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Wonder where Dimitri's been? Broke, that's where. X) Not quite resorting to conning yet, though. Yes, this is the same booth as the loud "exit visa" guy in the film, but without the exit visas. (No Soviet government.) Read on, because the clock starts ticking...

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"Four tickets to Lithuania please."

With absolutely no expression and a very low percentage of mental consciousness, Dimitri ripped out the five-millionth book of tickets and slid it across the counter to the old woman. "Forty kopeks."

She paid up, then took what Dimitri could only assume were her grandchildren and left. He looked down the line, and was disgusted to find that it was as long as...well, the palace.

Sighing, he thought back to the week before as he sold two tickets to Poland to some short guy in a red suit. Oh, man, Kharitonov would be laughing to see him now. He'd sure had a good time lowering the boom, and downright had a party throwing Dimitri's belongings out the window. He didn't have a lot, but Dimitri decided he liked his stuff a lot better when it wasn't all over the lawn.

Alexandra had to have found out somehow. It was ironic, in a way---eight years of screwing up on the job got him nothing, but all he had to do to get fired, apparently, was kiss the Grand Duchess.

So here he was, selling tickets and stamping travel papers, trying to afford a life and spending it thinking of her.

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"Aaahhh, this is the life."

Rasputin sprawled himself out on the largest throne in the empty ballroom, a place that now, like the rest of the palace, had been tainted with darkness by minions.

Bartok perched on the arm of the regal chair, deciding to take his boss' disposition at face value. "You see, master, what did I tell you? My idea wasn't so bad, eh?"

It had, after all, been at Bartok's persuasion that the family was imprisoned before killed. Rasputin had liked it because it sounded like a nice, suspenseful form of torture; the bat, however, was just hoping it would give his boss a chance to change his mind. Or chicken out. Or leave the country.

Rasputin was becoming impatient, though. "I'll admit it has its merits," he agreed, "but I may just kill them anyway."

"What?" Bartok literally fell from the arm of the throne, and it took a decent amount of struggling to get back up. "But...but what about the 'prison' thing? You know, suspense, no way out, just like what they did to you, yadda yadda yadda.... You liked that stuff, remember?"

"Yes, but I've waited long enough, don't you think?" he sighed, quite melodramatic for such a cruel man.

Bartok thought fast. Okay, uh, what can I say here.... Ah! "Why don't you give them 'till the end of the week?"

Rasputin's eyes landed on the little bat. "You think?"

"At least, master. You know, so they can...learn their lesson, or whatever your plan was there..."

The old monk stroked his beard as he mulled it over. "Well...they don't know when it's coming, after all. Yes," he decided, growing to like the idea, "let's let them fear my power for just a while longer. Then, come Friday, I'll destroy them!"

"Or not!" Bartok muttered.

"What was that?"

"No, no, absolutely, I'm on board with the whole...destroying process. Big fun, there, sir. Wouldn't miss it."

Satisfied, but only for now, Rasputin turned away and tried to catch a nap. Bartok, on the other hand, wished he could be back in the tropics for a little while. This, he knew, would not end well.

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After the fifth hour, Dimitri was so bored he found himself listening in on a conversation between two aging gossips down the line. He made a mental note that it couldn't possibly get lower than this.

"I'm telling you, Rasputin is back," the one in the cloak was saying.

"It can't be!" her friend gasped.

"It's true---haven't you seen the bizzare haze surrounding the palace? The family is still inside."

"Oh, God help us..."

"Just the time to leave the country..."

Dimitri stopped listening. He stopped breathing, too, but that one had to end eventually.

Was it true? Was she okay? How long had they been trapped in there? How long did they have left?

"Excuse me."

Dimitri looked up. He'd completely forgotten he had customers.

"One ticket to Paris, please," the large, bearded man in front of him said.

"Yeah, sure." But his mind was elsewhere.

Until, that is, he had to stamp the guy's travel papers, and caught the words "member of the Imperial Court" on his identification.

Forgetting all about the ticket, he looked back at the guy, who was understandably confused and really just wanted to leave. "You're on the Imperial Court?"

"Well, yes, but I really don't see what that has to do with my ticket..."

Dimitri decided this was his chance. Hopping over the counter and out of the booth, he hung the 'closed' sign on the front before leading the guy off to the side. The line of people grumbled, complained and left in different directions, but Dimitri didn't care---he probably would have gotten fired from this job too, anyway.

"Listen," he started, "I'm not just some guy selling tickets here, okay? Well, I mean I am, but---that's not the point. My name is Dimitri, I used to work at the palace. You're loyal, right?"

The man nodded, wondering where this was going. "I would do anything for the Tsar and his family."

"Have you heard about what happened?"

He shook his head. "What? Are they all right?"

"They will be if I can get to them in time." Dimitri took a peek at the travel papers that were still in the guy's hand to catch a glimpse of his name. "Listen, Vladimir---"

"Vlad."

"---Vlad, I need your help. I need to get into the palace but I can't do it alone. Something really, really bad is going to happen to the Romanovs if somebody doesn't stop it, and I can't let that happen. I'll explain it all on the way---are you with me?"

"Excuse me, son," Vlad replied, "but what makes you think you can do any good? If the Tsar needs help, we should be calling in the armed forces, raising a batallion, not sending in a...a...how old are you, anyway?"

"Seventeen, but that's not the point either. A whole army wouldn't work against this guy. I'm the only one who can help her."

"Her?"

"Them," he corrected, tired of talking in circles. "Look, it's not for me, it's for them. But I'm going with or without you."

"I thought you said you couldn't do it alone."

Dimitri's gaze said he didn't care.

Vlad sighed. "All right. Tell me what I need to do."

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Ha! Betcha didn't see that coming. Vladdy's on his way! XD Let's see...a seventeen-year-old smartmouth and a big tubby dude against the forces of pure evil. Should be interesting...XD Reviews please.

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