Year: 1928
Three weeks had passed since Father Brennan had left the camp, and Anastasia was adapting at a rather nice pace. Alistair was pleased to see her slowly relaxing over time, but noticed she hardly spoke a word to anyone but himself. If she had to speak, it was one or two words in Romanian. He did discover however, that she could also fluently speak French. He was impressed to find her tri-lingual in these times, since most American schools didn’t offer a second language in the curriculum. From what he had gathered in their talks, she was home schooled, so that solved that particular peculiarity.
Although she didn't speak often, the way Anastasia carried herself spoke volumes for her. Her back was always up straight, shoulders back, head forward; she sat like a regal, first class young lady. But Mary was always frustrated with her, for although she carried herself as a “proper young lady,” she was often reluctant to dress the part as well. She despised heels, and would often strip off her stockings when Mary wasn't looking and walk around barefoot. Alistair thought it was hilarious, but Mary was not as amused.
She stuck close to Alistair for the most part, following behind him like a duckling after it’s mother. Despite this, she was still prone to wandering off when she saw something that caught her attention. One of these instances, involved the daycare. Anastasia had disappeared from his sight, and a nurse came running up to Alistair in a panicked frenzy. Anastasia had found her way to the room where all the youngling's were watched by a small staff of one, while their parents were away on “jobs.” The nurse that was working that day was too frightened of the girl (rumors of what happened to Father Brennan spread quickly) to handle it by herself, and sought his help handling the situation. Alistair did his best to reassure her that Anastasia meant no harm, but he couldn't help also finding himself anxious. Children were hands on. The risk of her lashing out at one of the children was too much of a possibility.
Alistair quickly followed the nurse back to the daycare, all the while suggesting that if there was a possible threat to the children, the last thing to do was to leave them alone with said threat. She then proceeded to panic even more, much to his dismay. But once they had gotten there, both of them were met with a pleasant surprise. Anastasia was sitting in a rocking chair, one of the toddlers sitting in her lap and petting over the woman’s short hair. He was asking her why she had hair like his. It was the first time that Alistair had seen her laugh, or behave like a typical teenage girl for that matter. She explained in good humor, that her hair had to be cut off to get rid of the birds that had made a nest there. When the boy asked what happened to the birds, she said they flew off into the sky once their nest was gone, to find an even better home for themselves.
Other children had gathered around her too, listening to the story eagerly. A few asked to also touch her hair, and to Alistair's surprise, she was happy to let them. The nurse who had so frantically ran after Alistair to get help was so impressed by her affinity to childcare that she personally apologized for her impulsive reaction, and even offered to have Anastasia come back every day to help out. After all, the children seemed to love her, and Alistair was impatient to find her something to do--she was terribly bored following him around all day, no matter how focused she seemed to be on everything he did.
Her progress only improved after that, and rapidly. She still stubbornly avoided wearing the panty-hose that Mary insist she wear, but Anastasia quickly relaxed into a comfortable role, and was even beginning to speak to the other staff and hunters. Most of them were initially hesitant, as Alistair expected, but quickly warmed up to her. She was charming and warm, charitable beyond belief. She had her little quirks, but Alistair just found her more endearing for it.
Her social progress was doing extremely well, but the same couldn't be said for finding out what she was. Alistair would ask about where she came from, but she was always reluctant to talk about it. From what little he got out of her, Anastasia described a large building, with many floors and white walls, strange drawings scribbled on them here and there. She mentioned there being lots of rooms that she wasn't allowed into, with big black doors that had more drawings on them. She recalled seeing people walk in and out of those rooms wearing long, thick black robes, with hoods that hid their faces, the smell of blood and incense following them. She reiterated many times that she hated that smell.
Curiously enough, she said it wasn't those people that scared her. She thought them weird, but nothing scared her like the people who wore long white lab coats. The ones spattered with flecks of brown stains frightened her the most. From what Alistair could gather, this place she was raised in was some laboratory that doubled as an occult headquarters. He guessed that her father was the head of it all, but he could never get a straight answer out of her. In fact, if her father came up in conversation at all, she would immediately shut down. As much as he wanted to understand what happened to her so he could help her, Alistair knew now the dangers of pushing her. So he wrote down what he could in a journal, and stayed up for hours on end studying everything he could, trying to put the pieces together. He wanted to help her, but he was starting to get the feeling he couldn't do this on his own.
It was time to get in touch with an old friend.
---------------------------------------MEANWHILE---------------------------------------------
Anastasia sat in her room, looking out the window and watching as the snow fell. It had been snowing often these past few days as Thanksgiving drew closer on the calendar. She liked watching it snow, just not being out in it. It always made her sick and weak, and sapped the strength right out of her. The summers were awful too. Being as hot as she already was, the extra heat was just too much for her, and she often passed out when the heat was overwhelming. What she really liked, was rain. She loved rain, cold or warm. It made her feel, just for a little while, clean. Peaceful. She wished it were raining right now ...
“‘Ey, Anastasia!”
She turned her head to see the boy that had rescued her. She could tell he was just outside not too long ago, because his shoulders and hat were wet with freshly melted snow.
“Remember me? Jody!”
Anastasia nodded, giving a small smile. Of course she remembered him. He was a very handsome boy for his age, with a strong jaw and curious brown eyes. His build was broad and strong too, clearly fit and muscular.
“Wow, ya got yer own room already?” He stepped in, looking around. “You ain't had much time to decorate, ‘ave ya?”
... Decorate?
He saw the confusion on her face and laughed. “Although, ya ain't really got much to decorate with, huh?” He stepped in further, pointing to the spot on the bed beside her.
“Mind if I sit, ma’am?”
Ma’am? Did she look that old? Anastasia nodded, and he took a seat, removing his hat. His lips pursed to make a shivering sound as his body followed suit.
“Man, it sure is cold out der. Awful nice ta’ finally ‘ave a place with walls an’ such, huh?”
Anastasia nodded again.
“...You don’ really talk much, do ya?”
“No. Is that uncomfortable?”
“No ma’am, that's alright wid me. You ain't gotta say anymore than ya want ta.” He flashed her a toothy grin. The white clashed greatly with his much darker skin tone, and he had a very nice smile. “You know? We ain't properly introduced yet. I mean, we know each othah’s names an’ all, but we ain't done a proper introduction!”
Jody held out his hand to shake. “Th’ name’s Jedidiah, but most folks just call me Jody.”
Anastasia stared at his hand for a moment, hesitating. Touching still bothered her, especially with hands. Jody looked hurt, but not surprised.
“Ah, sorry ma’am.” He started to draw his hand away. “I forgot you don’ like touchin’. ‘Sides, I ain’t technically supposed’ta be shakin’ hands wid white ladies. The men get all antsy and angry wid us. Most the folks ‘round ‘ere though are real nice, an’ ain’t like the othahs.”
This perplexed Anastasia. What ... did being white have to do with anything?? She was almost offended that he had said that. She didn’t understand why men would be so angry if Jody shook her hand. It was polite. But the more she thought about it, she couldn’t recall seeing anyone who looked like Jody where she grew up. They all looked like her and her father.
As he drew his hand back to his person, she gently grasped it with her own. He looked back up at her, surprised.
“....My name, is Anastasia. But ... you, may call me Ana.” She gave him a warm smile. He studied her a moment, and smiled back.
“Well miss Ana, it is a pleasah’ ta’ meet ya.”
Ana nodded a “you too,” before noticing just how cold his hand was. She wrapped her other hand around his, trying to cover as much skin as possible with a worried look on her face.
“Ah yeah, I don’t ‘ave gloves or anythin’, so my hands get pretty cold … I got pants an’ coat pockets though, so it ain’t too bad! I got ways ‘round it.”
She looked up at him with a sympathetic look. She took hold of his other hand, holding them both within her own, and blew warm air over his fingers. He stared at her, watching in silent bewilderment.
“Ahh, y-you don’ have’ta do that miss Ana. T-They’ll warm up now that I’m inside…!”
She blinked at him with her big eyes, the pink standing out vibrantly against her pale complexion. She complied, but instead pulled his hands up to her cheeks, holding them there and closing her eyes. Ana was an incredibly warm individual. Ever since … well … after certain events, her body temperature had skyrocketed. This odd combination of cold-blood and warm-blood was the reason why she was so sensitive to temperature. One of the only things she was good for was providing warmth for others.
She held her position there until she heard Jody clear his throat and start to slide his hands away. She opened her eyes to look at him curiously just as he had begun to speak.
“I uh, should probably go. Mr. Alistair is gonna wanna see me. Ya see, I was out doin’ somethin’ for him, so ... he’ll want me to report back an’ all …”
Ana was puzzled by his sudden readiness to leave. Had she done something wrong? However, she just nodded, releasing his hands. He looked at her a second, cleared his throat, stood up, and looked at her again. He flashed a nervous smile, heading to the door before stopping, and looking at her again. With a slight nod, he turned to the left, continuing down the hallway.
That was … odd. Was something on her face? Why had he kept staring at her?
Ana glanced over to see his hat still left on her bed. She carefully picked it up, and ran her fingers over the seams. It was still a tad damp. “I should return this to him,” she thought. “He would like it back.”
She got up from the bed and headed to the door. But just as she got there, two arms grabbed her in a tight grip from behind, a hand with some sort of cloth covering her mouth. She struggled and tried to fight back, but a sickly sweet smell overtook her, and her head began to spin. She clawed desperately at whomever her attacker was, but she couldn’t get a good grip on them. She was sure she tore through something, probably just clothes, but her limbs were going limp very quickly, and her vision blurred. She called out desperately to Alistair, to ‘him’, but there was no reply. No one could hear her muffled screaming. She was alone, and she was pulled into darkness ...
