04-23-2014, 08:51 AM
An explanation for everything.
Her lips quirked into something of a grim smile, and she thought of the tattoo that curled around her soul, the sum total of her life and being. The inked mark was an inconsequential thing, blooded in by her grandfather using ancient technique rather than modern technology nearly a decade ago. Her ouroboros had never been artful, and its once crisp lines had long since blurred, but the oaths still held tight. They always would.
Belief suggested acceptance without proof, and she had proof. She did not believe in monsters. She killed them, in whatever manner she was capable, at whatever personal sacrifice was demanded from her. But there was a glint in his dark-rimmed eyes. Not a threat exactly, but a twist on the definition of monster. He swallowed her question and spat it back warped, and though she was quite sure he insinuated himself, she had every reason to instead catch glimpse of her own reflection.
Monster.
"No. I do not."
Another joined them on the platform.
Tehya looked him up and down with the courtesy interest of one stranger to another, but did not return the smile. She was an ill socialiser; she saw little point in it, given her circumstances. Her life in Moscow was isolated, and carefully constructed of the discipline needed to excel at her work yet keep herself hidden at the same time. Necessity kept her fellow Atharim at arms length, which was arduous enough, and the idea of maintaining walls around ordinary civilians too just made her feel weary. A sudden wave of homesickness washed out her insides, not really for her country, but for the blood family still there; the only people who knew her secrets.
Since Elias had answered the man's question, she saw no reason to speak, and for a while the silence continued. When it was finally broken by the newcomer's polite idling of the scenery, Tehya was not particularly irritated, but she knew little what to say. Creepy? She didn't think so. The stalinesque architecture was flamboyant. Some would call it beautiful, and probably it was, but her absorption of surroundings generally had little to do with aesthetics. Terrible things had happened here, perhaps moreso than other stations throughout Moscow given its proximity to the Guardian complex, and they had every right to linger, but she had long since trained herself out of unsubstantiated fear.
She shrugged. "You get used to it."
Her lips quirked into something of a grim smile, and she thought of the tattoo that curled around her soul, the sum total of her life and being. The inked mark was an inconsequential thing, blooded in by her grandfather using ancient technique rather than modern technology nearly a decade ago. Her ouroboros had never been artful, and its once crisp lines had long since blurred, but the oaths still held tight. They always would.
Belief suggested acceptance without proof, and she had proof. She did not believe in monsters. She killed them, in whatever manner she was capable, at whatever personal sacrifice was demanded from her. But there was a glint in his dark-rimmed eyes. Not a threat exactly, but a twist on the definition of monster. He swallowed her question and spat it back warped, and though she was quite sure he insinuated himself, she had every reason to instead catch glimpse of her own reflection.
Monster.
"No. I do not."
Another joined them on the platform.
Tehya looked him up and down with the courtesy interest of one stranger to another, but did not return the smile. She was an ill socialiser; she saw little point in it, given her circumstances. Her life in Moscow was isolated, and carefully constructed of the discipline needed to excel at her work yet keep herself hidden at the same time. Necessity kept her fellow Atharim at arms length, which was arduous enough, and the idea of maintaining walls around ordinary civilians too just made her feel weary. A sudden wave of homesickness washed out her insides, not really for her country, but for the blood family still there; the only people who knew her secrets.
Since Elias had answered the man's question, she saw no reason to speak, and for a while the silence continued. When it was finally broken by the newcomer's polite idling of the scenery, Tehya was not particularly irritated, but she knew little what to say. Creepy? She didn't think so. The stalinesque architecture was flamboyant. Some would call it beautiful, and probably it was, but her absorption of surroundings generally had little to do with aesthetics. Terrible things had happened here, perhaps moreso than other stations throughout Moscow given its proximity to the Guardian complex, and they had every right to linger, but she had long since trained herself out of unsubstantiated fear.
She shrugged. "You get used to it."