09-13-2014, 04:31 PM
Moscow wasn't built for cars.
Asha didn't have the frivolous cash for the metro system, nor enough in her account to pay for accommodation if she also wanted to eat. Russia was expensive, and her options - she realised quickly - were limited. All her worldly belongings - Wallet excepted, that stashed in her pocket - were shoved under the foot-well. A pile of blankets lay folded on the passenger seat, faded bright colours and fabrics - worn, loved items. A cut of quartz hung on a thong from the rear-view mirror, rainbowing the winter light like sentimental kisses across the interior.
The car was home, or close enough.
She'd parked on the far outskirts, in a location that didn't buzz with too much peripheral activity so she'd feel safe when she slept. That morning snow an inch thick had blanketed her windscreen; she'd woken in a freezing white cocoon, reminded of the icy winters of her youth. Her breath puffed frigid little clouds in front of her nose, and despite thick socks and ugly boots her toes were chilled. She never had liked the cold.
The walk to the city was a good long trek, but the gentle entrance to civilisation at least gave her the opportunity to acclimatise slowly. She'd travelled cities a hundred times with her uncle, but alone the transition was always more traumatic, and Russia was utterly foreign her to her. She was charmed, in a way, by that strangeness - both austere and beautiful, old and modern. The colours delighted her. The fusion. Only the people marred the experience, though through no fault of their own. The humdrum of their emotion soaked into her. Like rain that slowly hardened to hail. She could ignore it, but it wasn't pleasant to endure.
Asha was here for a reason, but not one that carried urgency. She meandered like a tourist, pausing to take pictures with her Wallet of anything that caught her fancy. She'd sort through those later, probably back at the car this evening. Best be back before it got dark; some of those streets hadn't felt pleasant, and it didn't seem wise to walk them alone in the dark. Concerns for later, though. By mid-afternoon she was entrenched in the city. The day was bright, the sun cold and proud in a pale sky, and she was frozen. Her coat was thick, but she'd been spoiled with warmer climates. She could do with a rest, use the time to start drafting words to go with those photos.
This close to the centre there were no really quiet places, so she just picked the one that felt the least intrusive to her sensitivity. It smelled nice, drawing mild pangs of hunger, but mostly she just wanted to warm up. A smile greeted the young man behind the counter, her dark gaze briefly glancing up to take in the boards overhead. She tugged at the scarf wound round her throat. "Uhh... A coffee? Please?"
These days it wasn't popular to carry cash, but the habit was engrained. Asha upended her purse into her palm, fingers numbly plucking through the bits of shrapnel. She spread the treasure out on the counter, counting each piece.
And came up short.
"Ah."
She felt her cheeks heat at the realisation. There was a line forming behind her; she could feel the impatience prickling her skin without needing to look. The guy behind the till was radiating pity and discomfort at her situation, and it only made her feel worse. His gaze flittered away. He cleared his throat. Move on. She could feel it in him, the urge to save her further embarrassment. "Does that get me... anything?"
Asha didn't have the frivolous cash for the metro system, nor enough in her account to pay for accommodation if she also wanted to eat. Russia was expensive, and her options - she realised quickly - were limited. All her worldly belongings - Wallet excepted, that stashed in her pocket - were shoved under the foot-well. A pile of blankets lay folded on the passenger seat, faded bright colours and fabrics - worn, loved items. A cut of quartz hung on a thong from the rear-view mirror, rainbowing the winter light like sentimental kisses across the interior.
The car was home, or close enough.
She'd parked on the far outskirts, in a location that didn't buzz with too much peripheral activity so she'd feel safe when she slept. That morning snow an inch thick had blanketed her windscreen; she'd woken in a freezing white cocoon, reminded of the icy winters of her youth. Her breath puffed frigid little clouds in front of her nose, and despite thick socks and ugly boots her toes were chilled. She never had liked the cold.
The walk to the city was a good long trek, but the gentle entrance to civilisation at least gave her the opportunity to acclimatise slowly. She'd travelled cities a hundred times with her uncle, but alone the transition was always more traumatic, and Russia was utterly foreign her to her. She was charmed, in a way, by that strangeness - both austere and beautiful, old and modern. The colours delighted her. The fusion. Only the people marred the experience, though through no fault of their own. The humdrum of their emotion soaked into her. Like rain that slowly hardened to hail. She could ignore it, but it wasn't pleasant to endure.
Asha was here for a reason, but not one that carried urgency. She meandered like a tourist, pausing to take pictures with her Wallet of anything that caught her fancy. She'd sort through those later, probably back at the car this evening. Best be back before it got dark; some of those streets hadn't felt pleasant, and it didn't seem wise to walk them alone in the dark. Concerns for later, though. By mid-afternoon she was entrenched in the city. The day was bright, the sun cold and proud in a pale sky, and she was frozen. Her coat was thick, but she'd been spoiled with warmer climates. She could do with a rest, use the time to start drafting words to go with those photos.
This close to the centre there were no really quiet places, so she just picked the one that felt the least intrusive to her sensitivity. It smelled nice, drawing mild pangs of hunger, but mostly she just wanted to warm up. A smile greeted the young man behind the counter, her dark gaze briefly glancing up to take in the boards overhead. She tugged at the scarf wound round her throat. "Uhh... A coffee? Please?"
These days it wasn't popular to carry cash, but the habit was engrained. Asha upended her purse into her palm, fingers numbly plucking through the bits of shrapnel. She spread the treasure out on the counter, counting each piece.
And came up short.
"Ah."
She felt her cheeks heat at the realisation. There was a line forming behind her; she could feel the impatience prickling her skin without needing to look. The guy behind the till was radiating pity and discomfort at her situation, and it only made her feel worse. His gaze flittered away. He cleared his throat. Move on. She could feel it in him, the urge to save her further embarrassment. "Does that get me... anything?"