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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 11, 2013 21:35:37 GMT -8
May 16, 2012 | 12:33 PMKellan had managed to manifest a load of baloney onto the paper in the form of black-inked chicken scrawl, and he was mighty proud of it. “Codswallop,” he explained, with an inappropriate enthusiasm, “is a word that we could use to describe a load of crap. Or, er, rubbish. Pardon the language.” He waved his hand dismissively. It showed off the watch that hugged his thin wrist—it looked new, shiny, well-picked, and uselessly expensive. “Use it like, hmm, what a load of codswallop! Like what your dad might say if you tried to explain why it wasn’t you that stole the cookies from the cookie jar.”The corner of his lip twitched, amused. “Even though you totally did.”By which he meant, he totally did, and she totally didn’t. The girl he was talking to was Anastasia, the teenager that fit the criteria to be a mate: an Impedio Society trainee, around his age, and not related to him. She sat tucked into the table beside him, sitting fair-haired and gaunt-featured in such a way that was pretty and interesting, different in a way that an alien was different. Kellan decided that he liked it. He hoped his playful demeanor would breach the mysteries of her mind—she seemed like such an enigmatic person—because he didn’t want to be spit back at with contempt. It would be a horrible way to start a friendship. Because Kellan was dead-set on one. “Now,” he said. “What comes to mind when somebody says ‘scrummy’?”ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 12, 2013 9:43:33 GMT -8
Six words in, Anastasia was starting to think that Kellan was messing with her. It was, strictly speaking, just a guess, but the whole thing seemed fishy to her. For one, he was being made to do a monotonous chore and enjoying it, and for another there seemed to be a whole string of very silly (and frequently dirty) words getting interjected. She had a clear enough understanding of normal english, even if she struggled a bit and had to rely on context cues, but anything dirty or slang-oriented? Nope, right out. At best, she knew a few older insults from books she was made to read, but even those would have gotten her laughed at, simply because of how out of date they were.
Not that the words she was learning were much better. 'Crap'? Describing bad things as poop seemed needlessly crude. Not that russian was much better, but Russian curses tended to lean more to the sexual variety, as opposed to being scatalogical in nature. She found herself frowning as he explained the definition, being forced to wonder if he was actively pulling her leg--or maybe English was simply that crude. She'd have to consult with Pasha after the fact, and she found herself unwilling to directly confront him.
After all, he technically outranked her. If nothing else, he had definitely been in the society longer then she had. Even if she hadn't been informed of just who he was, or his connection to one of the leaders, absolutely anyone involved in the society had been around longer then she had. There were toddlers who had known about the secret histories longer then she had after all.
"I imagine scum. Or something like scum." She answered, aware at least of 'scum'. Scum was one of the few insults she'd learned that, while archaic, wasn't going to get her openly laughed at. Someone being scum was apparently a timeless sort of insult, and it was her go-to insult.
"And I wouldn't be stealing cookies." She felt the need to add. What sort of person did he think she was? Sure, he was poking fun at himself, but it was also a poke at her honor. Anastasia took pride in obeying the rules, and she'd been brought up with the strict sort of discipline that didn't let her joke about stealing things.
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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 12, 2013 18:46:08 GMT -8
“Think along the lines of ‘scrumptious,’” he said, leaning over the table and propping his head up with a fist. “It might be used like, well. Hmm. Ah! You’re looking scrummy today.”The example was about as subtle as a raging avalanche, but he thought it might slide, and the opportunity was there. He had to use it. But, just in case, he didn't actually tell her what it meant. She could consider it a heavy prize for a correct answer when she got it. He grabbed the pen and wrote the word under codswallop, his tongue protruding from between his teeth in concentration. With the term on the paper, he held it up and studied it with a cocked head, and thought that he might take the lesson a little more seriously. After all, having Anastasia armed with his vocabulary could prove apocalyptic. “Really, though, your English isn’t so bad. I think it just needs polishing. Through ample amounts of experience.” He smiled at her. “Just remember I’ll be there if you need me.”And so, he tried to ease himself into the realm of casual conversation, his fingers lingering on the pen. “We’ll practice now. Try telling me about yourself.” He pushed the paper away, temporarily forgotten as the spotlights shone on Anastasia. ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 12, 2013 19:20:44 GMT -8
'Scrumptious' was absolutely not on a highschool russian word list, and she was forced to squint at him, trying to work it out. Even his example for 'scrummy' didn't help her bridge the gap, as a phrase like that could be either positive or negative. Was it more like 'good' or more like 'crummy'? It certainly sounded like crummy, but if there was on thing she'd learned about English, it was that it didn't make sense half the time.
So technically speaking, it did slide, because she wasn't sure if he was insulting her or not. "I don't know 'scrumptious'." She clarified, her accent seeming to thicken with her anxiety. It was always relatively thick, but it was thick enough to cut with a knife when she was annoyed, which she absolutely was. Not necessarily at Kellan, so much at the fact that English was absurd, and the fact that she was even being expected to learn it.
"It's terrible." She commented off hand, frowning and having to think about what to say. What was there even to say, after all? What did he know, and not know? She had no idea--for all she knew, he'd been told her name and that she needed English help. "My name is Anastasia Yurievna Sokolov." She started, since full names had a lot more importance in Russia. "I arrived about a week ago, and before that I didn't know about the Society. My parents were agents or... whatever word you use for them." It seemed like a rough start, but that was more her history, and not so much what she liked and those things. "I practice Sambo." Longer sentences seemed painful, and she opted for short ones when she could.
KELLAN ACCURSO | MAY 16TH, 12:30 PM |
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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 12, 2013 20:00:10 GMT -8
Scrumptious, to be fair, wasn’t much of a word high school kids used much. Kellan was just a strange, fascinating creature with a spice rack for a vocabulary, and spices were compulsory in a Kellan meal. “Patricians?” he guessed, raking a hand through his hair—it caught, and he tugged it out with a twitch of the eye. He could stick a comb in there and it would hold the entire day. “Tricky word. Pa-tri-shin.” He worded it carefully, not condescendingly, and with a smile hidden in his voice. Her accent seemed to thicken like honey. It was another thing Kellan decided that he liked about the Russian girl, but Kellan was a golden, indiscriminate pit into which the world threw various people into. “Oh?” His eyebrows poked his hairline, and he nodded at Anastasia. “Sambo? You could tell me about that. What is it?”He took the paper and slid it in front of the girl—he pushed the pen into Anastasia’s palm. “Try writing it, too.”ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 13, 2013 17:58:28 GMT -8
Anastasia's new problem had two parts. For one, she didn't know what a 'patrician' was, although she guessed it was some sort of rank or job within the society--or maybe a term for someone who lived within the society. The second problem was that she didn't know what her parents were, or how they ranked. She didn't know what place they'd held in the society, and she'd felt largely unwilling to ask Pasha about it. He wasn't the sort of person who was going to engage in small talk about his dead friend.
So she shrugged, forced to admit she didn't know. "I don't know--either the word or what they are. I didn't know they were members until I arrived in America." Was 'members' even the right word choice in a situation like this? Were you a 'member' of the society, or was there some other word that she was missing? Member seemed so mundane, considering that it meant knowing the horrible secret history of the world.
Sambo was something she knew, and she reached forward to write it out as she explained. "It is a sport. Or a... self defense." She couldn't remember what stupid thing american's called it. "You learn to fight. My parents thought it would be useful, and I guess that it would be." They had known she might one day end up with the society after all.
She drew her hand back after a moment, revealing what she'd written--cambo. The 'ambo' part was easy enough to transliterate from cyrillic, but the letter that looked like a 'C' in cyrillic was actually almost identical to an english 's'.
KELLAN ACCURSO | MAY 16TH, 12:30 PM |
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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 14, 2013 19:45:47 GMT -8
Kellan’s lips puckered, and he looked away ruffling his head. He, with his aristocratic manners that were learned mannerisms constantly at odds with his natural audacity, worked his muscles into a shamed face. Levi Accurso was as dangerous as a rattlesnake hiding in tall grass, but at least Kellan had known him. “Patricians are these barmy fellows that specialize in a particular field,” he said. “Wait, no, scratch that—the Society’s full of ‘em barmy fellows. I may or may not be included.”Kellan reached over and took the paper to see what Anastasia had written, and his face became high-browed and half-smirked. Taking the pen, he scribbled the c out and wrote an s above the craze of black ink. Looking it over, and finding himself very unsatisfied, he wrote the word sambo underneath the first attempt, and held it out to Anastasia. “A martial art?” he offered, pointing at his correction with a curt nod. “Always a good thing. ‘Specially in the society.”There was something missing from this little lesson, and it left him feeling hollowed out. He couldn’t quite place a finger on it, but it lingered at the back of his mind, and he bit his lower lip in irritation. ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 17, 2013 7:25:59 GMT -8
Anastasia couldn't tell if Kellan was doing it on purpose. Was he trying to throw in every single word that she didn't know all at once? She didn't know what 'barmy' was, and even the jist of 'specializing in a particular field' felt vague and undefined to her. She knew all the words of the sentence--all the component parts anyway--but put together they didn't seem to quite fit, like pieces of several different puzzles. Even so, she didn't ask for clarification, opting to fall back on what she knew she didn't know--that she still had no idea of if her parents were that or not.
"I don't know. They never told me about the society, and Pasha doesn't talk about them much at all." He was a quiet type, and while she was fairly sure he would tell her if she asked, she wasn't about to go and ask any time soon.
She squinted at the offered paper. A dze? It took her a moment to remember that english was stupid, and that what was her dze was their c. Or something. It was hard for her to keep track, and half the letters looked like one thing and meant something else. English was downright infuriating.
"Yes. It is a martial art. A war art." Combat would have been a better word, but Anastasia wasn't picking and choosing based on the best possible word. She was simply saying what she knew, and she squinted at the paper once more. She didn't even look up before asking her own question, turning the tables. "Do you know martial arts then?" Obviously not Sambo, because Sambo was as Russian as Okroshka, but he probably had learned something, right?
KELLAN ACCURSO | MAY 16TH, 12:30 PM |
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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 17, 2013 21:27:59 GMT -8
Kellan squinted at Anastasia, and wondered if they were connecting—if they weren’t, it was his fault, as he should’ve been sensitive about her lacking comprehension, and he vowed to ease a little on the confusing English slang and have her deal with just his out-of-the-ordinary accent and crude teaching techniques. By crude teaching techniques, he meant no teaching techniques at all. He was rolling by the seat of his pants. “Let me rephrase that a bit. Patricians are . . . people that are good at something, and they use that something for the Society.” He struggled for an example. “Say, somebody was good at finding things. Maybe they could be an Artifact Hunter.” His explanation sounded much better in his mind, but Kellan filters were hard to work around. And, while Anastasia pored over what he’d written—he didn’t think it was that hard, but he grew up with potatoes and the English language, so what did he know?—Kellan looked for a way to say that he’d only taken basic physical training and didn’t actually know any formal martial arts. His innate eloquence failed him. “Just . . . basic things,” he admitted with a sheepish nod of the head. “The compulsory things. I never was an athletic type.” He quickly steered the conversation out of the land of the Kellan. “When did you start this, um, Sambo?”They should be writing more, he thought. Write what, though? ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 18, 2013 13:38:02 GMT -8
Kellan was at least helping her understand what a Patician was, and she paused to mentally translate it into the closest equivilent. "Like a... a Praporshchik. A specialist." Which was not an accurate translation, but it was as close as she could approximate. She didn't know the translation, and in truth it didn't really have one. There was nothing that could really approximate the rank without going into the specifics of military rank.
Anastasia found her eyebrows raising as he danced around what she suspected--he didn't have any real training, did he? 'basic things' was so nonspecific and noncommittal that it didn't really explain anything. It sounded suspiciously like beating around the point, and Anastasia really couldn't stand for such things. She fixed Kellan with a firm stare. "You mean you haven't had much training at all, have you?" She asked outright, preferring to be up front. "I started sambo when I was... seven or eight." She honestly couldn't remember, but it was somewhere in there. It had never mattered when she started so much. It had only mattered how competent he was.
KELLAN ACCURSO | MAY 16TH, 12:30 PM |
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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 18, 2013 19:54:28 GMT -8
Kellan raised both of his hands in a sign of war-weary defeat. His tenuous bush-dancing had failed him. Anybody with brain cells could have suspected, however, that he wasn’t as careworn and battle-scarred as the majority of the Impedio Society with one look at his lanky arms. “Okay. Yes, I haven’t done much of anything,” he confessed. He wasn’t looking right at her when he said this. “Maybe one day you’ll teach me this Sambo thing.”And now, he thought, he needed to grind the steering wheel of the conversation in a direction that didn’t make Kellan look like a mug-able looney. “So, yeah, back to the lesson . . . ,” he said, but he faltered, having realized that the lesson had hit a brick wall and there was no such thing as reverse. He pondered this with a pensive finger on his lower lip. And then, as a light bulb exploded above his head (metamorphically speaking), the lesson drove through the brick wall and left behind a grandiose display of rubble and settling dust. “A letter! Why don’t we write a letter?” He sounded euphoric. He added, “To . . . to somebody. Hmm. Arc?” Even Kellan, normally blinded by ebullience, thought this to be an extraordinarily idiotic idea. All the better. ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 20, 2013 7:16:10 GMT -8
It seemed bizarre to Anastasia that someone could have spent their life in the society, and yet not know how to fight. How was that even possible? How could he know monsters exist and yet not have immediately learned how to defend himself? It was like having a sword hanging over your head and not immediately investing in a shield to block it.
Sometimes the society itself seemed absurd.
She let him guide the conversation back on task just in time for him to swerve off the rails. A letter? Her eyebrows went up, face forming a perplexed 'what are you talking about' expression. A letter? Why would she write a letter? After a moments thought she actually said as much. "I don't know who 'Arc' is." Or what they were, if they were a what. "Why would I write them a letter though? The only people I would write a letter to are friends back in Russia, because calling them is difficult." She meant that in a literal sense--timezones made calls a huge pain, and made letters actually viable.
KELLAN ACCURSO | MAY 16TH, 12:30 PM |
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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 20, 2013 17:41:14 GMT -8
“Arc is a blast,” Kellan assured her, wiping his hands and the coffee-coloured chinos that he’d vainly slipped away from an airy store from the Kings Mall. His wallet and his conscience had wept for many nights after. His soul would be weeping after what he’d said about Arc, but he didn’t think it inaccurate—Arc was literally a bomb. Aggressively capricious, armed with a smile scarier than a shark’s, and should be labeled with a “HANDLE WITH CARE.” “Because letters are fun, and I think it’d be good for you.” It would be good for Anastasia—if she were the one to actually write the letter. “What should we put in it? Come on, let’s brainstorm.”To anybody else who knew him, the rising euphoria would be a sure sign to “HANDLE WITH CARE,” lest they lose an arm as a result of the convoluted mess that was his mind. He used the pen to scrawl on a fresh piece of paper that he’d produced from the bag that was slumped against his chair. Dear Arc,ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 20, 2013 18:59:36 GMT -8
Anastasia found herself once again squinting at Kellan, once again unsure of just what the hell he was talking about. What was 'a blast'? Was that even a good thing? He kept doing thing thing--kept using phrases she had no idea about, and Anastasia was far too proud to actually ask what the heck he meant.
She didn't think that letters were fun, but it was hard to argue that it would be good practice for English. Even so, the whole activity seemed bizarre. How was she supposed to write a whole letter to someone she'd never spoken to?
"Who are they? I can't know what to write unless I know who they are." She declared, brow furrowed. The sort of letter she'd write to another society trainee was significantly different to the letter she'd write to someone higher up the ranks, and completely different from the sort of letter she'd write someone outside the society. "You haven't given me enough information." KELLAN ACCURSO | MAY 16TH, 12:30 PM |
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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 21, 2013 20:12:44 GMT -8
“Arc would be . . . well,” said Kellan, his hesitant lips unwilling to form the words, to put a label on the bad idea—a realization that was beginning to dawn on him. He wiped his hands on his chinos again before saying, “Arc is one of the . . . big three.”He offered Anastasia a sheepish, sideways glance that was as hopeful as it was hopeless—he wasn’t sure Anastasia was the type to write a furtive letter to the scariest woman alive, considering her rather straight-laced disposition. He fiddled with the pen, looking almost guilty as his eyes strayed back to the meager two words he’d written on his paper. Well, it was no matter. Even if Anastasia didn’t want to do it, he was still going to. She was just missing out on a wonderful learning opportunity. He said, “Arcturus Dia. She’s the terrifying one.”ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 22, 2013 7:49:59 GMT -8
It took Anastasia a moment to connect what Kellan was saying with what Pasha had explained to her about how the Society was run. There were three leaders, who each oversaw a different area and a different branch. Under them were the region leaders, and then the region seconds, and then the heads of specific bases--which Pasha was. So Pasha was fourth down the totem pole, which still made him damned high up. He hadn't explicitly explained that the big three were all in LA, but she knew enough to know that a lot of people were in LA.
It did not occur to her that writing a letter to one of the big three would be a good thing. She did her absolute best to not sound like she was talking down to him--because it would be rude to call him an idiot--but at the same time she absolutely wasn't going to just write a letter to one of the big three, let alone the one described as terrifying.
"Kellan." She began, fighting to keep her tone neutral. "My guardian is fourth on the society rankings, and he doesn't even just... write letters to the people in charge. I am at the bottom. The very bottom. I would be surprised if anyone in the society was lower ranked then I am." Technically speaking, she ranked the same as Kellan as a trainee, but technically was not the same thing as actually, and Anastasia had barely known about the society for a week, while Kellan had seemingly been born into it. "Why would I write a letter to one? Why, especially, would I write a letter to the scary one?" She actually wasn't entirely sure that terrifying meant the same as scary, but she was fairly sure they were at least similar.
KELLAN ACCURSO | MAY 16TH, 12:30 PM |
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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 22, 2013 21:09:21 GMT -8
Anastasia, ever the voice of reason, asked why she would do something like write a letter to the terror of the big three. That was it—you didn’t, unless your name was Kellan. “All right, all right,” said Kellan, raking a hand through his hair—it caught, and he pulled it back. “We don’t have to actually mail the letter to her.”This was already a lie, because the moment they step out of the library, the well-written masterpiece was going straight into the mailbox. And then the troubling days would begin with Kellan torn between being giddy with impatience and praying the mailman’s mail truck would catch on fire (the mailman didn’t necessarily have to die) and the letter would perish, never to be read. Kellan liked to live life on the edge. “But I do think it would be a good experience. Writing a letter.” Or, rather, helping him write a letter. But substance was the key—the actual writing part would come later, or when she insisted on it. “So, ideas!”Kellan wrote: Dear Arc,
Salutations! How are you doing? I hope you’re doing well. Me? I’m doing fine—thank you for the concern.“Formalities,” he muttered, his tongue between his teeth as his hand worked across the page. ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 23, 2013 7:08:12 GMT -8
Anastasia was struggling to understand his thought process. Why write a letter you weren't going to send? Was this sort of American thing? She paused, lips pressed firmly together as she tried to compose herself. It was hard to deny that it would be good experience. It would be--and experience was good. So she had might as well.
She paused, giving him a glance. "Is this letter from me, or you? Because if it's from me, I would probably have to explain that I'm a new member. Letters are supposed to have... purposes. Reasons." There had to be a reason for the letter, and there was no such reason. "If it was from you, you might want to apologize for something you've done." Which was technically a huge assumption, but Anastasia would have bet money on the fact that Kellan had done something. He certainly seemed the type. "Apology letters are quite common, are they not? Because they are more... formal." If it was for practice, what did it matter?
Only it did matter, because Anastasia certainly wouldn't be writing an apology letter. If it was from her, it would be a letter of introduction. If it was from Kellan... well, she doubted that he would need to introduce himself. She glanced over the letter briefly before pointing out a word.
"What is this one? Salut... ations?" She asked, pausing in the wrong place.
KELLAN ACCURSO | MAY 16TH, 12:30 PM |
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Post by KELLAN ACCURSO on Nov 23, 2013 9:34:41 GMT -8
“It could be from both of us,” offered Kellan, holding up the pen and looking at Anastasia with a tight-knit smile. It was a fair compromise. “A joint letter. Hrm.”He barked a laugh, just one laugh, a full, careless sound. It did sound like something he would be doing, although he generally played it safe around people like Arcturus. He was quite fond of his ability to walk. He was more inclined to write an apology to Mr. Giovanni, the man that was the most likely to put up with his shenanigans, but since the letter was already addressed to Arcturus in ink, he decided that he could make something up. He set back to work, hunching over the lined paper. Dear Arc,
Salutations! How are you doing? I hope you’re doing well. Me? I’m doing fine—thank you for the concern.
Also, I apologize profusely for stealing your birthday beer. I hope you’re not too mad. I’ll make up for it one day.
I suppose now you know that it’s me, Kellan. Hello! Also, there’s one more.Maybe a little too close to the truth. Or, at least, dangerously close to one. Kellan smirked, looking over his words, and nodded over his paper. “Salutations is a very formal greeting.” The grin spread. “Now, you? An introduction, right? It’ll be like how you introduced yourself to me, but you get to plan it before you write it on paper.”He rolled the pen and slid the paper over to Anastasia. ANASTASIA SOKOLOV
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Post by ANASTASIA SOKOLOV on Nov 23, 2013 17:25:16 GMT -8
A joint letter? Anastasia had never heard of such a thing, although she wasn't clear if she hadn't heard of it because it was rare, or because Kellan made it up. From what she'd seen of Kellan, it could honestly have gone either way. She leaned in a little bit, trying to read the letter even as Kellan wrote it out. English looked so strange to her. It certainly sounded strange, but on paper--half of it was similar, and half of it was all wrong, and the whole thing threw her right off.
Yet she was still expected to write. She took the pen carefully, reading over the letter once more. "You stole her beer?" Anastasia shot him a look. "I thought American's weren't supposed to drink until they were old and grey?" Which was about as close to a joke as Anastasia got, but good god, the American drinking age was draconic. If someone suggested such a thing in Russia they'd end up the nations favorite comedian--that or dead, it was hard to tell. "Which is stupid, by the way." She clarified, just in case her opinion on such a thing hadn't been entirely, horribly clear.
She paused for a moment before writing out the first bit of her letter, the majority of letters being well-formed, while others looked clumsy.
My name is Anastasia Sokolov. Pasha Mikhaylichenko-Molotov is my guardian. I believe you know him. I thought it would be appropriate to introduce myself.
She paused, staring at the clumsy words with a scowl. What was she supposed to say to a woman she'd never met?
KELLAN ACCURSO | MAY 16TH, 12:30 PM |
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