"Talks of dissolution beginning in Russia today between Presidents Lane and Arlovski. Here in Moscow the crowd is screaming at the building, protesters and supporters alike. I'm afraid this is the end though. Rumor has it that Chechnya and other areas will become independent and the rest of Russia divided amongst her neighbors, but we can only know for sure this Friday at five when President Arlovski addresses his dying nation. This has been Sonia Morris, and I hope you'll join us then."
The young woman turned away from the camera. They wouldn't need her in front of it for the next few hours, so she was free to actually look at the crowd (and be disgusted by her poor performance.) Judging by the snatches of conversation she could hear, nationalities were mixed, but a number of native Russians were gathered at the front of the building, divided evenly. It was heart-breaking, almost. To see just a handful of people fighting to keep their country alive. Yes, there were others, but they were still losing. Politicians were more difficult to win over than wars.
Between the two sides stood a man in a long tan coat and white scarf, laughing quietly at the spectacle before him. Few seemed to notice him and despite his size and gray hair, he looked like a child. As though he could be blown away by the freezing wind any moment. An interesting man. Perhaps she could interview him.
"Sir, may I speak with you for a minute?" Sonia called, forgetting to switch back to Russian. It didn't matter much, English was prevalent in most of Europe and her words were probably swept away into the night with the snow. No, he seemed to understand... "Sir, would you-"
"Fucking hell, Ivan!" A figure forced its way out of the crowd and tackled the man, Ivan, to the dirty pavement. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He shouted, red in the face. All Ivan did was smile. This further irritated the newcomer, a young blond man clad in a leather jacket. He wrapped his gloved fingers around Ivan's throat, drawing a gasp not from him, but from Sonia.
"Sir, stop! You'll hurt him!" She rushed forward to help, but the pair took no notice of her. They were deaf to the world around them.
"Show a bit of remorse at least! These people are losing their home! Damn it, you could at least stick around like Gilbert! Move in with Natalia or any of the others! Hell, even Yao! You don't have to do this!" Ivan simply lay there, snow melting in his hair and soaking through his clothing.
"Nyet, Alfred. My time is gone. You see these people? They are not Russian. They are simply afraid of change, like you. They do not know or understand the Motherland. I..." He faltered and Sonia unconsciously drew closer, straining to pick up his next words. "I cannot hear their voices."
One million explanations ran through Sonia's head. Perhaps the man was an official of sorts, someone who spoke for the citizens of Russia. No matter who Ivan was, the American (he could be nothing but) sitting on top of him was affected by his words. He stood, reaching out and pulling Ivan to his feet as well.
"Is there nothing you can do? Why not fight or at least keep something? Don't you want to live?" Alfred's words were spoken softly, robbed of power. Ivan shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself, causing Alfred to give him an odd look.
"I am tired of war. We are all tired of war. You could not understand. After every war, Lane sends you off to another, da? Perhaps I should tell Arlovski to write that no money given to the United States of Destruction will be used to pay for weapons." The blond scowled and began yelling once again.
"You're not giving me or anybody else a damn thing! Fuck, Ivan, I knew there was a reason you wore that scarf like a damn noose, but are you so suicidal?" Ivan did not react and upon realizing that, Alfred turned away in disgust. "Do what you want. There are so many other things you could do, but if this is what you choose...Fine. Just don't expect America to approve." As he stormed off with his hands shoved in his pockets and head down, Ivan began to laugh once again.
"Did you see that?" Sonia jumped when he addressed her. She turned away, like a guilty child, and mumbled a reply. A hand patted her head lightly and she looked up, surprised. "Do not worry, it will not matter. You are American, yes?" Sonia nodded again.
"Half Russian." She managed to squeak (what had happened to her charisma?) and immediately regretted it when she noticed Ivan's brow furrow. "Is something the matter, sir?" There was no reply, only silence. The pressure on her head vanished and Ivan was gone, the door to the building swinging shut.
She scowled as she watched the door close on the story. Perhaps when they returned on Friday she would be able to catch him. For now, she could pull a random Latvian from the crowd and tell him or her to yell "how now brown cow" in Russian at the camera. Her country would not mind. Most of them did not care about something so far away that affected them so little, with the possible exception of the blond man. Alfred, he had been called. Who was he even? It was possible he was a politician of sorts, but there was something about him. Perhaps it was the leather jacket, no doubt a hand-me-down as nobody made or sold the style anymore...
One million ideas spun around in her mind, teasing her as they moved from plausible to ridiculous with each passing second. She sat down on a bench and pulled out her notebook, scribbling them down and wondering until a familiar face appeared and escorted her back to the hotel. America had lost all interest for the day, it seemed.
When they returned on Friday at five, fresh snow blanketing the ground and stars obscured by clouds, Sonia rushed through her "lines" before letting the camera focus on Arlovski while she made her way through the crowd, towards the front of the building. Several minutes of searching finally led her to the American she had seen the other day. He was sitting on the same bench on which she had speculated about his identity and he held a dirty white scarf in his hands. Right next to him stood a group of people, almost like a family. A man with long brown hair, comforting a woman in a shabby blue coat whose ribbon was falling out of her hair. A teenage boy with violet eyes shivering and clinging to a sharply-dressed young man with glasses who spoke in a business-like tone with a motherly-looking woman who held her thin sweater to her body. She occasionally glanced at the scarf in Alfred's hands with the same look Sonia imagined she would give her son or daughter. None were paying attention to Arlovski, but all seemed to know what he was saying.
"Of course Yao will get so much land. Perhaps he could use it to learn from Ivan's mistakes." The bespectacled man remarked bitterly. The woman he spoke to shook her head. "Although I don't think Alfred is about to set up and support a corrupt government there." She glared at him.
"The EU you went crawling to is no better, Eduard! At the very least Yao can live in relative comfort. Look at us! Even what Vanya has given could not help us now!" She replied, eyes dark. Before Eduard could reply, the brown-haired man stepped in.
"Eduard, Yekaterina! Now is not the time to bicker like children. You two are better than this." He admonished. Yekaterina realized what she had said and turned pale, apologizing profusely. Eduard blushed and muttered a curt apology as she pecked him on the cheek with a half-hearted smile. Alfred seemed out of place next to the group, but all the same they each had the same aura of being important people despite their ratty clothing.
One million ways Sonia could be wrong about all of this sprung up, as well as one million questions. One stood out, bright red in her mind. Where was Ivan? She opened her mouth, intending to ask, when the teenager inched towards her.
"Who...Who are you?" He managed to say, all the while shaking and somehow keeping his eyes on her, examining her. Words drawing attention to her. She meant to explain that she just wanted to arrange an interview with a man she had seen the other day, if they had seen him anywhere around, it seemed like they knew him. She dug in her pockets for her ID instinctively and just as she began to pull it out, she was knocked to the ground.
"A pathetic eavesdropper. A nosy girl with no business listening to others' conversations. An American." The girl in the blue coat stood over her, silvery-blond hair blown into her tear-stained face by the wind. "You are American, aren't you? You're just like him." She jerked her head towards Alfred before continuing. "You think you have a right to interfere in our affairs just because your filthy president is here!" She snapped. Sonia hastily stood up and backed away before the woman could do anything else, doing her best not to glare. Once again the brunette stopped the commotion, as though he was used to it, taking the girl by the hand and whispering.
"She's just curious, Natash-" He hesitated as she bent his fingers back and corrected himself. "Natalia. She means no harm. We are in public, it's obvious someone would hear..." As he spoke, he slipped one hand into her pocket and confiscated a small knife. Natalia tore herself away from him and scowled, but relented. Sonia brushed the snow off her shoulders and began to ask whether anyone had seen Ivan. She had not gotten to where she was that day by giving up because of one psychotic woman. Before she could say a word however, Alfred spoke.
"I believe you all have business to attend to." All six of them turned to him as he stood up, despite the lack of the strength he had displayed when Sonia had first seen him. "Toris, give this to Kaliningrad when you see him." He placed the scarf in the brunette's hands before picking something up from the snow and heading back towards the building.
Kaliningrad? A clue, Sonia thought. But what did it mean? Kaliningrad, if she had heard Arlovski correctly over the argument, was now a part of Lithuania. One million theories piled up in her brain, causing her to almost miss Alfred's words.
"...with me." She only caught the very end of it and was surprised when she was taken by the hand and led away from the group, toward the building. "You're the girl from the other day." Alfred did not say it as a question but Sonia nodded anyway.
"I was hoping to arrange an interview with the man you were...talking to. Ivan, I believe. Grey hair, about six feet tall...I believe that scarf was his..." She trailed off and saw him frown. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be a tactful, empathetic woman...Instead all she seemed to be doing was making people upset. She should have guessed that something was wrong with her words!
"Sonia Suzette Morris from Charlotte, I regret to inform you that the man you are looking for is dead. Ivan Braginski has been dead for precisely one hour, since he signed those God forsaken papers that bastard Arlovski wrote." Alfred informed her in a bitter, mockingly serious tone as he handed her the ID she had dropped. For a split second, in the cold white light of the street lamp, Sonia swore she saw tears, but the next minute Alfred was grinning. "You're a reporter, right? Maybe I'll see ya again sometime, under better circumstances." He reached for the door to the building and opened it, halfway inside before Sonia mustered up the courage to ask him one question that had been bothering her since five o'clock that evening.
"Did the United States sign those documents?" She called. Alfred looked back at her with a wry smile.
"Hell if I'd let Ivan die in such a pathetic way. Goodbye, Miss Morris." With that, the door swung shut once again, leaving Sonia with one million explanations, ideas, questions, and ways she could be wrong. One million theories about Ivan and Alfred and Eduard and Yekaterina and Natalia and Toris and the boy with the violet eyes who watched her as she lost herself in the crowd once again, smiling at the people who were still clinging to Arlovski's every word. The world would not believe a single thought that ran through her head, no matter how she tried to phrase it. She paused for a minute and laughed.
The world would believe; it was the people who would not.