𝑵𝑰𝑲𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑰 𝑫𝑴𝑰𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑯 𝑽𝑶𝑳𝑲𝑶𝑽
his gaze shifts to the child as she mimics the motion of his hands on the keys , and admits that it is mostly correct . a surprisingly gentle touch is placed on the inside of the girl’s wrist , indicating that she should raise it slightly . however , at the mention of the pakhan’s injury , nikolai looks up and pulls his hand away as if he had been stung . ‘ vova ? ’ he asks quietly , childhood nickname on his tongue , frown deepening . however , whatever weight that had been added to his shoulders is lightened by her reassurance , nodding gently . ‘ you are a medik ? ’ he’s seeking confirmation , making sure he had understood this interaction correctly . that would explain things , though he’s somewhat embarrassed at having not known already . especially given the fact that he had , as much as he would allow himself to these days , gotten to know marya in her shop .
‘ perhaps . i … ’ he trails off , a pause heavy in the air for a moment , before continuing , ‘ i did not expect any child , not just your niece . ’ he was surprised , but his reaction was not personal ; that’s what he was trying to convey . he looks down at olga again and frowns to see that the correction of where her wrist should be did not stick , and repeats the motion . his only concern for the moment , besides confirming with his brother that he would be fine , and if this injury was related to anything that would require his attention , was on making sure that the girl handled the instrument with care ─ oblivious , completely , to any thoughts of the night everything had occurred .
he doesn’t have full memories to rely on , even if he knew that’s where marya’s thoughts were . he was a toddler , and any scenes play out in flashes : bright colors , loud noises , feelings he tries to hold onto and those he tries his best to forget . he had not known vladimir had been shot until the doctors in moscow took him into their care ( and not even immediately then , considering how little dmitri choose to share with his youngest ) , let alone that anyone was trying to shoot him too . most of what he knows comes from after , as he built scripts for the actors in his mind to play out , a way to make sense of the chaos his young mind was unequipped to handle .
he nods at the question , thinking it was obvious . ‘ yes , it’s been my piano since i was young . ’ maybe about the time he was olga’s age , though he could not be sure .
there are remnants of a melancholic memory in the curved line of her mouth as the toddler hushes into an observing silence when his attention returns, briefly, to where her plump hand rests, gently correcting her slackened wrist so that the imitation is as similar as it can be. with her feet hanging off the piano stool ( one fat ankle still woefully bare as the white sock remains tucked in marya’s pocket ), olga kicks her legs in delight, turning the moon - roundness of her face up at her aunt in search of approval ─ an attentive, indulgent hum leaves the throat of the older female, though her thoughts remain affixed on matters of the past. earth - brown gaze locks onto the piano keys though it is not the child that she watches but nikolai, as he withdraws guiding touch abruptly, as though surprised. a minor reaction that only serves to confirm her worst fears. the diminutive nickname furthers the dread that nestles in her belly ─ panicked, she attempts to sort through former conversations, wondering if she had spoken out of turn to someone that she had assumed was a harmless stranger, unconnected to the wolves of moscow yet nothing pressingly urgent comes to mind.
( an offhand mention of his name and the name of her eldest brother, perhaps, but nothing that might tie her explicitly to the preobrazhensky brotherhood, or so she hopes. )
though her countenance remains downcast, as though her sole focus was on the child, her gaze flicks up at his question, widened hues softening with warmth. ❝ i am. ❞ swallowing slowly to push back the bile that gathers at the base of her throat as anxiety flares, she continues. ❝ i went to school for it, before the war. ❞ there is very little pride in her words ─ she does not speak with an intention to boast but to assure him in her capabilities, so that he does not mistake her for some poorly trained nurse. ❝ he was grazed by a bullet ... no stitches but the wound needs to be cleaned and checked for infection daily. ❞ the medik had said as much to vladimir as she wiped trickles of claret from his skin with tender murmurs, knees aching against the carpeted floors, though her doubts in his attention to the details of aftercare had remained unspoken. instead, she extends a wordless request to the younger brother ( for who else could he be ? ), bidding him to mind the elder for as long as the wound took to heal.
blinking back the confusion that threatens to unravel her confidence in the cause, brought on by unexpected concern for those that should be seen as the enemy, she allows his words to wash over the ear, pulling her to the present, fingers still curled lightly in the soft tresses of her niece. ❝ i understand. ❞ her jaw aches with soured apprehension. a deep sigh leaves her lungs ─ an attempt to soothe away any unpleasant sentiments. there will be time to ponder upon her discoveries later, but now she needed to ensure that her pretense was not exposed. ❝ there is no place for a child in such business but there was no time to find someone to watch her. ❞ tentatively, she attempts to wean herself from the room, but olga seemed determined to conquer the instrument, bringing her postured hand down to press upon a combination of keys that did not make such a horrendous noise. the sound draws a huff of laughter from marya’s chest, pensive fondness curbing nervousness.
❝ do you think she is too young to learn ? ❞
