Tatyana waited and the longer she waited the more insecure she became. This place reminded her of the Vasiliev Christmas party. People were talking and laughing. They were making business deals and alliances. Men were looking at her the way the man who had asked her to dance looked at her. It was surreal - a return to the time before her fall - to the time when the fall had started.
Tatyana’s hand opened and closed in nervousness, not caused by the lack of drugs in her system. She hadn’t taken her pill today. She felt like Zeke wouldn’t like that. This felt different - like in some way she was representing him. After all, he had cared enough about her appearance to get her the outfit and to stress her need to bathe.
Finally she saw him come in. He hadn’t come in the main entrance like she had expected. Her smile as he approached was one of gratitude. He spoke only her name in greeting, reminiscent of the way he had spoken her name when they had met; a primal call that claimed ownership even if she didn’t understand that.
”Zeke,” she said in imitation of his greeting, but she said his name with a twinge of awe and gratefulness. ”Its good to see you. Thanks for the clothes, haircut, and shower. I feel…clean.”
It was such a simple thing - cleanliness - but it felt foreign to her. Still she liked it. Zeke had raised his hand for service, but she didn’t order anything or ask for anything. It wasn’t her place to. I haven’t been to a place like this in a long time. Not since…” her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to talk about the Vasilievs.
Tatyana’s hand opened and closed in nervousness, not caused by the lack of drugs in her system. She hadn’t taken her pill today. She felt like Zeke wouldn’t like that. This felt different - like in some way she was representing him. After all, he had cared enough about her appearance to get her the outfit and to stress her need to bathe.
Finally she saw him come in. He hadn’t come in the main entrance like she had expected. Her smile as he approached was one of gratitude. He spoke only her name in greeting, reminiscent of the way he had spoken her name when they had met; a primal call that claimed ownership even if she didn’t understand that.
”Zeke,” she said in imitation of his greeting, but she said his name with a twinge of awe and gratefulness. ”Its good to see you. Thanks for the clothes, haircut, and shower. I feel…clean.”
It was such a simple thing - cleanliness - but it felt foreign to her. Still she liked it. Zeke had raised his hand for service, but she didn’t order anything or ask for anything. It wasn’t her place to. I haven’t been to a place like this in a long time. Not since…” her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to talk about the Vasilievs.