Chapter Text
As long as Joe could remember, he had been alone. Alone and walking along the entirety of Russia, trying to look for something. His family. He didn’t know who they were, or if they were even still alive. All he really had was a simple necklace, one that read, “Together in Paris.”
That was his goal. And by God, he was going to get it.
But first, he had to focus on the task at hand. One does not walk from Yekaterinburg to St. Petersburg without money. Leningrad, not Petersburg he reminded himself, glancing up from his current work, street sweeping, to a podium where a soldier of some sort often made speeches, reminding everyone of the “new and righteous order.” However dumb that sounded.
Joe released a deep sigh, continuing to sweep the street, getting lost in his thoughts. He dreamed of Paris, and thought up new poems to write down once his shift was over, and he could go “home.” His current residence was not as bad as ones he had had before, sleeping under a bridge next to the Neva.
It definitely beats the forest in Bisert he thought to himself, chuckling while he swept. That was a rough one, sleeping alone during the harsh Russian winter. He had almost frozen to death then, but his resolve for Paris had kept him warm. Soon…
Although the sounds of the bustling city around him were drowned out, as Joe found himself lost in his own world, he was quickly brought back to reality by a loud sound. Without thinking, he shouted, dropping his broom and dropping to the floor, hands covering his ears.
Then, he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, and the frightened man looked up.
“It was just a truck backfiring, comrade. That’s all it was.” The voice was deep, but sounded sincere. The other man offered Joe a hand, and he took it standing up, looking over the man’s face. It was the officer who often made the speeches, Doc.
“Those days are over, neighbor against neighbor.” Doc continued to speak, smiling at Joe as he continued. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Then, looking over the still scared Joe, he sighed, picking up the broom for him and holding it out. “You’re shaking. There’s a tea shop just steps from here. Let me-”
Joe abruptly grabbed the broom from him, looking Doc right in the eyes. “Thank you.” He said, starting to get back to work. His grip on the broom was so tight it turned his knuckles white. However, his attempts to get back to work were circumvented by the other man quite quickly, as Doc had grabbed onto the broom once more. “What’s your hurry?” He asked, concerned for his comrade’s well-being.
Joe yanked the broom back from Doc, shaking his head. “I can’t lose this job.” He informed him, not looking up at the imposing officer. Would he get in trouble for turning down the Bolshevik's offer? He didn’t care to find out. “They’re not easy to come by. I’m sure you understand.”
Doc smiled approvingly, glad that his fellow comrade understood the importance of hard work. “Well,” he started, stepping back to let the other continue to do his work. “I’ll be here every day, if you ever do want to take me up on that offer.” And with that, he left, the sincere expression on his face dropping as he straightened his shoulders and went back on patrol, listening and looking out for anyone who might oppose the new power.
Once the officer left, Joe let out a sigh of relief, finally looking up from the broom he was so very focused on. What even happened to cause the confrontation? His nerves were so fried he couldn’t even remember.
Oh well.
Nearby, Cleo had watched the whole thing go down. Once Doc had left, she shook her head, glancing at the watch she wore around her wrist. Where was he? She thought impatiently, looking around for any sign of her partner in crime. She had a new idea for a con, one that would hopefully get the two out of Russia before all of the borders shut down.
A few moments later, her mustached partner came running up, almost in a panic. “Cleo!” He hurriedly said, showing her a newspaper. “They’ve shut down another border! We should’ve gotten out of Russia while we still could!”
Cleo snatched the paper out of the man’s hand, reading it thoroughly. Once she finished, she crumbled it up, shaking her head and throwing it on the ground. “Mumbo, I’ve been thinking about Prince Joseph..” She said, starting to lead Mumbo to where a black market auction was taking place. She was greeted by a sigh from Mumbo, shaking his head. “Oh don’t tell me you believe that too. Everywhere I go it’s Joseph this, Joseph that. Cleo, I was there, remember? Oh, how lovely this city was when royalty was in..”
He trailed off reminiscing of how lovely everything was when he was with the royals…The caviar, the riches, the parties. It was a miracle he had convinced the other nobles that he was one of them. Count Mumbo Jumbo.. He remembered with a smile on his face.
Only to be brought back to reality by the clearing of Cleo’s throat, the redhead shooting glares at him. “But, that was the past, Cleo! The tsar is dead, all royals fled, and look at us! We’re stuck!” He finished, just as they entered a large room, with clattering noises and overlapping voices.
“I know he’s dead, Mumbo! But his dear old grandpapa doesn’t! Hear me out.” Cleo said, walking around the room, with different items that had been stolen from palaces being auctioned off. Royal artifacts were in, after all. And if they found one to convince Dowager Emperor Xisuma, then they’d be golden. “We find someone to play the part, teach them all about Joseph’s family and history, dress him up, and it’s smooth sailing to Paris and the old man’s money. Now, help me find something that could convince Xisuma.”
The illegal auction house was booming with noise as the two con artists walked around, looking for something convincing.
“Count Cubfan’s pajamas, don’t you want a pair?”
“A ruble for this painting! I promise, it’s real!”
Finally, they came across something that would just about solve the conundrum, as Cleo picked up the object to examine it, it caught the owner’s attention.
“Ah, it’s the music box you’re interested in.” The owner said, looking at Cleo’s expression. “It’s genuine Hills, I picked it up from the palace just the other day.” Cleo nodded, placing it down and looking up at the owner.
“How much?” She asked, looking over the man intently. He seemed hungry. Of course, who wasn’t these days?
“Well, like I said, it’s genuine, I can never part with it-” He was quickly cut off as Cleo pulled out something from her bag.
“How does three cans of beans sound?” She asked him, smirking. He quickly grabbed them from her, nodding. “Done.”
Cleo smiled, putting the music box into her bag, starting to walk out as Mumbo quickly followed.
“Cleo, that was a dumb idea.” He chastised, looking over her. “You don’t have any food left.” To which she shook her head, waiting until they left the building and made it back onto the bustling streets of Leningrad.
“Do you believe in fairy tales, Mumbo?” Cleo ignored the lecture from her friend, with a small chuckle. She glanced over to him, waiting for his reaction.
Mumbo sadly sighed, looking up at the cloudy, gray sky and said, “I used to..”
“Well, Count Jumbo, we are going to make a fairy tale the whole world will believe! Is it risky, yes, but not more than usual. You get us the papers and our ticket, and I’ll get us a Prince.” She smiled at Mumbo, who looked down at Cleo, smiling as well.
He continued for her, having faith in their plan.
“With luck, this will all go smoothly, and we won’t be shot, and we’ll go down in history! Who else could do this but us? We’ll be rich, we’ll be out, and we’ll go down in history! I’m in!”
Cleo grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “I knew you’d say yes! Let’s go find us a Prince Joseph Hills.”