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“I didn’t know you smoked!”
Behind Korolevskiy Theater’s bustling nightlife, surrounded by empty barrels and wooden crates, Tugarin’s ears twitched ever so slightly. The hound didn’t bother opening his eyes, merely lowered his head back onto his front paws with a yawn, breathing white puffs of air against the evening cold. If he could speak, he’d surely voice his mild annoyance at being disturbed.
Alyosha took his time lowering his hand from his face. Wrapped in off-white tissue paper between his index and middle finger, the ends of a cigarette glowed a faint shade of amber against the backdrop of blues and greys. He exhaled softly, watching the lazy smoke tangle with Snezhnograd’s frigid breeze, and locked eyes with none other than Korolevskiy Theater’s Primadonna.
The evening was cold and relentless. Though Sneznograd never lacked Kresnik Kristall during the nation’s colder months, stationary Kresnik’s Torches do little to ward off frost when a person stood so far from their perimeter. Tonight, as the Theater operated with a lower worker capacity, said Torch lay empty behind the building, its usual warmth gone but terribly missed. Seeking temporary comfort, Alyosha drew another breath of smoke, the flickering streetlights painting a ghoulish shadow on the hollow of his cheek.
Vodyanitsa clicked her tongue in disdain.
“I don’t,” Alyosha murmured, and lowered the cigarette, almost apologetically. “Usually, I don’t. But the old fisherman at the port insisted I take the pack. A gift for a day of hard work, he said,” the hunter added with a chuckle. “Besides, I can’t sell opened goods. It’s bad for the business.”
High above them, through the frosted stained glass of the upper dressing rooms, the faint hum of a string quartet leaked into the gloomy evening — the tail end of the second act, a performance not yet ready for the public eye. Tonight, too, practice would stretch long into the night.
Behind the Theater, though, the grandiose hum of the cellos and the delicate pluck of the harp offered little comfort. Gone was the smell of beeswax and lavender; though still undeniably elegant and polished, the cobblestone path was riddled with broken equipment and the sour smell of urine. By next morning, such a sight would surely disappear, but for tonight, the chaos remains.
Vodyanitsa stepped out from the shadows of the door canopy, the heavy back door swinging shut with a dull thud behind her. She looked entirely out of place, draped in satin and her signature fur coat. Her cheeks sparkled under the moonlight, shimmering with tiny crystals and a thick layer of glitter, no doubt the work of an overzealous makeup artist.
“Not usually,” she echoed, crossing her arms over her chest. She puffed out her cheeks, watching the thin trail of smoke leave his lips. “In memory serves right, two weeks ago I paid a hefty clinic bill that could have bought a modest dacha, solely so the doctors could coax breath back into your chest. And here you are, willfully ignoring the doctor’s orders for a few puffs of pleasure."
Alyosha sucked in a sharp breath, head lowered in shame. In the late hours of the day, it is all too easy to forget the troubles of life. He tapped the end of the roll against the rim of a wooden crate, letting a fleck of grey soot fall to the ground.
“You’re right, Miss Vodyanitsa. I apologize.” Suiting action to word, he stubbed out the cigarette on the sole of his boot before putting it back in its little paper packaging. He pointedly turned away from Vodyanitsa’s disapproving stare as he slipped it into the inner pocket of his coat.
“That’s right!” Vodyanitsa snapped. “And what am I hearing from you again, what fisherman? What job? I thought we had an agreement; no physical labor until you’re officially discharged!”
Alyosha scoffed softly. “How else would I pay you back for the bill? I promised I would.”
Vodyanitsa let out an offended gasp. If looks could kill, Alyosha’s life would have long since been extinguished by the scowl plastered on her face.
“If I wanted your money, I’d have sent someone to fetch it by now! How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t need it!”
If Vodyanitsa weren't aware of the pearls and ribbons in her hair, she would have pulled on her strands out of frustration by now. The same conversation they had for two weeks now, over and over and over again, and by the Archons, she was at her wit's end.
“That is not the point, Miss Vodyanitsa,” he insisted, holding her gaze. “It’s not about what you need. It’s about what I owe. And I am terribly indebted to you.”
Vodyanitsa threw up her hands in frustration. “Ugh, forget it! Alyosha, you are truly impossible! Do you honestly think so little of me that you assume I'm keeping a ledger of your heartbeats?”
She took two steps towards him, the heels of her boots clicking against the cobblestone. Up close, under the layer of stage glitter and powdered rouge, her eyes were wide and bright.
“I paid the doctors because I prefer you alive, not buried six feet under! But if you work yourself to the bone over a matter of pride, then every single Mora I spent was wasted!”
Alyosha took a step back, shifting his weight against the wooden crate. He huffed into his collar, tearing his eyes away from the woman’s intense gaze.
“You could have bought that dacha,” he noted mildly. “With a view of the lake, perhaps.”
“Stop deflecting; it’s not a good look.”
“It’s not deflection, just the truth.”
The cold wind whipped down the path, carrying with it a sharp gust that made the wooden crates creak and groan terribly. Tugarin let out a low rumble from his corner, nestling his snout deeper beneath his tail. Inside the theater, the last notes of the second act slowly faded.
They both shivered beneath their coats.
Vodyanitsa’s face smoothed out slightly, from fury to concern. She eyed him critically, taking in his clammy skin, his chapped lips, and with every hair out of place, her frown deepened. Tentatively, she reached for Alyosha’s hands, cupping them with her own and pulling them to her lips. She blew on them once, twice, stroking the reddish skin with her thumbs. He was freezing to the touch.
“We were all worried, you know,” she muttered, and when Alyosha looked into her eyes, he knew her words were true. “Me, Kulish, even Odette…! My, Mr. Kulish was so frustrated he nearly ripped apart a tutu with his bare hands!” She giggled, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m sorry… Worrying anyone really wasn’t my intention…” Alyosha replied.
“We know that, silly. It’s just…” Vodyanitsa sighed, pulling their interlocked hands down. She absentmindedly played with his fingers. “Human life… You are such a short-lived species. I blink once, and you slip right through my fingers. It’s not polite to ask a lady her age, but I assure you, I am much, much older than you.”
“Mhm,” Alyosha hummed.
Vodyanitsa stared at his face, searching for something he had no words to decipher. She looked down at their hands and squeezed. Alyosha squeezed back.
“It is our responsibility to take care of those weaker than us. Your life, even if you live it to the fullest, will only be a glimpse of time I spend roaming this planet. Why make it even shorter?”
Alyosha couldn’t reply. His words, usually sharp and direct, lay lodged in his throat. What would he even say? An apology? An explanation? It all seemed so pointless. All he could do was stare, and Vodyanitsa took his silence as a cue to continue.
“It is no secret why I joined the Rokot. Archons know I’m not known for my subtlety! Protecting ordinary people is very dear to my heart.”
Alyosha stilled. Usually, talks of the Rokot remained behind closed doors. They rarely, if ever, left the safety and privacy of Vodyanitsa’s dressing room. Her title, her prestige, all the work she’s put into her career, one careless sentence and it could all crumble to dust.
“Maybe… maybe we should continue this conversation somewhere else,” he trailed off, but Vodyanitsa stayed put.
“No! We already started; might as well see it to the end…”
Alyosha’s grip tightened on her hand. He groaned softly, his eyes following the white puff of air as it slowly disintegrated, and pulled her closer into the shadow of the barrels and empty wooden boxes, sheltered from prying eyes.
“Tugarin!” he called out. The dog’s eyes snapped open, a brilliant blue looking into his own. Drinking up his words eagerly, he sat, waiting. “Stand guard. Bark if you see someone.”
And Tugarin, ever the creature hungry for commands and eager to please, scrambled up from the cobblestone, tail held high and wagging as he got straight to work. Vodyanitsa looked at him go with a warm smile, and looking at her, Alyosha couldn’t help but mirror the soft expression with his own.
“I joined to protect my people,” he muttered, and looked away sharply as Vodyanitsa snapped her head in his direction. Caged between the crates and barrels, and his only exit blocked by her, this abrupt talk of mortality and whatnot felt increasingly uncomfortable.
“Have you heard of Alatyr Village, Miss Vodyanitsa?” he asked. Through his eyelashes, he saw her shake her head, a definite no. She looked at him expectantly, and Alyosha reluctantly bit the bullet.
“Alatyr Village was a small, isolated town, just south of the mountain range, fairly close to the Nod-Krai border. It’s my hometown,” he hummed, and couldn't hide the affection in his voice.
“But you live in Stretomorozsk now…” Vodyanitsa murmured.
“That, I do. We moved when I was fourteen.”
“Why?”
“The village was raided by bandits when I was little. They took what they could, and left the village a total mess. But my people survived. They’re strong, resilient. We took back our stolen goods, and for a while, life seemed fine. Then, Project Stuzha was announced, and morale broke apart.”
Vodyanitsa exhaled sharply, but didn’t interrupt.
“Alatyr Village is rather small, Miss Vodyanitsa, it is no wonder you’ve never heard of it,” he continued. “Barely a hundred souls, but we all loved the land, loved the people. Our elders connected us with the our heritage through fairytales and songs. To us, the ground our ancestors walked on was sacred, and we bore the responsibility to look after it.”
Vodyanitsa nodded. Though the evening was freezing, Alyosha’s bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat.
She gently nudged him backwards, and when the back of his knees collided with a smaller box, she urged him to sit. He hadn’t even felt the strain in his legs until the weight lifted from them. He looked up at her gratefully, and Vodyanitsa just smiled, sitting down on the edge next to him so they were at eye level. Their hands, though no longer interlocked, still found a way back to each other. Her arm snaked behind his back, a comforting weight against his spine, and he leaned into her touch, worn and tired.
“Alatyr Village was barely a village by today’s standards. We had no mayor, no office, we did not vote. We didn’t even have a train station, never had one. More often than not, the village wasn’t even on official documents or maps. We barely knew what went down outside our borders. What we knew, though, came from visitors and deserters looking for a room to rent for a night or two before crossing the border to Nod-Krai. And, though their opinions were warped and rather negative, the picture they painted of the outside world wasn’t pretty,” he chuckled bitterly.
“But such a thing was never something we had to worry over. Just as the outside world was isolated from us, we were also isolated from it. The comings and goings of outside conflicts had no bearing on our lives, or so the elders said,” he sighed, and swallowed the knot in his throat.
“Then, day by day, the men came back with less and less Kresnik Kristall. The mines were empty, they said; the soldiers took everything, they said. We applied for rations but never heard a word back. Turns out, in times of need, Snezhnaya always prioritizes the wealthy.”
Vodyanitsa drew small circles on his back. It is a tale as old as time, but such a revelation did not soothe the sting in her eyes. In the distance, muffled by the Theater’s walls, the first notes of the third act strung to life from inside the building. Vodyanitsa hummed along with the chorus quietly. Alyosha didn’t mind her voice, and so he continued, his words tumbling from his lips in an endless stream.
“Men, even the cowardly or noble, fall victim to poverty-induced madness when the days grow too long. They start to behave erratically, like rabid dogs, and attack each other for a bite of food. The same way those bandits ravaged our town, desperate and hungry, they, too, became bandits. The people I swore to protect stood in front of my rifle, and all I could do was pull the trigger.”
“Wasn't there… a better way, a gentler way?” Vodyanitsa asked, her voice unsure.
“Miss Vodyanitsa,” he said, turning to her with an exhausted smile. “You said so yourself. You’re much older than I am. Surely you would know that sometimes, there is no peace without bloodshed.”
Vodyanitsa nodded meekly. It was true, sobering but true. She was a pacifist by nature, but it came from a privileged place. She’s lived for centuries and will live for many more. She could endure a few decades of hardship, but for a human, fragile and young, what would those decades entail? A full life lived through poverty, frightened and insecure, waiting around for peace to appear?
“Eliminating the threat to my people became a sort of priority,” Alyosha continued, and Vodyanitsa refocused on his words. “I thought, surely, if I worked hard enough, one day Celestia would reward us with peace. But soon enough, I realized the bandits weren’t my enemy. They are a symptom, not the cause.”
He looked straight up ahead, and the muscles under Vodyanitsa’s hand constricted from the strain. “The cause, of course, is Project Stuzha. Before the policy was introduced, life for ordinary people was hard, but bearable. But ever since, my people have been suffering. I can feed them, I can house them, but I cannot keep them warm. And that is a terrible feeling.”
He sighed softly. Under a hushed breath, he quickly added, “I apologize if I gave you the impression of being prideful. It isn’t necessarily pride that drives my need to pay you back. But I’m supposed to provide, not the other way around. Being so vulnerable, dependent, is absolutely terrifying.“
Vodyanitsa hummed softly.
“I apologize for calling you prideful,” she replied. “But, my stance on the matter still stands. I don’t like to see you overworking yourself. It isn’t healthy, and we are all worried. What happens to us, to your village, if you end up hurting yourself like last time? They depend on you, but Alyoshka, they can't lean on you if you're dead.”
“I know…” Alyosha replied. “But it’s hard. There is so much to do, and there’s so little time. Every time I think I’m catching up with myself, a new issue appears. It keeps me on my toes, sure, and there's never a dull moment. But I’m just so tired.
Vodyanitsa squeezed the fabric of his coat.
“Let’s go back; I can sneak you past the director and find you some place in the back so you can sleep an hour or two. How does that sound?”
Alyosha gave her an apologetic smile. “Actually, Miss Vodyanitsa, I think I’d rather stay outside for a bit longer. I don’t do well with cramped spaces as of late.”
Vodyanitsa understood. Under the star-filled sky of Snezhnaya, she had never felt more free.
“Then, it is only fair I share with you why the matter of ordinary people is so close to my heart.” Vodyanitsa said, and Alyosha looked at her curiously.
“When I was a little child, I-“
Her sentence was cut short by a sharp bark from Tugarin. The pair looked at each other, then peeked out from behind the rows of barrels, scanning the area left, right, and center, but not a soul was around. Just when Alyosha was ready to scold the dog, the doorknob of the back door started shaking furiously. A moment later, the exasperated face of Kulish emerged.
“Miss Vodyanitsa, Archons above, so this is where you’ve been! I can’t believe it. Did you not hear me calling for you?” he cried, his voice laced with fury and panic. “Why are you out here, Archons, it’s freezing! What if you catch a cold? What if you lose your voice?! Days before the premiere, no less!!” He fretted around her, reaching for her forearm to pull her toward the warmth of the theater.
“Let’s go, inside, inside! The whole orchestra is waiting for you!”
She glanced back at Alyosha with an apologetic smile. “Maybe next time!” she called out.
“Maybe next time,” Alyosha agreed.
As the pair disappeared behind the door, Alyosha exhaled. He reached for the little pack hidden in his pocket, but thought better of taking it out again. He sank back on the wooden box, his shoulders pressing close to the barrels behind him. Though rather embarrassing to admit, he already missed her touch.
Suddenly, the back door slammed open again, and a disheveled Vodyanitsa peeked out.
“Oh yes, I almost forgot to say!” she yelled over, and he could already hear Kulish’s voice begging her to get back inside. “Drop the formalities, no more Miss Vodyanitsa! Vodyanitsa is fine!”