#Andrey looks nothing like them(save some small things like being pale and general face shape) but a bit like Fyodor's older brother Mikhail

[kikizoshi]

A short dialogue between Fyodor's younger siblings, Andrey and Vera. I won't post fanfiction with them for a long time, yet I find them more fun and easier than Fyodor and Nikolai lately, and I'd like to post this now, since they'll likely change between now and when they appear in a story.

  ***

“I’m going to kill him.”

  “Enough, Andryushka. He’ll arrive when he’ll arrive.”

  “And then what? What possible reason could he have this time? Fr Zossima kept him late? His studies were just oh so strenuous last night? Misha, sure, fine, he has plenty reason. But Fedya? At this point, I don’t give a damn if his entire apartment building collapsed! There’s no excuse to be this late.”

  Vera sighed. There was no point in arguing with Andrey; on this matter they would simply never agree, and that was that. It was better to let him air his grievances, she knew, and wished to let him, yet she found herself constantly lacking the strength to endure them, and often berated herself heavily later for this weakness in character. And yet it was as it was, and always turned out the same.

  “What time did you say the play starts?” Vera asked.

  “Twenty-one, so about a half hour. We should go in at least fifteen before to get settled, though.”

  Vera grimaced.

  “Are you able to stand much longer?”

  Vera nodded. “I’m not so weak today. It’s only the chill.” She huffed bemusedly. “I feel as though every mild breeze is blasting the North wind right through me.”

  Andrey frowned and went to remove his sweater, but Vera stopped him adamantly. “No, no, you musn’t,” she said. “I’m already wearing a shawl. If I take yours, you could catch cold.”

  “I won’t.”

  “But you could,” she insisted. “And I won’t; I’m wearing enough. Come, pull it back on.”

  Andrey stared at her with a concerned expression as he pointedly continued to remove his sweater. He handed it to her in the same manner. “It’s barely below sixteen,” he said. “Even you don’t get cold in this weather. If you need to go home--”

  “No, no,” Vera waved her hand negatively and took the sweater. “I’m alright. I wish very much to see Nikolai Bezfamilny in this role; it’s well worth fifteen minutes of discomfort.”

  Andrey still looked at her uneasily, evidently no more settled. It was clear in his face that he was thinking something along the lines of, ‘Fifteen more minutes, and all because a certain bastard couldn’t deign to show up on time,’ but he held off voicing these thoughts. He instead helped her pull her arms through the stretchy fabric. She shivered, rubbed her rouged cheeks vigorously against the soft sleeves, rocked and soaked up the warmth of the garment, and finally stilled.

  After a moment of peace, Vera sighed again. “How about this: if I don’t feel well, we can leave at intermission. But I want to experience this with you, and with Fedya, and I don’t want my accursed health to ruin yet another good thing in my life. I’m so sick of it!” Her eyes grew moist, and she cut off.