuous. An absurdly tall man with a shield strapped to his arm, accompanied by a girl who was fairly obviously not related to him carrying some books.
Hopefully they way there was fairly empty, because if not they were going to draw a good deal of attention that she'd prefer to avoid. Her lips pressed into a thin line, confusion obvious as she followed him out, trailing him all the way to the park.
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Oct 28, 2013 19:59:04 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasia Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. He knew the park well enough, when it’d be busy or not, and whether there were cars coming by. Everybody had some sort of routine, especially in a big city. People simply didn’t have time for deviation. For him, he liked the occasional walk. Of course, he no longer liked his walks near water, as his limp could attest to.
When they finally got there, Pasha leaned over to pluck one of the books out of her hand, opening it to a certain page. Carved into the leather leaf was a rough sketch of his shield. There were very small variations, so it was obvious that the one in the book was a slightly newer one, but he didn’t quite have his artifact in a book. The cataloged ones were back at headquarters.
”You might want to step back just a little.” The shield had a fifteen feet radius and unless Anastasia you wanted to get flung into the air, stepping back would be ideal.
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Oct 29, 2013 7:14:58 GMT -8
They soon found themselves in an almost completely empty park, and Anastasia found herself staring at every shadow. Something had to be there. Why else would he take her to the park, bringing along a shield to protect himself with? The whole situation was riddiculous though, and Anastasia was having a hard time processing it. How was she supposed to understand when she could hardly even guess what it was that he was trying to show her? In a way it was it's own special kind of frustrating, This whole thing was supposed to be a way for her to understand the situation, and she wasn't understanding at all.
At the very least she knew what 'stand back' meant, and she opted to give him a good twenty five feet of space. If he needed more then that... well, he should have been specific, shouldn't he then? That much space should be enough for nearly anything.
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Post by PASHA MIKHAYLICHENKO-MOLOTOV on Oct 29, 2013 19:12:02 GMT -8
tagged: Anastasia Sokolov. time: May 8th, 3PM. speech: pasha. notes: - - -. Pasha weighed the shield a little against his arm. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, but he could still hold the thing. Actually, he found that the weight barely changed at all. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the enchantment that changed its weight for him as he aged, because he was well aware that if anyone else tried to handle it, they wouldn’t be able to lift it off the ground unless they were exceptionally strong, much less carry it as if it were made of foam.
Pasha glanced back over at the girl and anchored his feet. He’d feel the vibration, but thankfully it didn’t affect him all too much. If it did, that’d be horribly counterproductive, now wouldn’t it?
He raised the shield, then smashed it right into the ground. There wasn’t even a second of delay; the vibration practically tore up the turf where it hit the grass, splintering up and flinging dirt a good foot or so. It was like a ring, spreading out and shaking the ground, only starting to taper off at fifteen feet. Anything that Anastasia would’ve felt was residual, but it did make a few trees tremble and birds to go scattering.
Pasha brought the shield up as soon as he felt the initial vibration stop; he wasn’t doing this for a goddamn poster shot. He glanced over at Anastasia, raising an eyebrow. It was a silent question.
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