An Invited Guest (Sean)

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya was having a busy morning.

Allowing herself to sleep in till 10, from that moment she'd sprung from her bed and written down a simple list of things she needed to do that day. Firstly, she appraised the apartment the way a mother appraises their child. It was time for a tidy up. After two hours of vacumning, dusting and putting things away, all that was left was a small pile of papers - those she needed to mark. Presuming Sean would forgive her that little mountain, she then went on to get herself ready. Nothing too fancy, it was a casual lunch, and overdressing was more of a sin than underdressing, especially in her own home.

That left her with the last thing on her list - buy ingredients. Checking her cupboards, she left swiftly to the local shop and packed a few things she needed into a bag. Perfect. She'd been looking forward to Sean's visit during the week, especially when she'd had to powerblock no less than five students in one day. That visit was the thing currently keeping her sane and stopping her from wanting to collapse in her bed and never get up again. She'd also managed to find a lovely bottle of wine from a cupboard she'd forgotten about, and had proudly set it on display on the table. Nearly everything was set, around half two, aside from the actual cooking. Knowing Sean was already a fan of her cooking helped her to decide what she wanted to make; a lovely homemade quiche with salad and baked potatoes, and an indulgent chocolate and cherry cake for afters.

Head spinning, Anya managed to get most of the things she needed in the oven long before Sean was due to arrive. She just hoped Sean wouldn't be too disappointed by the size of her apartment. For her, it was fine, but for a man of Sean's distinguished behaviour, would it be too small and pokey? Shaking those thoughts from her head, she continued to make the lunch, humming to herself as she went along. Eventually the questions melted away as she disappeared into a world of grams, ounces and mixing, and quietly chopped leeks for her quiche.

Of course, at a few moments she had to pause and hope very hard that Sean was very hungry. Perhaps it was living over the coffee house, or perhaps it was the constant busy lifestyle Anya lived, but she was always prepared to eat something. Though, she thanked the stars, she wasn't anywhere near as ravenous as her self-healing students. But now it was three, and Anya's attentions waned to the door, awaiting the knock with a smile.

Finally, someone she could have a conversation with.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Oh, what a night.

Margaret Atkins and her husband had been in the area to visit their son, who was a student at Middlebury College. This in itself was relatively unremarkable, except for the fact that Margaret Atkins, before she was married, had been Maggie Donovan: a student at Hammel and Sean’s first kiss. As far as innocent teenage relationships went, they’d had a good one, and then they’d gone their separate ways. Maggie had gotten married, settled down, had a family, and matured into Margaret; and Sean...well, his life had taken the path that it had, and he’d returned to Hammel two decades ago to take up the mantle of psychiatrist. Margaret had looked Sean up from nostalgia one night, had found he was still in Vermont, and had wanted to stop in with him, as she and her husband would be in the area. Sean had been surprised – pleasantly so – and he’d invited the two of them out to supper and then they’d retired back to his house for drinks.

They’d been up half the night. But the couple had made it to their hotel safely afterward.

When Sean awoke the next day, it was later than usual for him, and he was particularly glad that he and Anya had agreed to meet at three instead of one. This way, he could recover naturally rather than rush, and if that involved drowning himself in coffee, taking two showers and a stroll around the neighborhood before being ready, then so be it.

After going through the routine, he’d dressed casually, because it was the weekend and Anya hadn’t mentioned a need for formal dress. He had slacks and a polo shirt, and he threw a sweater on over that. Before leaving for town, he found a bottle of scotch in his liquor cabinet that he would bring with him; he’d been taught that a proper houseguest brought either alcohol or dessert, and considering Anya’s incredible baking skills, bringing dessert was both unnecessary and out of the question.

It was just about three when he reached the coffee shop above which she lived. He found the stairs leading up to her apartment, and then adjusting his sweater, he knocked to announce his arrival.

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya had no idea what Sean had been up to the previous night. She had simply kicked her feet up, marked some essays and checked through her files for any pupils who may have needed extra attention. Other than that, it was a night of reading, hot chocolate and her favourite food - creme brulee. So while Sean had a night full of action, Anya had simply relaxed.

As for now, she had just finished the quiche base and loading fresh savoury custard into it, when the door was knocked. Quickly, she brushed down her apron and opened the door, flashing Sean a wonderfully bright smile. "Sean! Come in!" She said warmly, stepping aside to let the man in, before closing the door behind him. "Make yourself comfortable, I'm still baking. I hope you can excuse the papers on the side, I've been trying to decide who needs what attention." Laughing, she ran a hand through her hair and settled back to the stove. A little flour lingered in her fringe as she chopped leeks.

"Had a busy friday?" She asked casually, moving her fingers over to the chopped bacon and sprinkling it in the savoury custard. "I've not been too good with Fridays, I think I always conk out and feel like I've done far too much in a week." Shrugging her shoulders, she moved on to the oven, putting the quiche in, clearly comfortable to talk as she baked. "I hope you're hungry! I have plenty of food planned." Anya smiled brightly and moved back round to perch on the sofa, hands rested on her lap.

Comfortably, she turned the blinds to let the springtime sunshine in. "It's actually quite a nice day, I went out to get a few bits and pieces in just a sweater!" Moving back, she started to cut the cherries up for the dessert. "Oh, I forgot to say, we're having quiche with salad and potatoes, then a cherry-chocolate cake for dessert. I hope you aren't allergic to anything." Hesitating, Anya stopped chopping the cherries and looked a little worried. "I'd rather not have my lunch guest going to hospital after one mouthful."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean smiled at her as soon as the door opened. He thanked her upon being invited in, and once he crossed the threshold of her door, held the bottle of scotch out to her. “This is for you; I hope it’s not too strong.”

He looked around her apartment, trying not to come off as either rude or appraising; rather he was curious. Homes revealed quite a bit about personality and preferences, and he couldn’t turn that part of his brain off. Then her remark about still baking sank in, and he asked, “Would you like some help? I’m not as good as you are, but I promise I won’t burn anything.”

He then chuckled at the question regarding his Friday. “Busy” was one word for it; he didn’t have a better word, although an amalgam would better apply. “An ex of mine was in town with her husband; their son is at college, and she’d found me through one of those networking sites my nephew had me join. I rarely use it, but there was a message waiting for me, that she was in town and wanted to get in touch, to meet her husband. I hadn’t seen her in over twenty years, so it was a long night. You know how it is.” That was an understatement; it had been a nostalgic night, but thankfully the social lubricant had helped him sleep after they’d left.

With that, he followed her to the kitchen, but he didn’t crowd her. “No, I’m not allergic to anything.” Perhaps that was why it was so easy to ply him with food; he had no dietary concerns: no allergies, his blood pressure and glucose levels were perfectly healthy, and he didn’t follow any religious teachings that would restrict what he might eat. “And that sounds delicious. All I’ve had today was coffee and a piece of toast. And if I ended up in the hospital for some reason, I’m sure the food will be well worth the trip.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

Upon recieving the scotch, Anya looked delighted and looked at the year. "Oh wonderful, thank you. I haven't had scotch for quite some time!" Setting the bottle on the counter, she continued to bustle around the kitchen contentedly, finding herself relax instantly in Sean's company.

When Sean kindly offered to help she looked surprised, then broke into another easy smile. "If you'd like to, I'm hardly going to complain, but as a guest, you're more than welcome to just sit down and watch." And then came the fun part, melting the chocolate ready for the dessert. Clearing a space for Sean to help in, she handed him the knife and the large block of high quality cooking chocolate - Anya never did things by halves, especially not when guests were involved.

"That sounds like a wonderful reunion, wasn't it awkward between you and the husband, though?" Anya asked casually, checking on the quiche and washing two potatoes ready to be baked. "I mean, the past is the past, of course, but it must have been odd seeing her? Or am I just far too heavily curious about these things?" Smiling and laughing, she bustled over to the oven and set the potatoes in. "If you could chop and melt the chocolate for me, you'd more than earn your gold star!" Putting her hands on her hips, Anya looked around the kitchen, reminding herself of the other jobs she needed to do before she could serve the lunch.

She couldn't help but grin a little as Sean complimented her cooking twice, trying to fuss at the salad to not seem overly smug. "Well that's wonderful, but I'd still rather you were in one piece afterwards. Else how am I going to get you to come over again?" Laughing musically, she tossed salad into a bowl and looked over her shoulder. "I hope the place isn't too small for you, normally it's just me and Dashenka. Talking of Dashenka, where is she?" Frowning a moment, Anya stepped out from the kitchen island and searched through the other rooms, suddenly letting out a relieved sigh, and returning with a sleek Siamese cat in her arms.

"Sean, this is Dashenka. She's very friendly, so don't worry. She's not a scratchy sort of cat." Smiling gently, she placed Dashenka down on the floor, where the Siamese dashed over to Sean's legs and eagerly rubbed against them, purring.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean was glad that she drank scotch and that the little housewarming present could go to good use. “Now you have an excuse to break the abstinence streak, so to speak.”

“It’s fine to ask; I wouldn’t have brought it up if I were uncomfortable talking about it. It wasn’t particularly awkward, as far as I could tell. She and I have been ‘over’ each other for longer than you’ve been alive,” Sean replied with a chuckle. “It was only the suddenness, considering how long it’s been since we’d talked. It’s not as though I thought’s she’d forgotten about me...” One didn’t forget one’s first girlfriend or boyfriend, no matter how much time had passed. “But I didn’t think I was high on her priority list for a visit. I’ll tell you, she’s aged better than I have.”

With the space cleared and a knife now in hand, Sean went over to the block of chocolate as requested. “I’d be happy to.” He steadied the knife in his hand and began chopping. “I’ll take a gold star; we didn’t have those back in my day as motivators. If you didn’t do your homework, you had to deal with a parent-teacher conference.”

“You could always entice me over to look at your stamp collection,” Sean said with a laugh. It was a throwaway line from a folk song he’d grown up with, and an old joke to boot. “Honestly, as long as you didn’t poison me intentionally, I’m sure I’d come back.” He was easy to entice that way.

Sean hadn’t taken a full look of the apartment, since he’d followed her into the kitchen almost immediately, but he didn’t feel claustrophobic. He’d certainly been in smaller. “No, it’s not small at all.” And then he turned his head and Anya was gone, apparently on a quest for her Dashenka. She returned a moment later and Sean could see that it was a cat, and he was assured she didn’t scratch. A moment later, the cat was rubbing against his leg, and he set the knife down before crouch to pet her. “Well, hello Dashenka. I’m Sean.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

"Young love." Anya remarked with a soft, almost sad smile. Pushing thoughts of her own first love -and last- from her mind, she began to sift the flour ready for making the cake. "Older than I've been alive? You're making me feel like a young whippersnapper treading on your lawn!" Giggling, she contiued to mix the dry goods together, looking over Sean's shoulder at the chocolate cutting. "Well, I think you've aged very well, and I'm not just saying that, either." Anya quickly turned to check on the oven, smiling to herself.

"It was gold stars and praise when I was young. Of course, now it's gold stars and praise even if the child is naughty, but let's not get back into that unsavoury subject." Shrugging her shoulders, she began to set the table, humming to herself brightly. "I brought out a bottle of wine, I thought we could break into it." Pausing, she lifted the bottle and showed it to Sean. "It certainly beats drinking by myself and laughing at how it makes me look."

Stamp collection? Anya laughed brightly and ran her fingers through her hair. "Or you could admire my beautiful china cat collection." Nodding to a set of figurines in a small display cabinet, she tapped her cheek. "I'm nearly finished, too. I started collecting when I was seven, my mother brought me one little cat." Trailing off, she washed her hands, then returned back to the kitchen island, peering over at Sean's progress.

Dashenka's little tail stayed high in the air as she circled Sean's legs, erupting into purrs as Sean stroked her. "She's a sweetheart." Anya said gently, preparing the waterbath for melting the chocolate. "A housecat though, she's got absolutely no outside savvy at all!" Chuckling to herself, she looked down at Dashenka accusingly. "You aren't buttering Sean up just so you can have the leftovers, are you Dashie?" Shaking her head, she laughed as the little cat continued to purr and weave around Sean, eyes half closed. "You've got a friend for life now." She added, moving to the oven once more.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean’s adventures chopping chocolate was going smoothly, albeit slowly. He wasn’t in the habit of cooking desserts from scratch, usually preferring to buy them from a bakery and get on with it, and thus he took extra care. “You know, I’ve never envisioned myself as the kind of old man who would chase down children if they came on my lawn; I’m more of a “let’s make lemonade and listen to me tell stories about when I was your age” type of man. Then again, maybe I should practice shaking my fist, just in case.” He lifted his left hand, as his right was busy chopping, made a fist, and gave a half-hearted shake, before chuckling. “Or not.”

He then turned his head to smile at her. “You’ll make an old man blush, Anya. But thank you.”

He glanced at the bottle of wine and his smile widened. “Good vintage; I’ll happily break into that with you.” There was a pause at the self-deprecating remark, and then he said, “I drink alone sometimes too; there’s nothing wrong with it so long as it doesn’t become habit.”

Sean turned to look in the direction where she’d nodded, noticing a vast collection of china cats. “How many do you have?”

“So she is,” Sean told her, scratching the cat lightly behind her ears. Whereas he took his time forming opinions about people, he tended to make quick judgments about animals; he usually wasn’t proven wrong, so he kept up his system. He smiled at the furball. “I don’t give away people food unless owners give me permission; don’t want to hurt the pets, after all. So if you’re just trying to warm me over, I’m afraid it won’t work, little one.” He looked back over at Anya and said, “We can always use more friends for life, can’t we?”

[Anya Vasiliev]

"Hmm, I think you might have to work on that shake." Anya laughed, helping Sean with the chocolate, moving the knife dextrously. "Well, I'd be delighted to sit on your lawn drinking lemonade and hearing your stories, you sound like you have plenty." Boiling the kettle, Anya filled a bowl with the steaming water and gently moved the chopped chocolate into another bowl, placing it over the hot water. Grabbing a pat of butter, she gently stirred it in, humming to herself brightly.

Shaking her head at the old man comment, she bent down and lifted Dashenka up into her arms, cradling the feline against her chest. "Trust me." She began, laughing at the little Siamese's desperation to get back to Sean. "She probably gets more of my cooking than I do, but I do love indulging her." Placing the cat gently into a small bed on the table, she eyed her collection with a chuckle. "Fourty two, so far. The maker always brings out more, so it's a never ending fight to catch up with him. Parisian designer, did a beautiful collection of porcelain shoes, actually."

Gently, Anya stirred the chocolate furiously then began adding various bits and stirring furiously, adding fresh cherries and pouring the mix into a cake tin. "We're nearly ready to go!" She added brightly, taking the quiche and potatoes from the oven, then putting the cake in it's place. "I'll be honest, I've been looking forward to this all week."

Taking off her floral apron, the young woman tossed her hair and pulled out a set of glasses, pouring the wine out. "Well, bon appetit!" Anya laughed, serving the quiche, salad and potatoes up on serving dishes. "Help yourself!"

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“I’ll work on it this weekend,” Sean said with a chuckle. He stepped over to the side, giving Anya greater space to maneuver with chopping the chocolate. She was hitting stride, and he didn’t want to interfere with that. Then, as she went about the rest of the baking, he sat down at the table, since his presence was largely decorative at this point. “I have more than my fair share, I think, looking back on it.” He’d lived an interesting life thus far, although he attributed that primarily to the people he knew, as opposed to any grand adventures he might have had in his youth. “But you’re more than welcome to come over anytime you’d like for lemonade and stories. We can do it after I take you sailing.”

“Forty-two? That’s quite a lot,” Sean remarked. It was also a special number, although this wasn’t the time for that remark. “Do you have to buy them directly from the designer, or do you go through stores or shows?”

While she set the table, Sean tried to give her room to work around him, so that she didn’t have to stretch too much. “Honestly, so have I. It’s nice to relax with friends, good food, and fine wine.” As though to underscore that point, she poured their drinks, and he swirled the liquid around his glass, but didn’t yet take a sip. “What should we toast to? It wouldn’t be proper to drink without a toast.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

As the plates of food were placed on the table, Anya took her seat and smiled brightly, lifting her glass and chinking it gently with Sean's own. "Hmm..." She began, looking a little relieved to be sitting down. "To new friends and sailing?" She offered, smile brightening. Taking a quick sip, the woman then began to serve the dinner, slicing the quiche and sliding a portion onto Sean's plate. As if the sun agreed with this toast, it broke through the slight cloud and glimmered across the cutlery. Anya hadn't had lunch with someone for a very, very long time, and she'd forgotten how pleasent it was to share food and conversation.

"Oh, the cats? I tend to order them from the designer. Occasionally he'll put a few in the sales and I'll bulk buy." Laughing musically, Anya helped herself to salad and potatoes and began to eat. "Sometimes I find they show up in little nick-nack shops but it's difficult to keep up with that, since I don't have time to constantly patrol the shops." Running her fingers through her hair a moment, she looked over to the rows of different posed china cats. "Do you collect anything?"

At that point, Dashenka pounced and climbed up into Anya's lap, eyes focused on the quiche. "Dashie wants to join in." She laughed, stroking the little cat's head. "I should probably fetch her some cat treats or she'll be unbearable, excuse me just a second!" Lifting the cat up and over her shoulder, she moved over to a small cupboard and pulled out a few cat treats, offering them out. Dashenka took them greedily, and Anya set her back down on the floor. "There." She said softly, returning to her seat. "She's a little bit of an attention seeker... not unlike a few of my students." She added, laughing.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean’s expression melted into a grin, and he nodded, finding that to be a fitting toast. “To new friends and sailing,” he echoed, while clinking his glass against hers. He then took a sip of the wine and nodded appreciatively. “This is good; where’d you find it?” He wasn’t usually a wine drinker, but he could appreciate a good vintage, and this had all the makings of one.

Sean nodded, listening to her descriptions of the trials and tribulations of collecting ceramic cat figurines. His grandmother had collected miniatures, although he’d never been involved in purchasing or any other step of the process. They simply littered her house when he was growing up. At the question as to whether he had any collections, he was thoughtful for a moment, and then shook his head in the negative. “When I was a boy I had my baseball cards, like everyone else did. I have a fair amount of books, of course, and music and movies. But there isn’t anything I collect; I just own things.” Even if they were nice things, obscure things, or multiple things; there wasn’t an underlying drive to own them beyond the fact that they were either practical or pleasant.

From courtesy, he stopped eating when she rose from the table to feed the cat. He hadn’t been much of a pet owner; as a kid, there’d been the family dog, and ex-partners had been more into pets than he was. He always attributed his lack of interest in animals to his telepathy; they were living, moving creatures that came up negative with his abilities, and that was disconcerting to live with day in and day out. Not that he didn’t like animals: he enjoyed playing with them when visiting a friend or neighbor, and he was all for anti-animal cruelty laws. He simply wasn’t going to adopt a dog or cat from the local shelter anytime in the near future.

When she returned, he resumed eating, and he chuckled at the remark. “Well, I’ll bet she doesn’t know what to do, not that you have someone else here to take away your attention.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

Anya had to think for a moment as to the vineyard that produced the wine. Picking it up, she calmly read the back of the bottle, then allowed herself a relaxed smile. "Ah yes, my father sent it from Russia when he'd visited through Austria. It's a Riesling, Neusiedlersee region." Shaking her head, she passed the bottle to Sean calmly. "My father is a bit of a wine lover, in our family home we had a vast wine cellar, perhaps one day you could come and see it." Taking a forkful of quiche, Anya relaxed in the company, happy to talk.

"Baseball cards? My father often brought them home when he travelled, not for me but for any friends I may have had at school." She hesitated, unhappy to mention Kirill or even think of him for that matter. Rubbing her nose, she quickly grabbed another baked potato and pushed a knob of butter into it. "Collecting is a terrible habit, I'll admit. I'dve probably bought myself a house by now if I wasn't so obsessive about my little cat collection." Pushing her hair back over her shoulder, she listened to Sean interestedly. American upbringing was fascinating to her, having only what her father had told her before she had come to Hammel, her own experience at the school and what friends had insinuated. "Excuse me for prying." She began, sipping her wine. "But what was it like growing up for you?"

Anya had lived a priviliged life in Russia. Her family were affluent and could afford to indulge their only child, spoiling her with opportunities to shine. From horse riding, skiing, sled races and private English lessons, she knew that her life had been a lucky one. However, she no longer came to her family for help, enjoying the independance of having her own apartment, bought with nothing but her own money. She could have asked and been bought a nice little house, but she'd insisted on doing things her way. It didn't stop her parents from offering, though.

Looking fondly at Dashenka, who was now perched on the windowsill, cleaning her paws, Anya laughed. "It's true, she probably wants us to both drop to our knees and pet her for the rest of the afternoon." Taking a piece of beetroot from the salad, she stretched out, pulling a little snag from her jumper. "I've had her since a kitten, there's a picture album you'd probably find fascinating hiding around here somewhere." Tapping a finger to her cheek, she glanced round the room. "It's mostly pictures of a very young me, and my family, but I have a hunch you'd probably gain a lot from it." Looking at Sean thoughtfully, she swilled the wine in her glass round. "Just promise not to laugh at my somewhat interesting haircuts back then."

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean took another sip of the wine, enjoying the flavor. When she identified its type and vintage and handed him the bottle, he studied and committed it to memory, for the next time he needed to buy wine. At the very least, he could look for it, even if he couldn’t find it at the local shop or at a better one in a larger city. He then smiled at the off-hand invitation. “That’s mighty kind of you; I’ll admit I’ve never been to your home country before.” It had been on the “areas to be avoided” list for his entire childhood, and by the time the war ended and the Wall fell, there had been other places he’d rather visit, and then work and family had finally gotten the better of him, and he was lucky to get away to more local places: Canada or islands, when it came to vacations.

It was mildly surprising to think that baseball was popular in her part of the world; baseball was the old American pastime, and apart from Japan and a few South American countries – and a bit of Canada – nobody else in the world had a stake in the goings on of either the National or American leagues. What wasn’t in the least surprising, however, was that the baseball cards weren’t for her, but for friends, and he had to assume male friends. For the most part, baseball cards were a hobby of boys, and in this day and age, their fathers as well. He took a few bites of food, while she spoke, and then took a sip of wine to wash it down.

“It’s not prying at all. I grew up mostly in the 1960s, the very late 1950s, and a little of the 1970s, although I was already at Hammel by then. I was raised Catholic, which you can probably tell from my name, although I don’t follow the faith, and I haven’t for nigh on thirty years.” He’d fallen, as opposed to lapsing, when pursuing his degree, and he hadn’t looked back. The only times he found himself in Church now were for the occasional family matter to which he was still invited, or for a funeral.

“I had a very typical upbringing for the time and area in which I was raised: a house with a chain-link fence and a dog. Everything was whitewashed; there were no minorities in my neighborhood, and only a couple around the greater area, at school. It was very important that everyone look the same, act the same, be the same...” He shook his head, glancing down at the wine in his glass; he’d loved his parents, and he’d forgiven them for being products of their times. However, he looked back on the times, recognizing the world around them that had passed them by, breaking them from their sheltered existence. “We did duck and cover drills in school, because nobody knew when the Cold War would turn hot, Vietnam was on the rise and then the Civil Rights movement started up, making life very uncomfortable for the wealthy suburbanites in my area.” He remembered that clearly, how the world had turned on its head a few years before he was shipped off to Hammel. “I was a lot easier on my parents before I grew up, I think; afterward, I morphed into too many things they were just a bit afraid of, certainly uncomfortable with. After Hammel, I couldn’t fit back into my old life.”

“You’re right, I would find that interesting,” Sean enjoyed looking at photographs; one could tell quite a bit about others through the captured moments of their past. “And I won’t laugh; I’ve seen more than my fair share of fashion statements over the years. Yours can’t possibly be that bad.”

[Anya Vasiliev]

The Vasiliev's had sheltered their youngest from the goings on of the cold war to the best of their abilities. Anya had very little knowledge until she had come to America as a teenager, and it was only then that she understood why her teachers had been hesitant to send her away. America had been the enemy back then, along with other western powers, and the idea of a young, impressionable girl being sent there gave her closest family members cause for concern. However, her father, being a travelling, and open minded man, had no problem with other countries, and had sent her with his blessing.

"I understand, Russia was an awkward place to visit not so long ago." Anya said gently, tucking her hair behind her ear. "But it's pleasent enough now, very cold in winter though, I'm used to Vermont now, I nearly freeze when I visit my family." Laughing pleasently, she sipped her wine and tilted her head. "My father was in research, namely medicines, so he travelled regularly to other countries to find what they had found out. He, and my mother, insisted that I had nothing to fear from the western countries." Setting down her fork, she offered the quiche over to Sean warmly. "My family were quite unusual, I suppose."

As the food quickly disappeared, Anya settled back in her chair and pet Dashenka as the little cat purred. "It sounds difficult." She said quietly at the thought of Sean as a boy playing in the back garden. "Especially the minority exclusion, of course." Closing her eyes, she lifted the siamese onto her lap and rubbed behind her ears. "We did drills at school as well, though it wasn't quite so urgent. My family are Orthodox, though they're kind enough to not pressure anyone into their ways." Sighing softly, Anya set her fork and knife together and smiled. "But it's over now, no more silly pointless fighting."

Rising from her chair, she moved off to a shelf and blew dust off a set of photo albums, placing them on the table and pushing them towards Sean. "There we are. The first has lots of pictures of my family, and there's a lovely picture of my father and I standing a few meters away from an Amur Tiger." She laughed gently and returned to petting Dashenka. "It was a lovely holiday. I was a very very lucky young girl, I suppose." Relaxing, the young woman decided to push any thoughts of Kirill out of her mind, ready to answer Sean's questions that were bound to accompany the photographs.