[2nd Sem - Episode 2.09] "Do svidanya."
Nov. 15th, 2011 09:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kc_obrienAnton's footsteps moved him aimlessly throughout the nearly abandoned city. He could still hear his father-in-law chiding him that here where the climes were more temperate, 'civilized people' didn't go out into the snow. It had taken every bit of his self-control not to haul off and slap the taste out of his mouth. He visualized his wife's face as he turned his back on the man that he had accepted as his kin and went out into the blowing snow.
At least the codger hadn't called him a Communist in a couple of months.
He did his best to focus on the winter sounds that had ground the city to a halt, rather than that old hurt. Anton had long since come to grips with the fact that Katherine's father would find something to hate in any white man who had the audacity to steal his daughter from him. The fact that he could latch onto his Russian heritage may have made made him seem slightly more out of touch, but that particular flavor of racism seemed far more digestible than anything else.
So Anton walked. And as he walked he thought about how little snow there actually was, and that this amount that brought half of the state to its knees was nothing compared to growing up in Russia. The snow was barely above his ankles and there was no wind to make the cold seem bitter. So he focused on the quiet and the way that the fresh snow packed under his feet; the sound that it made and the way he found his grip and managed not to fall despite the ice that lay just under it (the real culprit when it came to all the meteorological turmoil).
It was just about the most at home that he had felt outside of Katherine's arms since he came to the United States seven years earlier.
He looked up after a long time and took stock of where his aimless drifting had led him. The man in the moon smiled down on him, illuminating the snow-covered beach and the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean before him. A voice, somewhere deep down, told him that the water would still be warm, that the science rang true and if he were to be incredibly stupid, he would have a very comfortable swim. A comfortable swim that would be followed very closely by hypothermia and death.
"What is death to those like us, boychik?"
Anton looked up and the face in the moon became that of his long-dead father. "Father?"
"We are strong. We live through tough things. Tougher than this."
"That's funny coming from a dead man."
"You have no vodka." It wasn't the moon talking anymore. Konstantine Volchenkov's shade moved across the beach in a silvery mist, his feet leaving no trace of his movement as he moved to his son's side.
They stood silently for a small eternity before Anton finally replied, "No. I don't. We're both at our worst when we drink that shit."
"So you bring a nip for your father on his birthday and be glad I am dead so I can't be at my worst."
"And I'd drink two shots for every one."
"Of course! A dead man can drink no vodka and a real man doesn't let good drink go to waste."
He turned and looked at his father's shade; the small smile on his face. A glow of peace that he never had in life. At once it suited his countenance and made him look almost alien. Too good, almost. "Then I would go home and Katherine's father would get hurt."
"As well he should." Anger twisted the shade's countenance, "What kind of son did I raise to take shit piled high from a Dolboeb like him!?"
"The kind that will keep his tongue to protect someone he loves. Who will fight for her. Who will not bring down the man she worships."
"Worship? Pah. A big shadow for a marriage of two people, I think."
"Not so long as the one you cast."
The shade reached out and touched his shoulder. At once the warmth of his father's presence and the cold of the winter rushed through him, down to the bone. It was a long time before either of them spoke again.
"She is good for you."
It was neither a question nor a statement, but at the same time both. Anton smiled and nodded, "Yes. She is."
"Then why are you here when you should be at home making sure she is warm, and that her prick father isn't making her miserable!"
Anton laughed, stomping the snow off of his boots. "Because this is what we do."
"We freeze our ass off and look at an ocean you can't swim in?"
"Nyet. We pay respect. We remember."
"Good boy. Take some advice from an old ghost?"
He turned and looked at his father's shade again, nodding mutely.
"Convince your son to move someplace warm, so when he comes and talks to you he doesn't die of exposure."
"Da."
"Now go home!"
His shade melted away in a gust of wind and Anton was alone again on the snow-encrusted shore.
"Do svidaniya."==
This story is part of the Second Semester of "30 Days of Fic." Today's prompt was "mourning dead gods."
For a full rundown on my Second Semester of 30 Days of Fic, please click here for future prompts and to find all the stories I've created.
At least the codger hadn't called him a Communist in a couple of months.
He did his best to focus on the winter sounds that had ground the city to a halt, rather than that old hurt. Anton had long since come to grips with the fact that Katherine's father would find something to hate in any white man who had the audacity to steal his daughter from him. The fact that he could latch onto his Russian heritage may have made made him seem slightly more out of touch, but that particular flavor of racism seemed far more digestible than anything else.
So Anton walked. And as he walked he thought about how little snow there actually was, and that this amount that brought half of the state to its knees was nothing compared to growing up in Russia. The snow was barely above his ankles and there was no wind to make the cold seem bitter. So he focused on the quiet and the way that the fresh snow packed under his feet; the sound that it made and the way he found his grip and managed not to fall despite the ice that lay just under it (the real culprit when it came to all the meteorological turmoil).
It was just about the most at home that he had felt outside of Katherine's arms since he came to the United States seven years earlier.
He looked up after a long time and took stock of where his aimless drifting had led him. The man in the moon smiled down on him, illuminating the snow-covered beach and the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean before him. A voice, somewhere deep down, told him that the water would still be warm, that the science rang true and if he were to be incredibly stupid, he would have a very comfortable swim. A comfortable swim that would be followed very closely by hypothermia and death.
"What is death to those like us, boychik?"
Anton looked up and the face in the moon became that of his long-dead father. "Father?"
"We are strong. We live through tough things. Tougher than this."
"That's funny coming from a dead man."
"You have no vodka." It wasn't the moon talking anymore. Konstantine Volchenkov's shade moved across the beach in a silvery mist, his feet leaving no trace of his movement as he moved to his son's side.
They stood silently for a small eternity before Anton finally replied, "No. I don't. We're both at our worst when we drink that shit."
"So you bring a nip for your father on his birthday and be glad I am dead so I can't be at my worst."
"And I'd drink two shots for every one."
"Of course! A dead man can drink no vodka and a real man doesn't let good drink go to waste."
He turned and looked at his father's shade; the small smile on his face. A glow of peace that he never had in life. At once it suited his countenance and made him look almost alien. Too good, almost. "Then I would go home and Katherine's father would get hurt."
"As well he should." Anger twisted the shade's countenance, "What kind of son did I raise to take shit piled high from a Dolboeb like him!?"
"The kind that will keep his tongue to protect someone he loves. Who will fight for her. Who will not bring down the man she worships."
"Worship? Pah. A big shadow for a marriage of two people, I think."
"Not so long as the one you cast."
The shade reached out and touched his shoulder. At once the warmth of his father's presence and the cold of the winter rushed through him, down to the bone. It was a long time before either of them spoke again.
"She is good for you."
It was neither a question nor a statement, but at the same time both. Anton smiled and nodded, "Yes. She is."
"Then why are you here when you should be at home making sure she is warm, and that her prick father isn't making her miserable!"
Anton laughed, stomping the snow off of his boots. "Because this is what we do."
"We freeze our ass off and look at an ocean you can't swim in?"
"Nyet. We pay respect. We remember."
"Good boy. Take some advice from an old ghost?"
He turned and looked at his father's shade again, nodding mutely.
"Convince your son to move someplace warm, so when he comes and talks to you he doesn't die of exposure."
"Da."
"Now go home!"
His shade melted away in a gust of wind and Anton was alone again on the snow-encrusted shore.
"Do svidaniya."==
This story is part of the Second Semester of "30 Days of Fic." Today's prompt was "mourning dead gods."
For a full rundown on my Second Semester of 30 Days of Fic, please click here for future prompts and to find all the stories I've created.
