Iron

The cool metal of the pistol felt almost comforting under his hands, hard and sure like nothing else in life. Nothing, except that he would not be taken advantage of, that he would never let anyone offend his pride. Certainly not a rich, snobbish, daddy's boy like Bolkonski.

"Dolokhov, put the gun down and lets talk sensibly." His second-to-be stood leaning against the doorframe and shifting uncomfortably. "You don't have to do this."

Theodore didn't look up from his examination of the dueling pistol. "Yes, I do." He was sixteen and about to fight his fist duel. First of many.

Challenge

Pierre's challenge came out of nowhere, like a slap in the face of a sudden downpour of freezing, autumn rain. Theodore wasn't prepared for this; he hadn't meant for it go so far. Who would have thought that Bezukhov was THAT immature. He regarded Pierre across the table with bemused curiosity. Had the silly boy ever HELD a gun? Did he even OWN one? And everyone said Anatole was the fool.

"I'll be your second!" Nicholas Rostov offered enthusiastically. Dolokhov looked over at the boy, regarding him appraisingly. He seemed alright, this Rostov boy.

"Well, why not, if you want."

Stadium

The stadion is a Greek measurement of about 200 meters. This was the length of the stadium that hosted the Olympic games of ancient Greece. The "games" consisted of one even – a sprint the length of the stadium…

"…and then she drops her hankerchief and gives me this look, obviously wanting me to pick it up. So I… Theodore, what are you doing?"

"Reading, Anatole. Something you rarely do." Dolokhov held up the book on ancient Greece.

"So you WEREN'T listening to me!"

"No?"

"Go to hell!"

"I love you too."

Anatole muttered something unintelligible and rang for more wine.

Chairman

"I hate the bureaucracy," Nicholas Rostov complains rather passionately.

Theodore scoffs, taking another sip of tea. "Who doesn't?"

"Well some people love the government work."

Theodore shrugs, looking rather indifferent though Nicholas doesn't seem to notice. "Well, think about it. If you could make a career of it, become chair of some big department, imagine the influence you could have. Not just on politics but on people. Everyone would know they need to go to you to get things done. Good way to make money on the side as well."

Nicholas looks scandalized. Theodore laughs inwardly at the boy's naïveté.

Chef

The Kuragins brought a new French chef to the house around Christmas. Anatole spent too much time in the kitchens finding out what sweets would be served for dessert and practicing his French, which, at his eleven, wasn't as perfect as his father wanted.

Theodore stood at the door waiting until Anatole would finish talking circles around the baffled chef who was both annoyed and enchanted by the boy. The conversation was mostly going over Dolokhov's head. At sixteen, his French was even worse than Anatole's. Embarrassed of this, he hang back until he could be back in safer territory.