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.

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olyabird: (Default)
Olga

November 2010

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