Showing posts with label Anthony. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anthony. Show all posts

Saturday, January 10, 2015

The Draniki

The Pilgrimage was scheduled to take place between the middle of the spring to summer in the present estimation of Saxonic calendar. Such an extreme hobby for an old couple, but both of them chuckled indifferently by the possibility that one of them would have to bury the one dies prior to another, no matter how hard the consequence would be.

The first morning about 50 km of Orsha, towards Smolensk, was started by a bunch of draniki, and, to lead a softer, more American version of breakfast, the husband added a glint of mapple syrup on the draniki on his plate. The wife chuckled.

'Kardo, you're such a honey,' she poured in warm milk she just brewed from the portable advanced magnetic stove one of her grandson handed them two years ago.

It shall end in two and a half months. On the first month after the scheduled finish, they would have to spare time for one of their dearest granddaughter would have her debut, one they would not want to miss. It would be special, since it would be her birthday, too.


So, you know... the wife had quite a root in Lithuania and Latvia, and the husband had best friends from Poland and Ukraine. Both of them loved and wanted to end the journey around Smolensk, hence concluded: The Belarus as the main road to wander.

Wine Toasting at Gare de Lyon (3)

It was not casual that Davidovich James ever, even for just in a while, thought about anything else other than a cuisine he was preparing the time he prepared it. He was a very focused person. He would not let any of his customers stepping inside his restaurant in the downtown Edinburgh, or his anywhere, savouring a dish that was cooked half-heartedly.

But today was strange, such an exception.

He decided to take a walk inside the dining chambers to see who were present. He signaled his sous chef, Ferdinand, to watch over his roasted hare. He ordered Patricia to prepare the garnish for two ordered salmon with sauteed mushroom and truffle dressing.

It was his sister, Ann. He could not stop thinking about her.

Chamber Lord William. Three tables occupied; The Montgomery couple, one of his most loyal customers was there. They waved at him, and he didn't mind to come over and greet them for a little, perhaps, comment.

'Good evening, Mr. and Madame Montgomery... everything's fine so far? he kissed the Madame's hand. 'How about your favourite foie gras tonight, Sir?'

'Ah, young Chef, you know that I will only complain about the size have I told you always that I am craving for more!' Sir Montgomery chuckled and Dave smiled politely while pouring him more wine. 

Chamber Mary Jane. Such a big dinner of old rich people seemed to be held; the long, white linen coated table was fully occupied, and they were toasting for something like prosperity. Dave would not want to bother them, so he sneaked silently as fast as he could behind Roger, his big-figured servant carrying french buns and glasses of champagne, to the Chamber of Fourier Delicatee.

About five tables were occupied, and he was quite suprise to see Brilliant Bedliszt, his dual from the Complex World--- sitting at one table on the corner, winking coquettishly at him. He wore such a fine tux complete with a stick of rose on his right pocket, a pair of polished black loafers, Dave just knew it that it must be hand made---damn, he could see himself so fine with such outfit, he got to force him to tell where on Earth did he make those shoes.

He disdainly(in a good way)grabbed the menu out of Bedliszt' hand, faced him just a few inches from Bedl's nose.

'Well, well, gentleman...' he sighed, 'have we not signed the pact that each of our mischieves would stay away from my professional job? You can not mess around here, you see?'

I smelled roasted hare, Bedliszt grinned.

Davidovich sighed. Okay, fine, he replied. I'll have it to you rightaway, just---promise me you're not gonna mess around, d'accord?

Davidovich was about to turn his body back towards the kitchen when he noticed a middle-sized man wearing a long, greyish coat seating himself at the table near the window. Another distraction. Damn! He could not focus to his work by now, oh well... he sighed, then made his way really for the kitchen this time. Annie, Annie... why on Earth do you have to linger on my mind all the time?

Next order: 2 beef wellingtons, truffles and carrots... Dave headed to the pantry,for some olive oil, rushing so directloss he forgot he had people he could ask to take him some. Oceans of ricottas, burratas, fetas, beefs, loins, truffles, mushrooms, wines, and champagne and all sorts of vegetables greeted him; they which are usually calming and relaxing suddenly looked menacing as a gigantic, black-bat-liked shadow overcasted the entire area. Davidovich gasped, a glint of shining emerald eyes looked straight upon his.

Davidovich, as his reflex automatically reacted everytime he felt threatened, jumped to his feet, and in no time the intruder was already on the floor.

I told you, stay away, ever-- EVER from my work! hardly anyone would believe the threat came from Dave the flamboyant guy, who smiled cheerfully beneath the sunlight on the shore of California... those ocean-blue-eyes were glimmering so menacingly, shining much similar to the gleam of the sabatier on his hand, ready to strike...

and thud!

The sabatier landed just a few inches on the right of his opponent's left ear

... Brilliant Bedliszt himself.

The Prince of la monde à complex chuckled to see his dual, who was acting so surprisingly savage, as usual, when it came to his work. Maybe that was what made him so fond of him, his one and only dual from la monde à real--- none other than his passion---of beauty, of his life, and of cooking--- that after all, stopped him from killing Dave once and for all.

Prinz Bedlizst had not been able to stop his laughing for the next 15 seconds.

Davidovich calmly took some eggs, olive oil, tomatoes, and parsleys inside one of the many baskets in the pantry. Bedl poked him on the shoulder.

It was her, am I not right? he continously, as usual, teasing Dave. Such a psycho, you are, my friend... of constantly thinking, seriously.... about your own sister? Really--- it's not like she's your girlfriend or something like that, right?

Oh, I'm dying to know, hummed Davidovich, making Bedl burst back in laugh. Well, if it seems that you have that much time... why don't you check on her for me? he poked Bedl on the chest.


In a split second later, just like the wind. Dave was left alone in the middle of his pantry, on the warm summer night full of meads and wine, brains still vaguely thinking of her sister, heart as foggy as autumn in the middle of the Dorf of Wisembourough. Body could be trapped in Edinburgh, but who knows where mind could take you to?

The Sight of Two Skies (2)

-Erik-

Ah, how could it be so unconsciously to feel warm, enthusiastic, and at times, sophorific, to talk about love? To talk about dream? To talk about her hair, her smile, her habits-- to talk about his smile, his jokes, his habits? Was it because the pulse of our heart actually driven by them?

Something weird happened lately to the 14 years old of himself, nearly 15 years ago. He was no longer complacent to talk about those things, qualitatively. What remains were mostly flatness. At times, a shape of determination. A determination then shaped a tinge of passion. Then a hunger, hunger for more.

Some men would undoubtfully express their feelings by sharing it with circles of random friends, random people. He became wouldn't. Even when someday came public the times when privacy to be something commonly announced, he promised that he wouldn't. Apart from his professional accomplishment.

Erik Wilhelm Ahlgren smiled, his thin smile smoothened his hard, skull-bulging feature. Outside his four-wheel ride, on his right, a prairie of daisy lily, dandellions, more grass, more grass. On his left, an even vaster land of the mighty Sweden plain, more grass, more grass, maybe a flow of a warm stream ahead of him.

This is the kind of atmosphere he had always been fond of. A serene nature. 95 kilometres away, in the cities, there maybe lights that's been on since dawn. As a normal European young lad, he didn't deny it. He occasionally enjoyed the dark surrounding the shining buildings at night, on the bank of the river in Gothenborg, as for example. The sensation was always different, each of them, which why was it so refreshing to taste in turn between the two.

-Therryana-

She would never be bored here, she thought at first. She would really enjoy at least three summers, just resting and relaxing her mind, maybe writing one or two proses at times she feels like it. A great cook in the kitchen, a loving nearly-a-cousin maid, a Scandinavian rose garden behind her bedroom. Every two weeks she would be visited by one of the most dreamt-of gentleman by girls all around the world, none other than her caring, dashing brother, Arthur, whom she would always be able to indulge herself on his chest to.

She was not too blind about biology. She knew that this is the time when feromones takes place that she felt like longing for someone. But she wondered, must it be that over-lusty? Was it that really all about? Sure that deep inside she hoped that she would get someone as kind and loving as his brother Arthur, but given that he became one of the boys she interacted with most of her time until now, she was rather afraid that she would have become Arthur-complex: any guy with golden hair and blue eyes, with a little bit of educated manner would easily made her fall for him. It would surely remind her of how comfortable and safe it was to hide beneath an Arthur-like shadow.

No.

She had her own problem already. As much as she did not want her lover to merely care about her apperance, her body, her smile, her look--- she did not want to love someone merely for his attributes. She wanted to care for him for who he really was.

She just had not figured how.

Arthur, she called.

It was a nice room, where they were now. Across her bed, a tall, broad window displaying the side garden of the house, a scenery of The Hjalmaaren in the distance. Every morning Britta would replace yesterday's tulips or lilies beside her bed, which dispersing such a fresh scent in the air. A round tea table and a wooden brown jati chair were placed on the right side near the window, where Arthur, when he came to visit, usually sit upon, doing his works with books.

As today. The auburn haired gentleman turned his face towards his sister, then rose to his feet as he always did whenever Therry wanted to talk to him; he would come over so Therry would not have to louden her speak.

Therryana lifted her body so she was now upright, leaning against the backrest of her bed.

I want to know, Therryana started to talk.

-Anthony-

Borg, her half-Bavarian and Russian so they called 'bodyguard', had always been a nice company in journeys, but given her easy going personality, that was how Anthony always felt about going in far-distanced journey with anyone accompanying her. Borg was funny, and his jokes were at times dumm-witted.

Like just now, the time they finally obtained the car to rent and drive across Oerebro along the stream of Svartan. He reversed the conversation back to the occasion they experienced on the bank of the stream in Soedra Strandgatan where they happened to meet the brunette handsome man.

Oh my God, he was so handsome! Borg almost squealed like a girl, and Anthony laughed fairly heartily. She flapped her lemon-green morning coat to wrap her torso even more as the open shield did not shelter them from the fairly-cold breezing wind in Sweden's summer. This was another witty suggestion from Borg: let's drive the open shielded car, so we could enjoy the warm, summer noon in the plain! Woo hooo!

But it turned out to be quite windy. But Borg, perhaps due to his meaty body, seemed to be really fine and enjoying it.

Anthony rechecked her two-way pager. Another message from Albert, her cousin. She smiled. Albert seemed to be not really pleased. He was supposed to be arriving in Stockholm in nearly two hours from now, but his plane was again, delayed in Copenhagen.

Her prodigy cousin, Albert. It was he who gave her(confidentially) this advanced pager, another exciting (in his opinion) result from his lab research at Cambridge. Albert was really genuine in science. That's what makes him so exotic, Anthony always had such an impression towards him.

So this whole week of vacation in Oerebro and surrounding places of The Lake Hjalmaaren supposed to be fun: there will be she, Therryana, and Anthony's other cordial cousins, Albert Davidovich and Arthur Levan. They were awesome group, Anthony really loved it them to be hanging around together. It was a pity that the occassion was due to Therryana's ill. Even that finally Albert was willing to come. Ah, Mom, Pa, Uncle Fadev, Jo, and Dave should be here as well... Anthony thought, while she casted her gaze to the distant mountainous scenery around the road.

Look, Borg, don't you love it that I picked you to keep me company, Ann poked Borg's shoulder and laughed.

Hey, you owe me one, Borg laughed back.

Indeed, Anthony happened to skip almost her entire first week of summer school in reading Latin during the seven days trips in Oerebro. No one would forbid her, not Pa or Mom, but it was just quite unethical. First, she was sent to a village near Altdorf to have a Lady Summer School, or any summer school she liked that she had applied for the preceeding semester, and although she had said she would like to visit Therry for some time, it turned out that her tendency changed.

Although the change was not unreasonable.

She had to meet Albert.

Pa said that wherever she goes she would always need to be accompanied by one of the Hidden Horses, so she chose Borg, especially because he would not be too much protocoler in asking why she should leave Switzerland so much. Borg promised that he would not question why Ann needed to go to Sweden in such a length of time, alone, without her other family member, or speak about it to the other family. Ann had saved some of her pocket money for two way tickets for both of them, without disturbing her summer school money amount. Even when it turned out that she lost her appetite of summer school after she left Sweden this time, she had prepared it to return the summer school money back to her parents.

Hey, turned out that you're lucky this time, Borg, Ann pointed at a four-wheel drive that apparently just stopped by the fence of the same house where she and Borg headed to.

The brunette gentleman was loading what seemed to be his baggages and other belongings down the car. Borg parked just behind him. Anthony saw the emblem of Uppsala University Research Hospital attached to one of the luggage.

The brunette gentleman of Soedra Strandgattan , accidentally, seemed to be that new doctor of Therryana's Albert had spoken before.


What a coincidence?

A Fall Break in Frost Street 13

Two weeks before the Fall Semester started, the Faboulous Five (they called themselves)stayed together in Charlotte's residence. Miranda slept in the same room as Anthony, Carrie stayed together in the guest room across the stairs with Samantha, and Charlotte stayed in her own bedroom. The Mashburns have owned the house since 1974 and since they befriend each other, it has become one of their favourite place to spend semester breaks. While it actually less in size compared to Samantha's or Anthony's(the richest two among them), there was something so homy there Miranda tried to rationalize it at present.

'Well, so... Carrie, now it's your turn...' as she measured one by one of her friend's temperature body and 'state of mind'(don't really know how she determine it)to survey the girls' responses of coming again to the house.

Oh come on, Miranda... you can't quantize something so peculiar like this... for example, protested Carrie, I just broke up with Ashton, so how could you take the conclusion that everybody is happy when they come here? Not to mention that this is our first day here!Of course, I'm happy to be here, Charlotte...

Charlotte and Anthony giggled, Samantha said nothing as she was busy with her eye lashes. Ann helped Charlotte served the tea, and she admired the order of Charlotte's kitchen, the choice of cookies in the pantry, and the classic Julia Child's cookbook laid inside the first row of the buffet.

Mr. and Mrs. Mashburn were shopping downtown, and she promised to welcome them with the family's secret recipes of stuffed luncheon and tre leche. The agenda at present as Miranda planned was tea and schedule planning. Samantha had to fulfill her promise to bath in the lake nearby as she lost her bet to Carrie, Carrie needed to be accompanied to buy some consolation shawl to forget her break up with Ashton temporarily, and all of them wanted to go around Syracuse University to meet some cool guys. They were all needed to be scheduled carefully.

I bet it's the family, Samantha sipped her tea. You know... the house is full of your parents' love, Charl... something barely I get backhome.

All four of her friends went asilenced. They knew that Sam's parents divorced when she was eleven and that she had faced it roughly. Sam was once rehabilitated for using light-level metamphetamine for her frustration and more on that, maybe later.

Ha ha ha... I know you'll be speechless! she laughed so hard that Charlotte, Carrie, and Miranda giggled awkwardly.

Nope... I just knew it that it was your silly tactics, Ann responded casually, once again establishing her reputation as the cold-blooded one in the clowder. Samantha jumped at her and randomized her hair. You cold blooded twat! She giggled.

Well, if only her friends knew that indeed, Ann did not really interested in being sympathetic towards any of such feeling of Sam, or Carrie, or Miranda, or Charlotte's about their personal problems. At this level, when she was only 16, all that she cared about of maintaining the friendship was so that she could observe how did her fellow teenagers cope up, interact with their environment and problems. She wanted to become a neurobiologist someday... she thought she needed to train herself from now on to get used to social problems.

So Anthony... how is Dave doing? Charlotte shyly asked. Carrie and Miranda booed and Samantha hugged her. Yes, if there was any, then the only reason that Charlotte would befriend someone so weird as Anthony was because she had such a lovveeely brother! And Charlotte meant it; no matter how Anny told her that he was one of the greatest playboy on Earth Ann knew, Charlotte had been ready to endure all the consequences. She got to be the last one for David!

Anthony laughed. She glanced a bit towards the window, at the reddening maple leaves across the street in front of the house.


She thanked God once more, before starting to spill her report out to Charlotte about her brother, Davidovich. As these two weeks would be another fun Summer Break...

Eye of The Golden Horses

The Readers might always find the happy frames of Brownsimov's daily lives.

But not The Clan of The Hidden Horses. What they usually observe are blood, plot, and big pictures. They shadow the every step of Anthony's. Every move Davidovich made. Every place Joshev be.

Once there said that Fritz Novozybirsk Braunsimov, one of the Great Great ancestor of the current Brownsimova who lived circa 1500's made his journey to the Land of The Vast Desert in the Far East... where there said that there lived The Ancient Wise who mastered the art of conserving talent. Yes however weird and cheap it must be, he sold talents in shape of children, or baby, to whoever desired them.

Fritz bought this Eurasian little boy who had so much traits of the mighty Genghis Khan himself inside his blood. That time, rarely anybody could understand the method of Fritz' extrapolating one's potential. The Eurasian boy was seen to be this lame guy by his surrounding.

Until, Fritz bought him and cure him, but more on that, maybe later.

He was called Khaka. He became Fritz' personal bodyguard, was shared some of his stocks in global market in East Japan, and was asked to make his own dynasty.

Khaka married two descendants of the oldest Viking family, and paid his debt of being raised by Braunsimovs by being their paternal bodyguard, which was continued on by his descendants. They called themselves The Hidden Horses before The Brownsimova. Because they operated like the hidden horses inside some puzzling pictures.


So be careful when you wanted to mess with the Brownsimovs... the time you had your weapon ahead of them would be the time some of the Hidden Horses snipers had theirs ahead of you.

La Claire de La Lune

Ricardovich Alexandrov Braunsimov was rather a jittery man at heart when he was younger. Some psychologist might conclude that he suffered a deficit-attention disorder made him insecure all the time, even rarely dare to look straight in his talking partner's eye. His mother died when he was two, and somehow his father, Dmitri Mikhailov, was trembled so bad he kind of forgot who he really was. He never looked straight into his son's eyes. Up until Ricardovich turned 12, his father rarely spoke to him... and Ricardovich could not understand but to swallow it uneasily to his throat to believe that his father remained an arrogant man in front of him.

Ricardovich was tutored privately at home. He was never too brilliant at anything; no matter that how Petrov, his mathematics tutor was one of the best algebraists in Russian history, something just blocked Ricardovich's mind to comprehend the materials he learnt. And it just did not happen in math; he could not excel in everything from Russian literature, geography, history, government... he just hated academic lives so much. The only thing he could bear was music. He had been good in it, being able to master the Hungarian Rhapsody when he was 12.

He always had been happy to play with piano. Every maid and Kruschev the old gardener praised him a lot and seldom did they continue their work when the Young Master played his fingers down the grand piano in the Main Hall inside the manor. For a moment could Ricardovich smiled at himself to listen to his own playing and felt that he worthed something.

Music is the only thing made him dare to stand before his father about his capability.

No matter how his father ignored him, as usual, of him and his talent and his everything.

One day when he was nine, the Grand Piano in the manor's Main Hall broke one of its strings. The bored little Young Master Ricardovich was waiting and waiting for the repairer to fix it so he could continue playing, but it took some time... so he strolled along the alley of the third floor where it was deserted because the maids were busy cleaning in the lower storeys.

He leaned himself before the small window balcony at the end of the alley, quietly humming Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. It always felt night at heart, and the light only came from the generosity of the moon... the music, the only thing he excelled of. He missed his father. He never knew his mother, but Father would never disignore him no matter how good he played the piano.

He casted his gaze around the scenery of the alley behind him. Something looked really strange... but what did? The tapestry on the wall on his right side was silently glued as usual, as well as the reddish empty brick wall on his left side. The empty brick wall, strangely, was different in colours... he just realized it now. Well, he did rarely observe this floor, though...

There were five rows of milder red colour along the left wall.

And inside the rows, there were even subtler periodic pattern of colours... our Little Young Master became quite intrigued to figure it out. His head was only full of pattern of music, if there were any, so he didn't really expect to be able to see some meaning behind the pattern. Gosh, he could barely able to see pattern in simple maths... how could he expect to derive something special of some subtle pattern on the wall he barely see?

So funny how five rows reminded him of five rows in alphabetic music notes(he was quite fluent at it, too)... na na na na na... he could remembered the sequence of the first verses of moonlight sonata... it should be here, here, here... as his hand traced down the rows of different colours

... to be surprised that every finger-tap he made on the different-coloured rows touched his hand upon the subtler colours of the pattern! His heart chilled... how could this happen?

But he started to feel excited. I found something here! The pattern sings Moonlight Sonata the first verses in alphabetical music notes! He anxiously tapped on every following sequences until the end of the wall...

and the wall slid opened!

Anxious but excited, the Young Master stepped inside the medium sized, high-ceiled room where he saw a painting of a very beautiful, strong young lady with a balalaika in her hand. He was strucked at heart by her beauty... it was as though he met his long-lost first love.

But what distracted him from the painting was a gigantic black, Grand Piano slightly covered by dust at the bottom of the painting. He was really happy. Not only was he able to find this secret room all by himself, he also acquires his new friend! Gosh... and this piano is the Boesendorfer Concerto Grand Piano, one that he always wanted! Doesn't any maid and servant here know about this room whatsoever?

He opened the grid and started playing Moonlight Sonata...

Suddenly, his Father appeared behind him with a loud noise.

Ricardovich turned his head around, so anxious that for the first time their eyes met, what the little boy saw was an outraged, furious man he hardly believed it was his Father. The man who should have been loving him all this time...

You tedious prick! the grown up man roared, and slapped Ricardovich so hard on his face.

The maids and servants hurrily ran along to the thunderstrucked Young Master, who sadly wailed before Dmitri Mikhailov.


The Father who should have loved his son.