olyabird: (Default)
Four days have passed and things have been quiet.  They've relaxed, lounged really, taking the odd meal in the bar, watching a few videos together (old Westerns mostly), and talked.   She's never been the chatty type, but he's patient, and doesn't mind telling her all sorts of stories about his world and the crew of his starship.  Eventually, she felt comfortable enough to share a few lighter stories with him.  Her world is so dark and strange compared to his.  For once, the time is passing quickly enough she wishes it would slow down.

The nights are wonderful, if a touch sedate for her tastes.  He isn't as much of a night owl (in the metaphorical sense, of course) as she is, but she's getting used to it.  He doesn't seem to mind her night time pacing, always ready to invite her back under the covers when she returns.
olyabird: (contemplating)
[ after this ]

She still eats as if it is a privilege, a throwback to the many times when it was.  Proteins first, to sustain the body, and yes, while battered poultry is a novelty, she still manages to enjoy it.  Carbohydrates next, and fresh baked bread is fresh baked bread the world over.  And finally, because it has a strange scent, and it looks to be rather messy to eat, finally she delves into the watermelon slices.  Juice ran down her chin and she had a sense memory of eating apples fresh from the cider press, only this was more like pears, she thought.  No, not at all like pears.  Something completely new and different.

Not unlike the man seated next to her, his startlingly blue eyes glittering with mirth as she chased bite after bite with a swipe of her napkin. 

"This should be served in a glass," she murmurs, taking another bite of the almost ethereal fruit.  One could eat for days and never fill up.  "What are you laughing at, hmm?"
olyabird: (profile)
The bar gave her a key with a brass numbered tag.  A napkin informed her a change of clothes and fresh towels would be waiting for them. 

It was only a few flights up from the bar, and he insisted on holding every door between the two.  It felt strange to be so close to a man, after so many years.  Even through the strange chemical smells and the scent of blood, she could catch hints of his scent.

She still keeps a wary eye on the hall ways, and only seems to relax once they are inside the room with the chain thrown.  (It allows her to whisper the incantation for a simple ward without making it too obvious.)

She turns back to him, draping her coat over the chair and giving him a soft smile.

"Would you like the first shower, or shall I go?"
olyabird: (Default)
She hadn't gone back to Istanbul for a few weeks, having enjoyed an extended stay in the Miliways universe, but for some reason, she wanted to go back to her world for awhile.

It was after midnight when she made her way home from the coffee house, and the smell of Turkish tobacco and coffee clung to her clothes and her hair.  She just wanted a shower and a good long sleep, but when she opened the door, she felt the weight of his presence.

Sitting in the dark, enthroned in the threadbare arm chair tucked into the corner, just out of the pale square of light cast by the street lamps.  A single puff of cigarette smoke pinpointed where his breath marred the silence of her flat.

"Olya, you were gone so long."

She did not speak, did not respond his observation.  It didn't seem to matter to him.

"You are still running."

"Can you blame me?"  Her words were shards of glass hurled through the air at his face.

He was quiet for a long moment before responding, simply, "No."

"Why are you here, my love?"

"I felt you leave."

She knew he would.  Perhaps somehow she hoped he would feel it in his bones.  Hoped it would make him hurt as much as she did, all those long quiet years tucked up in his cabinet.

"You don't own me."  It was all she could do to keep from spitting at him.

A heavy sigh, and another long drag on the cigarette.  "No.  No, I don't suppose that I do."

"Right.  So I go where I want, when I want, and I come back when I want."

"Of course.  Of course."

She knew what he wanted and she would not give it to him.  Not today.  Perhaps not ever.  "Then get out."

"Olya."  She felt him reaching for her, body and soul, and she could not bear it another moment.

"Get out!"  She waved a hand and felt her will spread out from the very core of her being.  The corporeal form of his body dissipated, like a veil of dust dispelled by a hard gust of wind.

He will find himself in the Gloom, and it might take him a few days to come back, but he will return eventually.  She knew this as sure as she knew the sun would rise in just a few hours.  And someday, perhaps, she might return to his side.

She still loves him.

She just can't bear to look at him right now.
olyabird: (Default)
Title: Sleeping Beauty // Series: Tales of the City // Author: [livejournal.com profile] girlofprey  // Rating: G // Notes/Warning: 443 words, Olga-centric

In the stillness, she starts telling herself stories, in fragments, bits and pieces. Old memories play themselves out in her mind, and the details give her seemingly no end of pleasure. The feel of a sword in her hands, the weight of it. The panting of a horse, post-gallop, in a silent forest. The way Geser looked at her, that night, in the hotel foyer. The way the air flows through feathers as you swoop down for a kill. The endless starriness of the night sky. Bread and soup. Hot showers.  


Dec. 30th, 2008 10:56 pm
olyabird: (Default)
Olga has only been here a month and already she is starting to feel attached to Ankara.  It is older than she is, and though Moscow is home, always will be home, so much of it has changed since she first named it thus.  Ankara was ancient when Moscow was born.  True, it was not Babylon, but not even she is mad enough to consider a holiday in a war zone.

No, Ankara was perfect for what she wanted.  Time to think.  Time to wander amidst the ruins, listening to the siren's song of the Gloom.  She hasn't set foot there since she left Moscow and she knows, the first time she does, Gesar will find her.  If he has the sense God gave a slug, he'd stay the hell away from her.  No speech about duty or loyalty or the perils faced by the Light were going to bring her back.

Not yet.

No, she needed time to think.  Time to breathe.  Time to spread her wings and find out what lay beyond the horizon of her understanding.  There would always be time for duty and honour later.  Today, there were only questions.
olyabird: (Default)
Awaiting the [community profile] milliways_bar January 2009 Application period, as yet to be approved for play.

Olga is a character from the Russian urban fantasy novel,
Nochnoi Dozor, Night Watch. She was created by Sergey Lukyanenko and she appears here solely for the purpose of role-playing in[community profile] milliways_bar, from which no profit whatsoever is being made.

Five hundred years ago there was a great War between Light and Dark, and a great Truce was signed between the two sides, saving the human race. The Light now rules the day, and the Dark the night. The Truce is policed by both sides, day by the Dark's Day Watch, night by the Light's Night Watch. Both Light and Dark Others can be magicians and shapeshifters, but vampires and werewolves are most often Dark Others. Light Others feed on positive emotions, drawing power from joy and happiness. Dark Others feed off pain and suffering.

Olga is a member of Night Watch. At one time, she was a grand sorceress for the Light. She betrayed the Light, to save her lover, and for her crime, she was bound in the form of an owl for decades, maybe centuries. During the last War, she was permitted to be in her human form for half an hour a day. Recently, she has been liberated from her incarceration, to aid the Night Watch in training her replacement. Olga can travel in the Gloom, also known as the Twilight, down to the Fifth Level. There is only one sorceress as powerful as she born every generation.

But the world of the Others is a convoluted place, and the path between Light and Dark is anything but clean cut. Olga has walked away from her lover, from Night Watch, taking a well-deserved vacation from the bleak winter. She finds comfort now in taking her owl form. Life as an owl is much simpler.

Also, let it be said that Olga is Russian, and drinks vodka like others might drink water.


olyabird: (Default)

November 2010

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