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Anastasia’s expression hardened, cold blue eyes fixed on the man who dared to taunt him with such audacity. The man’s rancid ale-scented breath and the sight of his rotting, yellowed teeth only fueled the anger simmering beneath Ana’s composed exterior. He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone turned sharper, cutting through the haze of the tavern like a blade. - “What was that?” Ana said, his voice low and biting. His words were deliberate, each syllable laced with quiet menace. “Go on. The crowd would love to hear what you have to say.” - He stepped closer, the movement smooth and calculated, forcing the man to crane his neck upward to meet his gaze. Leaning in slightly, Ana dropped his voice so low it barely carried beyond the man’s ears, each word slicing through the air with chilling precision. - “I’ve trained six years of my life in this city. Six years of learning how to take men apart—piece by bloody piece. My right hand alone has the grip to crush every bone in both of yours, and if you so much as think about touching her again, I will make sure those hands of yours never touch anything ever again. Do you understand?” - Ana straightened slowly, the subtle shift in his posture exuding an unspoken dominance. His hand fell from the man’s shoulder with deliberate care, as though discarding something unpleasant. He wiped it casually on the side of his trousers, his expression twisting into a faint sneer of disgust. - “You should leave,” he said, his voice loud enough now to be heard clearly. “Go home, if you have one. Or pass out in the gutter. It makes no difference to me, as long as you’re gone.” - Ana turned his attention back to the young woman, his sharp eyes softening slightly as they met hers, and then back to the man's, ready to slam his head against the table if he didn't go quickly. But, really, Ana knew that he was intimidating enough that that threat would have sent chills through even his father's spine. Along with six years of combat training, Anastasia had spent most of his life learning how to make a perfect threat that got anyone he wanted off of his back. - It came in handy. |
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The words had unfazed Josephine. It wasn't the first time she'd been called such nor would it be the last. It was the double-edged blade of his voice that caused tension to rise in her veins. It wasn't the bad kind, though- Oh no, it was the beginnings of excitement riling her up.
As for the drunk man, he'd began to cower, his head shaking furiously as he refused to repeat the words previously spoken. It was likely a swell choice. The tavern's attention slowly zeroed in on them, the disturbance attracting curious onlookers. "N-No, I take it back. I'm sorry-" He insisted, the gruffness in his voice cracking into a pitiful whine.
As the man looked upwards, Josephine half expected for him to wet himself out of fear, but instead he stood there shaking in his boots. She could tell by the look on his face that he was listening to the man's every word, fear increasing by the second. She couldn't exactly hear what was spoken, but she didn't need to. Seeing the terror on the drunk's face was enough for her to imply things.
Once the man straightened away, the drunkard continued cowering, inching away slowly to give Josephine a wider berth than before. "Aye, I understand.. Please don't hurt me," he begged, his voice low and ashamed as he bowed his head. The stranger had shown all the dominance needed, staking his claim as the momentary protector of this girl. Josie watched calmly, allowing this man to step in for her, no matter how bad she hated to be a damsel in distress. If she was to survive in this outside world, she'd have to let go of her pride and allow someone to take up for her from time to time.
The drunk nodded, letting loose of more nervous rambling and stammers, his bulky form shaking in his very boots. He looked at Jo but she was too busy watching the other, her stony eyes piercing into him as he picked apart the type of person he was piece by piece. The look only softened in return when the man looked at her and perhaps even a small smile twitched at the corners of her lips.
The drunk seemed to snap into action once that sharp gaze turned to him again, and with in seconds he was scrambling away from that corner table. Josephine's eyes followed him all the way out, never leaving until the man stumbled out of the tavern door, nearly falling face first as he did. With a scoff like laugh, she returned her gaze to the stranger still before her.
"I believe thanks are in order. Can I buy you a drink?" She asked, her arms crossing over her chest. It was the least she could do for his efforts, but of course she wouldn't persist if he denied her. The way he'd handled the drunk ensured her that he was not a man to be fucked with. |
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Anastasia watched the man stumble out into the cold night, his movements clumsy and hurried. A flicker of annoyance crossed Ana’s face, though it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. His attention shifted back to the woman, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers with steady focus. He made a point of keeping his gaze respectful, trained only on her face, offering her the dignity that had been so sorely lacking from her previous encounter. - "I don't drink," he said coolly, his tone matter-of-fact but not unkind. "But I thank you for the offer." - His words were accompanied by a faint inclination of his head, a gesture that was both polite and final. He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping across the room to his table. Quartz was watching him now, an amused expression playing on his face as though he knew exactly what Ana was thinking. Vincent, however, looked utterly baffled, gesturing wildly as he continued his story, only to realize that no one was paying him any mind. - Ana allowed himself a faint smirk. Vincent was one of the reasons he didn’t drink. The thought of ending up like him—a loud, stumbling mess needing to be slung over someone’s shoulder and carried home—was enough to deter him. That, and he couldn’t stand the bitter taste of ale. Of course, in time, Ana would come to appreciate vodka, and it would become the only alcoholic drink he ever touched. But tonight, as always, Anastasia would remain resolutely sober. - He returned his attention to the woman, his expression softening slightly as he regarded her with curiosity. “I would like to know,” he began, his voice quieter now but no less firm, “what a pretty, wealthy-looking girl like yourself is doing in a place like Razaviv.” His gaze briefly swept over her attire—fine fabrics and delicate embroidery that set her apart from the rougher crowd around them. “Frankly, I don’t think anyone should be here, least of all someone who’s a walking magnet for drunk maniacs like him.” - He nodded toward the door, where the man had made his clumsy exit, his lips curving into a small, rare smile. It wasn’t forced or rehearsed—it was genuine, a flicker of warmth cutting through the usual coolness of his demeanor. The expression softened the sharp lines of his face, making him look a little less intimidating and a little more human. - For a moment, he simply stood there, his posture relaxed but his gaze unwavering, waiting for her response. The noise of the tavern buzzed faintly in the background, but for Anastasia, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. |
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Josephine respected this man. In a city of thieves and mischief, he'd come to the rescue of some woman he didn't even know. And for what? If he wanted something he'd have already requested it. Not to mention, he didn't look at her like some piece of meat ready for the taking. She knew well what most men thought of her. A pretty face wrapped up in a luxurious bow that was just waiting to be taken. She had expected this man to be another ruffian of the sorts, but he was a perfect gentleman towards her so far.
"Of course. Nothing wrong with that,"'she answered just as kindly, her head dipping politely.
Josephine was by no means one to get drunk, but she had a tolerance to alcohol stronger than that of most men. Her tastes leaned more towards fine wine, but it hadn't been a commodity at the tavern, so she settled for ale. The taste was definitely an acquired one, but she didn't mind it, even in its bitterness. She rarely overindulged, but in the case that she did, Josephine was a horridly sleepy drunk. Unless there was someone to keep her entertained and moving, she would surely fall asleep on the nearest surface.
As he began to voice his curiosities, her head tilted a tad to the left, sending a few bouncing curls sliding into her face. She hung onto every word, a grin threatening to break the stony exterior of her face. Pretty and wealthy she was, but if only he knew to what extent. She hadn't even thought about a cover story as to why a "delicate" thing such as herself would come to Razaviv. The rowdy, lustful men had been the least of her worries while she was making her escape, and being as stubborn as she was, she believed she'd be able to protect herself against the less than desirable thoughts of men.
"A girl has her reasons," She began, giving him a sly wink as though to further the sense of the unknown around her. Her true cause would remain a mystery. Razaviv was still close enough to Ravaryn that Geralt could catch wind of her appearance there and in turn capture her before she could flee.
Upon the sight of his smile, one of her own finally crept free of its prison. It too was genuine and warm, and even her icy grey eyes seemed to light up with fondness. "I'm passing through, mainly. Razaviv was supposed to just be a stop while I decided where to go next," she explained, gesturing to her little map that resided on the table that she'd been sitting at. For a moment, she'd forgotten that the others existed, some of their gazes still lingering on the pair.
"I would ask what a striking man such as yourself would be doing here, but I must say the rugged atmosphere seems well suited to you," she mused, glancing around the tavern finally. It was slowly beginning to return to its uplifted, giddy atmosphere, but as much as she wanted to experience that excitement for herself, Josephine was much too entranced by him. |
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She intrigued him. There was something in the way she held herself—poised yet guarded—that set her apart. The air of mystery surrounding her was like an itch Anastasia couldn’t scratch. It captivated him, drawing him in, but it also irked him to no end. Ana had always been insatiably curious, a trait that served him well in most endeavors, but it often made secrets an unbearable torment. Still, he knew better than to bombard her with questions. She’d been through enough already tonight, and the last thing she needed was a nosy royal pestering her for details. - “A traveler, then?” he mused aloud, his voice thoughtful as he shifted his weight and leaned casually against the wall of the tavern, just beside her table. He crossed his arms over his chest, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as he studied her. “Where are you from? I’d guess Basille, with that adventurous spark of yours. But no, that doesn’t feel right. Probably somewhere bigger—more northern than Basille, I think.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering over her as though trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re definitely not local. The people around here would have eaten you alive by now.” - He let the words hang in the air, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a jab, just a simple, matter-of-fact observation about the roughness of Razaviv and its inhabitants. His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he shifted, glancing upward at the ceiling. His head rested against the wall as he let out a low hum, mulling over her earlier question. - “I suppose Razaviv does suit me,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “It has its own charm, in a way. Not the kind of charm that draws in the faint-hearted, though.” His lips twitched into a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Better than where I grew up, by my standard. Though I suppose most would call me lucky to have grown up how I did.” - He fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. The faint crease in his brow hinted at something darker lurking beneath his composed exterior. Memories of his childhood flickered unbidden in his mind, and with them, the shadow of his father’s presence. Even with my lovely father, he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening for the briefest of moments. But he pushed the thought away before it could darken his mood any further. It wasn’t worth voicing—not now, not here. - Instead, he exhaled softly and let his gaze fall back to her, his expression smoothing into something unreadable yet calm. |
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Josephine found herself entralled, biting lightly at her lower lip as she so often did. He was the very man she'd always dreamt of meeting- of being, even. Capable and strong, dangerous and calm. It was as though he twisted the threads of fate himself. She reveled in his curiosity and the way that he didn't scratch at her walls. He was nearly her perfect match in that manner. She had questions filling her mind to the brim, all that she wished answered. In time perhaps they would be, as something in the back of her mind swore to her that this would not be the last meeting she had with this mysterious fellow. Still, she had things she couldn't share and their encounter had her slowly filling in the gaps that so desperately needed to be filled. The last thing she needed was anyone discovering her status. "Mm. You could say that being a home body didn't suit by best interest any longer," she told him, sliding her nimble fingers through the handle of her tankard. She rose it to her lips, her depthful eyes studying him as she drank quietly. The tankard returned to its spot on her table with a quiet thud as a smile graced her blushing lips. "Basille was a good guess, but you'd be correct to think more northern of me. I'm afraid that adventure you sense is just fueled by one too many books of fiction," she chuckled, the sound soft and sweet like honey. She knew that Razaviv didn't appear to be as welcoming to an unknown woman of supposed noble birth. They were wary of her with good reason. "Ravaryn. The southern most area to be more exact," she finally answered, deciding to tell truth in her little lie. The palace resided in the northern region, but saying she hailed from that close would be a mistake.
As he leaned his head back against the wall, she studied him further, watching the way his adam's apple delicately bobbed before stilling. The way his hair brushed over his neck, fluttering faintly with the draft. She nearly dared to think he had a royal sort of beauty, but it was too ironic to think that she could be staring at someone else with royal blood in a place like Razaviv.
Josephine hummed lightly, nodding in response. He didn't seem to be a man who was faint hearted anyways. She had to admit though, Razaviv had a particular pull that kept her intrigued. "As would most say the same to me. What we are given is not what we are always meant to have or where we're to remain, however. At least, that's what I believe," she commented, her voice nearly forlorn as she broke her gaze from his ethereal features.
Home seemed to be a sore subject for the both of them. It was a subject that she wouldn't be lingering on either, not when it threatened to have a cloud of darkness descend upon them. As she felt his gaze on her again, she met that cold and calm look with one of her own.
"What's your name, stranger? I'd like to put a name to such a remarkable face," she questioned, breaking the silence in an attempt to banish the dark mood that had began approaching. |
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Her words lingered in his mind, echoing softly. Anastasia couldn't help but admire her perspective—it was rare to meet someone with thoughts that felt both sharp and genuine. - Smart words. Smart girl. - “You seem like the type,” he began, his tone measured but touched with amusement, “to think adventure doesn’t live in you but somewhere outside of you. Still, traveling from Ravaryn to Razaviv? That’s adventurous in my eyes.” He let out a soft chuckle, leaning just slightly closer. “If not completely stupid. But I’m sure you have your reasons. Especially if you’re just passing through.” - When she asked for his name, his thoughts drifted, weighing his options. Just a nickname, perhaps? Or would something more formal feel appropriate here? Anastasia had learned long ago that names carried weight, especially his. They could open doors—or close them permanently. - “I’d normally lie while in Razaviv,” he admitted, his voice low but laced with a subtle edge of humor. “My name tends to earn me knives aimed at my neck. But…” He paused, his gaze flickering to hers, gauging her. “…you don’t seem like the type to do something like that.” - He straightened slightly, offering her a small, faintly mischievous smile. “It’s Anastasia Volkova, of Yamiire.” He let the name hang in the air for a moment, as if testing how it sounded between them. “And you must be the Magnificent Woodswoman of Ravaryn?” - The joke was subtle but deliberate, a light tease to see if she’d rise to it. For the first time in what felt like ages, Anastasia felt… normal. Not burdened by duty, not haunted by his father’s shadow. Just himself. It was a startling realization—this sense of lightness, this flicker of genuine emotion. - Of course, he wouldn’t let himself get carried away. He knew exactly why this felt different. His father wasn’t here, looming over him like a specter. - But even so, he found himself leaning into the moment, letting the rare flicker of joy settle comfortably in his chest. |
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Josephine laughed, holding her ground even as he leaned closer. A bold man he was. Even bolder to suggested that her actions were stupid, which in truth they were. "Well, consider me an adventurer then. I suppose some childhood dreams do come true," she mused, a smirk curling up the corner of her lips. "After tonight I'll be on my way to a new adventure," she added, her voice softening at the thought. She knew not where would be decently safe or how even to make a living away from Ravaryn. Everything had been handed to her all of her life.. Sure, she'd picked up some questionable talents along the way, but they wouldn't be enough to keep her safe.
Pickpocketing and reselling her finds would earn her some coin, but it was risky. She could get caught and be put in jail or lose a hand at worst. She could hunt for pelts to sell, but... She didn't like to think about the bloody consequences.
At his little joke, she smirked, letting it be her turn to lean closer as she watched him, mischief flickering in her stony orbs. "Oh no, my dear. Not I. Not with knives at least..." She trailed off, her tone light hearted as she focused up at him. "I prefer stringed instruments myself," she added, leaning back before shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
The sound of his name made her straighten, her eyes narrowing as his name rung into her ears. "Anastasia Volkova.." she murmured, the words rolling off her tongue in a sickly sweet manner. She knew that name.... But how? It tasted foreign on her tongue, but it dug into her memory like a fresh wound. She pushed it aside, figuring it wasn't worth the trouble of trying to remember. He'd already given her a proper impression of himself.
"I really must say that you are a wonderful guess! You've nearly hit the nail on the head," She said, a hint of dramatic effect in her tone. She poised herself once more, dipping her head to him as she lowered into a small curtsy. "Josephine Winslow," she returned, straightening her legs after a moment. She wouldn't give her entire real name. Hastings was well known to be the surname of royalty in Ravaryn, and anyone familiar with the area would surely sniff out who she was within a matter of moments.
It had been a long time since Josephine had felt so connected with another being. She almost hated to tell him these little white lies, but it was a necessary evil. She didn't wish to be found again, and if lying to a potential ally was what it took, then she'd do it until she knew whether or not she could fully trust him.
"Do you intend to stay in Razaviv? Or is this just one stop for you as well?" She questioned, letting her finally curiosity for the time free from its cage. Perhaps the woman also wished to know how much longer she'd have to enjoy such an intriguing presence... |
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"Josephine," Anastasia said, testing the name on his tongue as he cast another glance at his two friends. Quartz was doing his best to comfort Vince, who was now sprawled dramatically across the table, mumbling a string of complaints that Ana couldn’t quite catch. Quartz, looking particularly exasperated, caught Ana’s eye and silently mouthed the word help. - Ana sighed, lips twitching in amusement. “A beautiful name,” he said finally, turning his attention back to the girl in front of him. “Hebrew, isn’t it? They’ve come up with some odd ones over the years, but this one… I like it. Something good came out of it at least.” - “I’m here as long as they want to stay,” he murmured, tilting his head in the direction of Quartz and Vince. His tone was fond but carried an undercurrent of weariness. “Or, you know, until my guard decides to track me down and haul me back to Yamiire. Whichever comes first. Although…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair, “…I’d really like to stay a few more nights. Father’s going to drag me home soon enough and start up the same damned conversation about marriage. Again.” - Ana’s voice took on a sharper edge, the kind born from exhaustion rather than anger. “I don’t know why I have to beat it into his head with a rock that I’m not interested. It doesn’t matter if it’s a man, a woman, or even a goddamned frog—if their name feels cold on my tongue and I’ve never even laid eyes on them before, I don’t want to marry them! It’s absurd.” - He exhaled deeply, glancing at Josephine with a fleeting expression of regret. “Sorry,” he muttered. “That’s not your problem, and here I am unloading on you like we’re old friends. You didn’t ask for this.” - Ana cleared his throat, forcing himself to refocus. “So,” he said after a moment, his tone a little gentler now. “You’re planning on staying the night in Razaviv, then skipping town in the morning? There’s a place you can stay—a safe one. Not one of these inns run by greasy degenerates like…” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the earlier chaos, “…well, like what you’ve already seen. Most of them are run by men who wouldn’t think twice about snatching up women to add to their… collection.” - He winced at the thought, his expression turning apologetic. “Sorry, but that’s the reality of it. And I’d rather make sure you don’t end up on that pile of… toys, for lack of a better word. If you’ll let me, I’ll take you somewhere better. Somewhere safe.” - He fell quiet, his words hanging in the air as he watched her closely, waiting for her response. |
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Spring 
Night 
Clear Moon: 
