Saturday, March 27, 2010

Dancing Pitchka

During the early part of the summer, I had spent time in the streets of Brooklyn learning the moves that the kids on the streets where dancing to. As a dancer myself, I was constently looking for new moves, ane new places to find them, and I had found that the streets of America held some of the best damn dancers in the world. These amateur street dancers were better than half the Russian Ballet dancers. And I wasn’t about to let Russia’s society keep me from glinding and spinning across the floor the way American Teenagers did today.

So there I was wearing a tight gray long sleeve shirt underneath a tight red tshirt, a pair of baggy jeans and a baseball cap to match my red shirt. My hair was up in a pontail off my neck and I wore a pair of white ballet shoes. I glidded across the floor to a song that I had recently downloaded by Webbie. I was praticing my version of what was called Hip Hop? The music wasn’t new to me but it was the first time I had dabbed into it. And I had to admit that I was pretty good. It was fun and I found that I was enjoying this form of dance almost as much as I did the tight, classical form of Ballet. With Hip Hop I could dance anyway, and throw in any kind of move I wanted too.

I was so asorbed in the dance and the song that I didn’t realize that someone had manage to break into my grand and spacious flat at the top of Saint Petersburg’s sky line. It wasn’t until the song was nearly done and I spun into the bastard that I realized that the person I least expected to see was inside my apartment. The one who had the key. I stopped and glared at him.

“Well, well. Look who it is.” I said not at all happy to see the man whom I could call my creator.

"Do I detect a trace of malice in that voice, my sweet?" replied Viktor wryly - his voice was mocking, but his face was deathly serious. He glanced around the apartment with his sweeping gaze; I did not fail to notice the red glow in his eyes, beneath the glaze of jet black. "It has been...oh, 46 years since our last meeting?"

“46 years since our last meeting indeed!” I cried and looked Viktor up and down. How I had ever been madly in love with this man was beyond me and why I was still madly in love with this man, was still beyond me. He was an imaginable bastard. And what in the good lords name was he wearing? ”Is that outfit from the Edwardian time period?” I asked. ”Really Viktor I would have thought a Volturi Guard could afford some decent modern clothing.” I shook my head and plopped down on my sofa, wondering why Viktor was really here.

He examined his long, dark coat. "I still find it serviceable." He gazed at me critically. "At least I do not look common."

I blinked and looked down at my outfit and then back at Viktor. Had he forgotten that I was an orphaned dumped on the Royal Ballet Theater’s steps all those year ago? Only a noble basterd would say something as low as that. Someone from another era and not todays world.

“Have you forgotten that the Yakov Yurovsky did away with the words Commoner and Nobilty in 1917 when he killed Nicolas and his family?” I asked knowing that this was a sore spot in Viktor’s long dead heart.

A pained look crossed his eyes, and I saw that he regretted his words. He reached for my hand so quickly that I didn't have time to pull it away. I felt a strange jolt at the touch of his skin.

"I'm sorry, Halika," he said earnestly. "I came here hoping to make peace with you, and yet I find I'm still too much of an ass to do it."

I felt a tiny tinge of regret for my words, and gently traced his hand on mine. I had missed his touch and it had been far too long since I had last felt it. If I could cry, I might have done so. He never had understood the common people, but that was only due to the way he was raised. At least he had a mother and a father to raise him. And I found myself giving in to him once again, as I always did.

“I cannot for the life of me understand how I fell in love with you. But I did, and I am still in love with you… And I am sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the Tsar,” I spoke softly.

Hesitantly, he raised my hand to his lips. "The Tsar is long dead," he said, "and you and I remain. Despite all we have seen and done." He sighed. "As much as you frustrate me, and always have, it is senseless to fight you. You are all I have left of a world that ended centuries past."

I couldn’t help but grin wickedly at him. He was partly to blame why I still remained. He could have killed me when the Empress and the Volturi ordered him too. Instead he had kept me alive to spite them, and for his own reasons., I always liked to think it was because he was in love with me. I sighed and leaned into him. He had been the only thing in my life that was constant like the moon and the stars. “You could have killed me when the Volturi and Empress Elizabeth ordered you to.” I smiled at him.

"Oh I followed my orders," he said, his lips curving into a smile. "But the Tsarina did not specify how she wanted you dispatched, and Aro did not care whether you were dead or undead."

I looked up at his mention of the Volturi. "Are you still in Aro's employ?"

He smiled bitterly. "No. I settled my debts with them. But I am still an honoured guest, apparently. I was invited to another one of their obscene masquerades, along with the usual unlucky tourists." He laughed. "Perhaps you'd like to come, ptichka?"

I stared at Viktor for a moment; were the Volturi still playing their tourist game, and were they really still being invited to masquerade balls? I could see this ending badly for the Volturi, what with the modern world of the Internet, Facebook, Twitter, myspace and picture cellphones, Aro was playing with fire it seemed. I wondered if the fool realized it and then realized that Viktor called me 'ptichka'. I smilled at him fondly. He knew I would never attend one of the Volturi’s balls anymore than I would one of the Romanians.

“No my dear, I’d like to stay out of the political game of the Volturi and the Romanians. I like being non-existenst to them. I am surprised that Aro still plays these games with the humans, what with iPhones and Facebook and Twitter… I would have thought that Aro would have realized how dangerous it is to play games with humans. Cell phones not only have the capablity to access the internet whereever they are, but also to take pictures which means pictures end up on facebook and the world can see them.”

I noticed that Viktor was wearing a puzzled expression - he never had been able to keep up with technology. "I did not understand a single thing you just said."

“This is an iPhone. This is a camera on the phone that takes pictures see?” I asked, taking a picture of him. I then showed him the picture. “This is how you get on the internet. This is how you post that picture on facebook. And bingo now everyone knows I took a picture of you.” I wondered if he understood what I had just done. But given that Viktor had never been able to understand technology, I doubted it.

His brow was beetled, and he took the phone from my hand, examining it suspiciously. "'re saying that they can photograph the ball while they' it?"

"Yes; and they will post it to Facebook or Twitter or a million other places, and once it's on the internet their friends will be able to see where they were and who they were with. Do you see what I mean?"

Viktor seemed dumbfounded; he handed me back the phone, almost too eagerly, as though he feared it.

“And thus it could bring down the Volturi or at least send Aro running with his tail behind his back. Unless he figures out a way to cover up his mass murdered ball.” I continued as I typed away a small email on my phone to Carlisle. I thought of all the people I knew in the world, Carlisle and his family deserved to know that we might have some trouble on our hands.

“Dear Carlisle," I typed away my fingers flying across the small screen.

“It seems that our dear friends in Volterra are planning a masquerade ball and inviting tourist along for their meal. I have a very bad feeling that this could end badly and we may have some trouble with the Volturi. I wanted to warn you and your family ahead of time. Give my love to all your dear ones and hope things are going well for you my friend.

I hit the send button and watched as the message went flying away to Forks Washington. It had been years since I had last seen Carlisle and weeks since I had heard from him and I wondered how my strange British friend was doing.

Viktor still looked confused as he watch me type away my email to Carlisle.

“What did you just do?” he asked me.

“I sent an email to Carlisle, warning him about the ball I think we might have some small trouble ahead because of this.”

“Email?” Viktor asked and I laughed.

“Come, my dear, while I show you the world of computers,” I said, dragging him over to my laptop. It was time to teach my little know-it-all aristocrat a little something about modern technology.

(Authors notes:
Calibrated with Viktor;
Pitchka means little bird in Russian)

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