Katerina nods once to Ivan, saying, yes, she truly does want him speaking. It’s a strange feeling: all the anticipation for D’mitri’s arrival, the nights spent up and out of bed because Katerina knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep for all her whirling thoughts. Practicing cooking for him, cleaning up after herself, spending far too much time in the morning in front of her mirror. A lot of chaos it seemed like, waiting, day dreaming of how to spend her days with her D’mitri. Yet here they sit together, close on the couch, and she insists his brother speak. What is this? A sudden shyness? My, wouldn’t that be out of character! Katerina has spent months teaching herself how to be and act in his presence, and it feels as though all the modeling came undone as she spent more time with Ivan. She has been her self around him, overly chatty, a little needy. And Ivan, her Striking Ivan, has let her be this whole time, letting her be herself. She’s more… she’s more… Why! She’s been more comfortable with him around! She’d be so nervous if it was to be just her and her D’mitri, having lost all the things she wanted to be in his presence. She’d need time, that’s all, just a little bit of time, to relearn her self. Yes, in just a little time it can be just the two of them.
For now, though, he will be relied upon, her Striking Ivan. She’ll need them to get along—at least a little—if she wants to keep Ivan as a crutch. It shouldn’t be for too long, really. Few days at most. Probably. Maybe. Katerina lifts the plate of cookies closer to D’mitri so he doesn’t have to reach his long self so far across the table. Alyosha—he wouldn’t mind if she called him that would he? No, no, surely not, not when he sounds so dear—is something of interest to her, someone she wants D’mitri to meet. He seems kind hearted and sensible and could be a good influence on her D’mitri. Ivan’s warning words the week before have not left her, no not once, and she’ll do everything she can to help D’mitri with his… personal flaws.
Setting the plate back down as D’mitri addresses her, her eyebrows raise high in surprise before an unexpected smile pulls the apples in her cheeks high. “Why, of course!” Her smile less than acceptable for a refined lady, yet more real when she turns to Ivan. “But of course he is! Oh but I knew that within moments of meeting him, you know,” she adds lifting her too big teacup to her painted lips. “I mean,” she amends, “I did not know all of that,” gesturing her hand to mean everything he had just listed, “But I knew your talent with words right away, most certainly right a way. You can’t hide vocabulary or grammar, you know? Men who speak well can usually write well.” Both hands cradle her large teacup, warming her finger tips. Her finger tips are always cold, you know. “Ivan has the best speaking mannerisms, I think, so therefore must be the best writer.” Another sip, a small laugh. “So, no no, I am not surprised at all to hear you have many more things you are good at. I’m not surprised at all by how much you impress others!”
Katerina hesitates before removing one of her hands from her warm cup and resting it on D’mitri’s knee. “You’re so lucky you’ve met so late in live, you know.” Her tone is light, joking. “If you both were still children, you would have to refine yourself, darling, so you could be someone for Ivan to look up to! Oh, what a person you would have to be!” The imagery of D’mitri in at a university with a monocle—for sure a man like that would have to have monocle—brings a musical laughter out of her. So much so, she sets her tea down to avoid spilling on herself.