ＳＹＭＰＡＴＨＹ ＦＯＲ ＴＨＥ ＤＥＶＩＬ

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰

♟

I loiter in the corner of the elevator. It takes me up to the penthouse of Nikolai's building at an excruciatingly slow pace, and it does not please me. As soon as the doors slide open, I bolt to the entrance of the apartment in the least savage way possible. 

I rap my knuckles against the mahogany door and practically jump into my brother's arms when his face appears. "Nikolai!"

"Hey, baby sister!" he chuckles, enveloping me in a tight hug. 

"Oh my god, I missed you so much." I step back from him and examine his figure. He looks considerably more mature since the last time I saw him. A fine layer of stubble lines his chin, and his hair has grown out slightly. The suit that he has chosen highlights his muscles nicely, which shows that he luckily hasn't been just lazing about for four years. I wish that I could have visited him more often. My parents had left to see him before, but they'd made me stay home.

"Are you ready to go?" I sigh, upset that we can't stay in Chicago.

"Yeah." He grabs a duffel bag from a hidden closet off to the side along with his keys.

The driver has left already since his assignment was only to bring me to my brother's place. Once we get downstairs, we hop into Nikolai's sleek black car and race across the final stretch to my new home. No, not home. House. Maybe not even a house. Living quarters? Any place that isn't Volkov Manor or my brother's apartment could never be home.

Nikolai glances at me, sizing me up in the same way that I had to him. It was something that our parents have taught us. The act of judging people isn't rude. It is a way to help you make choices based on other people, and it is necessary. 

"You've grown up so much." He shakes his head in disbelief.

"Well, I'm not twelve anymore, so I'm bound to look different," I shrug.

"I just want you to be careful, you know? You're not a little kid anymore and there are guys out there-"

I roll my eyes. "Nikolai, I know. I might not be little, but I am smart."

"To be fair, you're pretty short," he muses.

I laugh quietly. I know that I'm pretty. It runs in the family, which is extremely useful for financial and personal gain. I'm small, as my brother has so kindly pointed out, averaging at about 5'4".  I'm not too curvy, though I have some accents in the right places. I have long, chocolate brown hair. I didn't inherit my mother's silky golden locks or either of my parents' blue eyes. My eyes are amber. Yellowish color with flakes of brown makes them seem to glow.

Nikolai and I look more similar to each other than to our parents. Of course, the age and gender differences ensure that we weren't clones of each other, but we have some of the same features. His hair is the same texture as mine, although it's slightly darker. His eyes are a dark shade of brown, darker than my hair. I like to think that I give off an intimidating aura, while my brother's is more friendly.

After catching up with each other for two hours, we arrive at the house. I scoff at it. It was... normal. I prefer a nice apartment, but then again, this was the suburbs. The moving vans have somehow gotten everything in quicker than we have gotten there, presumably because my parents have been planning on getting rid of me for years in advance.

The house is large, much larger than a home for just one person. I suppose it's good for parties, although it would be a pain to clean. I fumble with the keys that have been given to me as I step in. It looks new. I'm sure it isn't, but it's nice to think so. Furniture is already set up, chosen by my parents.

Nikolai and I explore, finding three bedrooms, four bathrooms, a basement, a backyard, a kitchen, the usual house stuff. I open the door to the garage to find a beautiful Pontiac with a note attached to it. 

Anastasia, it reads. Here is your first gift. I trust you have your license with you. Take good care of her. Please try to make friends with the neighbors. You know that we need to expand our connections and if it looks like we empathize with middle-class individuals, it'll look good for us. I love you, Kukla.

~Papa

It would have been nice of him, if it weren't typed out. It isn't a big deal but it would've been nice to know that he at least cared enough to take two minutes and just write the damn note.

Nikolai helps me set up my various Rolling Stones posters and such in my new room. We spend the day decorating the house. Once we were done, we sit on the couch in the living room, exhausted. "Are you hungry?" he mutters.

I nod eagerly.

"Cool. Let's see if we can get a good pizza. I can't take any more of the deep dish crap."

♟

I exhale as I rock back and forth on my feet on my neighbors' front step. This is it. I need to make a good impression. I ring the doorbell. As the door swings open, I plaster on a smile.

"Hello! Is this the Forman residence?"

The curly-headed boy standing in front of me wrinkles his nose in disgust as soon as he sees my grin. "We aren't interested."

I stare at the door as it slams shut in my face. Did he think I was a salesperson or something? Do I look that bad? Or are Point Place standards just extremely high?

Whatever. I'm not giving up. I press the button again and wait for an answer. The boy comes back, rolling his eyes. He takes one look at what I'm wearing and laughs. I don't see what's so funny. It's a simple black dress that stops at my mid-thigh, with spaghetti straps and a bit of a low cut. What's wrong with that?

"Hey, who ordered the hooker?" he calls out into the house.

It takes everything for me not to scowl at him. Keep up the act. Keep smiling. My face muscles hurt.

Another boy, a slightly lankier one with pretty greenish-blue eyes, appears behind the first one. "Can we help you?"

I repeat my initial question.

"Yeah. I'm Eric-"

"Oh my goodness! Wait! Don't go anywhere, I'm coming!" a high-pitched voice shouts. An older woman appears, and she manages to be shorter than me.

I feel the plate of cookies leave my hands as the first boy takes it and starts devouring them.

"Yes, hi," I beam, fighting to keep my lips pulled back. "Are you Mrs. Forman?"

She nods eagerly. 

"I'm Anastasia. I just moved in next door, and as a 'hello' gift of sorts, I baked you some cookies."

She gasps in excitement. "Oh, and you bake, too! Well, welcome to Point Place! I'm Kitty, and this is Steven and Eric," she introduces, gesturing to each boy.

"Your cookies are good," Steven compliments, muffled by the chunks of cookie in his mouth.

I awkwardly nod at him in acknowledgment. This is my time to leave. I start to back away. "Well,  guess I'll see-"

"Why don't you join us for dinner?" Kitty squeals. "Thanksgiving dinner! I know you moved here on your own, so you can join us!"

My eyes widen and I shake my head. "That's quite alright, Mrs. Forman, but my brother is visiting me and helping me settle in."

Kitty ignores my excuse and drags me inside. I drop the act and flash the boys a look. Help me.

They just shrug, smirking. "Mrs. Forman, my brother is waiting for me! I told him I'd be right back-"

"Then he'll know where you are. Invite him to dinner, too!" She halts in the middle of the kitchen. "Boys?"

The two teens turn slowly. It's obvious that they were trying not to be noticed, but it seems that they failed.

"Why don't you bring Anastasia downstairs and introduce her to your friends?"

Although watching the asshats awkwardly introduce me would be wonderful, I don't want friends.

"Mom-" Eric starts.

"Why don't you bring Anastasia down and introduce her to your friends?" she repeats, more sternly.

They share a look reluctantly before waving me over. I jog to catch up to them and they start descending into what is probably their basement. "Wait here," Eric orders, and I do. The two scurry down the rest of the way.

Hopefully they don't ditch me and leave me here.

I can vaguely hear them talking at the bottom of the steps. About me, no doubt, but that's to be expected. After an amount of time that seems to last too long, I'm called down. Six sets of eyes watch me curiously as I join them in the basement. I take a seat on one of the chairs. I don't need to ask. I don't need to be polite. I don't need them to like me. As long as the parents do, I'll be fine.

As I sit across from the group of teens, I scan them from right to left, trying to pick them apart. The girl closest to me analyzes me, in the same way I do to her as she perches on the armrest of the couch, and I vaguely recognize her. She has silky, black hair that bounces as she turns her head, and a figure similar to mine. I remember her from one of the business parties that my family has hosted. Her father is probably an important and powerful figure in Point Place if her family has mingled with mine.

The boy next to her grins widely as he stares at me, his eyes noticeably fixated on my chest. He's tall and well-built. Based on the way his hand rests on the girl's waist, I assume that they're dating, which would further mean that there's a great chance of him being a man-whore. At least he'll be there if I need a quick fling.

Moving further down the line, a boy with gorgeous, slightly darker skin crosses his legs, although I don't think posture is the reason he does so. These guys are just highschool horndogs. Desperate. But then again, aren't we all? 

The girl on the other end of the couch has a full head of the most beautiful red hair I have ever seen. Her eyes are a rich blue, like my father's and mother's, as I observe. She's also very tall and offers a small smile to me. Maybe I can convince her to be my "friend". She could be useful.

Although I've seen the last two before, the awkward silence prompts me to examine them in further detail. Eric is skinny, almost frail, and has his hands tucked into his pockets. It's obvious that he's uncomfortable, but intrigued by the new arrival to his home.

My eyes land on Steven, and I'm immediately taken aback. While the others examine all parts of my body, his icy blue eyes are trained on mine. The eye contact makes me uncomfortable, but I don't show it. I quickly rake my eyes over him before snapping my gaze back to meet his. I will not back down, and don't intend on breaking the contact.

What I can't understand about this boy is his expression. The others are easy to read. Their body language tells me what they're thinking, and even things about their personalities. But Steven doesn't show anything. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and appears emotionless. His lips are pulled into a thin line. There isn't even a trace of curiosity there.

I decide to make it one of my priorities to decode him. I'm stuck here, so I may as well use my time to work on a project. Eric clears his throat. I can see a flash of amusement in Steven's eyes, daring me to look away. But I don't. I sit with my legs crossed on the chair, unmoving. When Eric starts speaking, he breaks, and I know I've won. I turn my attention to the boy, satisfied.

"Well, uh, hi," he stutters. "I guess I'll... introduce you." He goes down the line as I did before. "This is Jackie, Kelso, Fez, and Donna. I'm Eric. And that's Hyde."

"I thought it was Steven?" I quirk, raising an eyebrow.

He grunts. "Nobody calls me that, and you're not allowed to."

I uncross my legs and lean back slightly. "Well, I'm Anastasia."

"Anastasia Volkov, right?" Jackie chimes. It's the first time I've heard her speak, or at least the first time I haven't tuned her out. Her voice is a little annoying but she doesn't seem to be a threat. Not unless her father is a threat to mine.

"Yes," I reply bluntly.

"Sounds Russian," Hyde sniggers. "Let me know if you're involved with the Mafia. Your info can help me overthrow the government."

I throw him a look that essentially says, "Shut up, weirdo." The corners of his lips twitch up. He knows he's irritating me, and he likes it. Well, I won't have it.

"No, I'm not involved with the Mafia. My heritage has nothing to do with any government issues." 

There are tons of people in New York who have last names similar to mine since it's quite a culturally diverse city. But I'm interested as to if it would be more of a problem here, what with the Cold War.

Jackie ignores the Mafia thing and turns herself so she faces me more directly. "My dad is Jackson Burkhart."

"Yes, I've met him once or twice."

"What are you doing here?" Kelso presses, oblivious to the rudeness of the question.

"My parents moved me here from New York."

"Ouch. Your parents hate you so much that they moved you a third of the way across the country?" Hyde chortles.

"Hyde, shut up." Donna glares daggers at him. "At least she has parents."

That wipes the smirk clean off of his face. What happened to them? They could be divorced, dead, maybe they abandoned him. Either way, it's probably what made him like he is. Good at hiding things, and an absolute dick. See, I'm already getting somewhere.

I rise. There isn't anything left for me to do, and I don't want to talk to these people. I couldn't care less about them. "I'm leaving."

Before stepping outside, I turn to Eric. "If you tell your family that I'm anything but a ray of sunshine, I'll kill you."

I try to ignore the sound of Hyde laughing out the word "Mafia" as I shut the door and walk back to my house.

♟

When I get back, Nikolai leans on the wall of the house with raised eyebrows. I open the door without a word. "So how'd it go?" he cackles, following me.

"Terribly."

"Oh, it can't have been that bad. They seem like nice people. And at least you don't have neighbors on any other side of the house. You don't have to interact with them."

"Nik, they invited us over for dinner. And then I had to meet all of their son's friends."

He laughs at my misfortune until he realizes that my words include "us". 

"Wait, why do I have to go to dinner with them?"

I cross my arms. "If you're not going I'm not."

"Fine," he drawls. 

A few hours later, I examine myself in the mirror. I've braided my long hair loosely, a style that I wear often, and I've gone for a bolder makeup look, with red lipstick. The outfit I have chosen consists of a black turtleneck sweater, a tan skirt, and black heeled boots. I'm not trying to woo anyone. I know that the boys already think I'm hot, at least Eric, Fez, and Kelso. It's written all over their faces.

Clearly, though, Nikolai has contrasting plans. He has dressed himself up in his signature leather jacket and his "bad boy look". 

I resist the urge to laugh when I see him. "Who are you trying to impress?"

"Any cute girls."

"Ew."

We clear our throats and strut to the house. I ring the doorbell and Mrs. Forman immediately ushers us in, as if she has been waiting by the windows to see us. Her family stands grouped behind the counter. An older man, Eric, and two blonde women around Nikolai's age.

Mrs. Forman introduces them as Red (her husband), Laurie (her daughter), and Kate (Laurie's friend). I don't care at all, but I smile and nod. Laurie eyes my brother hungrily and I try to refrain from gagging right then and there.

The boys sweep through the kitchen. "Why are you always here? Don't you have families?" Red snaps.

They shrug dismissively. As Nikolai peels off to flirt with the ladies, Kelso rests a hand on my lower back. I feel a piece of paper being slipped into my fingers. "Call me," he mumbles.

I smirk to myself. Damn. I don't necessarily want to be a bitch by helping him cheat on his girlfriend but that confirms that I have at least one puppet on my strings.

We move into the dining room and I take a seat next to Eric. I uneasily sit with my hands in my lap and eyes open as the Formans and Kate say a prayer. 

"Amen," Red finishes. "Let's eat."

Kitty picks up various items on the table. "Is everything ready? I feel like we're missing something," she frets. "Oh my god! I forgot your grandmother!" 

I sigh tiredly and straighten my back while she runs off to fix everything. After a brief phone call, she tells us that "Mother Forman"  won't be eating with us. Just as well.

As Nikolai socializes with our hosts and the girls, Eric attempts to talk to me. "Sorry if it was awkward earlier in the basement."

I hesitate slightly, nibbling on some mashed potatoes. I don't want to get close to him but he doesn't seem to be a threat, just like Jackie. Talking to him is better than sitting here awkwardly.

I shake my head. "It's not your fault. I'm not a very sociable person."

Once he gets over the shock that I have genuinely spoken to him and haven't threatened his life, he chuckles. "That's obvious."

"Hey!" I grin, before realizing who I am and switching the expression off. Don't get too comfortable.

"Were you always like that?"

Again, I contemplate answering him. Am I really going to have a heart-to-heart with a guy I just met? What if he mistakes it for friendship? I shudder internally. What if it becomes friendship? Whatever. If it does, I'll just avoid him.

"I was raised to be very cautious of myself. I don't make friends. I don't talk to people unless they can help me get what I want."

"Oh." He silences himself and becomes suddenly interested in his food. He thinks I mean that I'm using him.

"I'm sorry. That came out wrong. Right now, I'm talking to you without evil intentions or whatever. And I'll try to do it more often if we're going to be neighbors."

His shoulders relax and he turns his head to me. "Sounds good," he smiles.

Smiling is going too far. At this point, I consider him an acquaintance, if anything. Acquaintances don't smile at each other. I curtly nod and finish what's left of my dinner.

"Mrs. Forman, this is delicious," I compliment. 

She beams, excited that a newcomer seemingly likes her. "I'm just glad you joined us."

After dinner, we disperse. I let Nikolai stay with the girls. Even though it's gross, he deserves to have his fun as much as I do. I decide that I'll start on my way home. As I sweep through the living room, I glimpse Hyde handing both Red and the Forman's other next-door neighbor, Bob slices of pie. I can tell that the slices aren't their first from the way their belts are unbuckled so carelessly on their slouching bodies.

Steven catches my arm. I flinch away from the contact, ripping my arm away, and continue to walk. He rushes forward and blocks the front door. I roll my eyes. "Move."

"No can do, Femme Fatale," he sneers.

"Get out of my way. And that's a shitty insult because I take it as a compliment," I spit.

He cocks his head to the side. "You're hot when you're angry."

"Oh my god," I scoff. I push him away from the door and open it. Before leaving, I assume the position he was in before, except for the fact that he towers over me. 

"By the way," I add. "Tell Kelso to either dump his girlfriend or stop trying to cheat on her."

His eyebrows shoot up in amusement. "He already made a move on you?"

"Femme Fatale," I shrug, displaying the slip of paper cheekily. "Bye, Hyde."

"Bye, Volkov."

♟

Okay, WHOO! First chapter!

As always, feedback, comments, votes, etc. are appreciated if you'd like to leave some, and I'll see you guys in the future.

Love you guys,

Lissy

P.S.: I come from Russian heritage and I don't mean to offend anyone by comments like Hyde's. That just how I write his character and no, I don't automatically associate Russian names with the mafia.