Scoping for ink

[Thalia]

“Be my guest.” She was surprised by the request, actually … though, Rune had kind of checked the guy out as he left, so maybe not. Her eyes lit, teasing, and she laughed. “Although--” If Rune did take up Manix’ offer, then Thalia wanted in on that reckless jaunt. Or at least to hear about it afterwards. It was the kind of stupidity Aylin would berate her for - to even entertain going to some strange man's home after he'd collared them in the middle of Old Arbat - but though Thalia was effusively calm by nature it didn’t mean she was always sensible. Quite the opposite, sometimes.

None of that had the chance to leave her mouth, however, because right then someone quite literally crashed into their table, and Rune was up before Thalia had time to blink. The girl was jumpy. It had only been an accident – right on the heels of a rather bizarre proposition, granted – but for a moment Rune was all hard edges and mistrust. And then Thalia noticed the hilts poking up over the woman’s shoulder, and her eyes widened a little. Swords? Not the ordinary person’s attire; Arbatskaya was pulling out all the eccentric stops today. She was one of the street performers, maybe? A circus? Are they real? Curiosity swelled in the place she should have felt fear, or at least concern, then even that dulled when confronted with the woman’s abject apology.

“It’s okay. I think the table will survive.” The woman had probably whacked herself hard on its edge - it had shuddered, and had Alek not already removed her plate and mug, the china probably would have rattled. The lilt of a smile softened Thalia’s words; the woman seemed distressed, and needlessly contrite, like she expected some recourse. Though Rune was now leaning against the wall, arms folded. Thalia wondered if it was just the proximity she didn’t like.

After a moment the woman insisted a migraine, but had pressed a fist into her belly and flattened a hand against her temple for some moments before she could even speak to answer Rune’s cautious question. Though she eventually clawed herself back together, doubt hovered on the surface of Thalia’s thoughts. It looked more serious than that; the woman had literally fallen into them, and Old Arbat street was wide enough to make that unusual - it was why Alek had sprawling outside seating. She had been hurrying, escaping - though, from what? Thalia thought briefly back to Manix, but was not cynical enough to make a connection. Even scanning the cobbled street and its milling tourists elucidated little. It was a mystery she had no answer for.

“Are you okay?” The words were level, serious, and she maintained eye contact as she took the snippet of paper with the address. Moscow was a big city; one that it was easy to become lost in or overwhelmed by, but Thalia was dubious that a little disorientation was the reason this woman had been so fraught. She looked like she was in bloody pain. After a moment, though, her eyes drifted down, and she read the bit of doodle-covered paper.

“Nikolskaya Street.” Thalia shopped there from time to time; it was crammed with the kind of quirky second-hand bookshops that stocked the most intriguing and idiosyncratic historic texts and trinkets. But the woman clearly wasn’t out to browse for books. She was after nineteen Nikolskaya Street. Thalia’s brows rose briefly, though she made no comment. “It’s a little way from here. I’d guess an hour or so if you’re walking. Though Arbatskaya metro station is, what, fifteen minutes away? It’d be quicker. Line three will get you there. That's the dark blue one.” She paused. "Are you sure you don't want some water or something?"