![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xifengWhee, an update! Hurrah!
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
daily15, again, though I promise I am working on some longer fic. (That isn't done yet, so you can't see it.) Word of the day was "humble". Anna, and some swearing.
Elizaveta Mikhailovna thunders into the building; when the young revolutionaries who man the doorways, stern and sober, ask her for her identification, she snarls something about her daughter working upstairs and can't they make the revolutionary system work for God's sake. After a quick referendum and a couple of pointed questions, which alternately confuse her and make her belligerent, they determine that the daughter is iron Anna, and send a messenger up for her.
"Is she soused off her ass?" Anna says, not looking up from the pile of paperwork she's sorting out.
"Well, possibly, but I suppose she could be crazy, or that--"
"We're talking about a very tall woman, right? Also very heavy? Somewhat Tatar-looking?"
"Hit the nail on the head."
"That would be my mother. Send Mama up, won't you? There's really nothing to be afraid of." Anna taps the drawer of her desk, looking her comrade in the eye. "I can still fire a pistol, even with my left hand."
Lizka, inevitably, is already thundering up the stairs; Anna signals for the door to be shut behind her, and when they're both quite alone, Lizka grabs for a chair and manages to lower herself into it, quite by accident. She glowers at Anna; they don't, at first glance, look alike. Where Lizka is tall and heavy, Anna is petite and of average height, but the two share the same features, and the same iron will.
"I've found you at last," Lizka says sharply. "What have you to say for yourself?"
"The phrase that comes to mind is get fucked," Anna says.
"You bloodthirsty little ingrate! You've already imprisoned, shot, or sent into exile half the people we know, and now you'll turn your back on your own mother, I suppose."
"How touching of you to remind me. It was you who turned your back on me, if you remember. Abdication of responsibility was always one of your finer character traits."
Lizka's lips are pursed, her eyes wide, her face tomato-red; she storms over to Anna's desk, and for a moment Anna is afraid that Lizka will pick up the table and turn it over into her lap. There are important papers among the mess; they can't get ruined. Instead, Lizka brings one of her huge fists down with a loud BANG! on the table; Anna half-expects to find the wood splintered. "You heartless little cunt!" Lizka stage-whispers.
Anna has heard louder noises since the revolution, and she is no longer cowed by her mother. She sits, motionless and poker-faced, staring at her mother; Lizka cannot bear the scrutiny of those terrible pale eyes, and backs away a few steps.
"I suppose I deserved that," Lizka says quietly. "But if you can't come home for me, perhaps you could think of your brother and sisters. They still need you."
"You still need me to watch them so you can get plastered, you mean."
"I didn't come here to be insulted, Anna."
"No, you came here in the hopes that I would abjectly humble myself before you, prostrate myself on the carpet, and lick your toes like a grateful puppy. And I'm not going for it, so now you're angry. You've really no idea how transparent you are, do you?"
This works Lizka up into a rage, and she whirls like a dervish, kicking at the legs of Anna's table, at the old furniture that was expropriated along with the house, at the door-jamb. She makes a lot of noise so doing, and Anna hears footsteps on the stairs.
"Comrades!" she calls to the boys who poke their heads in, wide-eyed. "My mother is suffering one of her attacks. Escort her out, please."
After Lizka has gone, she rings Lev, half-crying.
Next up: no doubt more of the same. XD
daily15, again, though I promise I am working on some longer fic. (That isn't done yet, so you can't see it.) Word of the day was "humble". Anna, and some swearing.Elizaveta Mikhailovna thunders into the building; when the young revolutionaries who man the doorways, stern and sober, ask her for her identification, she snarls something about her daughter working upstairs and can't they make the revolutionary system work for God's sake. After a quick referendum and a couple of pointed questions, which alternately confuse her and make her belligerent, they determine that the daughter is iron Anna, and send a messenger up for her.
"Is she soused off her ass?" Anna says, not looking up from the pile of paperwork she's sorting out.
"Well, possibly, but I suppose she could be crazy, or that--"
"We're talking about a very tall woman, right? Also very heavy? Somewhat Tatar-looking?"
"Hit the nail on the head."
"That would be my mother. Send Mama up, won't you? There's really nothing to be afraid of." Anna taps the drawer of her desk, looking her comrade in the eye. "I can still fire a pistol, even with my left hand."
Lizka, inevitably, is already thundering up the stairs; Anna signals for the door to be shut behind her, and when they're both quite alone, Lizka grabs for a chair and manages to lower herself into it, quite by accident. She glowers at Anna; they don't, at first glance, look alike. Where Lizka is tall and heavy, Anna is petite and of average height, but the two share the same features, and the same iron will.
"I've found you at last," Lizka says sharply. "What have you to say for yourself?"
"The phrase that comes to mind is get fucked," Anna says.
"You bloodthirsty little ingrate! You've already imprisoned, shot, or sent into exile half the people we know, and now you'll turn your back on your own mother, I suppose."
"How touching of you to remind me. It was you who turned your back on me, if you remember. Abdication of responsibility was always one of your finer character traits."
Lizka's lips are pursed, her eyes wide, her face tomato-red; she storms over to Anna's desk, and for a moment Anna is afraid that Lizka will pick up the table and turn it over into her lap. There are important papers among the mess; they can't get ruined. Instead, Lizka brings one of her huge fists down with a loud BANG! on the table; Anna half-expects to find the wood splintered. "You heartless little cunt!" Lizka stage-whispers.
Anna has heard louder noises since the revolution, and she is no longer cowed by her mother. She sits, motionless and poker-faced, staring at her mother; Lizka cannot bear the scrutiny of those terrible pale eyes, and backs away a few steps.
"I suppose I deserved that," Lizka says quietly. "But if you can't come home for me, perhaps you could think of your brother and sisters. They still need you."
"You still need me to watch them so you can get plastered, you mean."
"I didn't come here to be insulted, Anna."
"No, you came here in the hopes that I would abjectly humble myself before you, prostrate myself on the carpet, and lick your toes like a grateful puppy. And I'm not going for it, so now you're angry. You've really no idea how transparent you are, do you?"
This works Lizka up into a rage, and she whirls like a dervish, kicking at the legs of Anna's table, at the old furniture that was expropriated along with the house, at the door-jamb. She makes a lot of noise so doing, and Anna hears footsteps on the stairs.
"Comrades!" she calls to the boys who poke their heads in, wide-eyed. "My mother is suffering one of her attacks. Escort her out, please."
After Lizka has gone, she rings Lev, half-crying.
Next up: no doubt more of the same. XD
