04-23-2019, 03:46 PM
They passed into Estonia with little fanfare, just a cursory check of CIDs when they crossed Dominance borders. For a while Thalia watched the stretch of sea crowding the view beyond, sunlight streaming warmth across her skin. A smile played, but by the time they veered sharply away and plunged south, restlessness was beginning to steal at her patience. Still, it was gone noon before she finally gathered her things and hurriedly departed onto the platform.
It was a tiny station, more apt for the passing of freight than passenger. Grass punctured the concrete slabs, rippling in a sharp breeze that brought a shiver to the warm day. No one else lingered but for a couple sat beneath the plastic shelter. She splashed herself with cold water in the public bathroom, and tied her hair in a knot on her head. A frizz of fine curls puffed free around her face. She looked tired but for the grin, pleased to be free of the train’s confines, and more than content to discover a path like a dandelion’s seeds spread in the wind.
Afterwards she wandered slow, as uncertain in her intentions as her long vigil at Leningradsky. Nothing felt familiar. But motivation as nebulous as fine gossamer did not dampen the wide-eyed enthusiasm with which she met her new surroundings. She bought some food and threaded through the town while she ate. Less than an hour passed before she found herself on a bus south, once more watching the scenery race past her reflection in the window.
Her eyes were weighted half-closed when her wallet rang.
“Hey, sis.” She shifted, rubbing a hand across her face, and fought off a yawn. The wheels bumped, rattling her teeth. “Yeah, of course I’m fine.” The tightness in Aylin’s voice should have been enough of a clue as to what soon followed, and yet Thalia was still vaguely surprised when the avalanche of where the hell are you; your apartment was a mess; Christ, I thought something had happened; why haven’t you called fell right on her head. She bit her lip, at least a little contrite for having let her sister worry. That had not been intentional.
“Estonia,” she said by way of guilty explanation. “I’m on a bus.”
Silence hung like a pall. Then, wearily: “Estonia?”
Aylin was not ignorant; she herself had pointed out, with some alarm, the face of one of her patients in Thalia’s sketches. Neither of them ever talked about Yana, either, but it had still happened, the proof inked in permanence on Thalia’s back. She had considered it an ending at the time, though that seemed unlikely now, and yet the eerie strangeness was something Thalia had finally discovered surprising acceptance for after years of fear. It wasn’t like she was desperate for answers or the desire to explain; not for herself anyway. But confessing to Aylin would only incite her sister to worry. Most people did not take off in such a haphazard fashion. I have a feeling was not sufficient motivation for hopping on a train and travelling 500 miles with no clear destination in mind. I have a bad feeling even less so.
Particularly when your sister was a psychologist.
So it was probably a good thing they were practiced at pretending to be normal.
She promised to forward the details on where she would be staying (and glossed over the question of not having thought that far ahead). It would only be a few days (intended truth), and yes next time she did something so impulsive she would remember to call. Hardly enough to placate Aylin entirely, but it was probably wise for someone to actually know where she was. Blinded by the haze of wanderlust, it had not really occurred to her.
![[Image: estonia_vaadeveetornist_ennloit_.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/estonia_vaadeveetornist_ennloit_.jpg)
It was a few more hours before she finally alighted from the bus. Viljandi. The name meant nothing much, and yet something buzzed just on the edges of her thoughts; something that almost felt like deja vu, except she knew she had never been here before. The town’s streets trickled and wound like tiny rivers, bordered by charming wooden houses. Trees thrust along walkways and forested wide in the distance. Several times she caught sight of a wide lake and a crest of ruins above it, and though wonder stirred, it was not the direction her boots pulled her.
It was like seeking relief from an itch.
A frown fluttered her brow, engrossed by some elusive instinct grown stronger and more strange the longer she chased it. Her thumbs hooked the straps of her rucksack, her gaze seeking a sense of the familiar with a sudden intensity that made her feel like she teetered on the edge of the world. Until her wallet buzzed in her jean’s pocket, and the enchantment abruptly dispelled like mist. She paused. The town had drifted behind her. Above, streaks of red and gold lit the clouds aflame, burning up the last of the day’s light. She’d fallen from the road. Already shadows clung to the boughs of the sparse trees dotted alongside. “Shit.” She twisted in a circle, senses dousing like a flush of frozen water.
It was a tiny station, more apt for the passing of freight than passenger. Grass punctured the concrete slabs, rippling in a sharp breeze that brought a shiver to the warm day. No one else lingered but for a couple sat beneath the plastic shelter. She splashed herself with cold water in the public bathroom, and tied her hair in a knot on her head. A frizz of fine curls puffed free around her face. She looked tired but for the grin, pleased to be free of the train’s confines, and more than content to discover a path like a dandelion’s seeds spread in the wind.
Afterwards she wandered slow, as uncertain in her intentions as her long vigil at Leningradsky. Nothing felt familiar. But motivation as nebulous as fine gossamer did not dampen the wide-eyed enthusiasm with which she met her new surroundings. She bought some food and threaded through the town while she ate. Less than an hour passed before she found herself on a bus south, once more watching the scenery race past her reflection in the window.
Her eyes were weighted half-closed when her wallet rang.
“Hey, sis.” She shifted, rubbing a hand across her face, and fought off a yawn. The wheels bumped, rattling her teeth. “Yeah, of course I’m fine.” The tightness in Aylin’s voice should have been enough of a clue as to what soon followed, and yet Thalia was still vaguely surprised when the avalanche of where the hell are you; your apartment was a mess; Christ, I thought something had happened; why haven’t you called fell right on her head. She bit her lip, at least a little contrite for having let her sister worry. That had not been intentional.
“Estonia,” she said by way of guilty explanation. “I’m on a bus.”
Silence hung like a pall. Then, wearily: “Estonia?”
Aylin was not ignorant; she herself had pointed out, with some alarm, the face of one of her patients in Thalia’s sketches. Neither of them ever talked about Yana, either, but it had still happened, the proof inked in permanence on Thalia’s back. She had considered it an ending at the time, though that seemed unlikely now, and yet the eerie strangeness was something Thalia had finally discovered surprising acceptance for after years of fear. It wasn’t like she was desperate for answers or the desire to explain; not for herself anyway. But confessing to Aylin would only incite her sister to worry. Most people did not take off in such a haphazard fashion. I have a feeling was not sufficient motivation for hopping on a train and travelling 500 miles with no clear destination in mind. I have a bad feeling even less so.
Particularly when your sister was a psychologist.
So it was probably a good thing they were practiced at pretending to be normal.
She promised to forward the details on where she would be staying (and glossed over the question of not having thought that far ahead). It would only be a few days (intended truth), and yes next time she did something so impulsive she would remember to call. Hardly enough to placate Aylin entirely, but it was probably wise for someone to actually know where she was. Blinded by the haze of wanderlust, it had not really occurred to her.
It was a few more hours before she finally alighted from the bus. Viljandi. The name meant nothing much, and yet something buzzed just on the edges of her thoughts; something that almost felt like deja vu, except she knew she had never been here before. The town’s streets trickled and wound like tiny rivers, bordered by charming wooden houses. Trees thrust along walkways and forested wide in the distance. Several times she caught sight of a wide lake and a crest of ruins above it, and though wonder stirred, it was not the direction her boots pulled her.
It was like seeking relief from an itch.
A frown fluttered her brow, engrossed by some elusive instinct grown stronger and more strange the longer she chased it. Her thumbs hooked the straps of her rucksack, her gaze seeking a sense of the familiar with a sudden intensity that made her feel like she teetered on the edge of the world. Until her wallet buzzed in her jean’s pocket, and the enchantment abruptly dispelled like mist. She paused. The town had drifted behind her. Above, streaks of red and gold lit the clouds aflame, burning up the last of the day’s light. She’d fallen from the road. Already shadows clung to the boughs of the sparse trees dotted alongside. “Shit.” She twisted in a circle, senses dousing like a flush of frozen water.