[i]...a respectable young man by the name of Nikolai Barakohv I'd like you to meet. Now our families have been friends since before either of you were born, so none of your funny business.[/i]

The last man who'd come knocking on their door had fallen off Anastasiya's horse. It was hardly her fault that the men of the town were so delightfully unimpressive.

When she heard the door open Anastasiya did not turn around. It would be one of the servants, or if she was late enough - her father himself come to get her. As an unfamiliar voice sounded however, she did turn, pistol still in hand. 

It did not take elaborate guesswork to figure out who could be standing in front of her. A young man, dressed in expensive furs looking respectable as ever. She studied his face for a long moment, from the dark hair to the glasses to the gentle eyes to the manicured moustache to the clean-cut jaw. [i]Barakohv.[/i] The name was engraved into several of the weapons here. But it was not this man's - his father's, maybe, or his father before that. There did not appear to be anyone with him, so surely there was no need for formality.

"Know much about guns, Nikolai?" [i]Or do you only bury your head in books.[/i]

Anastasiya slid back the chamber of the pistol in hand and popped out the bullets in one fluid motion, all the while having her eyes trained on the man. A smile appeared on pink lips as she offered both items to him with the gun's barrel downturned - partly playful, partly a challenge.