Anya and the Beast

)) A/N: Well, well, well.. Here we are again. Remember when I said I was a RolePlayer? Well, this so happened to first start out as a RolePlay between myself and my RP buddy Phil. We are basically writing this story together. It\'s also on FF.com, but the steamier and gorey scenes would be more welcome here than there.. So, yeah. Here\'s \'Anya and the Beast\'.. Enjoy! ^_^ ((
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-Anya History-

Anya is a young woman from the far away countries near Russia and other Germanic provinces. Ever since she could remember, Anya was always without her sight. Growing up in an orphanage without a mother or a father, all the little Russian girl grew with was a surrogate mother in the form of an orphanage matron. The matron’s name was Olga, and her husband was Ivan. Ever since Olga took in little Anya when she was just a mere babe, she taught her how to ‘see’ the world around her just as good as any other person could. Using her hearing, tentative touches and steps, Anya soon became accustomed to walking around, playing, and functioning in every day life without the use of her eyes. As the years went by, children came and went, but a precious few stayed at the orphanage along with Anya. Now, Ivan was one of those drunk, ex soldiers whom grew ugly in mind, body and soul as he aged. Every night and almost all day he would be consuming alcohol and shouting at the children. Once and a while, a young girl would come close to coming out of their youth, and he would force them into submission, rape, and abuse them. They of course would be taken away the next day and were never seen again. This horrified the others as well as Anya, who was one of the luckier girls in the orphanage. Olga could do nothing but watch in horror as year by year her young girls were hurt so deeply by her uncaring husband, for if she ever spoke up in protest, Ivan would beat her savagely.
Olga was a simple woman, but her mother before her used to be a nurse. Using what little she knew, Olga would tend to her injuries along with the help of a growing, sympathetic and caring Anya. Olga admired the girl, for she seemed to light up the room with smiles and warm faces despite her disability. The other children were most affected, and this is the main reason Anya was never abused by Ivan… The other children would hide Anya as best as possible, for she was one of their most trusted friends and story tellers. Besides, when it was not Olga there to tend to them, it was Anya. As the years went by, it was Anya who became just as revered as Olga. With her colorful imagination and lovely voice, Anya wove tales for the younger children and her friends by night when Ivan had gone to sleep. When the day came where Anya could no longer stay in the orphanage because of Ivan’s growing appetite and intrigue with the blind girl, Olga sent Anya on her way with some pilfered money from Ivan’s purse and held her close, whispering into her young girl’s ear. ‘Go far away from this country my girl, take your talents and life elsewhere, you can grow no more here,’ she said and presented Anya with a long, polished staff. It was perfect, long and smooth with intricately carved vines and small budding flowers. On the very top was the beginning of a long, long trail of carved words, the span of them ending at the butt end of her staff. It was a poem Olga had told her and all the other children while growing up…
Apart from Anya’s story telling skill, she could play the violin. Curiously enough, at night when Ivan had gone to sleep and everyone was in their beds, Anya would rise and take up her stringed instrument. Then, with skillful, delicate fingers Anya would raise her bow and begin to play that beautiful instrument with a grace that would put any musician to shame. She looked like an angel when she played, her eyelids would close, her whole body feeling the music like a touch to her skin, letting it flow through her body like a living warmth. It was the only thing she knew of her past, for when she was given to the orphanage, there was merely her blanket and this lovely violin with Anyas’ infant body. With long hours, as well as months and months of practice, Anya had mastered her little stringed instrument, playing with the expertise of even the most exquisite violinist. She didn’t merely play, she was the music, letting her mind and heart pour out through her music like a second voice; it was her pain, her sorrow, her joy, her love and happiness all in the cord of every sound from her playing. She offered listeners a glimpse of her life with her music.

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Chapter One: \'Violin Strings and Cigar Fumes\'

It was cold, almost too cold to be out and about on such a night.
\"Jesus, you\'d think after years of industrial growth and so much heat from buildings that winter here on the motherland wouldn\'t be so freaking cold!\" thought a lone pedestrian walking along the frosty sidewalks of Moscow.
Crisp, crunching footsteps could be heard as the thoroughly bundled up woman turned down a memory engraved trail off the main street down a smaller, darker alleyway. The snow amplified the sound bouncing off the close brick walls, making it easier for Anya to walk along to the near hypnotic tap, tap of her walking stick along the snowy walkway. With a thickly gloved hand, she felt along the wall to her right, a soft, golden glow illuminating her face as she was coming up to the dimly lit windows of her old home... Hearing the gentle chatter of children already through what she knew was the windows, they weren\'t too great proofing for sound. The foggy eyed woman smiled serenely, inhaling the bitter night air deeply despite the sting it left in her nose.
\"Mmm... Good to come back.\" She said softly before continuing with tentative footsteps, her gloved hand gripped tightly around her walking stick so beautifully carved; years of companhip hip with the beloved piece of wood gave her the knowledge that if she didn\'t watch out, a stray ledge of a sidewalk could knock it right from your hands. Coming to the looming steps of the Orphanage, Anya paused, tilting her head up towards the door, knowing without even her sight exactly where it was.
\"I wonder what Olga will think... Maybe that bastard Ivan finally kicked it from so many years of drinking... Hmm, miracle does happen on occasion.\" She smirked at the thought.
As she nears the door, she can hear it open suddenly. The sounds from inside are amplified a bit as the wooden door swings open, revealing the soft cry of Olga in the background of the children playing. Heavy boot steps fall to the ground as the smell of a fine cigar assaults the girl\'s nostrils.

Munroe throws the match into the ground as he looks up to the night sky of this Russian town. Having just got in not two weeks ago, he had posted his add as a mercenary around many local places, including bars and small corner markets. The ads stated, in coarse Russian writing, that he was willing to do almost anything for the right price. And he was. Years of torture at the hands of United States scientists upon his amazing body had left distaste in his mouth for authority. As soon as he had escaped that hell, he had taken the first boat to the old world. Landing in London, he had begun wandering around, sneaking over borders and disappearing from the minds of government officials around the world. His escape was nearly thirty years ago, and he looked none the older. The only difference in him was his, now, shaky acceptance that what those butchers had done to him was now for the better.
Back in the present, he had received a reply from an older Russian woman about a job. Upon discussing it with the kindly matron, he learned that she wanted him to kill her husband. He was willing to accept from the start, for she was offering a surprisingly fair price for the job. She had gone into detail, however, and that had brought his emotions into it. He had even gone as far as cutting the price she was offering in half. From his past experiences, he had become very intolerant of abuse. That against children was even worse. That of a sexual nature against children was the worst in his dark mind. He had waited about the orphanage, waiting for the man to leave. When the target finally did, probably on a vodka run, he had begun his hunt. A couple blocks from the place of children, he had jumped the man, using the gifts the doctors had given him to bring him down with ease. That was about a half an hour ago, and since he had returned to tell Olga that the job was done.
Taking a puff of his cigar, he turned back to the open door of the orphanage. \"Hey Olga...\" his gruff voice is cut off as he notices a strange woman standing not far from him. He blamed his cigar for his not picking up on her scent, but became very suspicious of her. His voice is darker when he speaks again. \"What can I do for you, darlin\'?\"
It was the first smell of the cigar that nailed her nose hard, making her scrunch it up in distaste as she shook her head. Feeling the bit of warmth coming from the houses\' open door, Anya put her staff on the first step, following it easily now that she had the rhythm of the steps in her head, twenty seven, she remembered. The thought would have brought a smile to her face but with the gruff, almost harsh voice of the stranger\'s appearance cut it off before it even started. With her face now a mask of concern and confusion, those foggy blue eyes went back and forth lightly as if studying the man before her. She was assessing him by smell and sound it seemed, listening to the pace of his breath and the smell around him. She got the impression of a muscular man, rather burly looking, most likely.
\"First off, we can start with your name, sir. Secondly, you can put out that disgusting cancer stick. If you haven\'t noticed this is a place for children, not a bar. And third...\" She paused in her annoyed, richly accented Russian voice, listening once more, her ears picking up the distinct sound of her surrogate mother\'s sorrow. \"You\'d better tell me why Olga is crying and what you\'re doing here in the first place. If not, I\'ll just have to call the authorities here.\"
Half of this was a bluff; she was blind but not a moron. She knew she couldn\'t stop him that easily for one, and two, the authorities around here were so slow and lazy she in fact was better off doing it herself. It was just her quick to protect and somewhat feisty nature that made her speak so quickly and judgmentally. To put her point across, she slowly used the top of her walking stick to poke at him, hseleseless, foggy blue eyes staring at him in a challenging way.
\"Listen, babe, calling the authorities wouldn\'t help you none, because that sweet old broad invited me here in the first place. And...\" his voice softens up a bit. \"She\'s crying because she still kind of had a soft spot for that fucker Ivan...\" he trails off at that point.
Not wanting to get his cigar wet, he puts in out into his hand. He grunts briefly in pain as the hot embers burn a shallow hole in his hand. The smell of burning flesh and the last trails of the cigar mix terribly in the air, assaulting his keen nose. The stogie out, he stuffed it into a shining silver cigar case, which he produced from his pocket. Closing the lid, he shoved it back into the hand\'s length deep pocket of his worn in jeans.
\"So, tell me... what\'s a blind girl like you doing walking around the streets at night? Especially these ones... You got some business with Olga?\" His voice has lost its menace when he had realized that she was probably a friend of Olga, judging by the way she had acted so protective. Suddenly remembering what he was going to say to Olga, he turned to look back in the door. \"Hey Olga, do you mind if I swing by tomorrow to see how you\'re doin\'?\"
Anya listened closely, her eyes seeming to follow his movements with accuracy, from the moment he began putting out his cigar to the time he turned back to speak to Olga. She was quite confused; she never thought Olga would have finally gotten up the courage to do something about Ivan...

And this man, this mercenary, he apparently had put the cigar out with his hand. The odd thing she she couldn\'t smell the burned flesh anymore. Not that she wanted to smell it anymore; it was just that she couldn\'t. \'Skin doesn\'t heal that fast, what in the hell just happened?\' She seemed to gaze right into his eyes, inhaling deeply once more before lowering her gaze to the snowy steps beneath her feet, her hand flexing on the staff as she tried to digest all that she had been told.
\"You, you\'re not going anywhere, I want answers from you... But...Mama, Olga... is he telling the truth? Is Ivan gone?\" She asked hurriedly past Munroe, her sightless eyes wide and hopeful looking. She was one of the precious few that escaped Ivan\'s drunken grasp, though only out of sheer luck and from the help of others. She had always felt in Olga\'s debt, for it was Olga who suffered every night by Ivan, the kids got a break sometimes, but never poor Olga.
Olga\'s soft cries paused a moment during the harsh conversation going on just outside, the cold of the night getting her attention as well as a familiar voice.
\"Anyanka? Anya? Is that your Cectra!?\" She said quickly, her English for Munroe\'s benefit mixed with Russian, not wanting to believe her old ears as she looked to the doorway, seeing her beloved Anya there next to Munroe.
\"Mama Olga!\" Anya cried happily as the elderly woman stood up and rushed to Anya, wrapping her frail arms around the younger woman, nearly knocking the poor girl backwards, planting frantic kisses and murmuring in rapid Russian.
Behind Anya, Munroe stepped back into the orphanage. Closing the door behind him, blocking out the cold once more, he watched the happy reunion, a faint smile crossing his youthful, and stubble clad features. \"((No need to speak English on my account, Olga...Remember, I know about ten languages here))\" his gruff voice sounded out in perfect, though accented, Russian.
After his little remark, leaned against the wall, his leather complaining as it was forced to stretch over his well built arms, and inspected his palm. The only remnants of the cigar burn were a few bumps where ashes had gotten caught in his skin as it healed over.
\"Damn it...\" he muttered as he began taking care of them. After warning a couple of kids to back away from him, which was hard to do because little boys are rather taken by a big badass, he revealed one of his American souvenirs. With a quick, high pitched *SNIKT*, a blade, about a foot long and a little over a centimeter thick, erupted out from between the knuckles of the index and middle finger on his left hand. Using the point skillfully, he dug out the little bits of ash caught in his skin. The little boys watched him in awe, and then went about trying to make claws come out of their hands, to no avail.

Anya for the moment ignored the burly, gruff sounding enigma as she accepted and returned Olga\'s hushed whispers, kisses and hugs. With a wide, loving smile spread across her face, Anya listened to Olga talk of how she came across Munroe and hired him to do away with Ivan. He had taken one too many children and broke them. With a big, strong hug, Anya held Olga to her body, comforting her matron\'s shaking, sobbing frame with slender, well built hands. Anya had dropped her bags onto the floor, her belongings consisting mainly of a large pack and what appeared to be a violin case with a strap to hang around her body like her pack.
Smoothing out Olga\'s graying hair with a gentle hand, Anya spoke softly. \"((It\'s all right mother Olga, go to sleep my love. It\'s all right, he won\'t hurt anyone anymore. Not you, not any of the children, not anyone. I love you...))\"
Olga nodded furiously, agreeing to everything Anya said, letting her surrogate daughter stroke her and sooth her like she used to do to her when she was younger. Looking to Munroe as he whittled into his skin, Olga sniffed and used a hand to wipe her tears, turning Anya by her shoulders gently to face the intimidating looking man. \"((Anyanka, this is Munroe, he is the one who saved these children and me.))\" Her words were kindly, her smile watery as she looked to the mercenary.
Anya looked over her shoulder and blushed, whispering in a hushed tone. \"((Olga, its Anya, not \'Anyanka\', I\'m not little anymore.))\" She certainly didn\'t want some stranger knowing her full, childhood name. She preferred to be called Anya, and the only persoe ale allowed to call her Anyanka was Olga and the children, anyone else would get a swollen toe from a misplaced staff landing.
With the sound of the blade sliding back into his arm, Munroe took a step forward. \"((It\'s good to meet you, Anyanka...))\" he deftly dodged her staff as it came for his boot. Keeping the staff still with his right hand, he crossed his left underneath his other arm and grasped her hand. Shaking her hand firmly in his calloused, rough hand, his voice came again, still rough, but kind. \"((I\'m sorry I was so course to you when I first saw you. I\'m always a bit edgy after missions, and you did look rather odd in the middle of a dark street.))\" Finally releasing her, he turns to Olga, his smile causing his deep brown eyes to crinkle up a bit in the corners. \"((So, do you want me to come by tomorrow? I\'m going to be in town for some time, I kind of like it here. The cold makes my hands go numb...))\" The last little comment was said a little sadly, but he quickly recovered, smiling again as he folded his arms over his chest.

Anya already disliked him, her blind eyes narrowing noticeably at him as a faint tint of angry red graced her cheeks. Pulling her walking stick back to her side with a small jerk, she huffed indignantly at him and nodded. \"((It\'s a pleasure to meet you too Mr. Munroe. And as you can see... I don\'t quite mind the dark at all. I don\'t really have that luxury. And its Anya, I don-))\"
\"((Anyanka stop it! Be hospitable to him, he just...just helped the children. You should know how important that is.))\" She said softly to her as Anya looked away, her face still angry; she glanced with only her eyes to Munroe\'s general direction, their glazed, useless cornea unblinking as they pointed at him. \"((Munroe, please, If you\'d like, you may stay here tonight. That way you don\'t have to walk all the way back here tomorrow. As you see we have many rooms, I\'m sure Anya won\'t mind making up a bed for you wherever there is ample room.))\" Olga said kindly and looked to Munroe with a happy look, obviously delighted to be free of her lifelong burden and be in the presence of the few people she knew and trusted...

Noticing that she\'s started getting upset at him, and not wanting to lose the first people who have been nice to him in years, he quickly tries to make up for it. \"((I\'m sorry, darlin\'))\" He apologies quickly, \"((I wasn\'t trying to be mean or anything, though I admit I come off that way. I was just trying to have a little fun with you, that\'s all))\" His apology out, he turns once more to Olga \"((There\'s no need to make me a bed; I\'ll just sleep in one of the chairs out here. I don\'t want to be a burden.))\" he says kindly. He\'s not used to being treated kindly, for so many of the people who hire him just throw money at him when the job is done and go their own way. This was completely new to him, so he didn\'t know how to act.

\"((Nonsense, you\'ll have a proper bed, I insist. Anyanka, your room is the only one I\'ve kept off limits... It\'s, exactly as you left it when you left here. It\'s hard to believe, look at you love, you\'re all grown up. So different from the gangling teenager who left here not even half developed, I remember the training br-))\"
\"((Yes, yes! Olga!))\" Anya cut her off before her matron spilled any further past information, silencing her kindly mother figure with a palm lying softly against her lips, the movement perfectly aimed as though she saw the mouth first. Turning to face in Munroe\'s general direction, she gave him a somewhat hesitant smile. \"((She\'s right you know, Russia has some of the toughest winters around. I don\'t care how much of a bad ass you think you are Mr. Munroe.\" Anya said, obviously haven forgiven Munroe for the \'Anyanka\' crack, her thickly accented Russian voice holding the faintest hint of a tease before she winked at him once.

\"Hmmmm...\" he pondered about accepting a full bed. The comforts of a mattress were another thing he had been robbed of for some time. The only sleep he had been getting was in bus seats and in the back of trucks, pretty much anything he could catch a ride in. \"((Alright... I\'ll take a bed. But before I go to that bed, I need to go outside.))\" With that, he turns and heads out, the cold wind blowing in until he closes it behind him. Outside, he lights up again and takes a seat on the stairs. Looking down at his hands, he spots some dried blood under his fingernails where the scrubbing with steel wool after the kill had not reached. Seeing this he balls up his hands and growls darkly, his voice coming out totally inhuman. \"I\'m a beast... a fucking animal... trained to be of use to humans...\" Standing up, he violently begins punching the wall near at hand. With every powerful hit, his hands turn more and more into pulp, bones breaking with every strike. He grits his teeth against the pain, and continues torturing himself, yelling into the night unintelligible curses.

Turning back to Olga as Munroe excused himself outside, Anya spoke softly. \"((I want to see you mama, Olga))\" She said gently and raised her hands, directing them towards the sound of Olga\'s breathing.
\"((Yes, of course Anya...))\" Olga smiled then guiding Anya\'s hands to her aged, wrinkled face, years of weariness and tears seemingly etched there.
Anya\'s fingers trailed over Olga\'s brow, her lips, her closed eyes and cheeks, touching the scalp lightly. Anya sighed softly, obviously comforted by the familiarity. Sliding her thumb along Olga\'s face, she wiped away a tear that slid down the motherly woms fas face.
\"((I\'ve missed you so much...))\" Anya smiled fondly before sliding her hands from Olga\'s face, turning towards the living room where she heard some of the children yawning, others gently snoring. \"((You should get them to bed... I\'ll check and make sure our, guest hasn\'t left. I know how much his staying here means to you. You did always have a habit of picking up strays.))\" Anya joked lightly before patting Olga\'s face and leaving her to collect the children. Walking towards the door, staff first and in hand, Anya fumbled slowly for the knob before opening the door to the sound of grunts and the metallic smell of blood and dying cigar.
The cigar is lying in a small pile of snow, burning out rapidly as its owner goes through the last few strokes of his self mutilation, his screams now broken down into ragged sobs. With one last wet slap of his mangled hand hitting the wall, he collapses against the wall, curling into a ball and shuddering. Hearing movement behind him, he quickly turns, his eyes wide and his nose working furiously. Seeing Anya standing there, he relaxes a bit. \"Do you still want to know how my cigar wound healed so quickly? I saw it in your face that you were wondering about it.\" he says in English, his voice soft and distant. \"Come here and I\'ll show you.\"
Anya was hesitant at first, hearing his angered screams slowly whittle down to harsh sobs. She felt it pick at her reserve. Despite her very spiteful attitude towards Munroe, if anyone was in pain or discomfort, whether it is physical or mental, Anya was always there to help if possible. Hearing the softening of his gruff voice, she took her slow, careful steps down those counted twenty seven steps; her feet and staff now crunching across the snow before she came about three feet from him, stopping just far enough away... She judged her distance by his breathing and the strong scent of blood. Anya\'s head ownwownwownwards, those foggy, unseeing blue eyes trained to him. She gave him an uncharacteristic frown, her face a gentle display of concern and curiosity. \"What\'re you talking about?\" She asked quietly, not sure of what he mean to do.
\"Come here, kneel by me. I know you can\'t see, but I can still show you I c I can do. And don\'t worry, I\'m not going to harm you, I wouldn\'t...\" his voice trails off as he looks down at his hands. Already they are beginning to heal with a myriad of soft, wet noises. \"Quick, before they heal\"
She was still a bit hesitant, and her mind was screaming at her not to kneel down beside him, but her heart and curiosity overcame her common sense, screaming, \'What are you thinking?! He\'s a mercenary! He could snap your neck in two seconds!\' Complying after a moment of indecision, the young woman knelt down in the cold snow after taking the last few, closing gap steps towards Munroe. But, she wasn\'t that perfect, she held her hands out towarim, im, unable to tell exactly where his hands were since they realldn\'dn\'t make that much sound. \"Where?\" She asked quietly, her hands still gently groping the air. If she were to touch his hands, she would have to lean, she wasn\'t close enough.
He placed his still considerably mangled hands into hers. \"Now, stay quite and feel my hands.\" in her hands, she felt his skin reforming, bones fusing perfectly, and sinew reattaching itself. Soon, his hands are whole once more, laying flat on her hands. With a soft grunt, he smiled and sat back, pulling his hands from hers. \"Well, what do you think?\"
Her face went to a mask of disbelief, blind eyes wide and confused as she felt his hand reform back to its original state. Feeling the slight, leftover wetness of his blood, she shivered slightly from the feel, still not believing what she had just experienced. \"H-how?\" She asked bluntly, sounding out of breath as she turned her head in the direction of his face, her mouth slightly a gape, her hands open and not moving, not wanting to feel the blood anymore than she already did.
He shrugs his shoulders, knowing this to be a futile motion to her. \"I really don\'t know how. All I can figure is that I\'m a mutant. I know that\'s just a thing from comic books, but there\'s no other way to explain it. I also have something else to show you. I\'m only showing you this stuff so you can trust me a little more, so don\'t be scared. I\'m not going to hurt you.\" He grunts softly, that noise coupled with the cold sound of three blades on his right hand popping out. Placing his hand gently in hers again, balled up in a fist, he is careful to keep the tips away from her body. \"Be careful, the bottom edges and the first couple centimeters of the top are really sharp.\"
Anya, ever since her childhood had always been into the abnormal, always open to almost any fanciful idea, even as a young child she had the wildest imagination... It followed her e yoe young adult life obviously, because if it hadn\'t, she probably would had thought him insane. But, after having felt his hand practically rebuild in her own, she calmly accepted his hand in hers again. With her free hand she gently slid it along the top of his, those soft fingers of hers running along his larger, hairier ones until she came to the warm metal protruding from his skin. With small, slow breaths she paced herself, closing those blue eyes of hers as she felt along his \'claws\', heeding his warning and watching her touch as she neared the points. \"I believe you...\" She said softly, opening those sightless eyes of hers once more towards the direction of their hands. She spoke once more, her voice somewhat choked. \"Does it hurt, Munroe?\" It was the first time she said his name without teasing him...
\"It hurts a little every time I bring them out... But after nearly thirty years of it, I\'ve gotten pretty accustom to the pain...\" Gently, his other hand comes and takes her hand off of his. There is a quick sliding sound, and the hand his right hand relaxes in her palm. Slowly, he takes his hand from hers, leaving them separate as they kneel in the snow. \"Now do you understand what I meant when I said that I like the cold because it makes my hands go numb? The pain doesn\'t get to me, but the feeling that these are only tools for killing does. Sometimes... sometimes I just don\'t want to feel anymore....\" Despite being such a badass, Munroe, not unlike another claw wielding psycho, has not dealt with the rigors of being a beast as well as he puts out. Sure, he acts like a smart ass in public, but he literally melts when he finds someone he feels he can relate with. This girl, with problems of her own, is the first person in a long time that he can connect with.
\"I understand... But you\'re not just a killer, and those hands can do good. Olga was suffering, slowly suffocating at the hands of that drunken bastard... So were countless children. I was lucky I wasn\'t one of his victims...\" Despite her best efforts, Anya felt pity for the man. He too, like she, was an outsider. Feeling the night air nip at her hands, they felt chapped for some reason. Remembering that his blood must have dried there, she quickly scooped up some snow and began scrubbing her hands of the caked, red substance. When they were finally clean, she sighed, wiping them on her jacket. With her momentary distraction over, Anya was forced back to reality, utterly amazed that a man she had met about an hour ago, a mercenary, no less, was confiding in her with his pain. Feeling a small smile tug at her lips from the thought of his trust, she raised those hands of hers again, slowly guiding them to the area where she thought his face to be, but her aim was a little off.
\"Can I see you?\" She asked with a gentle smile, her hands hovering near, but off to the side of his face, not quite sure where to put them, since she was too pride to feel for it, plus, she wanted his permission first. It was her way of \'seeing\' people, letting her hands memorize their faces like a picture...
\"Um... I guess...\" understanding what she meant almost instantly, he maneuvered his face into her hands. Closing his eyes, he puts little emotion into his face so she can get a clear vision. As she feels, she will pick up the many things that give him his rugged, almost feral appearance. Thick eyebrows overshadow his eyes, giving his deep orbs an almost glowing appearance as they sparkle from the shadow of his brow. He possesses a decently sized nose, large but still handsome, fitting his face. The nose is complete with a set of large nostrils, which flare gently as he breathes. Even without trying, his mouth is set in a semi scowl, years of pain pulling the corners of his mouth down. His entire face was covered in a very short, yet soft beard, the hairs not being thick enough to cover up his skin, giving him a slightly unkempt look. He has a strong jaw and chin, accented by a slight under bite. Further up, his hair was wild, the clean hairs kept together, with no embarrassing little locks sticking out at odd angles, but still rather shaggy around his face. \"So tell me... how do I look?\"
She smiled faintly; holding his cheeks in her palms now as she spoke. \"Like someone who\'s been through countless trials and tribulations. Your jaw and face structure are strong, though, I\'d bet you intimidate people a lot. You\'re dead loyal though, very firm, but you can be gentle too. A bit rugged, though I\'d bet if you smiled once in a while, you\'d probably charm some poor girl right off her feet. Oh, and quite a stubborn ass too it seems.\" She smiled then, letting her hands fall from his face into her lap. Brushing a bit of her own hair back behind one of her ears, she felt a bit better, now having a good mental picture of whom she was talking to. She often wondered how she looked, she\'d felt her own face before, but, she just couldn\'t figure out how she looked. Olga said she always looked, \'Lovely\', but, Olga was sometimes too motherly and kind.
\"I suppose you have me pinned to the letter, girl, although I\'m not to sure about that sweeping girls off their feet bit. I don\'t think I\'ve ever wooed a woman. Of course...I don\'t really remember much from before...\" shaking his had clear he looks at her, his head tilting to the side as he takes her in. With little warning beside the sounds of him moving, he places his hand gently under her chin, moving her head left and right to get a better look at her. \"High cheekbones... A nice curve to your jaw... big, beautiful eyes... of course, that\'s just a huge lover of the moon talkin\' here. Let\'s see, what else do we have? Excellent complexion, a flawless skin tone with very few speckles... pretty little ears that don\'t stick out too far from your head... I say girl, even though I didn\'t notice it right away, you are quiet the looker. I also gotta comment though, it looks to me, judging by the slight crows feet at the corners of yer eyes that you have a lot of worrying in your life, more than you would even tell poor old Olga up there.\" His hand drops away, and he begins slowly rubbing the knuckles with snow, to numb them completely.
She gaped for a moment, a small blush coming to her cheeks despite her best efforts to fight it off. And upon hearing his comment on her eyes, she sighed, her shoulders feeling weighed down all of a sudden, as if the world decided to park right on top of her this very minute. Out of habit, Anya had brought her violin case with her, always; whenever she stepped out a door she carried two things with her; her walking stick and violin. Feeling its weight against her hip now, she let her fingers dance across the cold leather encasing and smiled softly. \"Not really worrying... Just loneliness, it\'s hard. You know? Just having no one to understand the silent words and unsaid phrases...like you\'re missing the other half of yourself. Sucks sometimes...\" She said before pulling her violin case into her lap and opening it up, the gleaming surface of the wooden instrument gleaming in the bright moonlight from above. \"This is my second voice; this is how I vent my troubles...\" She had heard his hands burying into the snow, but did nothing for now, she thought maybe he\'d come around if she played a bit. Taking up her instrument with the utmost familiarity and care, she then positioned it under her chin, picking up her bow then and running it across the cords.
It was like pure honey to the ears once she closed her eyes, her mind and body pouring out from each stroke and caress of her bow upon her violin. It was her cry of loneliness; it was her cry of sorrow and anger... It was everything she felt wrong with her life, melting off of her like ice in the summer sun. This music was sad though, the tone somber and almost heart wrenching with it\'s high, whining pitch and haunting melody.
\"I do know...\" he says as he continues to wash away feeling, \"everyone I\'ve ever come in contact with thinks I\'m a mindless beast. They all think I love killing and mauling... no one understands that I do it because that\'s all I can do. I was turned into a weapon, and that\'s what I have to be now...\" His voice trails off as he watches her take out the violin. With the first note hitting his ears, Munroe froze. His deep eyes turned to her fully, totally entranced as he watched the bow play over the strings, producing the greatest sounds he had ever heard. Some might say this is a modern example of music taming the savage beast, others might call it love. Whatever it was, Munroe suddenly felt more attached to this girl. He did not realize that he had fallen for her yet, but now it only registered that he wanted to stay and look out for her. He wanted to be her eyes, if she would allow it. As if hearing for the first time, the large, rugged man seats himself with his legs crossed, leaning forward to watch her, remaining totally engrossed in the music she was producing.
Anya didn\'t want to keep her music so somber though, for Munroe at least, perhaps if she conjured up happier times with Olga and the children... Her music became brighter, more passionate with its long, singing cords and running pitches. Her movements truly were graceful; she needed no eyes for this, for this was merely an extension of herself, like flexing a muscle. As her tune became more rapid, energetic and fast, she felt a smile begin to spread across her lips like the music did through the night, it\'s warming melody reverberating off the walls and echoing for what seemed like eternity. Finally, after her energy and pent up emotions seemed to ebb, Anya slowed her playing, the bow sliding slower now, her fingers jumping form cord to cord less rapidly now until she stopped completely, her brow relaxing from their concentrated state. She inhaled deeply then, releasing that breath in one giant flow, as if nothing was left but herself, as if she were innocent and clean again, as if she could see... But, when she opened her eyes, she was met with that very same void, her body left with her other senses.
As the last few notes of her entrancing music float off into the night, Munroe finds himself unable to speak or move. He simply sits there, staring at the girl who was able to play a music that can skewer his heart better than any weapon. For, unlike any physical wound, this would not heal, nor did he want it to. After a few moments, he finally manages to shake himself back to reality, pulling his hands out of the snow and wiping them off on his pants.
\"Anya... that was astounding. Where did you learn to play like that?\" he asks as he stands up from the snow. Walking over to her still kneeling form, he stands behind her and grabs her under the arms, easily hoisting her up onto her feet. Seeing some snow on her, he gently brushes her off, feeling uncommonly gentle as he does so.
Anya was very puzzled by Munroe\'s gentleness now, stepping back once from him with a puzzled look on her face as she responded to his question. \"Myself... Well, Olga managed to rustle up some books in brail for me on how to play, but most of it was self teaching.\" Holding out the violin, obviously for him to inspect and touch, she smiled warmly, the moonlight playing in shining dapples on the polished surface. \"It\'s the only thing I was found the the night Olga found me on the doorsteps of the Orphanage... It\'s very precious to me, I don\'t know what I\'d do without it, and it\'d be like loosing my voice.\"
\"I don\'t want to touch it... I might break it.\" he says as he takes a step back. His voice is still soft and gentle, but holds a slight key of sadness. Bypassing the violin, he takes her other hand. \"Come on, let us get back inside, it is too cold for you to be outside.\" With that, he begins leading her back. Keeping her free hand in one of his, he places the other gently on her back, guiding her softly. He forgets how well she knows this place in his sudden wave of protectiveness for her. This feeling sprouted while she played, but now had a full hold upon his subconscious. Not fighting it or denying it, Munroe simply follows its bidding.
\"Hey now, we left my violin case and my staff behind! Hold on their big boy!\" She said in a quick voice, a bit confused on why he was leading her around like she was an infant. Well, she liked to be taken care of, but his attitude went from aggressive to passive in about two seconds flat, she was pretty confused. Not ever having someone other than the children or Olga pay such loving attention or worry for her, and especially never a member of the mature opposite sex, she didn\'t know what had come over Munroe. She twisted her hand easily, withdrawing from his grasp with a raised eyebrow and puzzled smile before she turned, walking the few steps back to where her things were. With her free hand, she felt around softly until she grasped her case, replacing the precious instrument and slinging the strap over her shoulder, her hand starting to search for her staff now.
\"I\'m sorry\" he says, embarrassed, as he scratches the back of his head. \"I just noticed your lips going blue and I thought it wash tih time to get you inside.\" He sits down on the step, watching her move so easily without her sight. \"How do you do it?\"
Finally gripping the end of her staff, Anya pulled it into her hand properly and stood up, turning to the sound of Munroe\'s voice with a genuine smile now, onet set seemed to light up her face with the simplest movement of lips and cheeks. \"How would I function if I couldn\'t?\" She asked as she moved forward with tentative steps and the tap of her staff. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she began to climb them. \"It\'s easy after so many years of having a permanent blindfold on, all I have to move by is my staff, my ears and sometimes...\" Anya tapped her nose, and was about to finish her sentence when she accidentally tripped on his foot as she ascended the stairs.
He catches her deftly, his instincts carrying him faster than she can fall. \"I\'m so sorry Anya... Are you alright?\" He helps her up again, dusting her off slightly.
\"Yes, yes. It happens sometimes when I\'m not paying attention. It\'s not your fault.\" She was once again caught off guard by his... affection? She didn\'t know really how to put it, it was odd, but, not...unpleasant. \"Hey...Munroe?\" She asked curiously, regarding him with those glazed blue eyes of hers.
Tending to the knees of her pants, where some snow still clung, he looked up questioningly. \"What is it, Anya...\" He says as he stands up, brushing the chilling snow from his hands. By now, the thought of tending to her and protecting her had already become so deeply engrained upon his mind that it felt natural. It never occurred to him that she might not like the attention, or even that she did not want or need a guardian, even if it meant being just her seeing eye dog, he wanted to be there for her.
She used the top of her staff to gently nick his chin, a small, teasing smile now gracing here. \e. \"Why are you so nice to me all of a sudden? I met yoout out two hours ago and you\'re acting like a... a brother or something. Ok, maybe not even a brother, a brother wouldn\'t baby me. But... No, I don\'t mean I don\'t necessarily like the attention, it\'s just odd... But... Why?\" She asked, now really wondering why he was being so kind to her.
His head tilts to the side as he thinks over the question. After a short stint of silence, his hand comes gently down on her shoulder.he ohe only thing I can say is that it feels natural...\"
She turned her head as his hand came down on her shoulder, not quite moving from his touch nor encouraging it, but, smiling somewhat before her head turned back to the direction of his face, all of her actions directed by the sound of his deep breathing. \"Hmm... I think it\'s the cold getting to you, Mother Russia has effects on people that other places don\'t. Come on Mr., let\'s go inside...\" She said as she let her free hand pat the one of his resting on her shoulder gently, her head nodding in the direction of the door.
\"Just fhe rhe record, I\'ve been in colder weather than this, almost naked, for days! And I still came out with all of my toes and fingers.\" His hand slides from her slowly, reluctantly, and returns to his side as he waits for an answer. \"Do you need any help?\"
She rolled her eyes once, making a \'C\' shape with her hand and making it appear as it was talking rapidly; kind of like a \'blah, blah, blah\' thing. But, with a small chuckle she shook her head. \"No, I\'m fine, just go, we\'re on the... What, twenty forth step? Get in there you, you might have ran around in the stark for days in South Pole weather, but I haven\'t.\" She nudged him gently with her staff in his side, urging him forward, her lips indeed starting to tinge a bit.
He trudged up the stairs, chuckling lightly. \"Um... do you mean 24th from the top or the bottom?\" He pauses and looks back down at her, folding his arms over his chest, the hidden weapons safely tucked away in his flesh. \".because if you mean from the bottom, you\'re way off.\"
She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, going back in her recent memory to when she started walking up the steps. Cursing mentally before she did verbally, she stuck her tongue out. \"Damn you... See?! You distract me!\" She said as she continued up the stairs, coming to stop just before him, her face trained up to his, her \'gaze\' once again directed by the sound of his deep breathing.
\"What?\" stares back at her strongly, fully aware how futile his look is upon her. \"And by the way, you\'re on the 10th step up now.\"
She huffed once, her expression growing a bit annoyed as one hand was placed upon her hip. \"Well... Keep going! I\'m about to fucking freeze out here!\" She said in a quick sentence, abouo seo seconds away from clinging to the man before her. \'Is he insane!? It\'s freezing out here and he\'s playing games!\' she thought angrily to herself. \'It doesn\'t matter if you\'re playing along with the games, he\'s still playing them. Wait. why is he playing games?\'
\"Alright, alright\" turns and heads up the stairs, counting off each one in playful Russian. He is playing games because, due to his healing factor, his body is feeling very little of the harmful, chilling affects of the negative temperatures. Reaching the top, he takes a few steps away from it and turns to face her again. He folds his arms over his chest again as he carefully watches her. \"Careful, the next step has a bit of ice on it.\"
She nearly growled with frustration, thumping her staff angrily on the stair. \"If you stop one more time I swear to god MunROE!\" Her voice hitched up in volume, having not heeded his words as she stepped up onto the icy step, she slipped somewhat, her free hand flailing as she latched onto the front of his shirt and almost hanging there, a loud hiss of air slicing through her teeth as she felt a very painful turn of her ankle.
He stood, unmoving, as she used him for support. \"I\'m just watching out for you, darlin\'\" His hands came out and grabbed her by the waist, steadying her until she could stand on her own. Seeing she was stable, he quickly let go and started walking in again. \"You know, you don\'t need to yell at me for wanting to watch out for you, you know\" he calls over his shoulder as he opens the door into the now quiet orphanage.
Anya felt bad now that she had gotten so frustrated so quickly with Munroe. True to his word, he was merely looking out for her welfare, though, she wished he hadn\'t released her so quickly, her ankle was throbbing now. \'God damn it... That really hurts; I hope it\'s not broken. I feel like a bitch now, I shouldn\'t have yelled.\' She thought as she walked on unsteady steps back inhe ohe orphanage, walking by Munroe with a slight gimp in her step, wincing and sucking in air with every step. \"Close the door, will you? We don\'t need any of the children getting cold.\" She said as steadily as possible, trying to be casual so he wouldn\'t worry. Traversing in heavy steps to the not empty parlor, Anya hurriedly sat down to get off of her ankle, setting her violin case and staff down.
\"Yeah yeah...\" he said softly as he closed the door wa sla slight thud. The sudden noise, ending the sounds of the winds outside, was quickly followed by several metallic clicks as he turned and fastened the many locks on the door. The door secure, he came over to her and took a seat across from her. His slightly pointed nails tapped lightly against the table as he watched her closely. \"So... Anya. Do you want me to take a look at that ankle for you?\" His voice has regained some of its confidence and care. His keen senses had picked up the sound of her limping walk, the smell of her pain as her body readied adrenaline and endorphins. Well, it hadn\'t really taken that much, he had seen her limping, however slight it was.
She sighed in an annoyed tone, letting her upper body fall back against the large, puffy looking couch, her head lying back against it as she looked up towards the ceiling, speaking with a smirk on her face. \"It was worth a try damn it... Oh well, if I said no would you listen anyway?\" She said in an amused tone, that one phrase her permission for him to come over and do as he pleased. She knew he stubstubborn, and the way he kept making sure she was all right didn\'t help it anymore, so she gave up for now. \"Just be very careful, please? It hurts...\"
\"If you don\'t want me to, I won\'t\" he says as hends nds up and heads for his bags. Although he doesn\'t need first aid things, he never knows when someone will. Rummaging around for a few moments, he is finally rewarded with gauze and an ankle splint. Coming back to her, he kneels down and inspects her booted foot. \"Um... I\'ll buy you a new pair tomorrow, ok?\" his words are accompanied by the signature sound of one of his blades sliding quickly into place. The pressure around her swollen ankle disappears as his blade cuasilasily through the thick material of her boot. Throwing the ruined boot over his shoulder, he carefully picks up her ankle and begins binding it. His technique puts just the right amount of pressure upon it, never constricting nor leaving free to move. The whole procedure takes him little more than a minute, after which he stands up and cracks his neck. \"Let\'s get you to bed, Anya\"
She stayed very still for the whole procedure, not even the tiniest wince or hiss of pain escaping tainting her face as her head tilted down to \'watch\' him bind her ankle. Listening to Munroe as he stood, she cocked her head to the side and shook it once, motioning over to a far closet in the corner. \"My bed is up on the second floor, I can\'t get all the way up there. There are blankets in that closet over there though, grab me a couple and I\'ll bunk down here for the night. And since I couldn\'t make you a bed, take mine while I sleep down here...\" She said simply as she turned her sightless gaze back to her companion, the gentle \'tick, tock\' of a clock in the background the only other sound besides their breathing.
\"Hell no\" he says sternly, staring down at her protectively. \"I\'m going to carry your ass up to bed. There\'s no way I\'m taking the chance of you propping your ankle up on the arm accidentally during the night and having you make it worse.\" With that, she felt his powerful arms suddenly slide underneath her and pick her up easily. Heading for the stairs, he turns sideways to avoid the walls and railing from hitting her ankle. At the top of the stairs, he looks around and leans into her ear. \"Which door is yours?\"
\"God damn it Munroe! You know the Stone Age died out centuries ago right!? Then WHY are you carrying me around like a Neanderthal!?\" She whispered fiercely, trying to be a little quiet so she wouldn\'t wake anyone. She narrowed those milky, blue eyes of hers in the direction of his face, trying to wiggle in his hold a little to give him a hard time.
\"You want me to throw you over my shoulder and show you how Neanderthal I can be?\" he quips playfully as he looks down at her. \"And, just for the record, I am not carrying you around like a Neanderthal; I am carrying you like someone who, oddly, cares.\" This time, his voice is a little more serious as his dark eyes stare down into hers.
\"Bes, ho, how do you know I won\'t prop it in the middle of the night in my bedroom?! I have pillows you know...\"
He stops and thinks about her comment. \"I was planning on propping your ankle up with pillows. All I meant was that I didn\'t want you propping it up without ankle support and possibly furthering the damage. Now, which way?\"
She grudgingly pointed towards the last door at the end of the hallway towards the left, her memory still engraved of where her door was. Crossing her arms , he, her shoulders hunching as she was still in his stone strong, but soft, warm-\'Grah! Where\'d that come from?\' She thought furiously as she quickly shook her head like an animal would after scenting something bad. Recovering herself and her thoughts, Anya looked up towards his face shyly, her voice curious but a bit small as she asked, \"Cares?\"
\"Don\'t read too much into it, darlin\'\" he grunts as he heads for the door. Reaching the wooden barricade, he adjusts her carefully so he can grab the knob and turn it without her falling. After succeeding this, he makes his way through the dark room, his keen eyes picking out every detail. Setting her down on the bed, he stands up and sniffs around. He turns his nose in disgust, making a soft grunt. \"Well, it seems Olga wasn\'t completely right about this room being left alone.\" Shaking his head clear, he bent down and gently pulled the mountain of covers up over her. Using special care, he arranges everything so her foot is elevated and covered, but there is no pressure on it other than the bandages. \"Comfortable?\"
Feeling the quick, but careful way he \'tucked\' her into her bed, she smiled despite herself. \"Yeah, thanks.\" She nodded, laying her head back onto her pillow as she too sniffed, though, not having that great of a nose as his obviously, she looked all \'round the room and inquired. \"Why do you say that?\"
\"Don\'t worry about it, you\'re bed is still clean.\" With that, he turns and heads for the door. Stopping in the doorway, he turns back. \"Is there anything else you want? If not, where\'s the room I was supposed ta be situated in?\" He leans against the frame, staring at her warmly, only risking a display like this for he knows she cannot see him in this moment of \"weakness\". As it had been when he had listened to her plhe fhe felt an odd tugging in his mind and heart, a feeling completely new to him. He decides that, for now, he distrusts it, even if it feels good, and begins to gird himself against it. He will still be nice to the girl, but he\'s not going to let himself feel warm and mushy again.
Anya debated for a moment, but she always had her violin and staff with her. Deciding that this was the last thing she would ask him for, not wanting to seem \'weak\'. \"Well, the only other room open is right opposite of mine; it\'s the spare room for guests, or children if we\'re really crowded. But, there\'s no one there now, \'cause I didn\'t hear children snoring as we went by.\" She said simply and then tried to sit up just a little, only one more thing to do before she went to bed... \"Could you... Maybe get my walking stick and violin for me? Please?\" She asked in an unsure tone, not really wanting to bother him much more. \"I won\'t be able to sleep without playing once more...\" She said with a shrug, it was just how she was...
\"Sure\" he says roughly, turning away from her once more. As he heads down the hall, his heavy boots can be heard clomping as softly as he can manage. The sounds continue down the stairs, and across the bottom floor. He rummages around in the dark for a bit, finally coming upon her things. He grabs up the staff easily, propping it against his shoulder. The violin case, however, he takes up wihe ghe greatest of ease. Tucking it tenderly underneath his arm, he heads back up the stairs again. Once more, his boots make soft clomping noises as he nears and enters the room.
\"Ok... your staff\'s right by your bed.\" he says, his voice near to her, \"And here\'s your instrument.\" He sets it carefully in her lap before heading back out the door.
\"I\'m going to bed.\" he grunts over his shoulder as he carefully closes the door. Entering the room, he barely manages to slide off his boots before slumping on the bed. It is not long before his deep, bear like snoring fills the room, and filters into the rooms around him. Few children wake up, for they are mostly deep sleepers. The ones that do wake up, however, put their pillows over their head and are quickly under the hold of sleep again.
Anya went to bed with mixed emotions that night. Half of her deeply intrigued about Munroe\'s appearance and behavior with her, the other half telling her it\'s no use getting all worked up, he\'ll be gone soon. But, feeling the fatigue of from her traveling today, and the dull throb in her ankle, Anya soon fell victim to sleep as well, her fingers lovingly clutching the handle of her violin case.

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)) A/N: Lemme know the damage, you know the drill.. Comments, death threats, praises and criticism welcome! -.^ ((