LOG; you won the war; VALERI + ALEXANDRA
Kazakov after Kazakov, oh my.
Dreaming had become somewhat of an adventure Anastasia wanted to avoid, so Alexandra saw most of what happened in them, whether they were prophetic or not. Lately, it had been more of the latter kind, dreams of great halls decked for balls and wading through snow in washed out St. Petersburg streets. Dreams of hands tied to her back and rifles aimed at her siblings, and then running away.
And Paris. Alexandra always loved those the most. Especially when she was able to see her father.
But this dream wasn't like that at all. This dream was about a woman, a brunette, who for some ungodly reason seemed familiar, and Alexandra didn't know why. She was in a gallery, or a studio, and if Alexandra moved, she could look out of the window and see the Seine running quietly through busy streets of the French capital.
She recognized that one shop on the corner. The woman was painting it.
Valeri was rather used to not dreaming, exactly -- he considered it only politeness that he not exercise his abilities, and so he rarely intruded on those of others. He had his own very rarely, even with this end of the world situation. He supposed he just wasn't meant to get too involved, and that was fine with him.
However, on occasion he did accidentally stumble in where he didn't intend to be. At least it seemed to be something relatively pleasant.
Pleasant, perhaps, but still... Alexandra had watched for a while now, the brunette laying finishing touches on the flowers outside of the shop, her hair pulled messily into a ponytail. Curls that couldn't be managed, Alexandra knew.
She turned to look at something, and Alexandra turned with her, her eyes falling on Valeri, the brunette's on the unopened door.
"Hello." She stuttered less in her dreams. She didn't know why.
Oh now that was interesting. He wasn't usually noticed in return - but then, he recognised this young lady from the community.
"Hello." He smiled, and inclined his head a fraction. "My apologies for the intrusion."
"It's, ah, fine." She didn't mind. In fact, she rather welcomed it. Modest never dreamt with her anymore, and while in some ways, it was almost preferable, it also felt... lonely. They were supposed to be shared, one way or the other.
"It doesn't matter."
He wondered who the brunette might be, but of course it wasn't polite to pry either. Instead he acted as though the image didn't exist, and smiled pleasantly.
"In that case... I am Valeri Averiyevich. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Life could be so surreal, but with Terenti for a son and Kira for a wife he'd more or less come to terms with it.
"... ah. Alexandra Nikolaevna. It's nice to meet you too." She recognized him now, vaguely. She didn't really spend that much time on the community, and neither did Anastasia, but she had seen his icons once or twice.
"Even if it's unconventional."
"I've never found unconventional to be too much of a problem," he observed, half to reassure her and half because it was the truth.
"I suppose that's true." At least when it came to the end of the world. Alexandra gave herself a one-armed hug, turning back to the woman. She still couldn't place her. It was a little curiously frustrating.
Valeri looked again too, though he obviously had no way of recognising the woman. Alexandra's mother, perhaps? They looked a little alike in the face.
It was jarring, to hear a knock on a door in a dream. He glanced to the door, and then to Alexandra in curiosity.
The woman got up, and smiled a little before opening the door, giving her visitor a look. "You know you don't have to knock."
Alexandra moved to look at him. He was taller than her, and also dark, but as the woman, she couldn't place him. "... I don't know why I'm dreaming about this," she confessed, letting her arm fall again.
"Do you know them?" Valeri asked, feeling that wasn't too inquisitive.
"I like it when you answer the door for me," the man said, with just a hint of drawling sarcasm. Valeri couldn't help but be impressed by the complexity and realism of the dream - after a moment he realised he could even hear the sound of the streets outside.
Alexandra started to shake her head at first, but then as the woman rolled her eyes and grabbed him to pull him inside, she frowned again, and answered him instead. "No. I mean, I do, but ah. I can't seem to..."
Valeri nodded, more in acknowledgement than agreement. He raised his eyebrows slightly when the man laughed, still feeling like it wasn't a scene for him to watch, even if he had the ability and Alexandra's invite.
"I'd assumed they were relatives."
She shook her head this time, but still fairly uncertain. "I haven't, ah... seen them before." There was a paper on a table nearby, and Alexandra hesitated for a second before going to look at it, and the date marked in the top right corner.
"1938," she read outloud. "July 16th."
That meant very little to Valeri, aside from the fact that it was apparently post-war France. Not an easy place to live, perhaps, although better than being under actual occupation, of course.
"Does that mean something to you?" he asked. Apparently he was going to assume the role of assistant detective.
"The date is a day before my birthday and before..." She'd always heard the story of how the tsar was shot. When, where. She'd dreamt it, a few times. It was never pleasant.
"The same date in 1918." She frowned again, and looked at the two people walking through the apartment towards the painting, the woman sitting back down and the man sliding an arm around her waist. "... I don't..."
Valeri was sort of at a loss for words. He turned away from the couple in the dream out of that continuing sense of inappropriateness. It was Alexandra's dream and she had given him permission, but there was a faint prickling on the back of his neck that told him he was an intruder. He couldn't help hearing the man make a comment one usually didn't say in polite company, and that only made it worse.
Alexandra was about to say something else before the dream shifted and the woman was sitting at a table with a small blonde boy, feeding him porridge.
That made even less sense.
"... I think I want to leave now."
Personally, Valeri couldn't have agreed more. He took the liberty of setting a hand to Alexandra's shoulder in an attempt to reassure her a little. He had no idea if she knew how to enter or leave dreams, but it would be simple enough to take her out of it himself if necessary. His abilities weren't vast, but that was within his means.
"Are you able to wake up?"
She shook her head, but felt calmer by the hand on her shoulder. "They won't let me leave until it's over. They never do."
"Let me try." It wasn't his dream, after all. He could take certain other liberties.
He'd half-expected failure after that comment of hers, but it was easy enough to walk outside the dream with her and leave it all behind. The crawling sensation down his spine began to fade, for which he was profoundly grateful.
She let out a breath as soon as she felt the dream fade around her, still clawing at her before it let go completely. ".... I." Alexandra turned to Valeri, the relief flooding her. "Thank you."
"It's no trouble." And it really hadn't been; he'd wanted out. He let go of her shoulder as she turned, and smiled.
"You're not a dreamseer, are you?" She asked after a bit, something about him feeling off. "You're like... more like Modest."
He didn't know Modest, but nodded anyway.
"I just observe," he explained. "And most of the time not even that."
Dreaming had become somewhat of an adventure Anastasia wanted to avoid, so Alexandra saw most of what happened in them, whether they were prophetic or not. Lately, it had been more of the latter kind, dreams of great halls decked for balls and wading through snow in washed out St. Petersburg streets. Dreams of hands tied to her back and rifles aimed at her siblings, and then running away.
And Paris. Alexandra always loved those the most. Especially when she was able to see her father.
But this dream wasn't like that at all. This dream was about a woman, a brunette, who for some ungodly reason seemed familiar, and Alexandra didn't know why. She was in a gallery, or a studio, and if Alexandra moved, she could look out of the window and see the Seine running quietly through busy streets of the French capital.
She recognized that one shop on the corner. The woman was painting it.
Valeri was rather used to not dreaming, exactly -- he considered it only politeness that he not exercise his abilities, and so he rarely intruded on those of others. He had his own very rarely, even with this end of the world situation. He supposed he just wasn't meant to get too involved, and that was fine with him.
However, on occasion he did accidentally stumble in where he didn't intend to be. At least it seemed to be something relatively pleasant.
Pleasant, perhaps, but still... Alexandra had watched for a while now, the brunette laying finishing touches on the flowers outside of the shop, her hair pulled messily into a ponytail. Curls that couldn't be managed, Alexandra knew.
She turned to look at something, and Alexandra turned with her, her eyes falling on Valeri, the brunette's on the unopened door.
"Hello." She stuttered less in her dreams. She didn't know why.
Oh now that was interesting. He wasn't usually noticed in return - but then, he recognised this young lady from the community.
"Hello." He smiled, and inclined his head a fraction. "My apologies for the intrusion."
"It's, ah, fine." She didn't mind. In fact, she rather welcomed it. Modest never dreamt with her anymore, and while in some ways, it was almost preferable, it also felt... lonely. They were supposed to be shared, one way or the other.
"It doesn't matter."
He wondered who the brunette might be, but of course it wasn't polite to pry either. Instead he acted as though the image didn't exist, and smiled pleasantly.
"In that case... I am Valeri Averiyevich. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Life could be so surreal, but with Terenti for a son and Kira for a wife he'd more or less come to terms with it.
"... ah. Alexandra Nikolaevna. It's nice to meet you too." She recognized him now, vaguely. She didn't really spend that much time on the community, and neither did Anastasia, but she had seen his icons once or twice.
"Even if it's unconventional."
"I've never found unconventional to be too much of a problem," he observed, half to reassure her and half because it was the truth.
"I suppose that's true." At least when it came to the end of the world. Alexandra gave herself a one-armed hug, turning back to the woman. She still couldn't place her. It was a little curiously frustrating.
Valeri looked again too, though he obviously had no way of recognising the woman. Alexandra's mother, perhaps? They looked a little alike in the face.
It was jarring, to hear a knock on a door in a dream. He glanced to the door, and then to Alexandra in curiosity.
The woman got up, and smiled a little before opening the door, giving her visitor a look. "You know you don't have to knock."
Alexandra moved to look at him. He was taller than her, and also dark, but as the woman, she couldn't place him. "... I don't know why I'm dreaming about this," she confessed, letting her arm fall again.
"Do you know them?" Valeri asked, feeling that wasn't too inquisitive.
"I like it when you answer the door for me," the man said, with just a hint of drawling sarcasm. Valeri couldn't help but be impressed by the complexity and realism of the dream - after a moment he realised he could even hear the sound of the streets outside.
Alexandra started to shake her head at first, but then as the woman rolled her eyes and grabbed him to pull him inside, she frowned again, and answered him instead. "No. I mean, I do, but ah. I can't seem to..."
Valeri nodded, more in acknowledgement than agreement. He raised his eyebrows slightly when the man laughed, still feeling like it wasn't a scene for him to watch, even if he had the ability and Alexandra's invite.
"I'd assumed they were relatives."
She shook her head this time, but still fairly uncertain. "I haven't, ah... seen them before." There was a paper on a table nearby, and Alexandra hesitated for a second before going to look at it, and the date marked in the top right corner.
"1938," she read outloud. "July 16th."
That meant very little to Valeri, aside from the fact that it was apparently post-war France. Not an easy place to live, perhaps, although better than being under actual occupation, of course.
"Does that mean something to you?" he asked. Apparently he was going to assume the role of assistant detective.
"The date is a day before my birthday and before..." She'd always heard the story of how the tsar was shot. When, where. She'd dreamt it, a few times. It was never pleasant.
"The same date in 1918." She frowned again, and looked at the two people walking through the apartment towards the painting, the woman sitting back down and the man sliding an arm around her waist. "... I don't..."
Valeri was sort of at a loss for words. He turned away from the couple in the dream out of that continuing sense of inappropriateness. It was Alexandra's dream and she had given him permission, but there was a faint prickling on the back of his neck that told him he was an intruder. He couldn't help hearing the man make a comment one usually didn't say in polite company, and that only made it worse.
Alexandra was about to say something else before the dream shifted and the woman was sitting at a table with a small blonde boy, feeding him porridge.
That made even less sense.
"... I think I want to leave now."
Personally, Valeri couldn't have agreed more. He took the liberty of setting a hand to Alexandra's shoulder in an attempt to reassure her a little. He had no idea if she knew how to enter or leave dreams, but it would be simple enough to take her out of it himself if necessary. His abilities weren't vast, but that was within his means.
"Are you able to wake up?"
She shook her head, but felt calmer by the hand on her shoulder. "They won't let me leave until it's over. They never do."
"Let me try." It wasn't his dream, after all. He could take certain other liberties.
He'd half-expected failure after that comment of hers, but it was easy enough to walk outside the dream with her and leave it all behind. The crawling sensation down his spine began to fade, for which he was profoundly grateful.
She let out a breath as soon as she felt the dream fade around her, still clawing at her before it let go completely. ".... I." Alexandra turned to Valeri, the relief flooding her. "Thank you."
"It's no trouble." And it really hadn't been; he'd wanted out. He let go of her shoulder as she turned, and smiled.
"You're not a dreamseer, are you?" She asked after a bit, something about him feeling off. "You're like... more like Modest."
He didn't know Modest, but nodded anyway.
"I just observe," he explained. "And most of the time not even that."