Vladamir Kuryakin had always harboured a certain taste for the finer things in life. It was perfectly bizarre, really – Vladamir hadn’t ever been blessed with bulging pockets or an overflowing bank account. Well, come to think of it, he rather had been blessed with bulging pockets, seasoned pick pocketer that he was, but perhaps not in the sense that he would have liked. His own methods lacked a certain… legality. All the same, he had certainly acquired a taste for a lifestyle that had long since fall from his grasp. After the loss of his job and his fall from grace, as well as the inevitable crumbling of his relationship with Sophie, Vladamir so desperately missed the nights out at the opera, and evenings dining in top-tier restaurants, hungrily rubbing his belly as he awaited marvellous four-course meals – always leaving room for dessert, of course.
While their current situation wasn’t ideal, and Vladamir harboured a lot of guilt – guilt for dragging Anya down to their level, guilt for having betrayed Sophie, breaking her heart in the process, and guilt for all of the lies and deception and withholding the truth from Katherine and his other friends – he tried to take a look at the positives all the same. Tonight, for example, was one of the many instances in which he was able to lose himself the charade of it all. There were many aspects of the job that Dimitri hadn’t ever taken a liking to and, luckily for Vladamir, they were the parts in which he thrived. Though his visit to the theatre tonight held an underlying importance – it was all for research purposes, of course, as it allowed him the opportunity to further research the Dowager Empress and gain insight into her life – he still enjoyed the bittersweet nostalgia that came with it.
The second he walked through the doors, he was transported. If he only shut his eyes, it were as though he could see Sophie in the distance, waiting for him atop the stairs in a glittering dress, her glowing smile one she wore only for him. Though he certainly didn’t belong within the crowd he was currently mixing – had he ever? – it was easy to lose himself in the excitement. He still kept his head down, of course, able to slip through the crowd unnoticed; he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself tonight, not from the kind of people who might be able to expose him. He sifted his way through the crowd, taking note of each dicky bow and and top hat, each rolex-clad wrist trailing after a glamorous girl in a diamond necklace. Had Dimitri been with him, he was sure his comrade would be eyeballing each piece of expensive jewellery, trying to devise a plan to make them his.
Ducking out of the way of socialites – on occasion relieving them of their champagne flutes when they mistook him for the help – Vlad kept his head low as he worked his way towards his destination. Though he knew he was on the job, he didn’t see any harm in making the most of the evening. He’d spent many a year deceiving people into thinking he belonged at these events – nights at the opera with Sophie, or evenings spent watching the ballet, or attending orchestras such as the one that he was attending tonight. It was second nature to him, and he was able to flit in and out of crowds, somehow finding a place in all walks of life, rich or poor – he supposed that’s what made him such a good liar. Tonight, though, he was under the radar, and it seemed only right that he occupy the best seat in the house – stage side.
Making his way down a corridor, Vladamir found himself deep in thought as he smiled widely at the views surrounding him. He hadn’t quite made it backstage yet, but what he was seeing now was equally hypnotising. He imagined he must be some place close the dressing rooms as he watched with glee as girls spilled out along the narrow hallway, clad in a wide array of colours and sequins that he was sure would set Jefferson’s heart a-racing. They were a world away from the dull and drab black on white tuxedos that he’d seen out in the auditorium – while the girls seemed to shine, the men all resembled penguins, lined up one after another and impossible to distinguish a man from the one before him. These girls, however, were clad in gorgeous dresses, tutus, and eagerly scurried down the hallway in a flurry of colours, tugging on the strings of Vladamir’s heart as he recalled exactly why he so dearly adored the theatre.
His gaze landed on a young girl, perhaps no older than Katherine, who was protectively holding her violin to the chest, and the corners of his lips twitched as he wondered whether he’d have the opportunity to hear her perform tonight. It was that thought that had lost him, deeming him entirely oblivious to the girl whose path he’d just wandered into, only becoming aware of the fact when he felt a weight pressing down on his feet.
Wincing, he stared down at the offending object, noticing the set of wheels that had decided on flattening his toes this evening. At the sound of the horrified gasp and hurried apologies, his gaze wandered upwards, to meet that of the girl who’d unknowingly assaulted him – though, of course, assaulted was a rather strong word, given the circumstances.
“Ah, do not fret, lovely girl!” Vladamir insisted, immediately lifting a hand to wave away her apologies. He smiled down at her, taking in her features as she floundered. She was a rather striking girl – long, flowing locks, and a pretty face. “No harm done, my dear. My toes shall live to see another day.”
He laughed, then, hoping the sound might work to reassure her. He didn’t want her panicking, though he knew that in this day and age she was lucky to have encountered him, and not somebody who might’ve been less forgiving. All the same, it had been an easy mistake, and it hadn’t even been entirely her fault.
“Indeed, it is I that should have been watching where I was going,” he told her, shaking his head once more.
After a moment’s pause, her words caught up to him, and a chuckle bubbled in the back of his throat, erupting from his lips as he understood her meaning.
“Ah, you are apologising, and it appears as though you are embarrassed? Oh, pardon me. I do not mean to draw attention to the blush on your cheeks, pretty as it may be – again, it is not my intent to embarrass you further, my dear, but indeed I think it very endearing that you named your tank.”
It was a rare sight to catch Vladamir flustered, but he was well aware of the weight behind his words more often than not. Language barrier or no, he had been told many a time that he could be a little full on, and often overbearing, and by calling attention to the girl’s humiliation, he realised that he was only helping to further it.
Carrie had a lot to answer for. If she’d left the programme be then all Sherrie had to do was suck up her courage, make her way onstage, try not to hit any bum notes then scurry off to the row of seats her family were occupying, waiting for her post-performance blush to die down while she scooped ice cream out of the tiny tubs so miniscule, they were only such an acceptable size in the theatre. Instead, the brunette had to endure a longer wait, her stage fright mounting all the while and ultimately nearly taking off the toes of some poor man after Frankie had decided to go rogue.
The calibre of people who attended performances like this didn’t hint towards anyone overly aggressive, so it wasn’t like Sherrie braced herself to get yelled at. But she had expected a haughty eyeroll or a dirty look or the man over-exaggeratedly brushing down his suit like she’d damaged it in some way. Instead, her ears were filled with the sound of a soothing accent offering kind words and she blinked in surprise.
Lovely girl wasn’t a phrase she was overly acquainted with. Jackson was known for throwing out pet-names to the willing (Sherrie and Ella) and the unwilling (Peyton), but outside of their little friendship group, Sherrie hadn’t found anyone quite so willing to give her a nickname. This wasn’t really a nickname though, because only familiarity bred nicknames, and the words had came from a perfect stranger. The realisation made Sherrie’s blush burn brighter, because what if the man had mistaken her for someone else? That would only bring a whole new wave of awkwardness to the situation, and she watched him carefully for any signs of abject horror when he realised that he was, in fact, conversing with a totally unfamiliar girl who’d just dragged her oxygen tank over his toes.
But then again, how many girls lugged tanks like these around the backstage area of theatres?
Her eyes catching the other man’s, Sherrie pushed a weak smile onto her face. The man looked like the sort of person commonly found in a library. You know, that one guy who seems to have been pulled from a different era and plonked in the middle of a towering stack of books in our modern day world. The kind of guy that sees you struggling to figure out the Dewey Decimal system and gives you a smile that manages to be sympathetic without being patronising, before offering to help you find the biology textbook you were looking for. Sherrie had never had an experience like that, but she did have an imagination that strayed towards more romantic situations. But this wasn’t a romantic situation, she quickly reminded herself. This was Sherrie being clumsy and upsetting an admittedly handsome stranger’s evening.
“You’re sure you’ll be able to walk again?” she joked weakly.
She let out a giggle when he picked up on her embarrassment and then went ahead to acknowledge it. She doubted that he meant his words to be malicious and for some reason, bringing the awkwardness of the moment to light made it seem a little less embarrassing.
“I guess I’m a little embarrassed. It definitely isn’t your fault, Frankie just gets me into all sorts of trouble sometimes,” she compromised with a soft shrug. Encouraged by the man’s smile, Sherrie gestured in the direction of the stage.
“Are you performing tonight? I haven’t seen you before!” She unfolded the sheet of paper with the show’s programme on it that she’d been clutching and scanned the list of names to see if she could pick out any of them that suited the man in front of her. He wasn’t much of a Robin, a David, a Scott or a Jonathan though.
“You’re not... Mose Art, are you?” she asked, spying the only unfamiliar name on the sheet; a pianist, apparently.
“Wow, your parents really saw the opportunity and seized it,” she muttered softly.
areudirty
kianamaiart
stormborns
pixelskylines
yousharknotpass
