[IC] Masques and Daggers (Derren Krenshaw & Igraine)

[Igraine]

1899 - San Jose, California
The Winchester Estates

The grand staircase ascending to the sprawling Victorian mansion was lit with oil lamps encased in bejeweled-colored glass that illuminated the steady, stately stream of celebrants to the Winchester Estate. Similar lights festooned every one of the numerous windows facing out to the cobbled circular drive, as if to drench every shadow with emerald and sapphire and ruby hues.

Which was only ever appropriate. This night was for the crown jewel of the Winchester family, the lovely Annie Pardee Winchester Howe. The only child of William and Sarah, it mattered not in the least she was well into her third decade, married and mother of two growing boys of her own. The birthday of the scion of the Winchester family was no trifling matter.

All the dizzying variety of foreign dignitaries, businessmen, and high society to be found in California converged on the mansion tonight had reasons to be here this night. To see. To be seen.

To steal blind.

Galina's laughing dark eyes surveyed the swaying silks and dapper suits and shining leather finery of those ascending the stairs ahead of her, to be greeted by their host and hostess. The strains of violins flowed from the doorway as a gentle summer stream, tripping lightly down the white granite steps to play in the jewel-colored nighttime lawns.

Some small part of the lady wished she might as well, but that was silliness and Galina had put such childish notions away long, long ago. But that did not mean such thoughts did not occasionally roll off their carefully collected shelves.

[Igraine]

Rich chestnut hair piled stylishly atop her head, the lengths were left to fall in a cascade of waves from beneath her stylish, dove grey chapeau. The stately lines of her ice blue and pale grey evening gown wove perfectly into the charcoal suit of the tall man beside her, their slow steps as they ascended the polished granite stairs in perfect time.

"Da, Papa. Of course." Baronessa Galina Demidova smiled sweetly up to the stately gentleman at her side, her gloved hand resting elegantly on his arm. He cut such a dashing figure still, salt and pepper hair cut short about the nape of his neck, his neatly trimmed beard lending a certain gravitas to his presence that Galina found eminently comforting.

"Tonight will be most... Abundant." Galina laughed, her thickly accented voice warbled in the evening air between them, filled with warm music.

Dark laughing eyes, the very match of her own, looked down at her full of tender affection and unending devotion. How he loved the sound of her voice. In another life he mused, she might have been an opera singer, a chanteuse to make men weep with joy or despair at the slightest whim of inflection. But that life would have to be one lived without duty, without honor or fealty or undying purpose. Even so, Baron Vasily Demidov would take what enjoyment he could in this world. He was, after all, one of only a handful of men who heard his daughter's unparalleled voice, and continued to walk this good Earth.

A smile to match her own as he spoke, reaching to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear. "Third floor office, fourth door to the right. Not terribly original, but these are Americans after all, lacking a subtlety that many long centuries will bring a people. You will be on your own from there. God watch over your every least step, moya malen'kaya noch' volk."*

"He watches over my every least breath Papa; knows the number of hairs on my head." Galina patted her father's arm with her gloved fingers, gentle reassurance. "Shall we?" She nodded her head to the top of the stairs with a knowing smile.

Introductions were made, Baron Demidov politely acquainting his daughter with Mr. and Mrs. Winchester, a great deal of small talk made with the charming Russian nobleman so well-connected with the Tsar, the entirety of the Romanov family in truth, and wasn't that just lovely? Nobility was so rare to find in America, much less here in California! And isn't your daughter simply lovely - perhaps some of our gentle guests will help the sweet child find her voice, and practice her English if she should wish? We pray you will find Americans to be some of the friendliest people in all the world, sir...

And with precious little fanfare, the wolves traipsed into the sheep pen through the front gate.

(( *my little night wolf ))

[Derren Krenshaw]

"Mister Takahiro."

The dark-haired gentleman bowed deeply to his hosts as they greeted him, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips. Before him, past his hosts, the swirling forms of well-dressed guests could just be spied inside. Behind, the line stretched out, more and more waiting to step inside and join the celebrations. Everyone worth knowing was here or soon to be here, all desiring to wish the Heiress well and to enjoy her hospitality on this evening.

In a way, Souma Takahiro desired just the same.

"Sank you," Clutching a cane of black-lacquered wood to steady himself, he rose to meet his hosts' eyes once more, offering compliments with heavy accent before passing inside.

He certainly looked like just the kind of guest who might be invited to such a Ball, dressed to the heights of western fashion. His dark suit appeared to fit quite well, hair revealed perfectly parted under the derby hat he now removed. The gold-plated chain of a watch could be seen leading to his waistcoat pocket, and even the man's usual walking cane had been traded up for one more in line with western sensibilities. Sure, his heritage was immediately apparent to all he met and spoke with, but that wasn't the point. As a dignitary from Japan, sent by the government to help better understand western culture, it was his job to fit in as best he could.

And Takahiro did his job very, very well.

Carefully balancing himself to place his gift upon the ever-growing pile just inside, he proceeded to make his stately way into the crowd itself. Dancing wasn't going to happen with his leg as it was, but charm and tact had never failed Takahiro before. He mingled among the elite with practiced ease, ingratiating himself through a mixture of well-placed compliments and respect duly given.

And they ate it up faster than the horderves offered by dressed-up servants, drank it down faster than the ever-filling glasses each held in one hand. Oh he was a charming fellow indeed, years of practice beguiling the nobles of his own land almost wasted on the crowd around him now. They ate from his hand gladly, enjoying all he offered and leaving satisfied when he moved past.

And if anyone should wonder why he seemed to remain close to the staircase... why should they? Except perhaps to lament at the chore such a climb would be to him, who must certainly be in awe of all that was around him. Of course he would be curious to tour it further. It was the Winchester estate after all, who wouldn't be?

[Igraine]

Galina nodded and smiled, though not too widely of course, not too brightly. These Americans were, after all, the descendents of Puritans still rapt with their precious Victorianism - and a good five years behind the more fashionable East Coast styles at any rate. As was appropriate, Papa had brought her a program, and a dance card... How quaint.

Her dark eyes widened in something that might have resembled demure acquiescence - or perhaps a plea for mercy? A promise of impending doom? No, no certainly not that...

The young woman remained at her father's side, surreptitiously slipping the program and dance card into her beaded hand bag as if it had never been, skillfully dodging the interested gazes of any single-seeming young gentleman with a facade of gentle shyness, or a coy inability to understand the English language quite yet. All polite smiles and blank, slightly startled looks and gentle laughter as bright as cut crystal in candlelight, Galina maneuvered through the glittering crowd on her Papa's arm, like a clipper through the choppiest seas.

And always in the back of her mind, the layout of the Winchester home was moving from two-dimensional blueprints she had spent days memorizing, to a three dimensional map as she surreptitiously studied every least detail, from ceiling height to furniture placement. By no means did she avoid looking toward the grand stairwell, leading to the second floor mezzanine that surrounded the magnificent great room. Avoidance, after all, can be a clarion call to notice, even in such a large, merry-making crowd as this.

The triple sets of French doors were opened to the back veranda, the warm California night breeze and the strains of music floating in from the gaily lit lanterns festooned over the immaculately manicured lawns where the dancing had begun. Baron Demidov looked to his daughter, so sweetly reluctant to join such a large gay crowd who spoke a language she still found so unfamiliar.

And besides, the young Baronessa had already been introduced to many thus far as an aspiring student of art and architecture. A father's eye could easily see she seemed enthralled by her love wood and stone; that the call of beam and angle and exquisite craftsmanship had overcome her at any rate. She would far rather explore the nooks and crannies of this magnificent home than make pained attempts at small talk. Always with her papers and parchments and charcoal-stained fingers, his little artiste.

Yet Papa must make his way among these acquaintances and potential business partners, political allies and foes alike. There was simply no help for it. Galina and her father spoke briefly, a tender kiss to her forehead as they walked by that grand stairwell. The Baronessa laughed softly, shooing her father toward the music, watching his back as he disappeared into the night and the dance.

And it was at that moment, Galina bit her lip softly, realizing her mistake as a few of the older matrons passed by where she stood. Prudish, shriveled American faces scowled in disapproval of her obvious male escort-less-ness. Of course...

It was all the she-wolf could do, to force her dark eyes to fall to the floor demurely, and not bare her teeth and snarl fiercely at their presumptuousness. But if she were going to try for quiet, unnoticed anonymity, neither snapping at these dried up old husks nor remaining here by herself so "brazenly" would much help that cause. Galina took a deep breath, her gaze darting about for a suitable escape route -

- And landed on a Godsend, wrapped and handed to her as if by the hands of the Divine Himself. Oh truly, He was with her this night. A smiling young man, well-dressed and handsome - and obviously a foreigner as well, with the Japanese cast to his face. Just perfect. Made to order, in truth. Though he might have little love for the Tsar, something about that pleasant, charming smile said he would not object to obviously at the least, to the imposition of one of Russia's darker lights.

"Dobryy vecher, ser,"* she said, her voice only barely above a whisper as she approached him, bowing her head respectfully, "Oh... Excuse... Good even? English, is no good." Galina allowed a blush to rise to her cheeks, as if she were truly mortified by both her forwardness and her inability to speak the language of these lands.

She let one hand gesture toward the mezzanine above them, toward the gallery where a few of the guests were walking and talking, observing the various masterpieces that Winchester money could afford. "You like... Art? With me?"

(( *Good evening, sir ))

[Derren Krenshaw]

Seek fortune from the most unlikely places.

Takahiro spent his time by the stairs, entertaining those nearby while taking care to observe the flow of people around him. Doors that opened for servants were noted and memorized, the movements of guests telling him just where he could and couldn't go. Certainly, he wanted to be a memorable guest, to be spoken of fondly after this celebration was long over. It made things easier that way, both for tonight and in the future.

So he had to ensure that a charming and exotic guest was all they saw Takahiro as. It was easy enough for now, but there was a problem that had existed from the start, one he hadn't yet gotten around:

Going upstairs.

A limp man struggling up the steps stood out, and it wasn't a memory he wanted people to have of him. No doubt someone would rush to his aid, and he would find his climb made easier by willing hands, the damage would be done. His job was to fit in among the Western Elite, and learn from them what he could. Anything that might give them reason to look down on him was unacceptable, any pitying thought or memory one he had to avoid as best he could.

So an escort was his best option, and what would you know? It happened that a lovely young lady without a partner of her own decided to come right over in his time of need.

A young, Russian lady, if he placed the accent correctly. Unlikely places, indeed.

"Good, evening," Takahiro offered her a low bow, a comforting smile growing upon his lips as an embarrassed blush rose in her face. He spoke slowly, deliberately, as much to speak the foreign language correctly as to be sure she could understand him.

"Artu? Hai, very much." He followed her gaze to the gallery above, years of discipline hard at work to keep his features kind and polite. Could he have asked for an opportunity any more... perfect? "I, like to look closer... Demo..."

He gestured towards his cane and right leg, fidgeting slightly as he seemed to work up the nerve to ask his next question. It was hard to admit weakness after all, especially to such a lady who seemed so interested in sharing his company.

"Could you... help me there- to the art?"

[Igraine]

Galina's dark eyes glanced to the black-lacquered cane she had heretofore thought a simple Western affectation, to the leg it seemed pained the man with the gentle smile. Her eyes did not linger though, not for more than a moment. Whether she would or no, his admission of weakness struck a chord in her, a thrum of sympathy - pity even - though not a jot of it showed on the sweet, uncomplicated face of the Baronessa. He was far too young to be lame, and there was nothing of a deformity about him she had noted, that suggested he was born so. All the years of a warrior should still lay ahead of him. Such a wretched waste...

The Baronessa, abashed as she seemed by the paucity of her English, could still follow the erstwhile man's gestures, and his own heavily-accented words. It seemed she and the young Japanese man might yet be the answer to one another's prayers this evening.

Though her cheeks were still rose-blushed, she eagerly nodded her understanding, and held out her hand to accept his invitation-of-a-sort, qualified as it might be. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Galina slipped her arm beneath his own, the length of her forearm running along his entirely. Her fingers and thumb wrapped about his wrist as she nodded her head gracefully, still smiling as she walked toward the staircase. A near imperceptible dip of her head said without a word passed between them, that he should take the thick oak banister with the other hand - that for this ascent, she would be the cane that no man would see.

If she seemed far stronger or sturdier than a gentlewoman ought, Galina doubted her companion would comment or complain, even if he should take notice. With her free hand, she lifted the lengths of her skirt just enough to clear the exquisitely carpeted risers.

The couple moved slowly, sedately. There was no hurry, after all. To all appearances, they would have been most thoroughly enjoying one another's company, in absolutely no rush to part or see an end to this lovely evening. Lovers, or simply art lovers, it mattered not at all. The pair blended easily into the elegant ensemble at the Winchester Estate.

"Galina," she said softly, her voice not much louder than a whisper, meeting her new companion's gaze as they began their ascent. "I am Galina. Galina Demidova. I call you... ?"

[Derren Krenshaw]

There were far, far worse ways to climb a flight of stairs.

With his free hand, Takahiro pulled himself up the banister, his other arm entwined within that of his new companion as she helped his ascent. They moved with a casual, natural elegance, matching each other's step as if they had done this so many times before.

"Galina, Demidova..." He swirled the name over his tongue, smiling easily as they moved. "I am, Takahiro Souma." He offered a polite nod to accompany the words. "It is, pleasure, Missu Demidova."

It was the honest truth, not a hint of insincerity to find within his words or demeanor. Why should there have been? Climbing those steps with such a lady by his side, he felt truly pleased by this event for the first time since stepping through the door. Any concern he might have felt over her heritage -her name only enforced what he had believed- felt short when compared to the fortune her company provided. They were nothing more than guests enjoying the celebration and mansion around them. There was no reason for anyone to look at them twice, no cause for him to stand out. It was everything he had been looking for come true in wonderful fashion.

Who could blame him for enjoying their climb?

As they made their way as one to the second floor, a part of Takahiro's mind went over a mental list of tonight's goals. It was a fairly short list, simple points all, and a good number of them were checked off already. Getting to the third floor would be a little tricky, but there was no cause for rush just yet. The crowd would be thinner up here, easier to avoid or simply slip by, but he needed the right time. Until then, passing the moments by with the young Galina Demidova at his arm would be-... oh... well now...

After passing over the top of the stairs and joining those couples likewise gazing through the gallery, Takahiro had turned to give Galina his gratitude, and was stopped by a sight just beyond her. He had always been a fan of artwork -it had certainly been no lie when he told Galina that same thing- but he always remained partial to that of his own country. There was just something about the flowing way his kinsmen drew and painted, as if bringing color to a river that had until then remained unseen. That love was mirrored in the vibrant, if incomplete, tattoo that covered most of his chest and back, hidden now beneath layers of western fashion. Six years of work to create the tapestry upon his flesh, as many as ten more to go until it could be called 'complete'. There were few works that could rival such painstaking and masterful artistry... But the Winchester Gallery was up for the competition.

"You know, who made that?" The pause before he spoke was short, but noticeable. Takahiro recovering to catch his companion's eye before gesturing towards the work beside her. It depicted what might be a pond or lake, vines dangling from the upper boundaries of it's frame and water lilies flowering all across the water's surface. It seemed almost something his kin would paint, yet the way it was done was so very different... almost... refreshing?

"You know, who made that? Very, very good..."

[Igraine]

"Udovol'stviye eto moye, Mr. Takahiro," she replied, the sweet music of her voice ringing with such sincerity, Galina would have been truly surprised were an English translation necessary to carry her meaning. There was an astonishing ease in walking alongside this Takahiro Souma, a grace she had not expected in the least from a crippled man.

Galina found herself in no hurry at all to be rid of his company, though she noted straight away that this second floor mezzanine gallery should be the perfect launching point to the third floor, given the proper moment. And when his eyes traveled over her shoulder, to the painting behind her, the young woman's brow furrowed curiously, a slightly bemused grin almost surprised to her lips, the mask of the gentle Baronessa slipping for a split-second. Ah, but she was the erstwhile student of art and architecture, was she not? Yes, of course she would know this artist very well, and the upstart movement that infuriated the traditionalists on the Continent.

"Claude Monet," she replied with a quite passable Parisian inflection, though the English that followed was as broken as ever for the poor Baronessa. Still her face brightened, animated with an undying love for the subject that a lack of vocabulary could not begin to dim.

"Is artist. Claude Monet. He is... Is... " She seemed to struggle for a moment though that wide smile never left her face, searching her thoughts so intently for the proper English word. "Is school of art. Call 'Impress... Ist' No! No, forgive. Please. Is 'Im. Press. Ion. Ist.'" The young woman pronounced the hard-fought word slowly, syllable by syllable, her melodic tones making a lilting song even of her broken English.

"Im.Pression.Ist. Not paint the... The lines. Forms. Oh no! They see... See different. Paint light." The Baronessa's fingers pointed to the painstakingly detailed brushstrokes that comprised the water lilies, and the reflective surfaces of the pond on which they floated.

"You see, Mr. Takahiro? Here." Galina's hand hovered over the canvas, outlining the edges of the low-hanging branches, the sky presumably above the water itself. "Is like... Painting of trees, in water! Light of sky. Painting made of lights!"

The young woman's triumphant grin hovered on her lips for only a moment though, before she blushed furiously once more, her dark eyes falling to the floor. "Forgive. Please," she said softly, so obviously, painfully abashed. "Papa say, talk much. You ask artist. Is Claude Monet."

As her eyes studied the graceful patterns of the Persian rug beneath her feet, fanciful vines twining through sprays of oriental lilies, Galina made a quick mental note of the single servant she had seen on this floor thus far, carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Ah, thank heaven for the facade of the demure, unpresuming Baronessa. There was never a lack of sweetly embarrassed moments to collect her thoughts, and reprise a calculation or two.

[Derren Krenshaw]

Takahiro listened, intent on Galina's words, regarding the painting before them once more in light of her lilting words. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he saw the 'painting light' she spoke of, but that didn't change the fact it was a wonderful piece to look at. If the Claude Monet she spoke of painted works like this all the time, he had more than earned the right to say he created 'paintings of lights'.

"No need forgive. Answer... very good." He smiled over at Galina beside him, hoping to coax her from the embarrassment that seemed to have gripped her once more. "Sank you, Missu Demidova."

Takahiro examined the painting once more, Galina's comments fresh in his mind, the action allowing him to ponder his next move. She had admitted to liking artwork before -which had got them up the stairs in the first place- but that was different from watching and listening to her explain the work that was before them. She appreciated art, more than simply liking it. And surrounded by a gallery of works she likely knew far better than him, that provided an opportunity.

It meant taking advantage of the lady by his side a little bit longer. But if it was time they could both enjoy, then it was advantage well-taken.

Casting his gaze about the gallery surrounding them, Takahiro noted the various styles and themes, all seeming so alien to his countries own. It seemed much of the western world might be on display here, and as he turned back to Galina at his side, that thought gave him an idea.

"There is... very much here. All different from Nipp-... Ah... Jap-a-nese." Inclining his head politely to Galina at his side, he gestured towards the rest of the gallery to help accentuate the following question.

"I, not know ar- This art well. You have...ah... liking? Have... favorite? Here?"

If artwork animated her so, he should try to encourage that. The more they walked and spoke, the easier it was for him to explore this floor. The paintings around them provided a brilliant excuse to look around, though Takahiro made sure his gaze always returned to the lady beside him. More than an excuse to wander about freely, she was the one who would likely remember him best after this gathering was over. He had to ensure her time spent with him was a pleasant one, that in her mind, he was nothing more than a fellow lover of art from a foreign country.

While more difficult, he had to admit it was far more enjoyable than the simple conversations and trading of pleasantries he had endured earlier.

[Igraine]

The Baronessa's dark eyes lifted from her erstwhile study of the carpet, that sweet, effortless smile lighting her face when Souma praised her halting attempts to share what little her spotty English would allow. It seemed she had found this most perfect of companions tonight. One not merely polite to a young woman whose language skills were still far less than adept; but who was genuinely kind, his demeanor and interest neither pretentious nor feigned as they ambled along the gallery.

Wolves, of course, were not moved by such pleasantries. Not by the warmth of his smile nor the light of dawning understanding as – even in her halting English – Souma genuinely tried to see what that special quality was, that made the works of Monet and his Impressionist brethren of such significance.

Certainly not by the fact that he then asked the opinion of the Baronessa, concerning any pieces she favored, without the least attempt to impress her with his own knowledge or lofty opinions.

Moved? Touched? Psh… Such foolishness, best left to silly, moon-eyed girls who read far too many Jane Austen novels.

Still wearing the guise of the guileless, Galina’s gaze traveled along the length of the mezzanine, past the few other couples absorbed in their own conversations and ruminations, toward the true prize at the end of this hallway. That the entranceway leading to the third floor also stood quite near a painting she not only recognized, but created by an artist she truly revered?

Yes truly, a sign of God’s favor this night.

Smiling her understanding of the young man’s question, without a word the Baronessa nodded, and then waved that he should accompany her still further down the hall. Effortlessly interlacing her arm in his, the elegant pair traversed the mezzanine until she stopped before a painting of near photographic realism. The image was of a forest, thick and overgrown though a muddy dirt path wound through it. The silence and stillness were near palpable features of this scene, the water in the puddles without ripple or disturbance in this dense, almost primeval growth. Yes, man had been here, had even had the temerity to build himself a road through this place. And yet one could not escape the feeling that his presence meant precious little to the true denizens of these woods: to the trees themselves.

And at the horizon where the dirt road seemed to meander into a place the viewer could not follow, the sky was lit with the haunting light, that brief moment in time where the heavens are painted a pale reddish orange glow, a gentle fire just before the sun rises to its fuller splendor, or dies to the night.

“Ivan Shishkin,” the Baronessa said, her eyes taking in the fullness of the scene with a soft, wistful sigh of some unnamed emotion, one she knew reached all the way to the wolf. “He is russkiy – Russian, yes? Is English word?”

Galina knew very well the name of this painting was “Twilight,” but this was a word the Baronessa certainly would not yet have in her repertoire. And even is she did, it was not as if this piece required a single word from her, to add to the understanding of the solemn dignity of this work.

Most certainly not by the idle chatter of an art-loving ingénue.

“I know this place,” she said softly, her words no more than a whisper under her breath as Galina’s thoughts traveled homeward, to the sound of horse hooves on hard-packed dirt, to the feel of powerful equine flesh beneath her and the company of her brothers-in-arms as they rode into the coolness of the night.

[Derren Krenshaw]

Takahiro examined the painting once more, in light of the young ladies whispered words, a strange pain welling in his chest. It suddenly struck him, standing there viewing a scene that Galina had walked through, that there likely wasn’t a similar painting for him in this building. Sure, there were numerous paintings of Japan’s landscape… in Japan. His homeland’s constant struggle to remain independent from the ever-expanding west meant they were loathe to share anything they didn’t have to.

So no paintings of the rice fields he had raced through as a child. No renditions of any one of the small towns his ‘family’ had traveled through. No depictions of secret gambling houses or smugglers drifting under the searchlights of an imperial warship, nothing he could look at and say ‘I know this place’.

Although, most of those scenes probably wouldn’t be ones you’d find in a painting, anyways.

“You do? Travel or… scene from kid- from child...hood?” Part of him hoped for the latter, the thought of family luring him to test the boundaries of social etiquette. Having known few people outside of his own extended relations, he couldn’t help but wonder if her stories might be similar to his. A little different on the details, sure, but was a family raised so differently, be they nobles or smugglers?

A question he was curious to answer, but already as he spoke, Takahiro realized the lines he was brushing against.

“Ah- Sumi-... Apo,lo,gies, Missu Demidova.” She remained at his side, so he could not bow to show the sincerity of his broken statement -though he might have started to before realizing that fact. Instead he inclined his head deeply, his own ears showing some red as he realized his slip. “I did not mean… How do you say in this language? Inqui-... an-...”

His ears grew somewhat redder as he failed to find the proper word, finally giving up to look Galina in the eyes. “I am sorry.”

[Igraine]

Galina blinked. A vague, whispery sensation floated through her soul, a zephyr of unease that hissed so softly…

The Baronessa shook her head slowly, a gentle light in her eyes as she ducked just a little, her dark gaze looking up into his own as he bowed an apology to her. She smiled up at him tenderly, kindly. “No… No, Mister Takahiro… “

It was Galina though, whose finger gently touched Souma’s chin, lifting his gaze and his face to hers, entirely with only the subtlest pressure. “Never. Never sorry.”

Her hand dropped back to her side for a mere moment, the instant she turned to lift a champagne flute from a passing servant’s tray, and then one more which she offered to her companion silently, only that sweet, guileless expression on the Baronessa’s face. Galina noted the timing though - first the passing of the servant with the hors d’oeuvres and then, some ten minutes later, a different server with the champagne. The timing - yes, there should be just enough time during this pass.

“Yes, I know,” she said, swiftly nodding back to Shishkin’s painting without missing a beat. “Papa and me. Little girl and… Family. We… We… Ride? Is word? Ride horse.” The Baronessa made a gentle equine nickering, her crystalline laughter bright and lilting. She would not allow her companion this night, to fade into apologies or misunderstandings - most certainly when he did not allow her the same. The Baronessa oh-so-gently charmed her companion the remainder of the gallery, to the end of the mezzanine and the last of the artwork displayed, to an 18th century portrait meticulously completed, of course, in the neoclassical style. She did not recognize the lovely young lady, not much more than a child really - a Winchester ancestor perhaps? Ah, no matter...

Her dark gaze roved over the gallery, artlessly falling toward the stairwell to the third floor. Galina gauged she had, at best, another two minutes before another servant saw fit to walk through. Granted, these were people though, not clockwork - and this comforted her not at all. This only meant she might yet have more - or less - time allotted to her still.

The lie came easily enough, wrapped in all the melodic glamour of her enchanting voice, no matter the language that flowed like sparkling waters past her lips. “Mister Takahiro… You think… Art? More?” the Baronessa asked him, nodding toward the stairwell upward still. Why, it would only make sense after all, would it not? And everything about the sweet hopefulness of her visage promised him she was in absolutely no hurry at all, to be rid of his company.

That same vague whisper swept through her thoughts, the strangest unease. But no, this was not the warning instincts of the wolf she had become. Of course there was no danger. Ha! What possible peril could a crippled man possibly pose to her? No, this was something… Different. Almost melancholy… Wistful?

Bah… What in the world was she thinking? She had only taken polite sips of her golden champagne, though Galina wondered if even that had been too much on an empty stomach. Such maudlin thoughts - then again, she was a true Russian woman…

That thought returned the smile to her lips as she interlaced her arm in Mister Takahiro’s, turning toward the stairwell that beckoned to her like a clarion call. “More art? With me?”

[Derren Krenshaw]

Takahiro couldn't begin to count the magnitudes of his good fortune this evening.

First to have such a lovely young lady approach him so early in the evening, offering the perfect excuse to move freely about the mansion. Then to have that same young lady be such genuinely wonderful company along the way, to the point that his gentle smile and gallant demeanor had become completely natural in her presence. Then to have that very same fact save his cover, when what she next suggested would have otherwise blown it completely.

Because if he hadn't grown so accustomed to her presence, to the part of the gallant gentleman, he might have simply gaped at her suggestion they move to the third floor.

As it was, he paused a moment to sip from the flute of champagne she had offered, hoping it appeared as if he was chasing off the last remnants of his earlier embarrassment. The story she had only just told him of her childhood was chased from his mind amidst the sudden storm her offer brought. Yet not a hint of it reached out to mar the face he wore tonight, and when he lowered the glass and faced Galina once more, Takahiro's smile had only grown.

"More? Very much yes." He moved easily alongside her as they made their way towards and up the stairs, as easily as before. With her on his arm, it was easy to keep balance, even when he had to use his bad leg to push against the steps. With her at his side, it was easy to enjoy the evening, even knowing how he had to let it end.

It almost brought a frown to his face, knowing he'd have to betray the companionship she'd shown him so far, but perhaps she didn't have to know? It would be a greater challenge to keep it secret from her- to leave her innocent after having brought him so far.

But then, she had made his task so easy already. A little challenge might just be a good thing.

[Igraine]

Galina hadn't the least idea if her paper-thin ruse would hold any weight when they finally arrived on the third floor, but there was not the least chance she would second guess the gentlemanly accommodations being offered by the kindly, crippled Mr. Takahiro. He seemed quite contented with the Baronessa's company and, to the very last, Galina would not disabuse him of his more genial leanings.

Well, to the very, very last, at the least.

"Oh!" The Baronessa's mouth made a perfect little circlet of surprise as her eyes roamed the length and breadth of the high-ceilinged hallway that stretched out before them, its gothic-styled arches soaring over their heads to intricate peaks and gamboling curves among the solemn arcs.

Galina's mind raced. No, it did not seem the art-loving guise would serve here - at least not long enough to take her to the length of the hallway, to that tantalizingly just-out-of-reach doorway. There was no art hung on these plaster walls, relieved only by columns of shining dark woods that rose to the gothic arches several feet above them.

Galina chewed her inner lip thoughtfully for a moment, though the smile that suddenly lit the Baronessa's face betrayed not the least slyness, nor wolfish triumph - only wonder of course, and genuine joy. She clapped her hands happily - though delicately about her champagne flute - as she looked about.

"Mister Takahiro! No art. No paints. But... You like ark-i-tec-choor?" She pointed overhead to the arches, to the exquisite woodwork, finally availing herself of the opportunity she so obviously desired to run her fingers over the butter-soft wood columns of the hallway. Artlessly, she plucked the champagne glass from Souma's hand, nudging his shoulder gently as she offered him smiling encouragement to do exactly as she had, to run his fingers over the wood.

"Soft! Like... Like silk, no?" The Baronessa beamed so happily as her eyes traveled to the ceiling once more. "Is called... Gah-thik. Style is Gothic."

She turned about in the hallway with both glasses of champagne in her hand with a contented sigh. "You like, Mister Takahiro? Come see... See more? With me? More ark-i-tec-choor?" Her dark eyes went wide with hope as she searched his face with the sweetest of silent pleas. Long, thick lashes batted softly, as if to add weight to her appeal with every least flutter.

That was not to say, however, she truly waited for a full reply from her escort. Honestly, she did not believe for a moment after all, that dear Souma would refuse her, after all. The Baronessa lifted both the glasses she held helplessly, smiling so widely, the sweet sideways grin of a naughty child about to make some mischief or other.

"You choose, Mister Takahiro!" she laughed. "Pick door! Any door you like. We go... Go see! Find byoo-ti-ful!"

[Derren Krenshaw]

Infectious! That was the word, wasn't it? Galina Demidova's simple cheer and energy was infectious. Such so that Takahiro found himself eagerly limping over to run his own hand along the columns of the hall, moving easily to the tune of her words before he even realized the opportunity she was providing.

He could pick any door, really. Perhaps leave her in one room somewhere down the hall, but found himself mentally shaking the idea from his mind. There was no reason for something like that, not here, not now. He could still find an opportunity to get what he came for and ensure Galina was left none the wiser, no reason to give up now. Worst-case, he could take the opportunity to scout the final destination, then return sometime later in the night. The celebrations below were still winding on, there was still time.

Time to enjoy Galina's infectious mood, certainly.

"Any door? Yes, let's go see." His smile was wide and gleaming, mirth hiding behind his words as he moved cautiously after Galina before him. She still held his glass, and he didn't go to retrieve it quite yet, finding a free hand better suited for the job before him.

Takahiro made a show out of choosing the perfect door. Moving from one to the other down the hall, he tapped them lightly, listened to the wood grain, or peered with scrutiny at the cracks in their frames. He denied one after another with exaggerated motions, balancing precariously on his good leg with a playful wink to his partner nearby. There was no reason to rush, and she certainly seemed to be enjoying herself so far. It seemed only right he give her more reason to have some fun, before he found the perfect- "Oah!"

He stumbled, cane slipping out from under in an attempt to send Takahiro crashing to the floor. His leg buckled, but a doorknob saved him, offering nearby leverage for his free hand to latch upon in desperation, saving him halfway down.

"Aheh-" Rising slowly, Takahiro turned to face Galina with nervous laughter, brushing unseen dust from his suit cautiously as he steadied himself once more. Brown eyes fell appreciatively upon the doorknob that had saved him, belonging to the fourth door on the right of the hall from where they entered. It seemed a good door, kind and selfless to aid a clumsy foreigner, the perfect place to look for beauty.

"Shall we try, Missu Demidova?" With a gesture towards the door, he composed himself with a smile. "Here?"

[Igraine]

Galina, the woman beneath the facade, laughed - truly laughed, as she watched the kindly Japanese man take her up on her little game, playing his part and indulging the sweet, gentle young woman at his side. She saw that lively spark in his eye, the decency.

And when he winked at her playfully, catching himself on just the right door, the perfect door? No. There was absolutely no pang in her heart, no small twist in her gut. No reason to wince inwardly, to have to reassure herself that he would come to no harm - not really.

"Yes. Please, Mr. Takahiro!" The Baronessa nodded her unqualified approval of his choice, however unforeseen, however guided by the whims of fate and fortune it had become. This was a good door, a lovely door to her bright, laughing eyes - certainly there was something lovely behind it! She waited a moment for Mr. Takahiro to open the door, holding it so politely for her to enter first, as was a lady's prerogative.

She let her breath out slowly, appreciatively, as her eyes scaled the walls all about them, finely carved shelves rising up on all sides of this room, soaring to the high ceilings on all sides. Why, these shelves even flanked the door they entered she realized as she whirled about, smiling so widely at Souma, delighted at their lucky find, so blessed by fortune.

That distinctive smell of bound leather and old paper filled the air, a comforting smell to Galina at least. A familiar scent to her, reminiscent of many long, contented hours spent as a young girl, curled into a high-backed chair long into the night. Galina smiled nostalgically as she remembered the intent, indomitable little thing she had been, fighting even sleep itself for so long as her little body would allow. Her dark eyes would strain in the candlelight, her eyelids heavier by the moment as she struggled beneath their weight. But she would not surrender, not her Papa's little Galina - not until exhaustion would finally take her where she lay, the book of philosophy or mathematics, science or - far more rarely - the occasional frivolous novel finally collapsed over her thin chest.

But always she would wake in her own bed, tucked tenderly by her Papa beneath the quilted comforters at some point in the darkest hours of the day. And always, the book she had been reading lay at her bedside table, a ribbon laid through the page she had last been reading.

The memory gave her strength, and hardened Galina's resolve. Ties of honor, fealty and love bound her from birth. There could be no passing kindness, no ephemeral decency from a stranger to weaken the steel of her conviction.

Galina set both champagne flutes on a marble-topped side table beside one of the many high backed, leather-bound chairs placed invitingly through the immense chamber of this library. She wore two rings this night: a large mother-of-pearl set in gold on her right finger; and an ovular circlet of onyx on her left, set in platinum. A gentle sleep that would pass within hours, or the dark kiss of the eternal slumber. Life and death, quite literally, in her very hands.

In the flicker of an eye blink, her thumb detached the hidden seal of the mother-of-pearl stone, a white powder pouring into her escort's champagne. There was no residue, the drug dissolving almost instantly before she whirled about, both her hands laid easily on the side table as the Baronessa turned to Mr. Takahiro, that wide smile not dimmed by even the slightest degree.

She held her arms open, wide open to encompass all this beautiful space, filled to the very ceiling with the unmatched knowledge of the ages. "Oh Mister Takahiro, you find beautiful! Diff-rent kind, but beautiful!"

The Baronessa turned to take up the champagne flutes once more, handing Souma his own, tinking the crystal of her flute against his in a celebratory gesture. "Not vodka, but beautiful... Deserve a... A toast, no?" she asked, raising her glass once more and taking a long sip of her champagne.

"You read, Mister Takahiro? Read English, and speak?"

[Derren Krenshaw]

Fortune upon fortune, Takahiro followed Galina into the room with the same easy smile he had held for much of the evening. He heard and saw her appreciation of the book-filled room they entered, smile growing in the wake of the pleasure he knew she felt. He stood there, just inside, as she moved in, taking in the scenery around with a meandering -yet appreciating- gaze.

It was the kind of place he would never have found himself before. Not twelve years ago, not four years ago, not two years ago. Rooms like these were reserved for a very specific kind of people, the kind Takahiro could never be, no matter what happened. The expensive, tailored clothes he wore didn't truly belong to him. The title of samurai he held among his own people didn't truly mean anything for him. The rank he held within his homeland was an empty one, all nothing more than a costume woven by his sponsor, meant to be worn by whoever might fit inside. He belonged in this room -in this house- about as much as the young boy peddling papers in the street this morning.

But that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate all around him. Why else had he chosen to put on the disguise?

"Is beautiful, very much." Takahiro accepted his drink back from Galina, answering her question for a toast with nothing more than a nod and raised glass. Following suit, he took a long drink from the glass, even the weak alcohol managing to work its way into his head. Embarrassing, but then it had been a while since he had tasted a true drink, maybe he was out of practice?

And... that was why his eyes were growing heavy? With each word Galina spoke?

"Read? Can... can try..." Something churned within his mind as Takahiro spoke, thoughts racing along crumbling roads. He continued to smile, to speak easily and relish the company he kept, but something struck wrong within himself. It couldn't be placed, not now, not yet, but there was something...

"Know some english, some english words." He nodded a little longer than he should have. Why? "Important to lear- oh!"

Walking over to stand beside Galina and take in the works around them, Takahiro stumbled, just catching himself before toppling like before. He held for a moment, crouched and barely balanced, drink rippling dangerously within his glass as brown eyes widened in their sockets, concealed by a bowed head.

Why. Why was he suddenly falling apart?

He had been sipping his drink just fine earlier, it couldn't only be hitting him now, not so quickly. But it was the drink, right? He'd only had a little of the champagne, first after Galina had taken it from the servant and again after...

"Sorry... sorry." Takahiro stood carefully, steadying his glass and offering Galina a reassuring smile, practice hiding the thought that began to needle into his mind. His eyelids seemed too heavy to hold open for long, his body for some reason standing just off-balance. "Think, too much drink, not enough food... could try read, but,"

He steadied himself again, seeming drunk on the surface, while behind the scenes struggling to fight what might not be alcohol at all.

"But, might be hard now. Do you? Read english?"

[Igraine]

Galina did not speak, but simply nodded her head to the Japanese gentleman's question. Yes, yes of course she could read English, and very well at that. But Souma would discover that soon enough.

And her gentle, yet surprisingly strong hands provided a steady hold as she helped him to a nearby loveseat, upholstered in thick velvet damask. As she took his champagne flute from his hand, setting it gently to the floor beside his seat, her subtle smile reassured Souma there was absolutely no need for apologies of any kind from him. Not in the least.

Galina leaned to look thoughtfully into the young man's face where he sat, her fingertips gently tracing the outline of his cheek, his jaw, almost tenderly before she stood once more to her full height and turned toward the roomful of books, as tall and far as her eyes could see. With a single look over her shoulder, one finger raised to silently ask Souma to give her just a moment. Just a moment please, to find just the right reading material.

The gentle swish of her skirts may as well have been the only sound in the room as she moved slowly, leisurely from shelf to shelf, her eyes roving the varied titles until she found one that made one brow raise in delighted surprise. It seemed this was meant to be a very private library indeed, and Galina simply could not resist pulling one black and gold leather bound volume from its roost.

She moved with a preternatural grace back to the loveseat where she had left Souma for a moment, taking the walking stick from his fingers and leaning it carefully against the upholstered arm. "There now, you will not be needing that for a while, Mr. Takahiro," she said easily, all trace of the halting English of the Baronessa disappearing completely as the dulcet, musically-accented words of Galina danced in the air between them.

The young woman settled easily beside Souma, setting her prize book on the marble-topped end table before she leaned toward him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders, whispering soft reassurances as she pulled him toward her. Were there any other eyes to see them this moment, Galina's actions would have been shockingly bold, unseemly at best as she let the handsome young man's head rest in her lap, one arm cradling his neck and shoulders as she made a pillow of herself. The fingers of her free hand gently pushed wispy tendrils of Souma's black hair from his forehead and face, a wide, wolfish grin spreading across her lips.

"Are you comfortable, Mr. Takahiro?" she asked solicitously, her head tilted curiously as if truly waiting for his answer. "Please do not be troubled - I would not hurt you. You are a kind man, and decent, and so splendidly accommodating. No dear man, you will simply... Sleep, but only for a short while, an hour - two perhaps. You may even wake in time to enjoy the rest of this lovely party, though I shan't be seeing you again."

"And so I would like to leave you with a little something, a small token of my esteem - though I fear the chances you will remember this may be slim indeed." Galina pouted prettily, as if the thought truly pained her, before she continued on.

"Still, I can leave you with a good night story. And this tale comes from 'The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night' - neither Russian, nor Japanese, but Arabic." Galina reached across Souma to the end table, pulling the volume she found and perching it with one hand on his chest, flipping the pages until she found just the place she wished. Still cradling the young man to her lap, she held the book in her free hand, dexterous fingers holding down the pages.

"The king of this land once had an unfaithful wife, who he discovered and had executed. Every night after that, this king would take a new bride to his chambers, and thereafter have her executed in the morning. This went on for some time, until he was finally married to the inestimable Scheherazade, who told him a story a night, always leaving the tale undone to buy her one more day of life until the next. This magnificent woman is described right here, a lady who '... possessed courage, wit, and penetration. She had read much, and had so admirable a memory, that she never forgot anything she had read. She had successfully applied herself to philosophy, medicine, history, and the liberal arts; and her poetry excelled the compositions of the best writers of her time. Besides this, she was a perfect beauty, and all her accomplishments were crowned by solid virtue... "

[Derren Krenshaw]

He didn't catch on nearly fast enough.

Galina's demeanor changed as his mind fogged over, shattering the facade he had fallen for so completely. Her words lilted with confident fluency into his hears as she maneuvered him down upon the nearby loveseat, far more easily than she should have. She was taunting him, really, positioning him as if a lover seeking brief respite, offering to lull him away with sweet words sung through her voice. This room had been her goal all along, it was clear now, the only obstacle left now lying pillowed on her lap.

And he couldn't do a thing about it.

Takahiro fought the drug as much as he could, but time only proved the futility of that action. It acted quickly, even in such a small dose, empty stomach only accelerating the process and making it easier for Galina to manipulate him further. His body felt sluggish, weak, off-balance, while Galina only seemed more sure and graceful with each passing moment.

He couldn't make a move now, not anymore.

Even if he tried, even if he forced the drug away with every ounce of willpower he could muster, he'd fail in the end. She was aiming for the same treasure he had been, that was painfully apparent now. Woman or not, fighter or not, he couldn't take on someone who had been prepared to do what she must to succeed, not when he was like this.

So Takahiro surrendered to Galina's ministrations, allowed her to position him just so, consciousness slowly fading as she began to read. He had lost, tonight, defeated by the kindness he had shown her before, by his reluctance to drag her into what he planned to do. She would take the contents of the safe, almost certainly, and he would wake to find her gone, with enough time to reappear amongst the crowd and continue the performance he had begun not so long ago. It wasn't all bad, actually. She made no sign of knowing he had held the same goal, his own mask retained while hers was cast aside.

The thought almost brought a smile to his lips, last wisps of will managing to hold it back at the very end. She had won this time, but he hadn't quite lost. The advantage was no his, only needing the opportunity to take it, later down the line.

One thing was certain, as Takahiro faded into sleep, he would not be forgetting anything that had happened this night.

[Igraine]

For no particular reason she could have ever put her finger on, Galina continued to read some minutes longer, even past the time she knew Souma had succumbed to the drug. This was not a thing she would ever confide in her Papa. No, she could only imagine the look of confusion - concern even - that would creep over his chiseled features as he tried to read the purpose behind his little wolf's odd whim.

And so these small moments in time she would keep for herself, entirely. Not even Souma himself would know the melodious cant of her voice as she read the first of the tales, soft and low and very near to tender. Nor would he - or anyone in all the world - know those few precious minutes when she set the novel aside and simply looked on that sleeping face, humming sweetly, just under her breath. A small, wistful smile shone as her as her fingertips traced the lines of his handsome face.

But Galina knew she could not linger. No, not another second longer. Carefully she rose, settling Souma easily onto the loveseat with a small pillow beneath his head. She placed his arms comfortably over his chest, holding his hand in her fingers for a moment as she bent to place a small kiss on his forehead.

The theft itself seemed near anticlimactic now, a rather routine bit of thievery in truth. Of course she had memorized the home's blueprints, and to Galina's knowing eyes the location of a false wall was as glaring as if the architect had shone a spotlight on the place he intended to place a safe. The Winchesters were so confident in their subterfuge that they had not even bothered to secure the door to their interior vault. Cracking the safe just behind the panel was a job she might have accomplished when she was still just a little girl.

She rolled the rifle schematics into a thin scrolling tube, tying it off with a few hair ribbons before dropping them from a window to the shrubbery below, to be collected when she and Papa were on their way for the evening.

And that was a moment she really ought not put off any longer. The theft of the schematics would likely remain undiscovered for some days yet - no sooner than the following Monday, in all likelihood, at worst. But this brief mission had, without fail, gone off without a hitch. Logic said there was little sense in putting herself at further risk for discovery, or even the slightest suspicion.

All had been put swiftly back to order, as if her brief sojourn through the Winchester home had been nothing more tangible than the passing of a wraith. Still, Galina's dark eyes could not help but fall back to the sleeping man, an uncommonly decent man at that, perhaps too decent to see the wolf beneath the woman? She tore her gaze away, taking up both champagne flutes before she left the room swiftly, descending unseen to the first floor while disposing of the remaining contents - both tainted and not - in a passing potted plant.

Finding her Papa was nothing so difficult in the least - the Baron Demidov was, as always, the gravitational center of most any social gathering, holding his own impromptu "court" outside on the grand lawns of the Winchester estate. Still, he tsk-tsked with genuine concern when he noted the too-pale visage of his beloved daughter - was she feeling a touch ill, perhaps?

Heavy-hearted pardons were certainly begged, as profuse as the well-wishes for the young Baronessa and the genuine disappointment that the Baron too must be gone - and yet a devoted parent's duties were never really done, and certainly the Winchesters would understand this undying fealty as well as any, would they not? Ah, but of course they would...

**********

Vasily rolled the schematics into the brass tube, before turning his gaze once more to his daughter, sitting so still across the coach from him. Her long, dexterous fingers were folded in her lap, as still as the rest of his little Night Wolf. Galina's gaze had turned solemn, far and away from her father, from the coach they rode in as she peered out its window, to the full moon riding the sky above them.

"You did well tonight, Galina," he said softly, reaching across the coach to take one of her hands in his, giving her fingers a squeeze.

Startled, she turned to her father, a surprised smile finally curving the corners of her lips upward. Galina did not reply though, only nodding her head in acknowledgement for his praise, patting his own hand reassuringly before her gaze returned to the moon that seemed to chase their coach.