5. Veraiho
By Arion Wong
Anya Nureyev sighed as she slowly massaged her sore ankle. She was lucky it was just a mild sprain from her practice session today, but she still caught one hell of a scolding from Lady Drubetskaya, also known (behind her back, of course) as the Taskmistress.
She remembered how the grand lady of Russia's leading ballerina school lamented over her mistake.
"Oh my lord, what did I do wrong to deserve such a misfit!?" she wailed to the ceiling. And all Anya could do was mutely stare at the polished wooden floor, waiting for her to 'do the usual thing'.
As she (and everyone else) predicted, the Taskmistress pointed to the lone-framed picture on the wall in distress.
"Why can't I be blessed with another prodigy like her? Alas, alas!" Then she turned to direct a look of an interesting mixture of wrath and disappointment at Anya.
"You, young Nureyev, you are one of the best I've ever seen but you still have a lot to learn! All of you!" she said severely to her students. And as usual, everyone bowed in chastisement.
Well, that was hours ago and Anya was the only one left. She, like the others, had often stared at the framed photo, trying to guess who this 'genius of a dancer, a wonder like flowers in the wind' was. It was faded, grainy and there was just a simple 'V. Dimitrovich' inscribed underneath. Anya admitted that the girl in the photo was young and very pretty.
'No use thinking about it now... she could be dead for I know...' Anya thought fatalistically as she left.
---
Anya could barely remember the days when she found out she was alone in the world. It almost seemed like a lifetime ago when her father left this mortal plane of existence. She could hardly remember being bundled off to a distant relative's house.
Eventually she just couldn't take it anymore, and set out to live by her own rules. That meant working and feeding herself.
She wondered what to tell old man Tomalsky as she limped (slightly) into the "Big Cheer Cafe". It was from working there that got her just enough money to get into the Taskmistress's school after all.
"Welcome home, little Anya," Tomalsky greeted. She weakly smiled in return; she didn't like to be reminded that she was still 14 years old. He didn't notice her limping.
"Well, get changed now, we already have our first customer," the old man continued. Anya was surprised, it wasn't opening time yet. As she headed to the back to change, she saw a lone woman sitting at the corner.
When Anya returned in her working clothes, Tomalsky handed her a bottle of the cafe's finest liquor. She gaped when the man nodded towards the woman customer. It wasn't cheap, not cheap at -all-.
As Anya approached, she could make out the mysterious woman's features. She had long, unruly strawberry blonde hair that reached the small of her back. Her face was angular that ended in a sharp chin, lips drawn thin and her eyes slanted exotically. Tiny, modest red earrings adorned her ears.
But it was her eyes that caught Anya the most. Those purple eyes were deep and dreamy, like peering into a well underneath a full moon.
"Is that mine?"
The woman's soft voice startled Anya from her reverie. Nodding and blushing furiously, she hurriedly placed the bottles on the table. She quickly bowed and tried to leave.
In her haste to withdraw, she stumbled on her bad ankle. Before she could cry out, Anya was falling...
.... And before she knew what happened, she found herself being supported by the mysterious woman.
"You all right girl?" the woman asked gently. Stunned, Anya could only nod.
"Tomalsky!" the woman yelled loudly. Anya's perception of her changed slightly at her tone. This woman was beautiful for sure, but her speed, reaction and the sheer -authority- in her tone was something... different.
The proprietor of the shop waddled out. "Yes... good god, what happened? Anya, are you alright!?"
Anya found herself seated on the table while the woman stood up straight and glared at the old man.
"What is this, you've been working her too hard? She's so thin!" the woman demanded. Her purple eyes were hard and sharp, a startling change from earlier.
The old man was surprised by the accusation. "What? You know how I am, I'd never do that!" he said indignantly.
"People change, Tomalsky," the woman replied, "people change..."
"Umm..." Anya muttered, "...it's just a sprained ankle, I'll be fine."
"Really?" the woman asked, arching an eyebrow at her.
"Come off it, Veraiho," Tomalsky grunted, "she's the same as you, she's doing classes at Drubetskaya's. She probably sprained it doing one of those ridiculous tip-toe foolery -you- used to do."
Anya looked up at the woman in surprise.
"Oh... sorry about that old man... maybe I had one too many drinks..." the woman said sheepishly. "Give me the kit, I'll fix her up."
"Yeah yeah," Tomalsky said genially and headed back to get the first aid kit. When he came back, Veraiho expertly bandaged Anya's ankle.
"Well now, I guess you'll have the night off. Off to bed with you," Tomalsky shooed.
"I'll carry her. Where's her room?" the woman asked before Anya could protest.
"You know it. It was your room."
---
"...Thank you," Anya said as the woman set her onto the bed.
"It's been a while since I was here..." she replied.
"Are you... 'V. Dimitrovich'?" Anya asked slowly, sitting up against the headboard.
The woman chuckled. "Heh, the Taskmistress still has that old photo on the wall?"
Anya nodded. The woman shook her head in disbelief.
"What's your name?" she asked instead.
"Anya Nureyev."
"Nureyev..." the woman muttered. Then she offered the younger woman a handshake.
"I'm Veraiho Dimitrovich. Nice to meet you, Anya."
---
From that time, the two were friends. Veraiho was always already in the cafe when Anya returned from practice, and always left before the first customers arrive.
Friends. Well, maybe. They never talked about much. Anya never got around to ask where she lives or what she does for a living. Nor would Veraiho tell her why she was not a famous ballerina by now. Only that Veraiho could afford those drinks. The most they ever spoke about was when Anya asked if she could tell the taskmistress about her.
"She always seems to want to see you again," Anya had explained.
Veraiho had considered for a moment, but only a moment. "No" was what she said, and that tone meant 'no further discussion'. Anya got the message.
Veraiho always sat at the same table, always drinking the same brand of vodka. Always setting down the cup after a drink, peering into a distance that only she could see. And then Anya would refill the cup and the process would begin again.
As Anya filled the cup for the sixth time that evening, Veraiho suddenly broke her silence.
"Anya. Where's your father?"
It was so sudden, and the question so personal, that Anya nearly dropped the bottle.
"He's... he's gone..." she managed to say.
"I see. Have you gotten over it?" Veraiho asked.
"Yes..."
"How?"
"He died in my arms, my father. He was badly wounded, but he managed to get back with help. As a daughter of a soldier, I couldn't ask for more..."
Sensing her indecision, Veraiho prodded. "...But?"
"...I've never managed to thank the person who helped him. The one they called Kuassari... the bird rising from the flames," Anya continued.
Veraiho took a sharp intake of breath. Then she exhaled, a bitter smile on her lips.
"Are... are you her? The firebird?" Anya asked timidly.
Veraiho shook her head. "You're close, very close... but I'm not Kuassari."
"You know her?" Anya asked with rising hope.
But before she could answer, the look on Veraiho's face changed.
"Get down!" she yelled, and she did.
Bullets zipped through the cafe. Men with torches shouted in chaos, running footsteps everywhere.
"W-what's happening!?" Anya yelled.
Veraiho paid no attention. In one smooth motion, she pulled out a silver-colored pistol. Later Anya would find out that it was a custom-made Luger, but at that moment her eyes was fixed on a small flower design that was carved onto the gun's surface.
As soon as the cafe's entrance was rudely opened, Veraiho opened fire. A man in green uniform fell. As his colleagues charged, Veraiho kept firing. Every shot brought a man down. That meant the pistol ran out of bullets quick.
As another uniformed man entered, Veraiho had to duck into cover to reload. A hail of bullets struck the hastily raised table. Beside her, Anya wondered what she could do.
A thunderous shot later, the shooting stopped. The two women glanced to the side and saw Tomalsky holding a smoking hunting rifle.
"Are they here for you, Veraiho?" Tomalsky asked warily.
Veraiho stood up as she finished reloading. "Not this time, old man," she shook her head, "they are here for her."
Anya gaped.
"Should have known..." Tomalsky muttered.
"Yes, we all should have."
"What's happening?" Anya asked, confused.
"Those men," Veraiho nodded at the green-clad dead, "were part of a coup. We knew they were going to act, but didn't know when or who they were. Now that they have acted, we will nab all of them very quickly."
"What about me? Why are they here?"
Veraiho smirked. "Your father's name was Alexander Nureyev, was he not? Your grandfather is -the- Count Nureyev. I don't know what happen might have between your father and grandfather or if anything ever did, but those soldiers wanted you as a... bargaining chip."
"W-what?"
"Listen, Anya. Go with Tomalsky to the count's place. Tell them who you are. You'll be safe, and you'll be a princess for the rest of your life."
"A... princess?" she repeated, looking at Tomalsky questioningly.
The old man nodded.
"Now go out from the back. There will be a van waiting for you. It will take you two to the Count's place," Veraiho continued.
"I won't!" Anya said fiercely. "Not until I've seen Kuassari!"
"Then why take ballerina lessons?" Veraiho asked bluntly, "Kuassari is a fighter, you will never see her unless you fight."
"It was something my father loved. He loved the shows..."
"...I see. So you want to fight as well as dance for your father," Veraiho muttered. Then she looked at Tomalsky, who listened without comment.
"Get her to the Karenina Institute. She has the potential. Maybe she will get to do both," Veraiho said.
"Huh. If she does, then she really is like you, Veraiho," the old man grumbled.
"Karenina...?" Anya wondered aloud.
"It's a place where special persons like you and me train. Don't waste any more time, now go," Veraiho said firmly.
As she boarded the van, Anya turned to face Veraiho. "Will I meet Kuassari there? Will I meet you again?"
"No, and maybe," Veraiho answered with a smile.
Then the van sped away, and Veraiho disappeared from view.
---
Several hours later...
"Veraiho Dimitrovich reporting as ordered, sir."
"At ease. Nice work, Veraiho. I've got some news for you," the officer behind the desk said.
Veraiho stood at ease.
"You are being transferred to our friends in Berlin. Seems like they have a little trouble there and are looking for some help. You have been chosen."
"I don't want to leave Russia," Veraiho said bluntly.
The officer shrugged. "I know how you feel. But you can't stay here forever, clinging onto the memories of a dead man." He held up a hand to stop her angry protest.
"Listen to me, Veraiho. Those people in Berlin... they are asking for -special- help. I don't know the details, but a lot of people are in that project. Do you know who recommended you, a Russian, to the Germans?"
Veraiho shook her head.
"Get this, it was a Japanese. Do you understand? A Japanese recommended a Russian to help the Germans. This is interesting to say the very least," the officer said with relish.
"So?"
The officer narrowed his eyes. "The last time something like this happened was some years ago. A Japanese woman went to America to get a Russian's help."
Veraiho stayed silent. She bowed her head in thought.
"I know you might not want to see her again, but this is a chance for you to find out more about her," the officer continued. "You are sisters after all. Go, Veraiho. Go to Berlin. You might be doing what your sister is doing in Japan."
She looked up.
"When do I leave?"
---
Some hours before her departure, Veraiho stopped for a visit to a familiar place. The tombstone was worn, the words faded and it stood alone in the field of snow.
"Beloved brother, two girls believed..." Veraiho read the inscription in a whisper. Slowly she set down a single flower, brought her palms together and prayed.
"I'll be leaving now, brother. Watch over me."
She opened her eyes and hesitated.
"Watch over sister too."
Then she left.
---End 5. Veraiho---
Endnotes:
[1] Anya Nureyev created by Yoru no Angel, additional background added with permission
[2] Veraiho Dimitrovich created by Arion Wong, based on 'Beraiho' in the anime 'Geo-Armor: Kishin Corps' by Masaki Yamada
[3] Drubetskaya the Taskmistress and Tomalsky created by Arion Wong
[4] Kuassari - Maria Tachibana during the Russian Revolution
[5] "Two girls believed" - inscription from Maria's ending in ST1
---Anti-Demon Division Profile---
Name: Veraiho Dimitrovich
Age: 19
Nationality: Russian
Rank: Koubu Pilot
Previous Occupation: Special Operative of Russia
Height: 181cm
Weight: 58kg
Preferred Weapon: Luger Kustom Pistol
Koubu Color: Snow White