Of 𝙁𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨 & 𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙨 (𝘿𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙧𝙞) - Anastasia Prequel

один (one)

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The pristine snowfall kept Dimitri confined in his small sanctuary under the stairs. He rubbed his palms together, attempting to keep himself shielded from the cold. His thin and itchy wool scarf had far too many holes to have any more use, and so he had wrapped it around his bruised wrist like a bandage. He knew the snow would be heavy the coming morning, so he had made it his business to steal a few sturdy but small logs from a nearby lumber factory, though the owner was scarcely anything but cross.

He had taken a heated risk and, regretfully, got his hand seized by a worker before he could carry the stash back to his shelter. They made certain he would learn his lesson and twisted his wrist.

He had gotten blisters anyway. Konechno.

Dimitri hated St. Petersburg. Many times he had made a half hearted attempt to escape, whether it be by train car or in the back of an old merchants hay wagon, but each blunder led to the same consequence: a good thrash on the back side of his legs.

It had been almost 18 months since the traumatic siege at the palace. It had been almost a year and a half of living on his own, and Dimitri was failing miserably.
The boy was slowly but surely coming to terms with the fact that he would never be able to get out of the smog filled city. At 12 years old, his lifestyle was getting more difficult with each passing day. It was getting harder and harder for him to get away with everything anymore. His soot covered face blended in well with the other street children, but it was his lanky build and awkward tallness that stood out.

He was getting too old and too tall for dodging in between crowds. He envied the younger children's ease: he too had once been agile. Although, his cleverness was getting sharper. He knew he could swindle almost every elderly woman in all of Russia with his pitiful lies and sob stories. Almost.

The way his breath, like a cloud, flowed about right in front of him made him worry.
He was positively freezing. Snowflakes danced around the air and onto his flushed cheeks.
What he needed was new shelter. The stairs had far too many cracks to conceal any sort of weather.
His hair was wet with melted flakes and it stuck to his forehead, maddening him further.

Desperate for warmth, he made an effort to stand up, though he was careful he didn't bang his head. By the time he thought up a brash plan, he was half way down the street. He recognized the sickening smell of beer coming from the gambling parlors and bars. Women with rotten teeth and men with 2 or more cigars between their stubby lips filled the square, all mindful to keep their pockets empty and bags sealed shut.

Beggars and thieves were common, especially around this time of the winter.

Dimitri roamed the marketplace, ever so shivering in his boots. His frozen body was telling him he needed nice warm food first.
Fish merchants here, fish merchants there... the stench was strong and overwhelming.
His mind raced with rushed strategy.

What was the easiest item to steal? Definitely not fish; too slimy, too turgid.
Bread then? Where was the closest bakery? Erka's... no, no. She hated the very ground he stood upon. He wouldn't dare set a toe in her shop after the last kerfuffle, no matter how delicious her bread was....

Proklyatiye! Dimitri was running out of options, as well as fingers. He could feel the painful sting of frostbite starting to eat away at his fingertips.

Then, as if God himself had come and granted every young boy a self fulfilling wish, a man with kind eyes walked by, pulling a cart full of fresh cheeses of all assortments. The situation was too perfect for a starving boy to turn down. Dimitri, with little to no hesitation, hastily grabbed a block of savory Kostromskoy...

He should have seen it coming.
The man's kindly eyes disappeared far too soon. Dimitri wasn't stealthy enough, his ruthless hunger had gotten the best of him.

"Vor! Thief! Toropit'sya, hurry!"
Why couldn't the police men have been drunk? They seldom were sober, which benefited poor children like him greatly. Why was this snowy day the time of complete sobriety and attention...?

They were after him with bullet speed and agility. Clubs in hand, they were ready to beat the living tar out of him, he just knew it.

He massaged his bottom with defiance. He never wanted to feel that kind of sensation again.
Dimitri ran as fast as he possibly could have in a sweltering blizzard, setting his vision for the crowd ahead. He prayed no one would interfere with his theft run.

Head ducked, he practically crawled into the mob of chattering people, thick fur coats and all. Not wanting to get trampled, he held his neck high, craning to see a way out. He could hear the police behind him, yelling with hoarse voices at civilian after civilian to get out of the damn way.
If only he had kept walking, not pausing to catch his breath and make sure he still had the damned cheese in his clutches.. he would have made it out, alive and well, living to steal another day. Unfortunately, in his halted stance, an pudgy, sweaty hand grabbed his arm, and he yowled in pain and surprise. "Get off me! Otstan' ot menya!" His voice cracked in anger. Why had he been so stupid?

He felt his hair being pulled, his scalp aching, as he was dragged out of the mob, all mocking eyes on him and his little charade.

What was a poor orphan to do?

Tch.
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