Disclaimer: I don't own Anastasia or the characters. (If I owned an albino bat, I'd be a bit busy trying to market them at Petco.) Takes place after Rasputin decides to kill her at the party but before they actually go. And to think we all thought Rasputin's attempt to kill Dimitri was spontaneous....



Oh, he is gonna be mad. Hysterically, off-the-charts furious, here. I wonder if I should take my two weeks off now---the Bahamas sound nice....


The little bat snapped to attention at the sound of the gruff, hollow voice. "Yes master."

"Are you listening?"

"Uh, well, sir, I..."

"I mean, how hard is it to simply pay attention?"

Very, eventually, after all the ranting.... "I was just thinking about Anastasia, sir; I had this really great idea, beautiful plan, master, you know, instead of the whole 'party' thing, you're gonna love it---"

"Yes? Out with it!"

"Well," Bartok stammered, "I, uh, I was thinking. We could...get a lot of bugs...."

Irritated, Rasputin rolled his eyes and slammed his fist on the table.

"Oh, come on---we'd use poisonous ones!" the bat protested. Rasputin shot him a cruel glare. "Or, or not."

Rasputin ignored Bartok completely and turned to the worn green reliquary. "Ah, my friend. Show her to me. Show me the Grand Duchess Anastasia!"

A sort of crystal ball swirled to life, and within it, an image played of her royal highness being fitted into her inaugural gown.

"Uh, master? Yoo-hoo, earth to---oops. Sorry."

"Bartok!" The haggard corpse whirled around in revelation.


"That's it?"

"What's it, master; look, you really gotta work on your communication skills---"

"Him!" Rasputin pointed his bony hand at the image of Dimitri in the reliquary, who was talking with the Grand Duchess on the staircase. "Every time I try to kill her, he's there! Constantly getting in the way of my every brilliant plan! He was the brat in the palace, he was with her on the train, he stopped her from jumping overboard...it all makes perfect sense!"

"I think sense is something you haven't seen in a long time, there, master."

"And," Rasputin continued, getting giddier by the second, "what do we do when the scout ant protects the queen?"

"Uh, send them a wedding present? Not to jump the gun, but face it, master, it's in the air."

Rasputin ignored his tiny counterpart, instead grabbing him up and waving his arms around in excitement. "We exterminate them both!" A peal of meniacal laughter followed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, boss, I think the motion sickness is setting in..."

Rasputin plopped a very dizzy Bartok back onto the table. A new sense of purpose overcame him. "It's all right, Bartok. Come this evening, the Romanov line will finally end. And should the boy come to her rescue," he mused, choosing his words carefully, "we'll be sure he has a high-flying time."