Love a Man in Uniform (Mitya!)

[Anastasia van Drakke]

Things had been quiet, lately. It was lovely. The weather was beautiful, and Anastasia had spent hours lying by their pool sunning herself like a lizard, sipping Long Island Ice Tea while Ivan sketched and painted. He didn’t swim often, but she liked watching him do laps through her oversized sunglasses. No one was bothering them since the englishman had left the country (for the best, Ivan still got a strange glint in his eyes when that was mentioned), and Anastasia had had the guest room completely refurnished, as well as redecorated the main living room after her own private little destruction party.

The explosion at Underwood’s old headquarters had made the news, of course. Anastasia had wondered briefly if the twins had bothered to clear the mutts out before destroying the place. It would have been a shame... all those pelts.

Still, the tranquility and quiet (no red no <anger/fear/hate> spikes to hurt) had not made them complacent. A fact the blonde woman was pleased with, when the faintest hint of <confusion/curiosity> brushed against her like a zephyr. They had been getting lunch; the paparazzi had finally decided the van Drakke heir was getting old, even with the Ivan angle and was leaving them alone. No one else bothered them; Ivan was still intimidating to anyone with any sense. But someone was taking more then the usual amount of interest.

Sipping a glass of wine, Anastasia's eyes did a sweep of the cafe and the street outside, trying to pinpoint and lock onto who ever. It was probably nothing; someone recognized her, maybe. But it didn’t feel like it was solely directed at her and that was the issue. Sensing Ivan’s <attention/curiosity/caution>, she shook her head slightly and his grip on his steak knife loosened. Pushing her highlighted hair behind one ear, the woman’s eyes fixed on the source.

found you

[Mitya Makarov]

He really was trying. That's what he told himself as he made his way to a quaint little café he had been meaning to visit. Mitya had made it a point not to dwell too much on the past and all of the difficult years spent in the military. Sitting (or standing, that seemed worse) doing that all day, especially in public, made him look like some sort of brooding... what was the word? Those kids with too much make up and stiff, soulless expressions? Sparklepires, that was it. He definitely didn't want to look like one of those. Besides, he was more than aware that his time desperately needed to be spent trying to settle and make friends, rather than stare into space and fret over every improbability. And he did have a job to worry about. It was ridiculous, actually. That he was still so nervous that training other metas almost gave him flashbacks. Okay, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration...

Suddenly, he stopped walking, almost as though he had forgotten where he was even going. It was the strangest thing, but someone had caught his eye. And not in a good way, either. In the way that meant he definitely wasn't going to be able to forget his military past for just one day. The worst part was that he was almost frozen to the spot, trying to figure out who that person even was. And he was fairly certain that whoever it was, they knew he was looking, and they were not receptive.

Rumours from long ago ran through his head. There was that odd one with the... what did they call him? Like a devil. A demon, a young soldier possessed by the very bile of Lucifer. Mitya had dismissed the stories at the time. He did remember when that demon child then escaped. Still he didn't believe the stories but... He was certainly old enough to have been that same soldier. As he mused over it, the woman the "soldier" was with looked straight at him, and he had the most terrible feeling that this memory reel was not going to end there.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

Anastasia did not take her eyes off the source of the <curiosity>, her expression unreadable. "Вы признаете его?*" she asked Ivan, not needing to look at her partner to feel how tense he was. Her own face she could keep still, thanks to training, but even she felt the strain of keeping still.

*Do you recognise him?

The russian man had placed a large hand over her knee, and squeezed slightly as she helped him stay calm. "Номер Не чиновник." he replied gruffly, scowling as empty eyes searched for weaknesses, for evidence of concealed weapons, for the line of a kevlar vest under a shirt.

*No, not an officer.

Nodding her blonde head, Anastasia rose to her feet and smiled at this stranger who was causing so much stress. Beckoning with one finger, she sent a wave of <trust/willingness> towards him and waving down Ivan's start as she moved forward, took a few mincing steps towards the man still watching like a rabbit in a headlight. "Hello," she said smoothly. "Do we know you? You seem to find either myself, or my partner, very interesting."

In one languid movement she touched his wrist, still smiling. "Вы - русский, да?"

*You are Russian, yes?"

[Mitya Makarov]

As he tried (and failed) to tear his feet from the ground they were apparently glued to, Mitya became slightly uneasy as he noticed the woman was still staring. Not only was she staring - she was talking to the inexplicably interesting gentleman she was with. About him? Oh, he certainly hoped not. Except, now that man was looking, as though sizing him up. And still he felt this had something to do with the military he tried to hard to leave behind. Was this what people called 'karma'? Was he being somehow punished by the universe for leaving the abused and vulnerable? Or was he simply being paranoid? Again?

Just as he thought he had just about managed to scrape his left foot off of the ground, however, the woman beckoned towards him, and he suddenly felt... different. Not quite calm, as his heart had begun racing a while back and wasn't quite done yet. Still, it was... odd. He was compelled to go to her as she signalled, rather than ignoring her and bolting back to his apartment.

She asked if they were familiar with each other, and despite his usual silence on matters concerning himself, it was as though he was with old friends, and he smiled. Not even nervously, although a tiny voice in the back of his head seemed to scream helplessly.

"Oh, no. I don't think so. I'm not sure," he answered her, looking over briefly at her companion. "There is a... hint of famili... Never mind."

He would normally recoil at the touch of a woman who terrified frightened made him so wary, but in this instance, he barely managed to straighten his expression into what he hoped was a neutral one.

"...да ...это является проблемой?"

Yes... is this a problem?

[Anastasia van Drakke]

The <nervousness/unease> radiating off their new point of interest was making Anastasia's skin itch. Still, her smile grew wider as their timid companion made his way over and with the pointed toe of a heel she pushed a chair out and glanced at it in a clear order invitation to sit down. Slowly, like a knot in a muscle under pressure, his unease was smoothing out, but there was still a little jaggard note of <beware>. The heiress left it, for now. He would, perhaps, be a tad suspicious at such a sudden change.

Under dark brows, Ivan's eyes remained fixed on Mitya. To call the gaze hostile would be an understatement, and while under the table, a soft hand on his knee was helping him remain calm, his own personal defense mechanism was permanently fixed on fight. And Eva was here. If this man was military (eyes scanned for concealed weapons, for the shift under a shirt that would betray a sudden movement), he'd be damned before he let them get their paws on her. The thought of it made him feel physically ill.

Aware of Ivan's effect on people, Anastasia quickly made sure their new 'friend' was <calm/sure> enough not to just up and run away. He wanted to; she could almost feel how tightly wound he was, like a spring. "Oh, don't leave it there!" She exclaimed, widening her eyes in displeasure. "We know so few people here, you see. And any friend of Ivan's is a friend of mine."

Her eyes watched carefully for a hint of recognition at the name.

Tilting her head, the blonde woman let out a bubble of a laugh. "Oh no, of course not darling!" she patted his hand, feeling the <apprehension> there and letting some of it slide away. Not all, of course. It would serve better if he was a little wary. "It's just so lovely to meet someone from the Mother Land. I'm Anastasia van Drakke," she let the name sink in. If her family was well known in America, they were, or had been, near to merchant royalty back in Moscow. "And you seem to be perhaps, a little familiar with Ivan Avlang?"

Her lips pressed together slightly, and her hand tighten on Ivan's leg as she felt his muscles tense. "What brings you to America, Mr..." with an inviting curve of her lips, she pushed. <trust/open/betruthful>.

If he was military, and if he was here on military business, they would have to find a way to dispose of him.

[Mitya Makarov]

The ex-soldier saw the chair jerk out as though to meet him and quickly sat down, though poised as though he might be able to escape if things got bad. Sure, it was only one woman and one man, and he was well-trained in combat even if his usual demeanor seemed to show otherwise, but he was still feeling... off. It wasn't uncommon lately, but this was a different kind of off that seemed artificial in a way, and the lady was so compelling despite the way she made his hair stand on end. And whenever he so much as glanced at her companion, he made himself look away quickly, as if he feared that venom-saturated look could really kill. Yet he still did not run.

This entire situation was not right.

As soon as the thought had passed through his mind, however, it was gone, and replaced by a feeling of growing calm. It was perhaps the first time in his life when inner calm could have been described as 'unsettling'.

Smiling a tiny little smile, he shrugged. "Oh, it wasn't important anyway," he managed, trying to keep his gaze off of the other male. It didn't work, and he found himself staring much more often than he wanted to.

As she laughed, the apprehension he felt just seemed to drift from him. Her name... well that sounded awfully familiar, too. He wasn't one to keep up with celebrity or the rich and didn't care for gossip and rumour but bits did occasionally slip onto his mind from here and there. "Dimitri Nikolayevich Makarov," he responded, giving a nod to the male just briefly before turning his attention somewhere, anywhere else. "It's... it's the strangest thing... but, I am not entirely sure... i am likely mistaken, at any rate..." Clearing his throat, he tried to force himself to change the subject through the odd haze of inner coolness. "Incidentally, Mitya works just fine, if you wish to address me by name. I see no reason for formality."

Not if something terrible was going to happen to him before the day was out, anyway.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

This man had serious paranoia issues. One of Anastasia's eyebrows twitched and Ivan rapped his fingers on his knee as he began running through possible ways to dispose of a body. It was enough to make the empath even more twitchy, and she tilted her head to one side for a moment. <calm> for both males; it was enough to make any emotionally sensitive woman want to pull her hair out. Or pop a xanax.

Ivan's eyes did not so much as flicker from Mitya, the muscles of his neck stiff with tension even with Anastasia trying to leech it out "Dimitri then," she managed to say brightly, and Ivan managed to give the tiniest of nods in return. "And please, if you are mistaken, no harm done, but I must admit," again, the heiress patted Mitya's hand, <open/tellme> "you have my curiosity well and truly peaked!" Her eyes twinkled as she kept the smile in place, though a muscle in her cheek was twitching at both men's <discomfort/fear/fury>. "Or Mitya," she quickly added, clearly unsure what was wrong with Dimitri.

"And you're right, no need to be formal! We are both just glad to make an acquaintance, you see," Anastasia's eyes flickered towards her paramore's angled profile, a slight tremor shaking her confidence. If the tension did not ease off from at least one party soon, she'd been another drink. Or three. Maybe even ten.

[Mitya Makarov]

That calming, soothing, sudden wave of mental warmth could have sent him to sleep. Instead, his eyes simply stopped bulging from their sockets as though they could escape unscathed, even if his body didn't quite make it. That would be an interesting power... It was getting to the point now where he almost had to force himself to be anxious, his mind becoming soft and fuzzy. This was her power, wasn't it? Another one who could manipulate his mind! Had they been sent? Did they know? Had one of the telepaths already discovered his cowardice and reported back? They surely wanted to know if he was military; he just knew it... he didn't even have to be telepathic to figure it out, it was now so clear.

"Oh... it's just... back in Russia," he began, feeling as though the words weren't coming from himself at all, but someone he was watching, revealing his past and secrets which he kept so closely guarded. "...there were stories... silly horror stories, I'm sure..." Resist, you idiot! he tried to tell himself from the back of his own mind, but very slowly... his very common sense was being drowned out by the calmness she willed him to feel. But then she changed the way she addressed him and there was relief. Did it really matter if she knew that story, as opposed to the one about Ivan the Terrible?

"No, quite right," he said cheerfully, clasping his hands together. "I haven't been called Dimitri since Colonel Kirov left... the... unit."

Well. At any rate, they knew he was definitely from a military background. And if that was what they wanted to hear, he was likely in trouble now. Not that it really mattered while he felt so wam and serene.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

Anastasia smiled even as she felt the <worry/anger/heknows> roll off Ivan like water. "I love a good horror story, no matter how silly" she smiled, "Do tell!" He would tell her, and he would tell her now.

<trustme/tellme>

He preferred Mitya, Mitya it was then. Still, his reaction to Dimitri was... interesting. "Ivan, could you order us some more wine? And an extra glass for our new friend," Her blonde head turned to look at her partner, even as she raised her eyebrows.

Ivan's jaw set, but he nodded and stood quickly. At his full hight he loomed over the seated pair, and with a light touch to Eva's shoulder he strode back into the cafe. It was best if he was not there, he was making her tense and she needed to work. Besides, every instinct in him screamed to snap that little man's neck like a twig. Ordering more red, he sat down and looked out the window eyes never leaving the back of Anastasia's head as he began calculating the best way to get her out of danger, should the situation become dangerous. She would let him know. She always shared.

Anastasia disliked not having Ivan beside her but he was clearly worrying her new friend. She wouldn't have that. "Ivan can be a little intimidating at first appearance," she confessed, her smile showing her understanding. "Maybe you will find it a bit easier to talk? I have never heard of this Colonel Kirov, and Ivan served for some years, you see. But, first, you owe me a horror story!"

If he knew, she would take measures. Keep your enemies close, after all.

[Mitya Makarov]

Without Ivan hanging around them both, he probably should have felt much, much better, but he was still in the vicinity, and so the effect on his anxiety was probably not quite as much as Anastasia would have liked. Not that it mattered in the end. Though his paranoia made him almost certain that she was somehow influencing his emotions, he could no longer resist. "Oh, I couldn't; it's really not very... interesting at all." Well, it wasn't. It was short and silly.

As she smiled at him, he smiled back as though relaxed, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissolve away. At that point in his time in Pilot Ridge, Mitya was very jumpy. He would have told her that, and that she intimidated him almost as much as her companion, but instead, he allowed her to speak. It was probably a very good thing that she asked so many questions. The amount of things he may have told her otherwise would have been far too much, and too humiliating to bear.

"He was a Major when I first met him," he said without a moment's hesitation. "And an admirable officer. He didn't listen much to the fairy tales or horror stories, either."

Chewing on the inside of his lower lip, he sighed. "Well... there were stories of teenagers who were powerful and difficult to control. One in particular was called a problem, a terror. I saw him once but only fleetingly. And ever since my unit saw him there were stories. Tales of a demon, or someone possessed. Of something otherworldly... it was... silly. And then he escaped. The tales after that were understandably worse than those about the unit he was kept in. But I'm still not sure I believe everything they say."

As much as he wanted to shut up, as odd as it was for him to talk at great length, he just couldn't stop.

[Anastasia van Drakke]

A demon, something possessed... It was hard to stop herself from screaming that he was wrong, Ivan was human, not some devil. Still, her face did not so much as flicker, and with a look of ernest the empath lent forward in obvious interest. It was easy; she was very interested.

"How dreadful," she said softly, a hand rising to her mouth. "And Ivan, my Ivan, made you think of that?" only a tad of accusation was in her voice, just enough to invoke some sort of explanation. "Are they still looking for him, do you think? I hear the Russian military can be very persistant at tracking down deserters. But I am sure you'd know about that, if you've served."

<trustme>

Twisting her hair around one long nailed finger, the heiress took another long look over the ex soldier. Compared to Ivan he was barely half a man; short, old, weak faced, and hardly any visible significant upper body strength. But he no doubt was some sort of meta.

It would be impossible to really gauge the level of danger Mr Makarov posed to them. "How long have you been working here?"

If he had been part of the military and was in this little tiny town, he was most likely meta. There was that slight slickness to his feelings, that slight sent of <isolation> and, yes, <superiority/inferiority> at the same time. Not a telepath or he would have been smarter then to let her claws in... Thank goodness for that.

If there was one thing Anastaisa van Drakke disliked, it was telepaths.

[Mitya Makarov]

Mitya did not believe in demons. Of all the things he thought to be fairly plausible, demons were not one of them. For whatever reason (and later he would brush it off as him being foolish), he felt compelled to explain it to her, to tell her everything. Had he thought it necessary he may have regaled her with his life story, from beginning to end. Luckily for him, it didn't seem necessary.

"He is simply familiar to me," he said by way of explanation. "Reminds me of the one they called the demon. I'll say again that I did not believe the stories. People have such active imaginations, I think."

Leaning back a little in his chair, his eyes drifted up to the corner of the ceiling in thought. Well of course they would still be looking. He ran away. "I think they will be looking, if he is the man who escaped. But if he is not the same person there is nothing to worry about." There still remained that suspicion but then she was asking the strangest questions.

And then suddenly it became a discussion about work, and suspicion dissolved again. "Oh, er. A few months, perhaps? Not very long; I recently moved from Switzerland, you see."