[moskva] kalinka moya [vera]

31 december 2001

December had been a bit of a whirlwind for Arkadiy Maksimovich. His hand had cramped from signing so many copies of his book, which was published early in the month. He had a couple readings, small affairs. But still. He had read to other people, and if they had laughed, they at least had the courtesy to do it without him noticing. That led into Christmas with Florence’s family, his first and surely authentic French Christmas. He might even still be full from that Christmas Eve meal where he had eaten every single thing his mother-in-law had placed in front of him.

And now, New Year’s Eve, he and Florence were in Moscow, ready to ring in the new year with his family. His very large and very extended family. It wasn’t often that his branch of the family were invited to any sort of family gathering, but his mother had recently done her cousin’s mother a favor, or something, and long story short, here they were.

He wouldn’t have been able to face the evening without his wife on his arm, looking, if possible, more stunning than ever. He had cleaned up well himself; Florence had convinced him to put in a tad more effort than usual, ditching his linen and gold chain for a suit and tie. His five o’clock shadow was right on time. He even had a pocket square to match the color of Florence’s dress (her idea of course).

The party was in Chistye Prudy, in the largest park in the neighborhood. They had managed to set up a tent right in the middle, unbeknownst to any muggles that passed by. Snow had fallen earlier in the day and it clung to the ground and trees in such a perfect wintery vibe that he had half a mind it was done on purpose by one of his craftier uncles. Kept warm by magic, Arkasha and his wife mingled through the party, introducing the new Malenkov to any relatives she had yet to meet, casually dropping the line that he was now a published author whenever they asked what he was up to now.

Keeping Florence close had other benefits, besides her intoxicating smell and much quicker wit (even in a third language). She was also the buffer between him and his ex-girlfriend, @Veronika Petrova. It had taken them over a year before discovering there was a very sound reason they would be invited to the same family reunion: they shared a great-great grandmother. It had been beyond devastating to discover and it might have been what prompted his move to France in the first place.

Florence knew of course, but she had no idea who to watch out for. How was he supposed to describe the cousin turned accidental lover? She has incredible cheekbones and the same exact head shape as I do. That wouldn’t do. So with a bottomless drink in one hand (praise be to magically refilling vodka) and his wife in the other, he navigated the party with caution, ready to insert himself into any conversation if it meant he could avoid Vera.

Apparently his babushka didn’t know of his plan, stealing Florence away, telling her she had the secret to keeping marriages spicy, and Arkasha found himself standing quite alone at half past eleven. He fell in with his great uncle (or second cousin once removed, who knew?) Pavel Vasilyevich and chatted for a few minutes before he was being excitedly dragged across the dance floor to another cluster of people. He realized who he was being (re)introduced too a second too late: You remember my granddaughter Veronika Nikolayevna, no? Pavel had scurried away and before Arkasha could hurry after him, he made eye contact with Vera.

Never one to back down from a situation he could easily win (hello, had they seen Florence?), Arkasha straightened up, one hand catching hold of his lapel. “You know that dress really accentuates the fact that we have the same shoulders.”

That night, Veronika Nikolayevna was a woman with several missions. And many conflicted feelings.

Firstly, she was there to show off with her fabulous self, with her success in her career, and fact that she was on the Russian national team, which also qualified for the World Cup. She was one of the highlights of this specific family reunion; especially at the New Year’s party, where mostly everyone congratulated her for the latest successes in her career. It was amazing that Veronika herself didn’t even have to show off per se, as everyone already knew. One of her aunts surely had done her job and informed everyone that Russia’s success was also Vera’s. Truthfully, some of them were talking as if she was the best thing on the Russian national, which she didn’t completely agree with, however who was Veronika to deny her very large and very extended family the belief that they were related to a quidditch goddess. Hence why she just eagerly accepted all compliments.

Furthermore, Vera was glad for once her family was so numerous. Because that night, her other aim was to avoid her ex-boyfriend, and cousin, Arkadiy Maksimovich, at all costs. Their story was beyond complicated; Vera and Arkasha had dated for over a year until discovering that they were cousins, only by accident, as they both received invitations for the same family reunion. Since then, Veronika had avoided all family reunions, with the desire of not meeting him at all. The break-up and its controversial reason had had quite the impact on her, Vera yet having to move on. Surely, she wasn’t going to be into Russian men any time soon, as, who knew how many other cousins she had.

Which brought her to another reason as of why she was attending that night’s family reunion: aside from showing off, Vera had learned that her ex-boyfriend was now married, something that happened very quickly, and it was to some French woman. She couldn’t exactly blame him for marrying outside Russia, although Veronika found herself harshly judging him for going for a Westerner, particularly a French. As far as she recalled, nobody else had married that far away. She could be wrong, but from the top of her head, it was quite new within the family. In addition to that, the idea that he went for a blonde French woman, after dating her brunette self seemed a little insulting. Therefore, in order to outdo whatever blonde diva Arkasha would bring to the party, Veronika decided to go all-out. Not only that she had gone to a professional stylist to get her hair and make-up done unquestionably flawlessly, but also went for a limited-edition haut couture dress, both the most elegant yet sexiest she could find, so that anyone could fade in comparison with her.

Additionally, just in case she would prove herself to be extremely bitter over the new wife, she had brought a date of her own; obviously it was one of the most fabulous men she could think of, her close and dear friend @Mateusz Dabrowski. Despite being very reluctant about it at first, Veronika had told Mat everything about her story with Arkasha and was willing to pay the price of having him accompany her. She was sure that she will be endlessly teased by the Polish until the day she will die, however, at that point, Vera didn’t care anymore. For the first time in her life, the Russian felt that she needed to be protected and Mat was the perfect person for that. Of course, she had kept him close the entire night, and casually commented with him in Polish about her relatives, giving him intel on everyone and everything.

Much to her luck, her aunts hadn’t gotten the message that Mateusz was her date exclusively, and had stolen him away to take pictures with him. Soon enough, she was approached by cousin Vanya, who handed her a never-ending glass of champagne, and pulled her to take a seat with him at a nearby table. Veronika followed him and sat down, but took the glass quite hesitantly, because up until then, she hadn’t drunk at all, asking Mat to specifically stop her from doing so. In the end, her being drunk around an ex-turned-cousin didn’t sound like the best combination at all. She didn’t drink still, listening quite excitedly to Vanya, who was telling her everything about his past year. He generally talked quite a lot, which wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed, however this time round Vanya was actually doing well and was not being a whiny and annoying fellow, making the conversation quite pleasant. 

Her talk with Vanya didn’t last as long as she would have enjoyed, as apparently her grandfather had brought yet another person to talk to her. Pavel Vasilyevich had particularly enjoyed to show off with his granddaughter that night, beater on the Russian national. You remember my granddaughter Veronika Nikolayevna, no? Her grandfather grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around in her chair, to face no-one other than Arkadiy Maksimovich himself, and quickly enough he disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two alone.

She didn’t want this, Vera didn’t want to be in Arkasha’s proximity. She had avoided him so well so far, the witch couldn’t understand why her grandfather just had to ruin things this way. And furthermore, Vanya seemed to have left as well, going to dance with another relative. Mat still was held hostage by her aunts, apparently, but Veronika did look in his direction and cleared her throat, hoping he would catch the hint. Unfortunately, it was probably too loud for him to have heard her. Before she could try to escape, however, her cousin decided to break the ice, with what was probably the most daft remark she had heard all night. Vera couldn’t believe that she was thinking this, but Vanya had seemed more intelligent that evening.

Torn between being bitter about his new wife or grossed out when finally properly looking at him, Veronika straightened her back and crossed her legs, her dress opening up, revealing her perfectly tanned and slim legs. She was tempted to say something among the lines that their shoulders were as similar as their private parts, however, that would make their first meeting after the break-up even more awkward than it already was, so she decided against it. Instead, Vera picked up her glass of champagne and took one sip, just enough to wet her lips. She was already regretting the decision of not having anything to drink up until then. “Hm…” Vera started, playing with her glass in her hand. “Grow up.” She let out a deep sigh, her gaze focusing on his figure. Part of her was disgusted by his presence, yet half also still found him quite attractive, half which Vera wanted to punch into a void. “Take a seat or go away, you’re attracting too much attention, more than I need, especially now.” 

Then, a random passerby, third cousin or twice removed uncle, Veronika didn’t know, yelled out “Nice book!” at Arkasha, causing the quidditch player to turn in her seat yet again. “Book?” Her eyes widened in shock. What did he write of? Did he write about her, their story? This wasn’t going to end well, Veronika could already tell.

Vera crossed her legs and Arkasha became suddenly very interested in the construction of the tent’s ceiling. Those were not the legs he should be focusing on, certainly weren’t the legs he should want to be focusing on. Where was Florence? Where was anyone? He cleared his throat as he brought his gaze down, stopping on Vera’s face and only her face. Grow up. He rolled his eyes, bringing his glass to his lips and draining the contents.

Take a seat or go away. The choice was simple. He shrugged, the ice in his empty glass clinking in the moment before it magically refilled itself. He needed to walk away, find his wife, an uncle, a cousin, literally any relative he hadn’t slept with, but before he could bid Vera farewell and wish her a nice life, a rather obnoxious ‘Nice book!’ was hurled his way. Arkasha pursed his lips, avoiding Vera’s eye.

He had only told his immediate family members about the book, had actually brought copies along with him as gifts, but his mamushka’s pride at his writing probably didn’t extend to extended family. There were other writers in the family, but they were ‘serious’ about their work, writing non-fiction or novels or dedicating their entire work to Russia. But Arkasha wrote poetry; his words were French, his muse was French, and he hadn’t even thought about Russia when trying to get published.

He figured he had missed his chance to escape, reluctantly filling the empty seat next to Vera but happily finding that his glass had finally refilled itself after he chanced another glance at it. “Book,” he responded with a nod, trying to carefully his words for elaboration. “I’ve been published,” he started again, pausing to take a swallow of his drink. “Might be starting on a book tour soon to promote it.” He wasn’t sure what he was trying to accomplish here, if he was trying to make his feat sound more impressive or if he was just managing to dig himself a hole to hide in.

“It’s French, though.” He added this tidbit, hoping he was correct in remembering that she didn’t speak the language. Romanian, sure, but that wouldn’t be enough to pick up on the nuances that he was so proud of himself for capturing after only a couple years of learning.

He took another large swig of his vodka, casting his glance aside to search the crowd again for his wife. This would be the opportune time for her to appear, of course, to blow in like the hurricane she was and sweep him away from this conversation. But she was still nowhere to be found, and Arkasha resigned himself to finishing out this conversation like the proper gentleman he was.

He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t still following her quidditch career. It was inevitable, really. He had always supported the Metalmen, had found it difficult to stop even after the whole Vera situation had unfolded. Then, he was Russian, so naturally he had to support Russia in the World Cup. It was a tedious affair, really, not being able to avoid mentions of Vera in the paper, even in the little French one that just referred to her as ‘the female Russian beater’ or ‘the Captain’. He took one more quick sip of vodka before turning the conversation around with a slight shrug. “Congratulations on the Cup.”

Despite being the one to have suggested it, Veronika wasn’t expecting for Arkadiy to actually take a seat next to her. It felt too awkward to have him so close, especially after not having seen each other for years. While she had previously thought he was still attractive, the quidditch player now found herself feeling a shiver down her spine, and it took her only a second’s time to elegantly shift in her seat, just a tiny bit further away from her ex-boyfriend. In all honesty, part of her was glad she couldn’t feel his normal scent, his alluring perfume, for he was already reeking of alcohol. Perhaps it was the entire mass of party guests which had that scent by now, however, Veronika decided that it was definitely Arkadiy. It was undeniably just him.

Part of her was scared of what he’d had been writing, but the former Klyk Vampira knew him. She knew him far too well to let herself believe that Arkasha’d disclosed information regarding their previous relationship without her prior approval. Despite having that initial thought, the Russian decided to trust her instinct on this one. And naturally, her predisposition predicted that he was as uncomfortable as her due to their past. In the end, she was somewhat grateful to him that he had been the one to move to a different country, for if he hadn’t done it, Veronika herself would have been the impulsive one and would have transferred on the opposite side of the continent.

“Congratulations.” She remarked, genuinely meaning it. Vera was glad of his success, regardless of her current state of repulsion. She’s always known Arkadiy would flourish in life one way or another, and somehow Veronika felt proud of herself as he was proving her right. Her instinct was never wrong. “A tour?” The quidditch captain commented, her gaze focusing unconsciously on him, but immediately deciding that the champagne glass in her hand was by far much more captivating, despite her not drinking its contents at all. It was more than enough that he’d drunk, for it would end up inappropriately hazardous should both of them not be sober. “Just in France, or Europe? Or are you going throughout all the French-speaking countries only?” She inquired, not really that enthusiastic, yet, it was better to continue the conversation rather than sit there in awkward silence and attract more attention.

Her glance raised towards Mateusz’s direction, who was still held captive by her female relatives. Veronika mentally rolled her eyes, upon thinking the usual ‘women’. Honestly, she would have very much preferred her to be the actual quidditch sensation of the night, for a random cousin she’s never met or been extremely keen of to just appear out of nowhere and ask for a picture, an autograph, a hug, anything. Vera shifted in her seat again, getting further away from the man that was sitting next to her – hopefully the seat was wide enough for her not to actually fall off of it.

However, it seemed that the one cousin to actually mention her successful quidditch performances was no-one other than Arkadiy himself. Fuck. Veronika thought, realising that her wish did become true, but certainly not in the actual way she would have desired it to. She had momentarily forgotten that Arkasha had always been a Metalmen supporter, and now that slip of mind felt like it was suddenly getting harder to handle the conversation. It was becoming more and more obstinate with each moment that passed by, and she was not particularly enjoying this kind of ‘awkward’.

Taking a deep breath, Vera was determined to not be the one to lose this battle. She wouldn’t be the one who would become the first to get uncomfortable and leave. It would have meant weakness, and that was a trait she did not have, aside from it being a word that undoubtedly didn’t exist in her vocabulary, as Arkadiy himself would know by now.

Veronika crossed her legs yet again, changing their position, the dress revealing even more this time around. It hadn’t been planned, however, any excuse to show off with her absolutely flawless legs was good to have. “Thank you.” Vera replied, as naturally as she could; while within her she could feel her repulsion and awkwardness bringing metaphorical shivers within every inch of her being, at least she was sober enough to be able to control her outer demeanour. “That last game against Trinidad didn’t end as I would have preferred, but a win is still a win, I guess.” Any match that ended with a score beneath 150 points wasn’t a truthfully winning one in Vera’s book, however with Russia’s qualification for the World Cup, she could definitely overlook her own ethics and beliefs on the matter, even if temporarily.

And there it was, that awful moment when common courtesy would force one into situations they did not desired to end, such as, right now, having to comment on one’s ex-boyfriend’s wedding, or simply on the news that he was now married. While Veronika was glad that the break-up finally felt real and that the two of them could meet up as cousins with no risks, and furthermore not cause any suspicions of obdurate behaviour within the family, it still stung knowing that he had been the first one to properly move on first. Not that she held any deep and complex feelings for Arkasha still, other than the obvious abhorrence, yet Vera would have preferred it to be the other way around. She was now put in the situation in which, should she avoid bringing it up, the quidditch player would be categorised as the bitter ex-girlfriend, label which she preferred not having, thank you very much.

Ultimately deciding – even if very, very reluctantly – to be the greater person, Veronika finally took a very generous sip of her champagne, before determining she should probably look in Arkadiy’s direction, for the first time that night. “By the way…” The Russian witch started, a playful smirk appearing on her face. It was forced, unneeded, yet somehow for the outer world, she was seemingly as natural as ever. Veronika suddenly felt grateful for her manager always forcing her to smile for photographers. “Rumour has it some other sort of congratulations are in order. Heard you tied the knot with a special someone.” Somehow, saying it aloud, felt even worse; repulsing, yet also vexing. It was definitely too much for her to handle whilst sober. However, if she were to drink now, Veronika would appear aggravated, and that was the last thing she desired. Looking Arkasha straight in the eye, she was still sincerely interested as of how he would describe her replacement.

Arkasha nodded, expecting the follow up questions about his book. “Just France for now, maybe Monaco. It was only just released a couple weeks ago.” But the small scale of his tour hadn’t stopped him from bringing multiple copies along with him on this trip. He’d even consider signing one for Vera if she really wanted one. His publisher had mentioned going to the UK as well, but he still wasn’t too keen about being too public there considering he had stunned half a dozen muggles on one of his more recent trips there.

And there he was again, inspecting the ceiling. Could Vera seriously not sit still for more than two minutes at a time? This leg show was petty, especially because it was far too difficult for him to sit in any special way with any hopes of distracting her -- no, he did not want to be distracting her, what was he thinking? Arkasha ran a hand through his hair, before taking another large sip of his drink, slowly bringing his gaze back down to earth with a nod. “A win is still a win,” he agreed, knowing fully well that she was truthfully disappointed with how they had managed to qualify in the end. But he also knew that she would be as smug as possible about it for as long as possible.

Arkasha knew he needed to be smirking as well, to keep the playing field even, to not let Vera get the upper hand, but at the mention of his marriage, he couldn’t help but grin a bit sheepishly. “Yes, well,” he took another swallow of his vodka, trying to relax his mouth so he could properly answer Vera’s question. Had she even asked a question? He couldn’t remember. The only thing in his mind now was Florence, and that damned smile wasn’t going away.

“The most special,” he started, setting his glass down on the linen tablecloth, running his finger around the rim and focusing on that rather than looking back to his cousin. “Her name is Florence,” he lifted his gaze to do another scan around the room, but his usually method of looking for the tall blonde woman failed him in this sea of other taller, blonder women. He caught Vera’s eye at last, offering a casual shrug as he took one more swig of his drink. “What is there to say, really?” He assumed she didn’t want the full story, the rehearsed telling they had of how they met, able to finish each others’ sentences and fill in the blanks of their shared timeline.

Vera didn’t need to know that she was the reason why he had moved to France in the first place, had felt a pressing need to get far away from any women he could possibly be related to. She didn’t need to know that he had bumbled through their first few dates, hardly able to communicate yet still mesmerized by the sound of Florence’s voice. Vera certainly didn’t need to know that he barely thought of her, except when he and his wife had each had a bottle of wine and had begun discussing their worst relationships.

“You’ll have to meet her.” He tore his gaze away from Vera and searched the room, again, in vain. But meeting Florence would be explanation enough. He massaged the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger, his grin finally starting to subside. He shrugged again as he looked back to her, assuming that if she had heard that news about him, she would have had to come to this party prepared. He knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t going to let herself be bested by him. “Did your man get lost?”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to get a copy of your book. In the end, I wouldn’t want anyone visiting my place and thinking I’m a bad cousin.” Veronika commented nonchalantly, actually meaning every word that she said. If anyone else from their vastly-extended family would visit her place, it would most likely be a high offense of her not having Arkadiy’s book in a place where everyone could easily spot it should they take a look at her bookshelf. She surely knew her own mother would give her an awful lecture should Veronika not act in that specific manner. “Could probably use with your autograph too. Just so I won’t get everyone lecturing me.”

She sighed, not particularly keen on having Arkadiy’s book in a place she could easily spot in her apartment. Nonetheless, it wasn’t as if her career allowed her to spend too much at home, so it was all good. “Not that I don’t think that what you wrote is good.” Veronika emphasised, particularly because she actually thought so. “But, you know… it’d be the same as you having my signed poster around all the time.” She carefully mouthed the word ‘abhorrent’, being quite sure Arkadiy was fully aware of where she was coming from. Tragically so, actually.

Ultimately, Veronika nodded at his comment regarding Russia’s win, but decided not to comment more on that matter, since they both silently agreed on it, which was more than sufficient.

Veronika straightened her back, her eyes narrowing with slight suspicion as she noticed he needed to drink more of his vodka before replying to her comment regarding his newest acquisition – his wife. His smile was annoying; very annoying. He looked like a man in love, and somehow she couldn’t help but remember he once smiled like that when talking about her. He was now obviously more enthusiastic, as of course a wife couldn’t really compare to a girlfriend, but the difference in the smiles wasn’t the issue at hand for Veronika. It was just that the gesture in itself reminded her that they actually dated, went out, got along, did things, and they were cousins all along. It was repulsive. Suddenly, uncle Slava from the opposite table seemed more of an interesting sight to see, despite the fact that he had seemed to put on over thirty kilograms since the last time she’d seen him. 

Veronika lifted her glass of champagne, taking just one quick sip, not to create the impression that she needed to drink over the fact that he was now married. In the end, she wanted to drink mostly because he was there, next to her, rather than anything else. It was gross, and awkward, and the quidditch player suddenly wished for uncle Slava to notice her, come hug her, and take her to his table. Wife or not, ex-boyfriend or not, spending time around Arkadiy was by far more uncomfortable than she predicted or expected.

“I’m glad you found someone.” Veronika eventually replied on a pleasant and courteous tone, not really knowing what she was saying, or what she was replying to, really. After getting her dose of uncle Slava gazes, she turned her glare back at Arkadiy. Much better now. Her eyes met his, which had been too soon, far too soon, reason as of why the quidditch player shifted once again in her seat. She was overwhelmed by these feelings of repulsion and disappointment in herself for having dated the man next to her, much more than she would have liked. Veronika looked in Mateusz’s direction, for once hoping that he will be her knight in shining armour, and come rescue her from this living hell.

“Yes, of course.” She responded to Arkadiy’s comment regarding her meeting his wife. Truthfully, Veronika wasn’t particularly keen on meeting the French blonde he had married, but she guessed it’d be better to actually place someone in between the two of them so there’d be an end put to this overdose of awkwardness. The Russian’d rather much deal with meeting the wife of a former boyfriend rather than coping with the idea that the former boyfriend was related to her.

As Arkadiy mentioned ‘her man’, Veronika pointed with her free hand in Mateusz’s direction, and as soon as her cousin looked that way, she downed the entire contents of her champagne glass. Thankfully, it had filled back right away, and she was hopeful Arkadiy wouldn’t notice her need to drink when around him. Mateusz, just like before, was surrounded by the most annoying of their aunts, particularly the trio of the seventh circle of hell, Matryona, Aleksandrina, and Ulyana. She felt bad for her absolutely fabulous and marvellous date – for in addition to being unquestionably flawless, Mateusz was also both someone she deeply admired and extremely close to – to be caught by the group of middle-aged women like that. Last time she checked, Ulyana was feeling up his upper arm, however, now that she was looking again, she could see Aleksandrina clearly eyeing his chest area.

“I should probably go save him.” Veronika stated, a bit embarrassed that her family (even if extended) was acting in such a manner. “But, am I really ready to jump into the special snake pit of the zombie apocalypse without having finished like… twenty bottles of champagne?” She wondered, mostly thinking aloud than anything, gently tilting her head to the side.

“Can’t have them thinking that, no.” He was taken aback, but he had had enough vodka at this point to not hesitate in his reply. “I’ll be sure to make a heartfelt inscription, too,” he added, before quickly backtracking. It was certainly far, far, too soon to be making a joke in front of her. He cleared his throat, shrugging. “I can get you a copy.” Florence probably would have brought one to the party in her purse if she hadn’t downsized to the fancy evening bag. “Don’t want to get you in trouble.” No more than he already had by being related to her.

He nodded, almost believing that she would want a copy of his work for any genuine reason. “You can withhold judgement until you read it. Don’t feel obligated.” Obligated readers weren’t his favorite. Arkasha arched an eyebrow, bringing his glass up to his lips as he said, “Guess I should take down that poster, then.” That probably should have been sign enough that he needed to slow down on his vodka intake, but he took another large swallow.

But no, he understood completely. But at least the book wasn’t overbearing. It wasn’t like his photo was on the cover or that he had written anything that could cause her embarrassment. She was the farthest thing from his mind as he was writing.

Arkasha arched his eyebrow as Vera expressed how happy she was for him. It was suspicious, of course. He knew she had felt it, too, the direction they had been headed in before their relationship had been derailed. He had expected some semblance of disappointment, but maybe he just wasn’t good at reading her expression anymore. That was a good development, he assumed. He lifted his glass in a silent agreement, deciding to drink to her happiness instead of recognizing it verbally.

“Of course.” But, of course, he didn’t actually want them to meet, not if he could help it. He knew there was nothing Vera could find wrong with Florence -- how could she when his wife was such a perfect specimen? -- but he was well aware that she would try. Anything more than a simple ‘hello’ or ‘see you next year’ would be too much interaction between the two women. But they were being cordial, and offering to make introductions was probably the most cordial thing he could do at the moment.

Arkasha looked in the direction Vera pointed, his eyes searching for and not finding a much older, much uglier, much flabbier version of himself. But no. His gaze landed on none other than the Captain for the Crossroads and for Poland. He smirked, both feeling a bit smug that she had felt the need to bring someone like that to prepare for the possibility of running into Arkasha and that he was surrounded by three of the worst women in the tent. He had fallen prey to them once, back when he had his growth spurt and they had felt the need to start inquiring about how he was doing with all the girls, did he know that they had a friend that had a daughter his age?

He was still smirking as he turned back to the table, taking another sip of his drink before he shook his head. “You couldn’t pay me enough to talk to them willingly, even if it was just to tell one her skirt was on fire.” He laughed, falling into that familiar groove of badmouthing family members with the added thrill of knowing they could overhear you if they tried hard enough. “And Ulyana Lvovna’s son, what is his name?” He paused, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Did you hear about his thing with the goat?” According to his mamochka, he was living with one, took it on walks in a pram, it was a whole thing that somehow everyone knew yet no one talked about.

Her eyebrows arched as both her eyes focused on Arkadiy’s direction, despite her not turning towards him. First the mention of a heartfelt inscription, and now, a mention that he had her poster hung around his place. She highly doubted that he had any personal picture of hers still in his possession, not to mention a poster. While he was a Metalmen fan, Veronika highly doubted that he was her fan. He might’ve been, in the past, but now it was uncomfortable and rather abhorrent to even conceive that Arkadiy would be an admirer of hers, even if for her quidditch skills exclusively.

The fact that he was making jokes though, along with his casual demeanour, made Veronika ponder on whether Arkadiy had already went past the phase of being uncomfortable when around her, or when seeing pictures of her. She had always just assumed they would be equally tense around each other, but now Veronika found her belief being contradicted. True, he got married, and quite quickly, but the quidditch player genuinely wondered if Arkadiy was over the fact that they were related, and had a relationship without knowing. For a moment, she felt as if she was the childish one, still finding the fact rough to deal with. Veronika had always been aware that the wizard was older than her, and obviously more mature in many ways, but she had never felt this huge gap between them before. Maybe his outgoing nature was more helpful in such situations, in comparison with her own introversion.

Veronika sighed, and took a sip out of her champagne, deciding that it was already far beyond the point when she’d desired to remain sober. The discussion also moved on from his marriage, so she could drink without worrying that she’d leave a different kind of impression. She finished her champagne in one go, the glass quickly refilling itself as the witch placed it back on the table.

She had paid attention to Arkadiy’s reaction as his eyes fell on Mateusz. Veronika nodded in disapproval as she’s noticed his smirk, taking a sip out of her newly refilled champagne. Truthfully, she was sure that he’d react in such a manner. He probably did catch on to her, for, in the end, she did her best to bring with her someone that would surely shadow Arkadiy, both in looks and reputation. Her trying too hard was obvious, but who even cared. Only Arkadiy probably vaguely knew the reason why she’s brought Mateusz over, whereas for the others, she obviously had the best partner ever that night. In the eyes of their family, she’s clearly won.

“It was inevitable.” She commented, nonchalantly. “We were close before, so it was bound to happen. Me bringing him to a family event.” It wasn’t as if Veronika would tell that her and Mat weren’t anything more than friends. He was her date for the night in the end, so obviously she would show that off. She would naturally make sure her debt would be paid towards the Polish as well. A smirk appeared on her face, Veronika’s eyes narrowing with slight hatred as she gazed at her aunts, as they clearly didn't grasp the notions of morality and decency. She felt embarrassed that Mateusz had to deal with them, the worst trio of her family.

It seemed that Arkadiy was on the same page as her. However, upon hearing his comment that he wouldn’t go talk to one of them even if their skirt were on fire, Veronika burst into laughter. She was genuinely amused, her laugh being both sincere and crystal-clear. Vera hadn’t laughed at his earlier  remarks because she’d felt conflicted about them being related, but it was also a matter of time until she would actually laugh, as truth be told, she had always found Arkadiy to be one of the funniest and smartest men she’s met. He was absolutely hilarious. She placed her right hand above her mouth, Veronika trying as much as possible not to attract too much attention.

“You are so funny.” She said between two laughs, later on taking a sip out of her champagne, to force herself to calm down. However, his words had not only been hilarious, but also true. One could not pay her enough to be in the presence of her aunts. She sighed, her gaze turning towards Arkadiy as he mentioned Ulyana Lvovna's son. “Vasiliy Filippovich.” Veronika commented, revealing the name he didn’t remember.

“Yes!” She replied, enthusiastically. “Actually, matushka ran into him at that potions shop in Sankt Petersburg, you know, the one owned by that wizard who divorced seven times and is now seventy-four, but his wife is nineteen. Anyway – “ Veronika recollected her thoughts. “ – Vasiliy Filippovich was also there, to get a freshly brewed potion. And he had a stroller. Matushka thought he had some sort of illegitimate child, because it was so luxurious; made out of gold, and had the finest of silks, the pram.” She mentioned the stroller again, just to make sure she would emphasise on the ridiculousness of the situation. “And yet, matushka did not see a child in it, but a goat. The goat.”

Her eyes slightly narrowed once again, still not believing this had happened in reality. “And even more, he took out the goat, and presented it as his precious. He even required Tamara Nikolayevna – “ her youngest sibling “ – to give it a hug.” She shrugged, feeling shivers down her spine once more, the first time being the previous night, when her matushka had told her about this entire happening. “And… “ She drew a bit closer to Arkadiy, to let out in a whisper. Her aunt was still relatively close, so Veronika couldn’t risk being overheard by her. “Apparently, he also took the goat to that vodka pool club in Krasnoyarsk. He put a diamond collar and everything on the poor creature.”

Veronika nodded in disapproval, and took another sip out of her champagne. “But this is nothing compared to what Aleksandrina Lvovna’s daughter’s done. Did you hear about that one?”

He wasn’t necessarily surprised that Veronika Nikolayevna laughed at his joke, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting her to join in with him, especially not with such vigor. He could feel the smugness seeping out of his pours, and he had to bring his drink up to his mouth to make his smirk a little less noticeable. But the vodka only made his grin wider. “I am.” Funny, that is. She wasn’t wrong.

“Vasiliy Filippovich, of course.” He waved his hand to indicate that he had known that all along, that he was committing it to memory, but surely he would just forget it in another two seconds. He leaned in as Vera had her own bit of gossip to offer, resting his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. He gasped at the pauses in her story, shaking his head in disbelief and repeating the word “Gold!” His hand met his forehead as Arkasha leaned back in his chair.

Arkasha was shaking his head. “The goat. My god.” He took a quick swallow of his drink. This was too much, really. Surely every family had one of those people, but why did his own family have to have this particular one? And apparently she wasn’t done with the story, either. “No. He. Did. Not.” Arkasha emphasized every word, his mouth hanging slightly at the unbelievability of it all.

He leaned in again, matching his cousin’s body language, steeling himself for what was surely the best part of the whole encounter. “Nooo.” His eyes were wide as he processed this new information -- he also couldn’t wait to pass it on to his mamochka; she loved hearing how people were embarrassing themselves. “But wait,” he started again, leaning away slightly so he wouldn’t be forced to whisper. “Do we know the goat’s proper name? I think that would be the most important part of it.”

Arkasha drank when Vera did, though he took a much longer sip of his, as she was already speaking again before he had finished. “Lev Stepanovich?” He thought that was the right one. “Is he the one with the hump? No,” he cut himself off, glancing around to make sure the man in question wasn’t in the immediate vicinity. “That’s Vasiliy Mikhailovich.”

He finished his glass and in the lull between the automatic refills, he looked back up. “Do tell, Nika.”

“Krasotka.” Veronika replied reluctantly, particularly because such a pet-name had never escaped her mouth, not even when talking to her youngest sister. Yet, there she was, openly stating it for it was Vasiliy Filippovich’s goat’s name. She straightened her back and elegantly sketched a sarcastic smile, later on taking on another sip out of her glass. The story-telling had been interesting enough, but, at the end of the day, knowing there was such an individual in one’s family, let it be very extended family, was discomforting. Clearly, she got all the best genes. Veronika didn’t regret depriving others of the minimum amount of intelligence and a proper genetic baggage though, if she was going to shine.

“She’s rejected both of them actually. Aleksandrina Lvovna’s daughter. Both Lev Stepanovich and Vasiliy Mikhailovich.” The quidditch player smirked, as she nodded in disapproval. Aleksandrina Lvovna’s daughter was indeed one of the most beautiful female cousins she had, however, as any entitled mother, Aleksandrina Lvovna didn’t approve of any wizard who courted her daughter. Rumour had it the daughter – while encouraged by their aunt – had set both of her pretenders on fire, using some sort of curse that even now, whenever either got less than ten meters close to her, the fire would magically reappear all over their bodies. It was an especially nice brand of magic, Vera had to give her that. But, of course, imagining both Lev Stepanovich and Vasiliy Mikhailovich running around whilst on fire was quite amusing. She couldn’t wait to share her amusement with Arkadiy Maksimovich.

But then he called her Nika.

Upon hearing the nickname come out of his mouth, Veronika froze, her gaze immediately turning to her champagne glass. There was only one person that has ever called her Nika, and that was him. When they were dating, when they were close, when they didn’t know they were related. She took a deep breath, smoothly uncrossing her legs, while gracefully placing her glass on the table. Veronika didn’t know how she especially felt about Arkadiy Maksimovich calling her in such a way again. If anything, she knew it was awkward, and too soon. Way too soon. She’s let her guard down because he was as funny and pleasant as always, however, Vera now reprimanded herself for it. He was her cousin. It was repulsing.

It irked her that she seemed to be the only one uncomfortable. He seemed to be so effortlessly smooth, detached, and entertaining. She hated it. She hated him. And if he felt so comfortable calling her by the nickname only he’s used for her, then she’d be damned if she wouldn’t do the exact same. Veronika wouldn’t let Arkadiy Maksimovich believe he had the upper hand.

“I’d love to stay more and chat, but I do have to tend to my partner.” Her date. She was definitely going to complain to Mateusz for leaving her alone. In the end, she’s invited him just so this wouldn’t happen. Veronika turned her gaze towards Arkadiy and smiled, succeeding in seeming more genuine than she’d even desired. “But it’s been fun.” Veronika got up, gently arranging her dress in the process. She placed her hand on the back of his chair, and bent over, to whisper in his ear once more. “I hope you have a good New Year, Arkashenka.”

With that said, Veronika turned around, and approached her aunts, to salvage her date from their inquisition. She was definitely going to avoid Arkadiy Maksimovich for all the remaining duration of the night, even if she had to use Mateusz as her personal shield.

[[out]]

“Krasotka,” Arkasha repeated, rolling his eyes. “That’s vile.” He did, of course, use such cute names for his wife, but last time he checked, his wife was not a goat. She had at one time wanted to have a pet goat, but he had managed to talk her into waiting until they didn’t live in the city -- and he wasn’t planning on leaving city life behind any time soon. “Oh, wow.” He leaned in and shook his head. There was no stopping the madness this family got themselves into. Of course, he had been responsible for some, once upon a time, but thankfully he (and the other person involved) didn’t advertise their shortcomings.

The mood shifted, quite suddenly, and Arkasha was at a loss for words. The words he had just said resonated in his mind, but the vodka was clouding up his brain. He must have misheard himself. He did not call her Nika.

He had.

Arkasha arrived at his conclusion just as Vera had begun speaking again, excusing herself from the conversation and, hopefully, his life. He shook his head the tiniest bit, hoping that would serve as an apology, barely processing what she was saying to him. She must know that he hadn’t said it on purpose, most assuredly wasn’t thinking they were still that close; they had to be on the same page about this all. It was miracle enough that they hadn’t both wretched when they had first laid eyes on each other that evening.

He cleared his throat as Vera stood. “Such a pleasure,” he agreed with a nod, honestly surprised that she was being this calm. He felt the tug of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, that maybe, just maybe, he had bothered her so much with his comment that she had been rendered utterly speechless. Or, well, speechless enough.

But she leaned in and whispered a final sentence, effectively wiping that smirk off of his face. Arkashenka. He shivered, a bad taste in his mouth. That was a name reserved for the women he knew very well and those women in his family, his mother, his grandmother; normally, those two groups of women were mutually exclusive, but Vera’s use of it now brought it to the surface that they had once crossed a very firm and very repulsive line.

He stood as soon as she had exited his personal space, downing his glass in two swallows before scanning the crowd for his wife.

[[ thread ]]