The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

Stand-Off

Virtanen was in deep, deep trouble.

Things were getting worse there in St. Petersburg. Much, much worse. He knew that he was technically protected as a diplomat from anything too terrible, but quite frankly, he didn't trust that Anastasia any farther than he could throw her as far as diplomacy went. She was unstable, even more than her relatives had been. In fact, Virtanen was seriously questioning whether or not the girl was insane. Literally.

He wasn't safe in St. Petersburg. He had to get out of there before she went over the edge and killed them all.

He'd spent the afternoon after that awful situation in the square packing up his things as quickly as he could. He was kind of locked in there, anyway.

Of course, though, that didn't stop Artturi from finding a way into the room. Virtanen didn't know how, but the man had somehow managed to climb up to his room and come in from the window without a soul seeing him. Virtanen had asked him how he'd managed to do it, but he only received the answer "a magician never reveals his secrets". The bastard.

"You know, I bet things aren't nearly as bad as you think they are." Artturi was laying down in the middle of the room and staring up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. "I mean, sure, that Anastasia has a nut or two loose, but do you really thing that she's going to go on a murderous rampage or something?"

Virtanen didn't say anything: he just glared at Artturi, raising an eyebrow.

"Fair point, fair point," Artturi said. "I could see her going on some sort of shooting spree through the palace, killing everyone in her way, spouting some unholy garbage-"

"Artturi, I don't suppose you could shut the hell up for a few seconds, could you?" Virtanen asked as he finished up his packing. "I don't know if the smell of sewers has messed with your short-term memory, but we are still in her palace if you've forgotten."

Artturi didn't even bother looking over at him. "I don't forget things, Virtanen. When are you going to learn that?"

"What did you eat for breakfast this morning?" Virtanen asked.

Artturi didn't answer for a few seconds. "...Oatmeal."

Virtanen gave him a look. "Oatmeal?"

Artturi snapped his fingers, as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh, oh, I know: It was a trick question! I didn't have anything for breakfast because my friend Virtanen is an ass hat who doesn't like sharing his food despite the fact that he has more than anyone could dream of!"

Virtanen rolled his eyes. Even when they weren't in the greatest of situations, Artturi somehow managed to add a line or two about how awful his life was. It was absolutely obnoxious, and yet, he was still friends with him.

Why? Why the hell did he put himself though all of this with this asshole?

Virtanen slung his pack over his shoulder. "You want to show me exactly how you got in here, now?"

"Why do I have to?" Artturi asked, looking over at him. "You're an ambassador: can't you just leave whenever the hell you feel like it?"

"Technically, yes," Virtanen explained. "In reality, I really don't feel like facing that mad woman, right now, and I'd rather leave quietly."

He raised an eyebrow. "Virtanen, I had absolutely no idea you were a eunuch! How did your kids come into this world, then? Because I'm fairly certain they aren't mine."

"Says the one that snuck in like a damned cat burglar," Virtanen said. "And believe me: I know they aren't yours. Esteri wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole."