11-24-2014, 08:43 AM
Expression listless, staring silently at the place her car had been, Asha itemised her losses. Every small trinket she would miss. Every scrap of memory that bloomed warm comfort and security. She let the misery hold her for a moment, and then she let it go, a sigh sinking her shoulders like there was no breath left in her lungs. It was just stuff. Growing up, her uncle had moved them on countless times at short and hasty notice. It wasn't the first time she had been left with nothing. Just the first time it had been so cruelly stolen from her.
More than the loss of possessions, it reminded her she was dreadfully alone. Without the pause of two strangers, what would she have done? It wasn't the first time she had missed the closeness of knowing someone so thoroughly, so that words became accessories rather than necessity. But that regret was as good as useless, and had never been within her control anyway. When she was done missing her uncle, she cursed his abandonment of her.
Discomfort radiated from above. She was surprised when one of the men offered her his Wallet, particularly as it was from the one hovered on the edges of her senses like he was loath to get too close. The tech was shiny and more slender than the one stuffed carefully in her own coat pocket, and she accepted the gesture gratefully, hugging the item onto knees pulled up almost to her chest. The kindness seemed to mean more to her than the means to call the authorities; the downward tilt of her lips, the hopeless glint in her eyes, suggested she didn't much trust to the police. Not that she was an illegal. But she was a drifter.
It was while the brawler explained himself that she made the call, not to the police, but to report the man at the side of the road. His pain pulsed. She'd liked to have walked away, but the sympathy of the two strangers who'd witnessed her loss might be the only help she could count on in a city like Moscow. Instead she rubbed idly at her leg, like the cold had gotten into it, then passed the Wallet back to its owner. The ice was seeping through; she could feel it chilling her skin beneath the layers of clothing. She'd been headed to the car for warmth. It was stupid to sit in the snow now, but it also helped deaden the prone man's pain with some discomfort of her own. She didn't get up.
"I'm Ashavari,"
she offered. Her full name, a rare courtesy, but somehow she didn't feel like neglecting one of the only things she had left. Even if it was only a few letters. "There's no-one to call. Nowhere for me to go."
From the feelings radiating off the questioner (he was no longer void, she realised), she surmised he had probably guessed that, but she said it anyway. Not seeking pity. She wondered if it was the disinterest in the other guy leeching into her own emotions, but if it was she found she didn't mind the extra fortification. She'd been taking care of herself for years, and this was but one more blip in the roadmap of her life.
The guy's offer was the best she had, but a little caution tempered her usual blithe trust. Not the restraint of accepting something from a stranger, but because of the way he - like others she had met in this city - was able to slip entirely from the edges of her senses. Curiosity mingled with uncertainty. Once over the shock of the possibility, she wanted to know how they did that. "Is she like you? This friend?"
Probably he would take that as an inquiry as to her own safety, though the sudden lift of a smile suggested naive gratitude. "I'd appreciate it. If it's okay with her, I mean."
She stood. Her leg twinged as she did so, where she supposed the beaten man's own leg was broken. It would have been easier to ignore if he had not been so openly desperate for help, questing out the pain and fear of being abandoned broken in the snow like someone might be able to hear. Too bad for her that she could. "An ambulance is coming."
The words came out more irritated than compassionate. The dick had been in on the car jacking after all. But mostly she was just tired of being able to feel him at all.
To the long-haired man she turned. "Are you going to come with me? Make sure he and his friend aren't axe murderers?"
A strange request probably, and she could feel that he didn't particularly want to be here and might resent her efforts to pull him further in. But kindness left marks like fingerprints all over Asha's soul; he'd offered his Wallet even if he'd been reluctant to get involved. And he was distant in a way that would not make his company overwhelming.
More than the loss of possessions, it reminded her she was dreadfully alone. Without the pause of two strangers, what would she have done? It wasn't the first time she had missed the closeness of knowing someone so thoroughly, so that words became accessories rather than necessity. But that regret was as good as useless, and had never been within her control anyway. When she was done missing her uncle, she cursed his abandonment of her.
Discomfort radiated from above. She was surprised when one of the men offered her his Wallet, particularly as it was from the one hovered on the edges of her senses like he was loath to get too close. The tech was shiny and more slender than the one stuffed carefully in her own coat pocket, and she accepted the gesture gratefully, hugging the item onto knees pulled up almost to her chest. The kindness seemed to mean more to her than the means to call the authorities; the downward tilt of her lips, the hopeless glint in her eyes, suggested she didn't much trust to the police. Not that she was an illegal. But she was a drifter.
It was while the brawler explained himself that she made the call, not to the police, but to report the man at the side of the road. His pain pulsed. She'd liked to have walked away, but the sympathy of the two strangers who'd witnessed her loss might be the only help she could count on in a city like Moscow. Instead she rubbed idly at her leg, like the cold had gotten into it, then passed the Wallet back to its owner. The ice was seeping through; she could feel it chilling her skin beneath the layers of clothing. She'd been headed to the car for warmth. It was stupid to sit in the snow now, but it also helped deaden the prone man's pain with some discomfort of her own. She didn't get up.
"I'm Ashavari,"
she offered. Her full name, a rare courtesy, but somehow she didn't feel like neglecting one of the only things she had left. Even if it was only a few letters. "There's no-one to call. Nowhere for me to go."
From the feelings radiating off the questioner (he was no longer void, she realised), she surmised he had probably guessed that, but she said it anyway. Not seeking pity. She wondered if it was the disinterest in the other guy leeching into her own emotions, but if it was she found she didn't mind the extra fortification. She'd been taking care of herself for years, and this was but one more blip in the roadmap of her life.
The guy's offer was the best she had, but a little caution tempered her usual blithe trust. Not the restraint of accepting something from a stranger, but because of the way he - like others she had met in this city - was able to slip entirely from the edges of her senses. Curiosity mingled with uncertainty. Once over the shock of the possibility, she wanted to know how they did that. "Is she like you? This friend?"
Probably he would take that as an inquiry as to her own safety, though the sudden lift of a smile suggested naive gratitude. "I'd appreciate it. If it's okay with her, I mean."
She stood. Her leg twinged as she did so, where she supposed the beaten man's own leg was broken. It would have been easier to ignore if he had not been so openly desperate for help, questing out the pain and fear of being abandoned broken in the snow like someone might be able to hear. Too bad for her that she could. "An ambulance is coming."
The words came out more irritated than compassionate. The dick had been in on the car jacking after all. But mostly she was just tired of being able to feel him at all.
To the long-haired man she turned. "Are you going to come with me? Make sure he and his friend aren't axe murderers?"
A strange request probably, and she could feel that he didn't particularly want to be here and might resent her efforts to pull him further in. But kindness left marks like fingerprints all over Asha's soul; he'd offered his Wallet even if he'd been reluctant to get involved. And he was distant in a way that would not make his company overwhelming.