katerinas (katerinas) wrote in antecedents, @ 2010-01-09 01:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | ivan karamazov, katerina verkhovtseva |
Katerina Verkhovtseva & Ivan Karamazov
Katerina sits quietly, her tea sitting in the wide mug, cold. Not a tea cup in the house, ‘house,’ not like any house she’s ever stayed in. This place is like no place she’s ever been, read about, ever heard long stories of. Katerina’s the curious type, the kind to wander around upstairs of a new friend’s manor, leaf through a school mate’s books, sift through a family member’s closest. She’s always been like that, always, and no one has ever told her not to. The rare moon occasion where she’s actually somewhere someone doesn’t want her to be, she’s always excused, pardoned. Let off any kind of hook very easily, the worst of the reprimanding being a slow wagging finger in her direction, with a smile and wink. Curiosity is nothing to be ashamed of but something to be nurtured and encouraged. In that sense, Katerina can be very child-like.
In this new place,
So she stays in their gracious hosts’ home, normally in her and Dear Lise’s room, perched near her window, looking out the plain, undecorative glass at such an angle that no one on the hard streets could see her, seeing them. Two days, Katerina’s spent her time like this. None of them have ventured out much, instead taking the time to readjust and to rest. After all,
Looking out that same window, she glares at the harsh unnatural light that comes from the tall, metal post. Not a lamp post. A street light. Might as well be day when you’re out on the streets this late, with all that white light. It makes it hard to sleep at night, adding to more reasons why she stays up so late. She keeps her lamp off, having fretted her hosts before when they found her awake at this time of night. These people have been nothing but good and kind, and she won’t inconvenience them. Katerina’s never been an inconvenience to anyone, not that she’s ever heard. An older couple, she and Dear Lise have been sharing their granddaughter’s room, Ivan in their study on a ‘futon’, which seems to be a strange couch that… unfolded into a bed, and finally Alyosha and Ratikin in the living room on that hide-away-thing. The study is the next room over, and she gathers her skirts as she climbs off the bed, padding her way over. The door isn’t closed but it isn’t open. The hall is dark but his light is on, and she starts to push at the door, with the barest of rapping. Noise is always so loud at night, why is that?
“Ivan?” Her hair is worn low for the sleep that never comes, and the curls spill over her shoulder as she pokes her head in further. “You’re awake, aren’t you?” She stares at him under her long lashes, nearly hiding halfway behind the door.