Forever Young (iso Anya)

[jourdainka]

Anastasiya looked down almost shyly, wondering how she could even feel shy at her age.
"I danced the part of Giselle. . .it was rather amusing, the director walked in, took one look at me after my initial audition and said 'Giselle' and walked out." She smiled at the recent memory.

Anya couldn't help but notice Oliver's masked feelings. But what feelings they were, she could not tell. Was it sadness? Regret? Resentment? She felt it wouldn't be her business to ask, but for some reason unknown to her, she wanted to try to help him. Yes, it sounded absurd; vampires don't normally need any help if they don't want it. But she wanted to draw out his pain, little by little, and perhaps provide the emotional balm needed to heal the wounds.

Changing the topic back to something he had said, Anastasiya straightened her posture (she had been slouching relaxedly) and spoke.
"So you have not experienced the tragic side of love? How very lucky for you, Mister Oliver!" she laughed, not unkindly. "Or perhaps, how unlucky, for in the tragedy we see the true love we have. Love without pain is like spring without blossoms, my Master told me. . .before he asked me to leave." She smiled wistfully, too ashamed of her brief display of emotion to meet Oliver's eyes.

"But tell me," she asked, her tone light and amicable, "have you ever had a great passion? Love and passion are quite different things. Forgive me if I pry, I am just so intrigued with you." Her voice was still the clear, sweet soprano, not a hint of vulgarity in her tone. She wondered had he ever truly let himself go? She recalled the one time she had succumbed to passion;

It had begun well, but had ended with her licking blood from her fingers and snuggling up to the corpse of a beautiful young man from Kiev Rus in the Ukraine.
Then a question suddenly arose in her mind.
"Can you tailor me a man's suit?" she blurted out, then clapped a dainty hand over her mouth.

[oliver]

Her shy smile is returned with his own impressed grin.
"Amusing? I'm not surprised that you were chosen on the spot, other than your skill which I'm sure you've managed to perfect over the years, he must have seen... "
A slender finger tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"... Something rather special."

"So you have not experienced the tragic side of love? How very lucky for you, Mister Oliver! Or perhaps, how unlucky, for in the tragedy we see the true love we have. Love without pain is like spring without blossoms, my Master told me. . .before he asked me to leave."

"L-love?"

There was an owlish blinking of dark eyes, and he tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. One would have thought he had never heard of the word which had so recently emerged from his own lips.

"But tell me, have you ever had a great passion? Love and passion are quite different things. Forgive me if I pry, I am just so intrigued with you."

"Passion...Yes."

The head tilts even more until it's equal to that of a feline in mid-muse. His eyes glazed over, almost lulled into a semi trance like state as the words of the other immortal swirled around in his head like fine wine. Bitter sweet and intoxicating...

"Oli, ya love Greta don't ya?"
"Yes, I do."
"And do ya love me?"
Such earnest in those eyes, the raised brow and leer did nothing to hide the anxiety pounding away in his beating heart... He could hear it, the rush of blood and flutter of anticipation. Oliver just feigned ignorance, and smiled back.
"Of course I do Adrian."
"But it isn't the same, is it."
"What do you mean?"
He was so young, despite the fact that he was more mature in a physical sense, and so spirited. Electric currents pulsing just beneath his skin.
"I mean, you don't actually 'love' me."
Oliver's silence after hearing that remark was the biggest lie he'd ever told. One that he kept tightly bound to himself, sewed upon his dead heart like embroidered tattoos.

"The life of the needle and thread is my only love, my passion."
The reply is sincere, but it also holds the kind of monotone that came from years and years of repetition. Like a mantra, an affirmation of sorts to keep him sane. And he could already feel it, the slow slip-slide of feet down a steep muddy slope into darkness...

"Can you tailor me a man's suit?"

Saved by the bell.
Or in this case the crystal clear ring of her voice. By the time her fingers fanned over her lips, clarity returned to the dark haired vampire and gave a humble smile.

"If M'lady so wishes it." he says with a bow of the head, "And may I ask, who this suit is for?"

Already in his mind there were wheels spinning and fabrics unfolding, awaiting the description of his next project, eager to do what he did best.

[jourdainka]

When Oliver had replied to her question of passion, Anastasiya had inwardly saddened at his answer. He was clearly telling some truth, but also leaving something out. Shouldn't a memory of passion be a fond one? Sighing, she told herself it was not her place to judge. Every vampire was as different from one to the next as any human, perhaps even more so. Deciding to answer his question about her need for a suit, Anya took on a light tone of voice and spoke.

"I am in a. . .predicament of sorts. There are others who are hunting me. I need some means of disguise, and my only option now is to dress as a man. I know it sounds strange, but it's my only out." she smiled sheepishly.

Anastasiya thought glumly of the other vampires who were trying to bring her back to Russia against her will. They were underlings of her former master, stupid rash creatures who if not for their terrible beauty, would probably have been killed for their lack of sense. She felt a little of her old anger bubble up inside of her, inching up her throat, the way it used to when she was human and it became painful to swallow. How could he make more? And further, how could she be the only one he had turned away? It didn't make sense. What else didn't make sense was her ability to tell Oliver, someone she had just met, things she had told no one.

"They are children of my old master. He needs to speak with me, but I must admit. . .I am afraid of him. He is ancient and very powerful. Silly, a vampire fearing death, isn't it?" she laughed musically. Really, she found it hilarious. She had already died once, what worse could there be after this undead waking? She needed help though; her master could turn her to ashes with his mind if he wanted. Taking Oliver's marble hand lightly in her own, she met his eyes, her eyebrows forming little worried arcs, she said
"Please, I know we've only just met, but I can pay you well, and I am in great need of your services. Pozhaluysta, syer." (please, sir)

[oliver]

A cold hand quickly closes over her own, pale fingers wrapping over feminine digits and squeezing gently, the other patting the top of her wrist reassuringly. Dark eyes are kind and he offers a small smile that spoke of years of keeping secrets, confidentiality at its finest.

"You know, I just received the latest shipment of Italian Jacquard that I've been quite eager to try, and I do believe this would be the perfect opportunity."

So quick to agree, to promise. It wasn't very like the vampire who was once so careful with the choosing of his clients that he'd become something of a myth.
Was it the money? Surely not. For what good were material things to him? Except for perhaps more funds to seek out more and more rare fabrics for his projects.

Was it because of her heartbreakingly beautiful face? The delicate lure of her lips and curve of a dancer's figure, would be an incentive enough for a man to take the life of his comrade. Then again, Oliver usually found beauty in simpler things and tended to keep from charming smiles and beguiling looks of both men and women alike. The years have made him wary of honey laced traps.

Maybe it was because of her tragic tale of a fellow blood-drinker on the run from her own kind? Not to mention that the one who now nipped at her heels was the very creature who had condemned her to this cursed life before carelessly tossing her aside like a man who had grown bored of a game. A story not unlike his own ,if but more sad since she had once loved her sire.

Or perhaps it was just because she had spoken to him. Shared this night with him when he'd have spent it in solitude and fighting to keep inner demons at bay. She provided company, companionship.

Whatever the reason was, he kept it to himself. Just as he would her secret as a runaway. All she'd need to know was that he had agreed to help her, and Oliver never failed to deliver. Not since the seventeenth century and certainly not now.

"So."
He leaps back lightly to his feet, standing before her with a hand held out, a curving smile stretching across his face.
"If M'lady would be so kind as to permit me a few minutes of her time, I'd like to take some quick measurements."

[jourdainka]

"You know, I just received the latest shipment of Italian Jacquard that I've been quite eager to try, and I do believe this would be the perfect opportunity."


As Oliver gave her hand a gentle reassuring squeeze, Anya felt almost instantly relieved. She was going to be safe. She would not become Volodya's captive. She couldn't think of a way to express her thanks to the dashing tailor, her unexpected new friend. Hmm. . .friend. She rolled the word around her mind for a few moments, enjoying the way it sounded. Of course whenever she made an acquaintance, Anya was afraid of betrayal. But this time she knew she could trust him.

It had been a very long time since she had allowed herself to be helped by anyone, and it felt. . .good. The shame she had imagined was nowhere to be found. She wondered what it would be like if all vampires could admit when they needed help. Smiling at the thought, she inhaled deeply the scents surrounding her. The thick, warm night air; the other being beside her; the many flowers. All created an aroma that she committed to memory immediately.

She wondered if any other women had asked Oliver for suits; she giggled at the preposterousness of the idea. She could only imagine what kind of boy she would make. Suddenly she was plagued with the thought of herself in comparison to other female vampires. She was a kind spirited individual, and for some reason could not bring herself to seduce someone and then bring them to their knees. She couldn't toy with someone's emotions; she knew all too well how deeply that could scar.

"If M'lady would be so kind as to permit me a few minutes of her time, I'd like to take some quick measurements."


Smoothing the hem of her short dress, Anastasiya nodded and stood up, her posture impeccable. She let her arms hover about an inch or so above their places at her sides so as to make it easier for Oliver. Unknowingly, she stood in ballet's second position, perhaps out of habit. She caught Oliver's inky eyes and smiled sweetly.

[oliver]

"Perfect."

With little flare he flicked his wrist, letting his measuring tape uncoil from under a long coat sleeve like a pale serpent. Head cocked slightly he made one quick circle around Anastasiya, catching her smile and returning it before he paused just behind her.

Dark eyes took on a sort of gleam as his senses sharpened, glasses taken from his coat pocket and placed upon his nose. Not that he needed it, but it was a habit borne from his time as a mortal and had become a placebo more than anything else. His mind was whirring like a well oiled machine with calculations and rolls of hundreds of fabric unfolding before his eyes as he took down the measurements of her shoulders.

"I have to admit lady Anastasiya, you are the second woman to ask for a suit. Only one other had ever requested for something other than a dress or evening coat, and she herself ,if I dare say so, had been quite the pioneer when it came to her apparel."

He spoke animately, casually ,more for background noise than actual conversation. Oliver learned that most people felt at ease during sessions such as these when they heard the tailor speak, no need for awkward pauses or nervous shifting about which could ruin the entire process of his measuring.
The tailor of Pudding Lane was very ,very particular about that.
Not a millimeter more or less.

"Your frame may be small, too small to pass for a man..." he mused as he let one end of the measuring tape drop to the floor by her ankle, "But nothing we cannot work around, a little bit of modifications here and there and we can have you looking well enough to be a slight-sized gentleman. Just some 'cheating' might be called for."

There was humor in his voice, and an eagerness sparked from the challenge of a new project. No need for a pencil and paper, yet. He didn't need them to remember the width of her shoulders or her height, he remembers all... Just as he remembers all the measurements of past clients many years before. Each one unique, each one special, unforgettable.

"Now M'Lady, I require only a few days, a week at most to complete your requested suit," he returns to stand before her, wrapping the tape around her waist and placing his fingernail right along the edge to the exact number, "Upon which you may visit me in my shop for the first fitting. "

Which in some cases, were the last as well.
So precise ,so careful with his measurements was he that his esteemed guests never need come back for alterations. And with mortals especially, he was very careful about second and third visits, never wanting to stay in one place long enough for them to find him again. Not because they needed him to change an error on the garment but just out of sheer curiosity. A kind of curiosity that killed more than just cats.

"There we are, all set. Now, we must not linger... Don't know about you but I can feel the coming of day and that is a time neither of us wish to come into contact with."

[jourdainka]

As the gentlemanly Oliver took her mesurements with skill such as only a vampire could possess, Anya felt her skin tingling. Dawn was perhaps an hour away. She sighed, careful not to move, though she doubted that Oliver could make a mistake. It had been ages since she had been out to a shop, especially since they were usually all closed by the time she was out and about. Especially in the summer, when the nights were short, too short. She mused on the thought of if summer nights were as long as the ones in winter.

"I have to admit lady Anastasiya, you are the second woman to ask for a suit. Only one other had ever requested for something other than a dress or evening coat, and she herself ,if I dare say so, had been quite the pioneer when it came to her apparel."


She smiled. So polite. . .it was manners she had missed as well, almost as much as company. At the mention of dresses, though, she was gone, lost to her thoughts. She was again being suffocated by memory, but at least this was a nice memory, a soft and gentle stabbing. She had had a gown. No, twenty gowns. Her master had made sure she was dressed up like a living doll at all times. She had thought it was because he valued her, treasured her above all else. It was truly because he was vain and wished only the best for his eyes to behold. She wrinkled her nose. Ugh. Old memories again.

"There we are, all set. Now, we must not linger... Don't know about you but I can feel the coming of day and that is a time neither of us wish to come into contact with."

Anastasiya nodded and turned to face him. She kissed her fingers, then gently pressed them to his cheek.
"Until next time, Mister Oliver. It has been a pleasure."
And with that, she turned, a silvery-white streak across the fading darkness, already home.

[oliver]

"Until next time, Mister Oliver. It has been a pleasure."

"Dasvidaniya..."

He bows and does not straighten until the blur of white silver disappears in the distance, her haste cautioning him about the arrival of dawn. A pocket watch is pulled from it's confines and checked.

"About two hours, " he says to himself with an exasperated sigh, "You're getting tardy old boy..."

That said he takes off in the other direction for Pudding Lane, his mind more occupied with his lady friend's request rather than the on coming sunshine...