i know you'll look for me one day

Sonja Russo · 01-19-2010, 11:38 PM

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Word Count: 333 This post is sort of all over the place and feels rushed, but I'm using the excuse of getting into a new character. So there. Tongue

The young woman moved away from her husband's side without so much a second thought as she saw a large white house up ahead. It had a long walkway that led out to the drive. It had evidently been unused for years, but the snow coated the sandy gravel and yard, making it look beautiful even with the rundown appearance that it had. It was unkempt but the woman saw it as a project. The house, however, caught her eyes the most and she stepped through the broken gate of the white picket fence and sped up her walk to the front porch. The porch was large and open, the door in the middle formally protected by door that was torn from it's hinges and hanging lazily by the last remaining pieces. Her bright blue eyes sized it up as she stepped up into the white wooden house.

She glanced back to look for her mate. He was older than her and far more experienced in the world. Sonja was still a child with much more to see, easily influenced and eager to believe the wise-sounding and elegant words of a man that had seen much more than she. Her ears twitched upon her head, her fingers clutching the doorway and returning her gaze back to the house. It had an old smell but nothing she could not spruce up. There were flakes of snow in the doorway leading to the opening but it did not bother her. If Raskolnikov would be up to the challenge of helping fix up the house, she thought she might find a home here. There were other houses down the road, but Sonja was tired of looking and there was just something about this house.

"Rodya!" she called from inside the house, her Italian accent thick with her excitement. "Sguardo!" she shouted, returning to the door and searching for her slow husband. "Mi piace questa," she added and smiled wide, her hand waving for him to hurry.

Raskolnikov Russo · 01-20-2010, 01:09 AM

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It seemed as though they were finally going to settle down somewhere—stop flitting to and fro like birds trying to avoid being shot down, with no happier metaphor available. Indeed, his insatiable paranoia had begun to settle down at least some since they had arrived in what felt like a new world; perhaps as new to them as it had been to those first European humans stepping foot here hundreds of years ago. He might have continued northwards along the coast if they hadn’t by the grace of God met up with Rurik and learned that he and several of his children lived here. Of all places, of all people! He simply couldn’t believe it, but perhaps he could. God worked in mysterious ways, and perhaps he was leading the bloody-handed Russo towards his carefree uncle for a certain reason. It was too far out of sight of Raskolnikov’s coal eyes now, so he didn’t really regard it. There would be more time for that later.

But now he and the wife were busy "shopping" for a house. Unlike many of the North American werewolves, they were a little more civilized and preferred something with walls and a roof besides a cave or a tree or something barbarian like that. Unfortunately, most smaller settlements were claimed by packs and clans (as Halifax was a little too frequented for his liking; he was somewhat reclusive, and with reason). But they had finally come across this village, and it seemed just about perfect. And now they were wandering across the snow-frosted cobblestones, trying to pick out a house.

Sonja danced away from him, pointing out a white-sided house that seemed to be in decent shape—it had either been blessed since the fall of humans or someone had kept up with it. It would need work, but they didn't have anything better to do now that there was no next place to drift off to. He mainly left the house-choosing to her—he did not mind personally, and he knew it would make her happy to make the decision. He followed silently and dutifully as they approached and entered the run-down house. The ceiling was low (for a tall werewolf, as Raskolnikov was), but not bad. She danced away, exploring far more swiftly than he. He was busy looking at the structure, making sure it would not collapse on them if they got too comfortable. He did not believe it would. He was looking at the fireplace and seeing if it was working when Sonja returned, trilling in her Italian voice. A smile came upon his usually-grim features, largely without his knowing. "Poi è il vostro, mio caro," he said in his deep voice, glancing around and continuing after a pause to piece together his Italian, "Porterà del lavoro, ma sarà piacevole."

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Sonja Russo · 01-20-2010, 11:59 PM

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The woman was surprised she did not have to do much convincing in order to get him to agree to the house. She liked the challenge of fixing it up and it would give her something to do. These lands seemed to be less humanized than the European countries but the woman did not complain. This house, and fixing it up, would give her a sense of independence and able to do something for herself. She up and left one day with barely a goodbye and even less a concern for her parents thoughts on where she was going and ever sense, she wondered if she made the wrong decision. In her time of doubt, Raskolnikov turned it around to make her happy as if she were a queen.

She spun around quickly and laced her fingers around his elbow to pull herself close. He stood taller than she and she had to stretch in order to nuzzle the side of his face. Her arms wrapped around him to give him a gentle squeeze before she let herself back down. The idea that they might have to uproot should he feel threatened never crossed her mind. This was her home. This belonged to her. To them! She could not take the smile from her face as she slipped into the kitchen. It was disarrayed and some of the cabinets were off their hinges. She opened the few that were together and found items she could easily use but there were things missing from the collection. Sonja recollected the man the met the day before mentioning a city a days travel away and decided to bring up the idea of visiting sometime soon.

For now, the house was good enough for them to make it by. She returned back to the door and gripped the threshold. She parted her jaws to ask a simple question in Russian but she came up short when she did not recall the words needed. It was a complicated language to her when she never imagined speaking anything over than Italian. "Al piano superiore?" she asked and moved to find the stair case and put her hand on the railing the led to the second story of their new home.

Raskolnikov Russo · 01-25-2010, 12:25 AM

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There might soon be coming a small change in character for Raskolnikov—he no longer felt the hot breath of the hounds of hell behind him, so he was not nearly as anxious, not nearly as afraid. He could take life a little more leisurely now, and perhaps really get to know the woman whom had become his wife so swiftly. He had never really thought much on the future while living in Russia—he had only obsessed for the next few days, the next move, the next implication. He had stressed over the state of the world and its inhabitants. He still did; such was the curse of the philosopher, or someone who thought that he was one. But at least he could take things slower now. Actually, the thought of fixing up this run-down house with Sonja and living there peacefully sounded wonderfully. Perhaps the noise in his head would quiet, the terrible feeling of inevitable doom. It had haunted him ever since he had brought down that ax.

It was another of his numerous guilts that he had not really considered the implications of his actions when he had fallen into his own whirlwind romance with Sonja which eventually led up to him whisking her away from her home in native Italia, all the way into France and then across the Atlantic into these wild new lands of North America—the New World, or perhaps the Old World was more like it. It seemed primitive to him, but he was not taking it hard. It was almost refreshing. Nonetheless, he regarded her with nearly uncharacteristic fondness as she looped her arm through his, drawing herself into his arms. He complied, pulling her into a gentle embrace. She seemed so tiny as she reached up to give him a nuzzle on the cheek, he felt as though he might crush her if he made any sudden movements. Before she flitted away once more, he gave her a kiss on the top of the head. And then she was off, looking around a kitchen that looked like a tornado has passed through it. It was salvageable, but it would probably be a good deal of work. He was glad that she was being diligent about looking at things, because he was not really that observant type of person.

She paused for a moment before looking to him. There was a silence to which he responded with a small smile—he imagined he could see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out something. If he had known what it was, he wouldn't have been surprised. Raskolnikov was personally gifted in languages; he might even be somewhat prodigious at it, though he did not like to say so. He had grown up speaking Russian naturally, but he had quickly learned French by reading and memorizing several books of the idealists of the 19th century. English had come the same way as he read the works of Malthus and such others. Italian was actually something he had picked up from Sonja herself and his stay in Italy—its similarity to French made it a little easier, but it was still a challenge for him. But it would probably be more of a challenge for those who did not have his gifts.

"Dopo che lei," he murmured as she began climbing the stairs. He monitored her closely, for he did not trust these creaky old steps—if one gave way, he would have to be swift to catch her. Luckily, nothing broke yet. They made it to the landing of the second floor of the old house. It was simple, a hallway with a few doors leading off to each side. "Fare attenzione—non sappiamo come tarchiato il pavimento è," he said in a cautionary tone. He generally worried the smaller details like that. It was what had kept him from getting caught in Russia for so long.

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Sonja Russo · 01-29-2010, 01:20 AM

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Sonja listened to Raskolnikov as a child would a parent that did not really want to hear what she was being told. The woman was still childlike at points and now was no different. She did not see it might bother her lover but she was innocent and blind to the real world and perhaps it was why she was so easily convinced the man behind her was the one to rescue her from the boring life of her Italian community back home. She had conflicting emotions about leaving now but she was not going to let herself feel regret. She was in a new house that they were going to fix up and she would not change it. Her feet were swift as she moved up the stairs and only stopping at the top to wait for him. He was not far behind her and she moved to let him off the steps.

She glanced back at him with her bright blue eyes and carefully moved down the hall because his voice echoed in the back of her mind. She moved toward the back and pushed open the doors as she went. It was not until she got to the last room on the left that made her stop. The door was shut but not broken and her hands clasped around the handle. She could not force it open with one easy motion and she gave it a hard shove and a slight crack sounded as the door opened. It did not break and she was thankful because she opened the room the master bedroom. It was a large room with a bed, sheets attacked, but the blankets were askew and nearly in shreds. They had been broken down over time by rodents are other pests and she frowned at the condition.

There were two large windows covered by currents, various holes in them as well from pests but perhaps with their presence in the house it might slow their feeding down. Her hands touched the blankets of the bed before she turned to a small closet and hand-made dresser. It was all dusty but nothing a few days worth of cleaning could not take care of. She turned to look for her lover, a smile returning to her face to indicate she found their bedroom.

Raskolnikov Russo · 01-29-2010, 11:16 PM

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He followed her up the stairs—she flitted up them, her steps like the beating wings of a hummingbird. Raskolnikov was much more ponderous, moving slowly and yet gracefully like an egret or heron. She was waiting for him at the landing when he arrived, stepping onto the top step and looking around. She darted ahead of him again, always curious before cautious—perhaps the little differences between them like like that were what made them a balanced duo. She approached a closed door, one with a handle that looked rusted and with a frame that looked busted nonetheless. She tugged on it in vain, and he approached to help. She must have summoned a little more strength in her because she tried the door once more and with a wooden crack! it popped open.

In truth, the room could have been worse. It was the bedroom of the small cottage, easily indicated by the bed frame that supported a moth-eaten and tattered mattress and set of sheets. The curtains were in no better condition, though the addition of windows to the room was nice enough. There was a dresser and a cabinet, and Raskolnikov even spied a mirror above one that was only cracked in one place along the top. It was not perfect, but it was better than he would have guessed in this rundown town. Sonja looked to him with a smile flickering on her dark lips, and he responded with his own. His smiles were always mixed with a soft glow and a tinge of sorrow, though Sonja would probably not notice. He had smiled that way ever since he had done that, back in Russia.

"It will be beautiful once we fix it up. I think the work will be a healing experience after all of this traveling," he said in Italian, approaching his mate and brushing one side of her face with a hand. "How do you like it, Sonja? This new home of ours in this new world." He was not starkly opinionated—he believed that this place was in decent enough condition and that it would be much more homey when they fixed it up. Her opinion mattered much more, for if she thought there was another place that was better, they would be off again.

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Sonja Russo · 01-30-2010, 01:23 AM

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To her, this house was a castle. The imperfections were easily overlooked with her excitement. She saw through everything that was wrong, the holes in the sheets, blankets, and curtains; the crack in the mirror, the dust everywhere. She imagined what it would look like when it was fixed up instead because it would be beautiful. She knew she would work hard with her husband in order to make it perfect, to make everything in working order, and it was just a matter of time. They had an entire village to go through later, to find things for their home, and to explore to meet other wolves. This new land, as foreign as it was to her, was just an empty canvas waiting for her to draw all over it. Soon enough, it would be like Italy and she would know it like the back of her hand. Soon enough, this would be home.

She even started to picture the spring that was coming up, the family they could start on. She had not spoken to him much about children but she could not fathom the idea that he would want none. She had always wanted children and that would not likely change. She could feel it in her soul that she was ready, even now, but with how things were going she wanted to get settled first. She could not be irrational about a decision such as childbearing. Sonja inhaled a long and cold breath, turning around as her love spoke about their home in her native tongue. It was something she loved about him and she hoped their children was just as gifted with languages as he was. His family, heavily Russian, and hers just as heavily in Italian. On top of that, they were in a land full of wolves that spoke English.

She imagined it would be difficult for the children but if they learned at a young age, perhaps it would be easy enough. And if they had Raskolnikov's genes, it would come easy for them. He was intelligent and it would pass along, Sonja was confident in that much. Her blue eyes fell on the beautiful man and she smiled. "Siamo in grado di andare in città domani per cercare le cose," she suggested with a flick of her tail, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him in another embrace. She gingerly laid her head back on his chest, breathing in his scent. It was a lovely scent that she could never get enough of, something that held her deep attraction for him. "Scommetto che c'è così tanto che possiamo usare," she added, happiness in her voice that had yet to leave her since finding this house.

"L'amo. Voglio costruire questa casa con lei," she confessed, her voice quiet as she pulled back from the embrace and looked up to his face. "Voglio creare una famiglia in questa casa con voi," she said, opening up about the subject for the first time. Her eyes narrowed just a fraction as she caught his gaze, gauging his first reaction to her statement. She could not imagine him saying no, turning her down for something, when he had given her everything she wanted to far. Sonja had no idea what she would do if he objected and did not want the same after all they had been through.

Raskolnikov Russo · 02-11-2010, 01:05 AM

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He had no Romantic visions for this new home—he had abandoned Romanticism long ago, having replaced it with a much colder and harsher view of reality. The torture of guilt that did to one, especially whom refused to acknowledge it. For so long he had been living day to day that the sudden change of thinking of the near future was very strange to him. He had not done much planning since that, and that had been so many long months ago. But now things had slowed down so dramatically; it was if someone had slammed on the breaks on the fast-track. It was a little jarring for the Russian, but he was resilient—he would get through it. He had no doubts that Sonja would as well, for this kind of life was like what she had been yearning for for so long.

She mentioned going to the city tomorrow, and he nodded—he barely had time to unravel the sometimes-foreign words before she went on to the next thing, which was much of the reason why he did not speak as often as one might in conversation. "Sono sicuro che fa," he did reply as she approached. He enveloped her small dark form in his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head for a moment. He savored the moment and tested it, noticing that he felt happy for the first time in... ages.

She withdrew somewhat, and he allowed it, loosening his embrace slightly. He could almost sense the subject as it approached, as one could feel they were being followed, though it was not definitive until she said it. His reaction was impassive at first as he contemplated it. He had never really put too much thought to it before. When he had first met Sonja, she had been barely more than a child. Now, however, he realized that that was outdated and patronizing—she was a woman now, and it was fully her right to want a family. What was he to deny it? He had no strong feelings either way. "Sì. Se è che lei vuole," he said eventually with a small smile on his pale lips.

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Sonja Russo · 03-06-2010, 08:12 PM

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Sonja searched his eyes for a moment. The smile on his features did little to make her believe he wanted this too. She felt conflicted all of a sudden. It was what she wanted and she realized the last little bit was all about her. While it was what she thought she wanted, she realized it was far from it. Her world before had always been about her. She never considered the others but now, this was something serious. This was a home, a family, and it could not be based on something she wanted. If he did not want it, what stopped from from leaving one day? Her in an empty home, with children running around and everything in between. That was not something she could handle on her own. Her jaw tightened and she looked away. She did not speak about this but instead smile half heartedly before she moved on.

She rubbed his upper arms for a moment before she parted from his grasp looked at the ground. "Guarderò giù l'atrio," she offered and left the bedroom. She needed a moment to herself before she could just let it pass. It was not a big deal, especially now, but she knew in the back of her head it was much bigger than that. She came here with him under the idea he wanted her to, because she loved him and expected much more from him, but perhaps it was just to please her. It had for only a little while but now her ego was bruised and she had to figure out if he really meant all the things he said or if they were a mask just to keep her along for the ride.

Raskolnikov Russo · 03-09-2010, 12:04 AM

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He knew that he had upset her—it was very obvious on her beautiful face. But she did not speak, and he did not know how to interpret it. He would rather not assume and make a mistake, so he did not ask. She would not have to worry about him leaving, however; his duty was to her, and he would never leave her behind for himself. There was so little left in the world to live for besides her, especially in this strange world where nothing seemed familiar or comforting. His gaze softened as she turned a half-smile towards him, though he knew it was for his benefit and not for her own. They would talk about this later; perhaps now was not the best of times.

She made an excuse and flitted out of the room, going towards the hallway. He remained in the bedroom, looking about and seeing what he would be able to fix. He would need tools, and they would go to the city to get them. Yes, the next few weeks—perhaps months—of fixing this house were very easy to see in his mind. Perhaps things were quieting down. He would talk with Sonja later; for now, there was some thinking to do. He wandered to the window and peered outside, thoughts turning in his head as he looked without seeing.

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