Jemma steps outside and looks at the world around her, so different from the one behind her, from the way this piece of the world felt even just the week before. This world is now her's; she can go where she pleases and do as she wishes, so different from the world she is leaving. Behind her is the decrepit orphanage where she has spent the last ten years of her life and before her, she sees the rural, snow-covered corner of Russia she's seen through the gates for so long. Only now, the bars are no longer in her path; she can leave, go as far as she wants. The path to the left will take her to the small village nearby, the path to the right leads to St. Petersburg.
Jemma stands frozen just outside the gate, her lack of motion not caused by the still falling snow but instead by indecision. Do I just stay here where I'm safe or do I actually go out there and try, she thinks, reaching down for the charm hanging from the chain around her neck.
Together in Paris . The inscription was one that she knew well. The necklace was the only thing the staff at the orphanage had found with her as a child. It was her only connection to a past she could not remember, to the family she had lost. It was the only clue she had to lead her to whatever chance she has to find her place in the world.
Finally, Jemma squares her shoulders and huffs out a sigh as she bolsters a small bit of courage.
"I can't hide in the country forever if I want to find out what this is." She tucks the necklace safely beneath her coat and pulls her scarf tight around her neck. She turns to the right, toward St. Petersburg, and meekly takes the first step down the path. She pauses, just briefly, before starting properly down the road.
-/-
Leopold Fitz walks down a city side street, doing his best to avoid the attention of those around him. He looks up at the sky, gray and cloudy as usual. St. Petersburg has never been a particularly warm and sunny place to live but somehow, he thinks, it seems to have become even gloomier of late. The skies are full of clouds and the streets of the city have grown full of people with no other place to go.
He looks to the other end of the alley, the people of the neighborhood have formed yet another long line hoping for a small scrap of stale bread. It is the normal state of things now, people begging in the streets, homes abandoned as mortgages sit unpaid. He considers joining them for a moment, his own empty stomach rumbling, but he knows what happens to those in that line; they get sent home empty handed.
And so he walks on, back toward the abandoned Yusupov palace- his latest accommodation- his head hung low against the wind. He walks through a larger crowd as he reaches the courtyard near the palace. The people there huddle in small factions, whispering quietly between themselves so as not to be heard. He doesn't have to hear any of their words to know what they are saying, he already knows every variation of the rumors.
Money talks in Russia now and this particular rumor is backed by a lot of it. Everyone knows the reward is a futile attempt to push away reality and yet those same people desperately want it to succeed. He looks up to see yet another flyer advertising the reward posted on the lamppost across the street.
10 Million Rubles for Anyone Who Can Help Find the Missing Princess Jennifer Simmons
Fitz stops and stares at the poster, its bold red words and the small picture of the beautiful princess at eight years old, one of the last pictures of her that was taken. He looks at her shy smile, the light in her eyes shining through the waterfall of red-brown hair he remembered always being in her face just as it is in the picture.
He is startled when a man steps between him and the flyer before abruptly ripping it from where it hangs. He watches as the man tears the paper to shreds before moving up the steps of the largest building on the outside of the square. The man is obviously a soldier, his clothes are simple and undecorated but they are clean and new.
"Attention comrades," the man shouts from the top step. "Attention!" Few people pay him any attention, the war is over now and daily life is all that matters. Fitz can see frustration growing in the man's eyes as he braces his shoulders before speaking again.
"I believe I asked for your attention, comrades. " His voice is sharper this time, filled with the authority he has attributed himself. "My name is Grant Ward and I have an important announcement from the new government. You are no longer citizens of St. Petersburg. From now on, this city will be known as Leningrad."
The announcement is met with little response. No one claps, no one cheers, no one even gets angry. Fitz watches as the soldier lets out a breath and allows his shoulders to slump - the only reaction from the crowd is more whispering.
"They can call it whatever they want to but it won't matter. It will always be St. Petersburg. New name, same place," Fitz mumbles to himself as he pulls his coat up higher to block out the ever colder wind.
"You know I could have him arrest you for that?" an older woman he hadn't noticed beside him says softly.
"But you won't," Fitz replies, putting on his most charming smile. The woman simply rolls her eyes as they both move on.
Up ahead Fitz spies the one person he has remained close to in the aftermath of the revolution, the only person he trusts enough to let in on the latest plan he has brewing. Lance Hunter. Fitz sees that he has already begun their daily routine without him. Fitz walks up beside Hunter and his eyes catch on the item that his partner had been admiring, a small but ornate music box. He clues in and makes the first move of their usual game.
"Come on, Hunter. This stall isn't worth our time," Fitz says louder than is necessary while gesturing to the market stall before them. Fitz can see in the desperate salesman's eyes that their plot is already working.
It happens this way every day. They go to the market here in the courtyard, each and every stall filled with goods stolen from the various palaces that had been owned by the now disposed aristocracy. They split up and when one of them finds something they think could be of use, the other enters and they work together to get the price down. It is usually an easily accomplished goal as nearly everyone in Russia is now desperate for any money they can get.
"You know? I think you're right, Fitz old boy. I heard Olga found something particularly interesting last night. Perhaps we should go and check it out." Hunter turns to Fitz and winks quickly before they begin to make their way to another stall.
"Wait!" they hear from behind them.
They pause, they know turning back too quickly would give them away. But they do turn back after a moment and they are greeted with just the sight they wanted to see: the salesman has picked up the music box and they can see his desperation in his eyes.
"What do you say we make it a ruble for the music box?" he sighs.
Fitz looks at Hunter, whispering behind his hand as if they do not already know what they will do, before responding.
"I say you have a deal, sir."
