Not two miles from the elegant theater, a particularly luscious abode buzzed and brimmed with preparations for the evening's showing of Кrasота and Zhivотnоyеh, which would end with a farewell party to which, as grand patrons, the two Chastolov brothers were invited. Filipp Filippovitch Chastolov, as a happily long-established senator and actually having had conversations with the Tsar in his past, greatly relished the opportunity to appear at such an auspicious occasion, and took great care of the appearance of both himself and his younger brother. Appearance was especially crucial this evening, as this would be Rodion's first public event since his election into the Senate.
Filipp donned the raven-black top hat with a grimace of disdain and strode into his brother Rodion's quarters. His eyes falling upon the golden head bent over his left shoe, Filipp's eyebrow unconsciously arched in bewilderment.
Completely absorbed in his shoe, Rodion Chastolov noticed not the presence of another, and so Filipp gave a warm chuckle at the sight before him; Rodion's eyes broke from his footwear and jovially met his brother's.
"What are you doing, Rodya?" burst Filipp with great pleasure, noticing Rodion's unnatural impeccability of the evening.
Rodion responded with a beam, "Shining my shoes, of course. You should try it sometime…"
And indeed, with a quick glance in the light of the lamp, Filipp saw the ridiculously luminous sheen of a black boot. Filipp, in turn, felt a little bubble of pride added to his already flowing cauldron of esteem. "So, then," he said, handing a hat quite like his own to his brother. "You've decided to finally accept the full measure of the great post I've helped you to gain?"
Rodion scoffed, though he smiled still. "Fillip, friend, it's not time to give a speech… and…" He looked down at the top hat in his hands. "And what God-awful piece of Euro-centricity is this?"
"I know, I know… don't ask me what they see in these…" He thrust a hand toward his own head. "But it's not my idea. The legislature as a whole, Rodya, from the word of the Tsar, is attempting to grasp a little more of a Western trend… the theory is that their economies and governments are more stable because of their culture, and so we're adopting a bit of theirs… Ridiculous, yes, but what can a man do?"
Filipp need not explain, as Rodion knew well and good that whatever the Tsar says is law, whether Senate approved or not. However, Rodion loathed the idea of wearing the travesty; for one, it seemed a near betrayal to his new position as a representative of Russia (not France), and for another, what if she should spot him?
"Filipp," he began, almost cautiously. "The performance tonight, you are certain this is the correct cast?"
"Who, Dmitri Svilgrogov, Kristina Datyuska—"
"Yes, yes, is that it?"
"Of course, but—"
"I simply want to know I am getting my money's worth," Rodion shrugged off, stood, and reflected the same disdainful look as Filipp at the feeling of the Western hat.
"Never knew you to be so frugal, or so interested in operatic performances." Rodion noted the wink in Filipp's comment and let it pass unanswered.
"Come, Filipp, you hardly want to keep the carriage waiting much longer."
And the cast certainly did meet Rodion Chastolov's newfound standards. In their box Filipp watched as his brother's face illuminated at the image of Krasoma weeping over the body of the mutilated Zhivотnоyеh, her brilliant golden hair covering him in mourning. He watched as Krasoma's voice soared as she pleaded with God to revive the monster she'd come to adore, and Rodion's eyes shone at the sound. He watched with elation as his brother became wrapped up in the beauty of the reunion of the Zhivotnoyeh, now made whole again, and Krasoma as they were wed before them all, with tremendous songs of jubilation and triumph.
After the final closing of the curtain, the Chastolovs immediately left their box and flew behind the chaotic, busy stage (though each with distinctly different motives). Filipp searched the short, curl-filled heads for the one of Sidorova, with whom he intended to see at the party after the show, and upon finding her, the two disappeared in some corner or another. Rodion was oblivious to this, as his eyes only searched for the pretty blonde actress, the Krasoma of the evening. Here is what he had been hoping for: a chance to be even in the same vicinity, he thought, would be enough, but now he wanted so much to hear her voice addressed to him.
One of few blondes in the scramble of backstage bedlam, Kristina Datyuska was easier to spot than most, and Rodion quickly weaved his way to her. Kristina's back was turned from him, and the girls that surrounded her were making variations to her hair and wardrobe, presumably for a fitting appearance at the celebration momentarily. He walked up to her, and, giving a polite "Pardon me, misses," tapped Kristina once on the shoulder. The surrounding girls beamed and twittered, then motioned for Kristina to turn; a Senator was giving her attention and she had better answer!
Kristina turned around, her lavish stage dress trailing dramatically behind her, and seeing a respectable gentleman waiting for her, smiled brilliantly. In a moment her sapphire eyes registered the face of the man before her, though, and suddenly her face contorted into great pain, as if someone were wrenching a long knife into her. Her throat emitted noises as if she was choking, and she fell backward into the girls behind her. "Go away!" he heard her scream through her tears and nearly was kicked over by her flailing feet. "For God's sake, go away!"