Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived The County of Oriyak

[Tiko]

as written by Ottoman

The muffled, melancholy melody of a waltz seeped out from under a mostly closed door, echoing down the halls of the residence past guards both bored and sleepy. The morning shift for them was often the worst, roused from their beds to guard a home that was more silent than not these days - and it didn't help that the count-to-be, the drillmaster that he was, always played such pleasant music when he was in his study. Light, hesitant yawns were fortunately drowned out by the music that Mikhail enjoyed, the former field-marshal lingering over the papers that had been left for him the night previously by a secretary. They were mostly dossiers, arranged into two separate stacks - both of them, unfortunately, political. Of the two of them Misha had chosen first what he felt to be the more pleasant, though that term might be used loosely.

They were candidates for marriage, ones that were of good breeding and of his age, though there were outliers - individuals who were considered to be a good enough chance that the advisers bucked the norm in recommending them, for some reason or another. A sigh slipped from Vrangel's sharp nose as he closed the manila folder he'd been looking over, sliding back in his seat as he looked again to the stack of those he had yet to go through. A good fifteen - if not twenty - he realized with a mental groan, a hand coming to his lips in thought as he looked to the familial portrait that flanked him. He hadn't been present for it, having been made after he departed for the academy, but at least they'd been kind enough to give the artist a photograph, with which to reference on working him in over his father's shoulder.

Just behind his mother.

If nothing else he blamed her for his disposition regarding these suggestions, these people, and what feeling the prospect of marriage elicited in him. He no longer held any ill-will towards her leaving, despite how it had hurt his father and how his father had, in turn, hurt him - they'd written each other, sending amiable well-wishes, though Mikhail had found that he wasn't much of one for writing letters to people he didn't know. It wasn't hatred or scorn by any means, the man understood the value of the institution and what it meant for society as a whole, but distrust. It was the beginning of a journey, camouflaged with pleasantries and good intentions, that lead to sorrow and spite. Especially, he mused to himself as he looked over his mother's face in the portrait, lingering on the eyes that they shared, If one marries for politics.

But it was his duty, or at least part of it, to the Oriyak people - to all the people of the Orthoxan Sight - to marry, and marry well, lest the fate of House Vrangel mirror that of the Auk, and Oriyak's tides go down with it. It was only when he was partway through another of these files that Mikhail finally addressed the owner of the footfalls behind him, the quiet man startled that the Count could hear him over his music. "You have the subtlety of a handsledge, Stolypinviere." Misha murmured over the file, eyes darting to circled portions of the dossier as he waited for his chamberlain to reply. The burly Oriyak was taken aback for a moment, confused as to his lord's words.

"My apologies, my lord. I thought I was rather quiet." A spare hand came up to check a tie that had already been seen to three-times over, a nervous tick, were it that Stolypin had one. Misha didn't move from where he sat, at least not yet, speaking before he did.

"I wasn't referring to that," Came the noble's words, though to Konstantin's credit he was rather silent - were it not for the minister passing between the speaker and him he wouldn't have been able to tell he was there. Besides that, he was the only one in Mikhail's cabinet that had the balls to come into his study without knocking. The Count stood, straightening his olive tunic for a moment before taking up the folder he'd just been thumbing through, turning to look to the bearded adviser as he held the file aloft. 'Brigette Dollmann' read the tab, though one would do good to read it in the dimly-lit office away from the lamp that shone on Vrangel's desk. "Nice legs? Nice legs?" The large man's frame drooped slightly at that, afraid that such candid opinions might have earned the ire of the career officer across from him. Stolypin prepared an explanation before Mikhail cut him off with a shake of his head and a small, if half-hearted, smile.

"I hope you're not speaking from experience, Kostya." The count continued to shake his head as he flipped it open once more, glancing to the woman's picture as he reviewed it and the information alongside it all, including the true but otherwise lecherous observations. "Certainly beautiful, but I don't think the Dollmanns are going to marry their prize daughter off to an already-declared ally. Besides that she doesn't seem too keen on my calling - the last thing I want to do is remind her of her brother." Vrangel's bulky counterpart smiled, glad that he seemed to be out from under the gun as he approached the desk on the other side of the Count's seat, looking over the others he'd gone through, noticing that he'd intentionally avoided the other stack entirely.

"You're catching on quicker than you'd like to admit, Mikhail Ivanovich - and lovely legs can overcome any flaw of character." Konstantin remarked, a grin on his lips as he added, "That I can say from experience." Thick fingers picking through the folders until he found the one he was searching for. An idle hand moved to scratch a generous belly before flipping open the dossier, though the dour visage that greeted Kostya caused the minister to look between the photograph and the Count a time or two, if only to make sure he wasn't seeing double. "... perhaps her sister would suit you better. A bit young, but she seems to want nothing less than her brother in life."

The glare that bore into Konstantin Stolypin was only softened by the dry musings of its owner. "Talk like that will get you sent to Tannhäuser if you're not careful, Konstantin Vladimirovich." By and large Vrangel had already thoroughly reviewed both of the Dollmann daughters, closing Brigette's not long after he opened it, dropping, or rather tossing, it back onto the face of his desk, looking at the folders that remained. No house had really been spared in the candidacies - even the Stier daughters and the Princess Drazović were mixed in there - and already the Oriyak felt his eyelids hang heavy. Weathered fingers moved to push the sleep away from his eyes as Konstantin glanced over Elisabeth's information for a moment longer before he thought aloud.

"... you got this music from Ivan, didn't you?"

"Hm?" Came Misha's curious response, looking to his friend for a moment as he thought on what the other had asked. "I suppose I did, yes." It was one of Pasternak's compositions, from before the Great War, one of dozens such pieces of music that Mikhail had inherited from his father, among the others he'd collected. "Why do you ask?" Stolypin shrugged, looking to the speakers once more before he turned to glance at the family portrait and the old Count upon it.

"He used to listen to such when he had to make weighty decisions." The minister let out a small sigh at that, missing his old comrade, even if the man he had been had disappeared the moment his wife had left. Mikhail followed Konstantin's gaze to the painting, an arm coming to lean on the back of his chair as he did, though his eyes moved more to his mother than his father, especially considering the subject matter that lay atop his desk.

"How reassuring." He muttered under his breath.

"I can't help but notice, however," The burly Oriyak spoke, redirecting the conversation, setting Elisabeth's dossier down as well. "That you haven't touched the Okhrana reports. Is there a reason, my lord?" Indeed he hadn't as they all remained right where they had been deposited, still wrapped in twine, waiting for the Count's eyes. Mikhail would've grumbled something vulgar under his breath if he thought he could get away with it, but instead simply made a half-hearted attempt at clearing his desk of the haphazard noble dossiers, reaching for his letter opener once he was done.

"Well, Konstantin Vladimirovich," He began, snipping the twine easily enough and taking the first folder from the top, Kostya doing much the same with the next, "If you have to ask why a man would rather look at pretty women instead of spies, then I weep for your wife." The minister held the second file in hand, taking only a moment to glance at the name upon it before he wore a knowing smile, ready to hand it to the lord Vrangel when he finished with the first.

"You might be surprised, lord Vrangelviere." Quick, brown eyes regarded the folder that Mikhail Vrangel had taken from the top, the dossier of one of their top agents. Unfortunately, he was now counted among their former agents. "... ah, Mikhailov Polzinviere. A good man with an honorable name." Such drew an unamused look from Vrangel.

"Flattery only works if you have nice legs, Kostya." Mikhail murmured, looking back to the dossier in front of him, the track record of this agent and his accomplishments. "A good man he might be, but what use do my father's butchers have with that sort?" It was only after the words had left his lips that the man came to the document that certified his death, confirmed by a handful of signatures. A pity. Stolypin shrugged at Mikhail's somewhat rhetorical question, daring to answer it as he handed the Count the next folder, Mikhail having lost interest in reading about a deceased agent.

"The same reason why those curs in olive need you, Mikhail."

Such a bold answer was allowed to pass as he came across the face that lay in the next folder, listed under the surname Alkaev. Just as stunning as some of the noblewomen he'd seen earlier, though she was just as cold, if not moreso, than the harshest of their number, Mikhail wore a quizzical look for a few moments, surprised by what he saw. "... more importantly, what use do the Okhrana have with that sort?" With a smug sort of chuckle Konstantin offered a light pat on Vrangel's back, hand lingering on the other's shoulder.

"Well, Mikhail Ivanovich, if the Count of Vrangel has to ask why something like that is in the Okhrana, I weep for all of Oriyak." A second friendly pat came at his final word, the minister moving to take his leave of the study as the Count read over the agent's dossier. "I've arranged a meeting with everyone in those dossiers," Save Mikhailov, God rest his soul, "Concerning security in the festivities leading up to your coronation this afternoon at 1600. I'd pray you attend, Mikhail."

The Count nodded absently at that, glancing to his colleague after his eyes lingered on the dossier for a moment or two longer. "... certainly Konstantin, spasiba."

 

[Tiko]

as written by Krysis and Ottoman

Security was a different application of the same skills as ever. At least, that was what Avdotya Alkaev told herself as she considered the layout of the Vrangel manor. Infiltration of the maids was her usual method, but there were scanners up to compare the facial structure to references, as well as the chip scanner to make sure the person was actually employed. If they didn't match, an alarm went off. Which meant hacking the images as well as faking the chip to infiltrate. The images were stored on the closed server in the house, which was really the only way to keep secrets with the LEGION out there, and SARDAS with their finger in every pie.

Ava had to smile when she read about that fail-safe, since it seemed pretty clear that her methods had inspired it.

The specs on the building itself were also reassuring. Minimal danger from snipers. It would take explosive of serious magnitude to force a breach. It was possible, but lacked finesse. Such a method would have the Stier bootprints all over it, and even they would not be so direct. Usually.

That meant the greatest danger, the gap in the defenses that she would use if tasked with a mission here, was during the coronation and reception that would occur the same day. Any other time, the young Count would be safely insulated from visitors, with enough loyal bodies between him and the others that he could be defended by quick hands and vigilant eyes.

One of the others also looking over the event gave a low whistle that had Ava blinking at him as she shifted her gaze from the page in front of her. "Wow, look at that guest list. And every last one of them will be bringing an entourage and pissed as hell if--"

The rest didn't matter. With a sinking feeling, Ava realized that her focus had been far too narrow. Protecting the Vrangel was one thing. Protecting the guests from their mutual tempers and the opportunities that would arise from this situation was quite another. Anything that happened would be blamed on the young Count as well, and protecting his body was only one part. The reputation of the house would be a far more difficult task.

They only had until 14:00 to come up with a viable plan, though many of the older agents had been working on it for days, and there were standing contingencies that had been in place for the previous generation to build off of. It was just the last three that had finally been returned from long-term missions that were having to crash through things and try to come up with something last minute. From that hour, just after their scheduled lunch, until the meeting with the Count and his staff, the various plans would be compared, and the best facets of each combined.

There were opportunities there for advancement, but Ava found herself wearied at the thought. It was past time for some downtime for the female, and everyone knew it, so there was no argument when she rose from her chair and asked to be excused. Maybe walking around the house would give her ideas that sitting in a meeting room would not.

____

In due time the Okhrana dossiers had been reviewed. It was almost like his work, reading the after-action reports, the debriefings and summaries of the operations, though he had to remind himself at times that this was espionage - war, but not as he knew it. Deceit had a place in his brand of warfare, in every sort of conflict in truth, but here it was taken to the utmost extreme. These men and women he'd reviewed fought their battles in shadows, wearing a different face for every one, and that war was coming to his doorstep. It perturbed him that he was faced with a war that he couldn't fight, that he was to rely on tactics and strategies that were largely foreign to him, one that was deadly serious and all the more relevant to his station than the ones he was raised to manage.

It was times like these that made him regret not being the smoking sort, that perhaps Kostya had the right idea with a cigar a day. Given, were he to manage the County, the whole of Free Oriyak, he might need a cigar a day soon enough. He had worn his belt with only an afterthought, keeping the pistol on his hip more as a reassuring weight than any sort of instrument or tool, feeling his uniform simply didn't look or feel right without it. For now he didn't wear the dark tones of the fleet or the dress-white of gaudy balls, but instead wore the humble olive of the home army, of the men and women who fought face to face in earnest combat. It was always something that had appealed to him, electing only to wear his two highest commendations - the neck order of St. Volya, and the single medal of St. Pyotr, both suspended from ribbons of green and white. Black would be there too, should be there too, were it not for the backwards rules of tincture in the Supremacy.

So consumed was the man over the loss of one of his homeland's national colors that he paid little attention as he rounded the corner, hands clasped behind his back as his eyes stared absently at the floor, only noticing the feet of another once he had collided with their owner. The Count did his best to weather the tumble, though it was far from graceful as he fell to his side, bracing the fall with his arm.

The last thing the man needed was to wear a bandage at his coronation.

____

Ava only had a split-second warning before the impact. Though she had been aware of approaching footsteps, it hadn't occurred to her that the owner of those steps wouldn't check before stepping around a blind corner. She had been standing still, considering that very corner for that very reason and pondering the architectural design that had made such a blunder necessary. The pad she had been making notes on hung at her side, that arm relaxed, so the device went tumbling to the floor as the person rounded the corner with such haste.

He'd probably have gotten an impression of dramatic make-up and an intense, though somehow hollow gaze. Before running into the person. A woman in something fashionable and stiletto heels. A surprisingly strong woman, since she caught his arm as he tripped, and reduced the speed of his fall by leaning in the opposite direction. She didn't quite keep him from hitting the floor, but at least it was a lighter impact than he might have expected.

At least until the heel snapped off her shoe that had more of their weight on it and she gave a startled shout as she fell on her rump next to the count, merely a second after he ended up on his face. It was only after they were both on the floor that he might realize that somehow his gun had ended up in her hand, and she still had hold of the arm closer to her as she aimed the weapon at him.

Even breathless and surprised, Ava had the training to assume that anyone that ran into her might have used the 'accident' as an attack. It wasn't until she got a good look at the young Count's face that she would realize her error and try to return the weapon. She'd even blush at the mistake and be too embarrassed to try to explain.

____

He'd hardly the time to notice any of it - the make-up, the clothing, the eyes - they were all just flashes before him as he soon fell to the floor. A moment or two of recovery, of realization of just what had transpired, took place before he noticed that his other arm was drawn taught away from him. Curious and soon surprised eyes looked to his flank and down the barrel of the weapon he had slid into its holster only minutes earlier, the Count's gaze unmoving for a few moments as it was transfixed to the depths of the pistol's maw. Of course, if he was going to be shot he imagined he already would be, only looking to the one who held the weapon after realizing that fact. "Lieutenant Alkaeviere." He managed in greeting, bowing his head slightly as his eyes moved soon between the weapon and her face.

The golden epaulets of his tunic were all that really betrayed his station, the double-headed sigil of Old Oyiak with wings spread along its length, the light playing off of the thread of one drawn towards Ava. "I'm... glad to see the fate of Vrangel is in good hands," Mikhail murmured as Ava returned the weapon, the man righting himself onto his knees before he took it, the sidearm slipping back inside of its leather holster snugly. "But I owe you an apology." The nobleman brushed off his tunic, sighing as he did, knowing that had he not bothered fleeing from his responsibilities before than it wouldn't plague his mind so badly now, before he rose to his feet, offering Avdotya his hand in assistance as he did.

"Forgive me, I wasn't paying attention."

____

Avdotya accepted the assistance to rise more because she suspected it would make the nobleman more comfortable than out of need for aid. Though once on her feet, she smiled and shrugged at her awkward pose before bending to pick up both the fallen pad and the snapped-off heel.

"Thank you, my lord, but I was not paying attention either. So if you apologize, so must I, especially since I pulled that stunt afterwards." Ava managed a warmer smile then as she teased the Count, taking in his uniform with an approving eye. She had long since trained herself to notice faces and weapons before insignia, so she had not realized how modest a leader he was until that moment.

Then she looked a bit puzzled and alarmed as she realized that he knew her name. Not just a name she used, but her name and rank. It made her give a nervous smile and a shift of her weight, since few bothered to remember them. And when she was remembered, it was rarely a good thing. "Am I in trouble? I mean, more than just knocking you down and stealing your gun and pointing it at you? Something from before?"

____

It was only proper, in Mikhail's mind. He'd no doubt that a woman who could disarm and kill him in the time it took him to reach the floor from a stumble could certainly help herself up, but that didn't make it any less wrong to let her do it on her own, especially since it was his fault that they had both wound up there. The man returned her smile, though it was a far more reserved thing than what she wore, nodding at her own apology. "Easily forgiven." If anything he should be glad such individuals stood ready to serve him and his interests, it was a practical confirmation of the prowess that he had read about earlier - their reputation was made fact for the man.

"Tch, I broke your shoe, didn't I?" He mused aloud, looking to her odd stance as the heel that she picked up, a hand moving to push his cap back slightly on his brow, two fingers soon drawn across it in thought, or guilt. "I can have them repaired, or replaced if you'd pre-" Mikhail stopped mid-sentence as she asked if she was in any trouble, a quizzical edge come to his visage as he wondered why she would ask such a thing. "N-... no, not that I'm aware of." A finger and thumb took the visor of his headgear, pulling it snugly back down to where it belonged once more. "Is there a reason you ask, lieutenant?"

Her dossier had mentioned no note of misconduct or failure in any capacity, at least as far as the records covered in recent months, and so the Count was uncertain why she would think she might be, at least beyond what had just transpired.

____

"When a superior remembers your name without having ever met you, it is generally not a good sign." Ava pointed out with a tired smile, "When the Count knows who you are at a glance-- I am glad you are not your father, sir, if I might be so bold as to say so."

"Don't worry about the shoe, I broke it. If I had just let myself fall, it wouldn't have been under such strain. If it couldn't take it, better to know that now than when it matters." She took a few steps as a test and found it was a bit awkward, but manageable. Particularly if she stayed near the wall on that side. It just meant that she had to walk on her toes instead of relying on the shoe to distribute her weight more evenly.

As for her dossier, it didn't give the whole story. She had been given a particular task, but felt it had been counter productive. So she had been in the awkward position of being ordered to do something that she knew very well would be immediately regretted if accomplished. So despite any number of openings and chances in Vitestovakia, Mikhail's sisters had remained blithely unaware of the reluctant viper watching them. Lieutenant Alkaev didn't think she would be reprimanded for such restraint, but orders were orders, and she had 'failed'.

____

The Count's smile proved a bit more warm at that, a single, light chuckle echoing from him as he nodded in agreement. "You may, as that makes two of us, though I wouldn't be too eager to say that just yet - it might not work in Vrangel's favor, given time." He found himself ill-suited, at least so far, to the political responsibilities of his station. The spiritual, the martial, those he seemed to have no qualms with, no problem adapting to, but as a politician? He struggled. All the more reason why he would need an apt spouse, his conscience reminded him, forcing another sigh from his body.

Mikhail shook his head slightly, hoping that the woman would at least change shoes soon enough, that he hadn't doomed her to walking about in this manner for the rest of the day. He was, for the most part, unaware of the nature of her missions in the Principality, seeing only that they had been rebranded as observation ops, that they had been something else to begin with. Perhaps someone higher up the ladder in Avdotya's organization sought to protect or, or keep Mikhail ignorant of the true nature of her assignments.

"You're likely busy, lieutenant." Mikhail acknowledged, a stiff, practiced salute issued from the man, who dropped it soon enough. "I shouldn't keep you."

____

Avdotya shrugged again, after automatically returning the salute, "I'm not particularly busy. I have nothing really to add to the meeting later, because I came too late to the problem. Others will have more familiarity with the situation, and everything I've thought of has already been addressed. Except for this corner where people run into each other."

Ava smiled at him then, amused at something, "If you wouldn't mind sending someone to give me a hand, that would be much appreciated. I haven't learned the layout yet, and getting to the locker room will be a bitch if I don't have a guide and an arm to lean on. Of course, you are far too busy to waste on such an errand."

Then she gave a deliberately sneaky look before leaning towards Mikhail to add, "Unless you want to take a break from your political duties, my lord. Ten minutes to walk with a girl would not be begrudged, I think."

____

Her dossier had mentioned that she had been on assignment until being very recently called back, not long after the demise of his father if he recalled correctly. He would have hesitated to say that she had nothing to add, surely she had been here before, been here long enough to look the place over, to know it - but if others had already been here, already been doing such, then he supposed she would be at quite the disadvantage. "I-" He'd started to say he'd have no problem sending someone to help her, already feeling guilty that he'd proven the demise of her shoe, but the words caught in his throat at her suggestion. It wasn't that it was overly bold, or out of place to ask, but simply unexpected.

A brief glance up and down the hall, which held no one but themselves, prefaced the man giving a light shrug and nodding, returning her smile once more. Political duties? The extent of his political duties at the moment was wasting time before the meeting with the rest of the Okhrana. "... I could use the respite." Mikhail nodded to himself for a moment as he moved to offer his arm to Ava, figuring that wasn't too forward of him, to help support her.

"Konstantin Vladimirovich might think less of me for it, but, that is my chamberlain, after all." More a statement on Kostya's character than anything - a good man, a friend, but one who certainly had no room to talk of these sorts of things.

____

Ava promptly curled her arm in Mikhail's in a way that might have been a little intimate, though the excuse of the broken shoe and her needing the support could be called on to explain why she was snuggled so close. It did seem to be the best way to deal with her impacted balance. She smiled up at Mikhail from where she tucked her head against his shoulder, seeming to be very happy to be there.

"Sometimes one can be swayed by the opinions of others. Sometimes, a strong person must ignore them and go their own way. If you always let people tell you who you are, nothing ever changes." She pointed out, again thinking about orders followed or ignored.

If she heard footsteps or became aware of being observed, Avdotya would straighten up and be more demure about how she clung to the Count's arm. If no one was watching, she would take full advantage though, suspecting that she would still rarely have a chance to walk with someone just because she wanted to. Even the illusion of temporary intimacy was valuable to her. "In other words, let him bitch if he wants to. You can change things if you want to, if only a little."

____

It was a deal more intimate than the Count had anticipated, sighing as he felt her head move against his shoulder, his own eyes diverted for a moment as he did his best to compose himself. Mikhail did offer her a smile even though he had stiffened visibly, falling back into the lessons, the etiquette, that he had been taught on how to escort a lady as an officer. "That's true, I could dismiss his opinions, other's opinions..." He entertained the thought for a few moments, turning it over in his mind. As uncouth as Kostya could be, the man certainly kept his finger on the pulse of the court - his advice was typically sound. It might be foolish to dismiss it outright, but Mikhail was his own man, capable of his own decisions, mistakes or otherwise.

"Well, I am the count." Vrangel mused in a passing sort of manner, the sort that would be accompanied by a shrug, were it not for the fact it would disturb where she laid her head now. "I suppose I could change whatever I like, within my holdings. Little or not." Another smile, this time paid in jest, another glance, Mikhail found himself giving a moment or two to a similar fantasy as what she indulged in, though his own lack of intimacy stemmed from different sources. He had read her official dossier but by and large Misha was ignorant of her nature, of where she came from and the trials of her daily existence - the illusionary intimacy on her part, as pleasant as it was, did cause Konstantin's words to ring in Mikhail's ears.

"... so what do you think I should change, Alkaeviere," He began, in good humor, "More breaks from my political duties, or should escort more ladies about the manor?"

____

She actually considered the question as they walked, the gears in her little head turning as she mulled over his situation briefly. Then she sighed and admitted, "You'd probably do better to find a particular lady to escort about. As things stand, a wife would likely be extremely useful to you. Someone with the right skills to help you with your tasks. As practical as that sounds, it also sounds like a small death."

Avdotya rewarded his use of her name with a pleased squeeze of the arm she was latched onto. "Marriage costs too much to be wholly practical anyway. So, if you are going to spend so much of your life and resources on it, I'd advise you to get someone you really like. After all, if you are going to take breaks, you want to spend them with someone that doesn't set your teeth on edge, even if she is considered a little beneath you, Lord Vrangelviere."

Alkaev didn't tell him her grimmer view on the situation; that she felt most women to be pretty much the same after you got past the quirks on the surface. So there had to be someone in the field that would be able to get along with Count Vrangel, even if he had to resort to a lesser house to find an ego that wouldn't seek to dominate him.

____

A small death. As if the man needed more words to ring in his ears regarding women and marriage, and it didn't help that he had only recently watched his father waste away after years buried in his grudge. The smile he wore faded, mind moving back to the stacks of dossiers he'd reviewed this morning before the Okhrana, of the leading candidates from the major and minor houses, which would be radical or safe political moves - which ones were more suited to domestic, economic or martial fronts. There were plenty of options, even amongst the vassal houses of Vrangel and its allies, that boded well for Mikhail and his house, though at the core of the whole issue the man found himself apprehensive. He had known women intimately before - other cadets at the academy, fellow officers in the field, even women of poor repute - but those were things in passing, as regular as they may have been at the time.

More than anything, it was the institution of marriage that frightened him, having seen it destroy his family.

"Someone I really like?" He asked, glancing over to Ava at that, his eyebrows a degree higher than they had been earlier, his brow lightly furrowed. "That's the rub with politics." A political alliance with someone he liked was possible, but the real question would be whether it was convenient or not - whether or not it suited the current political situation. "I was actually reviewing candidates earlier today, presented at my cabinet's recommendation." Mikhail confessed aloud, letting the thoughts take form in his words, figuring that it might help give him direction in that regard. After all, this seemed an innocent enough conversation - if he couldn't trust his own agents, who could he trust?

"They're all stunning, in one way or another, but none of them speak to me. I, well-" He shrugged, "I suppose it might help if I actually speak to them."

____

Avdotya probably surprised him when she laughed, but she soon explained. "I hate the dossier photos. It is like the point is to suck all the personality out of them and make them as meaningless as possible, if not an outright lie."

She bowed her head a little when he mentioned talking to the candidates, wondering why that thought made her chest tight. It was only the roughness of his epaulet against her cheek that made her straighten up again. How apt a reminder it was.

"You will have the opportunity soon. If not the women in question, at least people that know them well. They will likely have the same goal in mind, if they are interested at all. So the ones that approach you at the reception party are the ones that are--" Ava couldn't complete the thought, her grip slowly loosening on Mikhail's arm until she was barely holding on at all.

Maybe it was because she had watched his sisters so closely and learned of their love for their brother that they rarely saw or even heard from. Plus, House Vrangel was her entire life, though they rarely were aware of her existence until they needed something. The thought of the man next to her being forced into as miserable a marriage as his father suffered filled Avdotya with fierce longing to protect his Highness the Count Mikhail Ivanovich Vrangelviere from such a fate. Seeing him become bitter and angry would break her loyal heart.

 

[Tiko]

as written by Ottoman and Krysis

The man echoed her sentiment, more than anything, regarding such stiff, official photographs. They had a way of either making someone seem lifeless, or the exact opposite of what they intended. "I always look so angry in mine, I never have any reason to be." He shrugged the thought away, not giving it much heed beyond the passing thought, the humorous banter. Mikhail was largely unaware of any sort of response on the part of the other, despite her proximity - it had been so long since he had seen any such concern, at least in person, that he didn't know how to recognize it.

Her loosened grip drew his eyes, the Count unsure if he needed to slow his pace for the woman with only one effective shoe, and her silence drew his concern. Mikhail enjoyed listening to her input - it was a fresh view from a fresh pair of eyes, ones that likely noticed things that neither he or Konstantin did - and wondered what it was that could've stilled her voice. "Ones that are?" He asked briefly as he slowed, simply curious to hear the rest of her words, his own not intended to sound pushy or discourteous. A hand moved to light itself upon hers, Vrangel running through any number of reasons why she might have stopped speaking in his mind, some more fantastical and paranoid than others.

"Are you alright?"

____

Ava shrugged a little, "I am well, sir. It just occurred to me that the women that would put themselves forward to try to be your lover would probably be out to get something from you. It made me sad."

She smiled up at Mikhail then, giving a little embarrassed tilt to her expression. "It would terribly sad to see another Count be burned by marriage, but I can think of no sure way to safeguard against it."

When he covered her hand on his arm, she stopped breathing for a moment. Her cheeks went crimson then as she looked forward, but her free hand came up to give his fingers a grateful squeeze. Such concern was to be treasured. "Which is a silly way for me to think; too sentimental for someone so beneath you."

Avdotya's cheeks stayed scarlet as her thoughts strayed to other ways she could be beneath her beloved count. Other services she might perform. Things she would never dare mention. It seemed that her desire to be a good and loyal pawn was starting to backfire on the capable woman in a truly unexpected way.

____

It was the nature of his station, he'd come to discover. Mikhail had certainly experienced such things before, though never through such a permanent institution as marriage. Women who used his heritage in the Academy to scurry under suspicion and failure because of their connections to the scion of House Vrangel, and those who, in the field, were with him to avoid combat deployments, to stay away from the dangers of the front. He offered a light huff at that, all that came of a mental chuckle at their surprise when he visited the front so very often. Being alongside him in a warzone wasn't the safest place for a staff officer, and was half the reason he wore so little in the way of insignia and decoration. "It's a sad sort of thing, Alkaeviere." But it was a fact of his life, one that he had long come to accept. He held no ill will against those he had been with - the affection and kindness they had shown him at the time was welcome, and that was what he focused on in retrospect.

Not the splits or separations, not like his father did.

"I can," Vrangel mused with a humorous smile, shaking his head in a moment as if to dismiss the thought. "But it doesn't bode well for my house or my people, from..." Another sigh. "A political point of view." He imagined that there was a simple way that he might avoid the troubles, the misery, that his family had been thus far subjected to, and that was to marry someone because he genuinely wanted to. But what good would an earnest marriage do him as Count, no matter what it might do for him as Mikhail? It would leave him vulnerable in more ways than one, and what hurt could come from someone exploiting that weakness would dwarf the sorrow of a hollow marriage. "It's not silly, at least I don't think so." Mikhail murmured beside her, looking to the woman as he did. "I asked for your opinion, there's no reason for shame or embarrassment, Avdotya Tsarovna." Perhaps it was sentiment on his own part to invent a patronymic for her, having seen none in her file, or in most of the other Okhrana agents, their ranks being drawn up from orphans. But it was the romantic in him that bid him call her that - daughter of the Tsars - where ever it was she came from, whatever she had been, she was one of them now.

"It's our sentiment that separates us from the Coalition, or these new Soviets. We shouldn't hastily abandon it."

____

Sentimental seemed to be the perfect word for Mikhail, and Avdotya gave a gasp when he invented a new name for her. Her startled eyes turned up towards the young count just long enough for him to see how moved she was.

It was a simple thing, really. People were always giving her new names. Names that could be changed as easily as clothes, and usually made with the same degree of care as the average garment. Which was to say, none at all.

'Tsarovna' was different though. That came to him after actually talking to her, and for no other purpose, it seemed, than to touch her heart. Lieutenant Alkaev smiled though a pair of happy tears were dislodged by the expression. He seemed to have some very lofty ideas, and though it was technically possible for an orphan from Rienzi to have been descended from any number of bloodlines, it was extremely unlikely. She clung more tightly to his arm then, returning to the way she had held on in the first place, though they had to be nearing the locker room by then.

"Maybe you should ask your sisters. They have been more of a social bent than you, and they might know-- Well, they'll have opinions at least." Ava finally answered the issue at hand, though she would ever treasure these few minutes with the reason for her existence. Finding Vrangel to have a warmth and romantic side made all her suffering worth while.

"Your mother will too, but asking her is asking for trouble. Her goals seem to be more in line with the goals of the house she was born to. If she volunteers a particular bloodline for consideration, you might want to resist, even if it seems like an ideal match otherwise. At least, until we can check the lady out for you." The Okhrana agent pointed out with a wry tone as she wiped at her face with her free hand, not ready for anyone else to know how easy it was to slip all her weakened defenses and pull true emotion out of her.

____

Mikhail himself was surprised at the depth of her reaction to such a thing - lending the man his own genuine smile, glad to have shaped someone's day so positively. Some harsh officer and drillmaster he was, eh? She was one of his subordinates as well, most days he wouldn't think of being so informal, so casual, with someone under his command - much less a woman - but with her he did. Perhaps it was her plain-clothes nature as she didn't wear a uniform, at least not like his usual command, but he didn't know if he would attribute it to something so shallow. It was a quandary that wormed about in his mind, searching for an answer that might not easily be found.

But near the locker room they were, Vrangel helping her to the door and stepping back once he had, wearing a wistful look as he considered speaking to his sisters once again. "I don't know where they had gotten to. My mother-" His voice caught in his throat once the word slipped out, the letter he'd received from her having shaken him more than he liked to admit. She still spoke in the same manner of his childhood, as the mother that he had hardly seen for years, though it was cold - almost professional. It was a political move, her reestablishing contact, he knew it was.

If not, why couldn't, why shouldn't, she have done it before he was count?

"She is back with my grandparents." He managed after a moment, voice hushed, lips soon pursed in brief consideration, "I know that I can't trust her judgement." That he couldn't trust her at all was what he meant to say, though that went beyond the subject at hand, and there was no need to drag the lieutenant into his personal affairs. "But my sisters, perhaps I can bring them home. Or at least have them over to visit, every now and again."

The Count let out the sort of sigh one gives when thinking of something lofty, looking back up to the young lieutenant with a new, reinforced expression. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Alkaeviere?"

____

Avdotya gave a little nervous laugh and disagreed without meeting Mikhail's eyes as she moved to lean against the door frame of the locker room. One heel was pressed against the surface of the door so that no one would come out unexpectedly, but it was a subtle maneuver on the surface. "Actually, I think your mother's judgement is very good. For example, she knew better than to contact you while you were still solidifying your position. It's just her loyalty is to a different house, and openly so."

The young woman shrugged a bit, aware that it might be a sore spot with Vrangel, so she would not pursue it further on her own. She could explain her reasoning, if asked, but didn't want to press her luck.

Then she nodded about his sisters, honestly looking forward to seeing them again, at least from a distance. It would be nice to watch them without the stress of worrying about their lives and her orders.

Ava shook her head at his offer to do something more for her, then gave him a wry smile, "Try to avoid being reckless, and please stay alive? Having spoken with you, my Count, I am now very much looking forward to working for you. I hope that both our careers will be long ones."

____

"That's why it can't be trusted." He murmured, not challenging that his mother was a capable and clever individual - that only made her a more dangerous opponent. But Ava was an aware sort, as it was quite the sore spot with the man, Mikhail choosing to leave the subject there. The uniformed count's eyes had lingered on Alkaev's features, her face, though this talk of his mother forced them away, if only to spare the woman the sight of him so compromised. Now they fell to her foot, and the man cheered himself slightly knowing that this earnest conversation, brief as it was, wouldn't have happened were it not for his recklessness, as she put it.

Her words, whether serious or in jest, drew a small laugh out of him, the grin he wore an earnest one. "Well," Vrangel began, eyes darting back to meet hers. "I will do my best on the former but especially the latter, on that you have my word, lieutenant." He was glad that he seemed to get on so very well with one of the Okhrana's best, as Mikhail had been worried that it would be the exact opposite - that the uniformed and martial count might not see eye to eye with the covert operatives of the house. The man moved to offer her a salute once more as he spoke, "And I very much look forward to seeing more of you, Avdotya Tsarovna, though... perhaps not in your official capacity." It wouldn't be the best reflection on a spy - an operative - to be seen or recognized while they worked, would it?

Mikhail excused himself for his small jest. "Until the briefing, then." With that the salute dropped, and after a brief nod he turned to move back down the hall, to where ever it was that he had been heading just a few minutes earlier. But even with things set right, or as close as he could get them to right, rounding that corner played over and over again in his mind - namely, perhaps, as he struggled to find some way that he could have not run into the lieutenant and broken her shoe's heel. At least she didn't seem perturbed about it, not in the slightest. Beyond his conscience, some quiet, if rash, part of his mind lingered simply on the feeling of her on his arm.

____

Avdotya smiled and nodded, accepting whatever her Count wanted of her. She knew that her devotion bordered on obsession, but what else did she have to care about? As he walked away, she murmured, "I'll be nearby.".

What a lucky thing, to have a leader that was truly a good person. The Okhrana agents would have to work hard to keep him from the dirtier side of the political machine. There was no need for Mikhail to have to soil his own hands, his own morals, when there were people like her to do such things for him.

Ava was actually humming and happy as she changed her shoes, which meant changing the whole outfit to match the sturdy, laced-up boots. Then her hair and make-up needed adjusting too. She went from a fashionable woman in a semi-formal dress to looking like a mechanic, complete with a grease smear on her cheek. It limited where she could roam about and be unnoticed. When the limits were the underbelly of the manor, where the grit and grime of the place were tended, well, those places needed thorough checking too.

Most would be content to use tech to look at the hidden nooks and crannies, but Alkaev would rather check with her eyes and hands when possible... which was how she was covered in dust and spiderwebs when her warning alarm for the meeting went off. She would be late and still trying to clean herself up by the time she arrived at the briefing, and probably stopped by one of her fellow agents at the door to prove her identity.

____

Both the count and his chamberlain were already present, Mikhail still dressed as he'd been all day though Konstantin had elected to loosen his tie, figuring he wouldn't be penalized too much for his more casual appearance. The portly, bearded Oriyak was going over the agenda for the post-coronation celebrations and the agents' various positions in the activities, their responsibilities, stations and all the like when Avdotya arrived. Neither he nor the Count immediately took notice of her, the former still engrossed in his briefing and the latter looking over the map and doing his best to remember just who would be where - in regards to his security and the nobility, his brow furrowing as he silently reviewed the various posts. The Dollmanns would likely be in the far corner of the parlor, not far from Nirud and Krupp, and just to their flank would be-

To still Konstantin's voice was usually an accomplishment, and with the white noise of his brassy voice absent from Mikhail's ears the Count looked up, first to Kostya, and then to whatever it was that had silenced the man. The Count shouldn't have been surprised in retrospect, as he would've found his own words falling off at the sight that greeted him, though he couldn't help himself as he mouthed the name his mind had only briefly touched on just moments before, the last link of the various placements falling into place as his lips silently spoke the name 'Avdotya'. She looked so different than she had before - not simply in her dress but in her demeanor, her posture - but the man remembered her eyes, if nothing else, and knew it was her.

It didn't help that he'd first seen them alongside the barrel of a sidearm.

But the man caught himself soon enough, smiling after his brief slip, a light nod paid in her direction. "Lieutenant Alkaeviere, we missed you." Which was true, they'd yet to go over her position in the celebration with her personally, though they'd briefly touched on her responsibilities not too long ago. Konstantin was a hint less welcoming than his Count, and nodded at Mikhail's words.

"It's good of you to join us, Alkaeviere."

"Well, whatever kept her kept her for good reason, I'm sure." Mikhail murmured, not wanting to see his adviser prove too harsh on the woman for doing her duty. Judging by the way she looked, he doubted she could've been seeing to anything else.

____

The whispered conversation between Avdotya and the agent checking identities had probably gotten the attention of the chamberlain. The woman slouched and had a sullen look to her as long as the door behind her was open. She was holding on to the role of 'mechanic' for the moment as she ran a huge, stained rag over her head to get rid of the clinging spiderwebs.

When the door closed though, she stretched and straightened, adopting the more respectful attitude that was her 'normal' tone. She grinned at her colleague and leaned close to him to whisper, "It's almost like we need to go old-school again and use pass codes, since the tech has caught up to spoofing everything else."

He whispered back, "It was your make-up that confused the program, why did you have oil on your face?"

"Authenticity." Alkaev answered, dropping that word into the sudden well of silence just before the Count addressed her. Her dark blue eyes turned towards the Vrangel nobleman then, wide and startled at being recognized. Then she smiled and dropped a curtsy towards him and the Chamberlain. Even in coveralls and grime, she had the poise to pull it off, almost making one see the flutter of the skirt she wasn't wearing.

That was twice that he had remembered her name, and this time was even more special, since he had admitted knowing her in front of her peers. Ava couldn't speak, her heart was too full for words. She just blushed under the scrutiny and moved to the seat that was supposed to be her's.

____

"... as I was saying," Konstantin began, his bear-like hands returning to the projection before him, drawing themselves across the rooms displayed. "We're going to do our best to spread the various delegations out and not nestle them into camps, though we've taken care to pair Dollmann alongside Benavente. I would like a careful ear paid to them, if you would be so kind. I don't know if putting them alongside their cousins is a wise move, but we need to court the Vendragans back into our bloc, and I don't want to risk them taking to the Stiers at this - or worse." It was a polite move on Kostya's part to refrain from speaking the name Drazović in Mikhail's presence, a thing which the count appreciated, even if he wasn't perturbed by it in the same manner as his father. Vrangel was glad that his family, his mother and sisters, would be here for this, even if he couldn't trust them a whit.

"Otherwise, I will have Krupp separating the Vitestovaks from the Stiers, and the Uesegi - if they decide to come - are free to fend for themselves amongst the sea of doves." The chamberlain afforded himself a light chuckle, taking pleasure in the rightists' future misery at being stationed between all the liberal delegations, pleased with his ploy. "I don't expect to see them but they are... odd sorts. Let's hope they get the message. Now, as for those doves, the Redwings will be put at the head, with Lixus flanking-" Soon enough Kosntantin began to elaborate on the dove bloc's positions in the ceremony and the celebrations afterwards, arranged due to importance in the Reichsversammlung, but that previous note had caught and held Mikhail's attention. While Kostya explained the positioning of the nobles and the agents gathered, the count's eyes lingered on the Drazović delegation, wondering when he'd have the chance to stop there.

He hadn't seen any of them in so long - surely they would recognize him, it being his coronation and all, but would he know any of them if he saw them? Though the former general still sat straight in his seat, his shoulders sagged with his silent musings, busied with hopeful thoughts of his family coming home.

"Alkaeviere, you're to be between Dollmann and Nirud, in the crowd." The Chamberlain repeated himself, since the woman hadn't been here earlier to hear it, even if she might have seen it on the display in front of them. "Keep a close eye on the Austrans, if possible. We'd like to know what they're thinking." Dollmann was their greatest ally at the moment - one that no one wanted to disappoint.

____

Avdotya nodded at the instruction, though she had a wry smile for the addendum of 'know what they are thinking', since she could only guess. Well. Maybe more than guess, but that would come after the party, and might not be particularly likely to happen anyway. It would take a special kind of fool to sleep with someone employed by a different house, much less tell that person anything.

Lieutenant Alkaev did pretty well about not looking at Count Vrangel. In fact, too well, some of her colleagues noticed. Her lack of natural curiosity about their new leader might not have been seen by the average person, but they were trained observers. They also knew each other pretty well, and Ava's long time interest in Mikhail Vrangel was not exactly a secret among them.

Later there would be some questions and some good-natured ribbing when they were out of the view of the conventional power structure.