It isn't the coldest night she's ever walked through, not by a longshot.
Anya has trekked across forests and open fields, stomped over snow and
wished for warmer clothes. She's stolen warmer clothes only to regret
having to carry them months later. The nurses helped her to prepare, warned
her to be careful when she finally left them. A destination hadn't been in
mind, not as clear as it was when she met Dmitry and Vlad. By then the
dream of Paris had had years to form, fed by hope and cold, hungry nights,
given a name in faded posters of an outside world. The party was meant to
give her purpose, give her a job and food to eat. Anything that it gave her
it was only just. She didn't have a name, didn't have parents, didn't have
a home. Just the persistent fear that attracting too much notice was not
going to end well for her. It was best to just hide in plain sight.
So she had. Keeping out of the gaze of those in charge until that fateful
day when the car backfired and she heard a rumor on the streets. Gleb had
smiled at her then, oddly nervous as he offered to buy her tea. She hadn't
understood it then and still didn't now. What did he have to be nervous
about? At the time she was nothing but a frightened street sweeper, feeling
like she might throw up with her nerve shaking from the sound. She had
appreciated his offer, liked his nerves better and his haphazard smile,
like he was a human under the uniform. It had never occurred to her to say
yes. Her employers would have fired her instantly, with another person
eagerly waiting for her job.
Nodding she takes a step towards where she was going, waiting just a moment
for him to fall in line with her.
"It's better to walk in the spring or summer, when the air has cooled off
and the quiet has set in," she remarks fondly, holding her purse in front
of her, trying to not be disappointed that he didn't offer an arm or a
hand. It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. "But it is better to
walk with someone else regardless of the weather. At least it isn't
sleeting."
no subject
It isn't the coldest night she's ever walked through, not by a longshot. Anya has trekked across forests and open fields, stomped over snow and wished for warmer clothes. She's stolen warmer clothes only to regret having to carry them months later. The nurses helped her to prepare, warned her to be careful when she finally left them. A destination hadn't been in mind, not as clear as it was when she met Dmitry and Vlad. By then the dream of Paris had had years to form, fed by hope and cold, hungry nights, given a name in faded posters of an outside world. The party was meant to give her purpose, give her a job and food to eat. Anything that it gave her it was only just. She didn't have a name, didn't have parents, didn't have a home. Just the persistent fear that attracting too much notice was not going to end well for her. It was best to just hide in plain sight.
So she had. Keeping out of the gaze of those in charge until that fateful day when the car backfired and she heard a rumor on the streets. Gleb had smiled at her then, oddly nervous as he offered to buy her tea. She hadn't understood it then and still didn't now. What did he have to be nervous about? At the time she was nothing but a frightened street sweeper, feeling like she might throw up with her nerve shaking from the sound. She had appreciated his offer, liked his nerves better and his haphazard smile, like he was a human under the uniform. It had never occurred to her to say yes. Her employers would have fired her instantly, with another person eagerly waiting for her job.
Nodding she takes a step towards where she was going, waiting just a moment for him to fall in line with her.
"It's better to walk in the spring or summer, when the air has cooled off and the quiet has set in," she remarks fondly, holding her purse in front of her, trying to not be disappointed that he didn't offer an arm or a hand. It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. "But it is better to walk with someone else regardless of the weather. At least it isn't sleeting."