Nano. RolePlay

The new cathedral’s inauguration had been predictably magnificent. Obviously, the Bogomolovs had attended, as the dutiful members of the congregation they were. Yeva would probably have enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of the event if she hadn’t constantly been keeping a worried eye on Isaak, but some things couldn’t be helped. It would be a disaster if the boy’s inner demon were to show now, in such a dense crowd, but not taking him today was not an option. So here they were. Hopefully, the newly hallowed building would keep the demon at bay.

Either by miracle or sheer dumb luck, Yeva’s hopes came true and the ceremony unfolded without any disastrous transformation. The family the lingered outside of the cathedral long enough to speak to various friends and acquaintances, before mother and child left for the day’s next appointment. An execution was, in Yeva’s opinion, no spectacle for a child — or for her, for the matter — and visiting her pregnant and isolated friend was an excellent way to get out of having to watch such a gruesome show and to relieve said friend’s boredom.

With nearly all of Moscow having flocked to the new cathedral, the streets were virtually empty, which made the cab trip unusually short. Soon enough, they were in front of Oksana’s current residence and the door opened almost immediately after Yeva had rung the doorbell.

Good day, Mrs. Bogomolova, Oksana's maidservant Ludmilla said as the door opened onto the foyer. She had either been in the vicinity of the entry to open the door so quickly, or had been ordered to wait there by an impatient mistress. Knowing the mistress in question, the latter was certainly a possibility. Mrs. Sidorova is waiting for you in the drawing room. May I take your coat?

Between her overbearing in-laws and her forced confinement, Yeva could only imagine her friend’s impatience to see someone else, anyone. She thanked Ludmilla and handed her her coat and Isaak’s, as well as (unfortunately) his hat, gloves and scarf. The more parts of him were exposed, the greater the risk, but so be it. She then made her way to the drawing room, as she often had in the last few months.

Yeva ! she squealed with delight when she saw her best friend walk in. There was no way to hide her pregnancy anymore, no matter how tightly she laced her corset, and Oksana had thus quietly resigned to wear the maternity dresses her mother-in-law had prepared for her months ago. A tragedy for fashion to be sure, but at least it gave her a good reason to stay put and not attempt an escape from confinement. Oksana did not want to be seen. Do sit! And tell me how it all went. Was it grand? Did anything interesting happen? Oh, and please tell me the rumors are true and Polina did indeed show up with a foreigner?

One thing that had come with being one of Oksana’s only sources of gossip, is that Yeva had learned to pay much closer attention to things she would once have dismissed as uninteresting or none of her business. It may not be very moral, but it was for a good cause. And so she dutifully answered the start of a probably long stream of questions as she sat down, Isaak next to her. "It was grandiose, you’d think we were crowning a new tsar. That in itself was interesting, but there were no noteworthy incidents during the ceremony. And Polina did, indeed. I think he’s Greek if I’m not mistaken. It caused quite a commotion when they walked in."

I bet it did, she smirked, satisfied with the measly, little morsels of gossip Yeva fed her. She was starved for drama and scandals, and the gossip columns weren't cutting it anymore. I wish I'd been there to see her father's face! How's the foreigner? Is he good-looking at least? The answer would have to wait, as Ludmilla showed up again, armed with a very full platter of tea and cakes. A feast for a child! Or a pregnant woman with cravings.

A feast for a child indeed. After a questioning look to his mother, Isaak happily snatched one of the small cakes from the platter. Yeva, for her part, poured three cups of tea. "Her father refused to acknowledge either of them, it was somewhat awkward. I pitied her mother." She went on after making sure her son wasn’t making a mess with the crumbs. "He’s in his early thirties, his hair and complexion are a little too dark for me, but overall he’s not bad-looking. He doesn’t know how to dress properly, though."

"He doesn’t know how to dress properly" could mean a million things. Yeva was many things, but a fashionista surely not. Oksana had long since abandoned to convince her to be bolder in her fashion choices. Yeva would always be somewhat conservative. What does that mean? she continued, inviting her friend to share more details. Was he missing a hat? She was snarky but people tended to be forgiving towards a highly pregnant woman.

"No, but given the hat he wore, you’d think he was on his way to the North Pole." She took a sip of her tea before she went on: "And his clothes were… a mixture of furs more appropriate for a toundra trapper than for a Moscow citizen, multicoloured silks and shiny metallic accessories. It really clashed." Both with himself and his surroundings. His clothing drew almost as many whispers and frowned eyebrows than his identity.

I salute her nerve. I think my parents would've fainted at the sight of him on my arm. The attention would be enjoyable, of course, but a foreigner isn't a serious prospect, is he ? She sipped from her cup of tea, her gaze falling on her friend's well-behaved, tamed son.

"Not unless they elope, no." Or at least not this foreigner, considering how he had been welcomed (or unwelcome) and how unbothered by it he had been. "Yet at the same time her mere appearance with him has probably considerably reduced other prospects she might have had." It had escaped no one that she had deliberately opposed her parents and wanted to shock other acquaintances, and there are some who would think twice before proposing to someone who sought out scandals (even such a relatively minor one).

We should advise Ineska to do the same then! she smirked. She had never understood the opposition Yeva's cousin had to marriage. She defied her father, sure, but to the detriment of her own future. Who would be mad enough to live as a nun simply to prove a point? She might even like a foreigner. Some have pretty shocking ideas I know she'd enjoy.

"It would probably annoy her father, but I doubt she would be one to elope." She wouldn’t just leave the glassworks. But then, she wouldn’t have any chance of inheriting those as a nun either, so that brought her back to square one of having to find a suitable husband. And one that wouldn't stand in her way, because Yeva had full confidence in her cousin's abilities to manage the family business. "I’m open to any of your suggestions, I suspect she may like them more than she likes her father’s." She wasn’t going to ask about the shocking ideas with Isaak present, because Heaven knew what Oksana had in mind.

If her father states oxygen is amazing, she'd likely stop breathing out of spite. Her problem isn't with men or with marriage. Just with her father. Oksana served herself another piece of cake. Why don't you have anything to eat? You're so frail and pale. If I blow a little you'll fall over. At least her son seemed happy to oblige. He was oddly quiet for a child and as equally reserved as his mother. A genetic trait, perhaps? If so, there was no hope for her own growing problem.

Despite the somewhat somber topic, Yeva chuckled at Oksana’s spot on, if hyperbolic, summary of the situation. Isaak didn’t share her amusement, though, and seemed to grow only more alarmed at the prospect of his mother falling over. To placate both her friend and her son, she took an almond cake from the tray. « Don’t take her too literally, she’s exaggerating. » « Oh. » She could see the gears turning in his head and suspected that he would soon have a question, but for now he was still pondering what he’d heard.

Oh right. "A lady must always be aware of her surroundings", or some such nonsense. Oksana was of course aware Isaak was present, but she still hadn't quite understood what sensibilities were not meant for the ears of a boy his age. Speaking of... Remind me how old you are, Isaak? she asked, her gaze resting on the quiet boy's face.

"I’m seven", he answered. Not for much longer, as he would soon turn eight. Sometimes Yeva marvelled that their secret had already gone undiscovered for five years, but now was not the time to dwell on it. "How old are you?" That’s why she shouldn’t get distracted. Her son was obviously trying to copy polite conversations by not only answering questions but also asking them, but he had no idea what questions were appropriate. "That’s not a question you ask a lady." "Why?" Aaaand there they went. He was genuinely confused and she couldn't blame him.

Ladies care about their youth and beauty, Oksana answered with a smirk. So when you ask their age you ask them to admit they're old or at least on the way to old age — and who has ever met an attractive granny?

"Oh." Isaak’s go-to reply when he didn’t really understand but didn’t want to tell the adults that they made no sense whatsoever. He would probably have more questions once they’d be back home. "Sorry." "It’s alright, we know you didn’t mean to be rude."

Did they? Oksana had had plenty of moments where she was fully aware of how rude she was being, but pretended to not have been aware of the social misstep. Oooh the innocence of youth! If Isaak was anything like his mother, however, he'd be far too well-behaved. What do boys your age like to do for fun?

Was that scepticism she saw in her friend’s eyes? She was too used to the tricks of adults and not enough around children. If everything went well (and Yeva prayed it did), that would soon change. Oblivious to his mother’s thoughts, Isaak was beaming that an adult was taking an interest in him. "I have an automaton of an airship at home! It can fly like a real one! Do you want to see it next time?" Hopefully Oksana was interested in miniature airships, because it was hard (and somewhat cruel) to stop him once you got him started about his favourite toy.

God no. What interest would she have in toys? Not something to tell a child, of course, especially if this particular one usually fades into the background. Oksana may not enjoy the presence of children, but she was certainly not cruel. I had an automaton of a ballerina when I was your age, but she did not do much more than spin around and dance. Toys must have made leaps and bounds if they're flying nowadays. Was it a present?

"Yes! Mom got it at the market! And they also had lots and lots of other stuff! Like a watch that makes music, like a cuckoo clock, but smaller!" For now, Yeva was content with watching her son’s enthusiastic explanations, though she was keeping an eye on Oksana to check if she needed to make him tone down or shorten his rambling.

Why did you pick the airship ? Oksana asked. The irony of Isaak asking for an airship when his father worked with trains (or railways) was not lost on her. An early sign of rebellion or simply a childhood dream to become a pilot ? A popular profession for young boys apparently.

"I didn’t, Mom did." For the simple reason that he hadn’t been there when she had made that choice. That was her cue to jump back into the conversation. "It was really well-made and a prime example of modern technology. As you pointed out, flying automatons are anything but common." Was she spoiling him? Not in her opinion. After all, she'd used the miniature airship in their daily mathematics and science lesson. She merely made learning more fun.