Natalya Zamyatin (
blonderussianspy) wrote2010-01-11 01:45 am
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The snow was gone. All of it, gone. It was hot out, mostly sunny, though every few days they'd be pelted on and off for hours with fat, warm rain drops falling from barely-grey clouds that would then be blown on out over the water by the breeze off the sea.
Natalya was miserable.
Having sadly packed away the ski gear and snowboots and reverted to her island uniform of tank tops, shorts and combat boots. She hated them. The worst was that she hated them more, now. More than Kansas, more than she'd hated the island's climate when she'd first arrived, she hated it now because she'd had more than a teasing glimpse of snow, almost a full season of it.
The place had almost felt like home.
Today she was going to indulge in her favorite pastime of climbing trees and pretending to bird watch with her sniper rifle while keeping an indulgent eye out on the horizon for signs of ships. Then she would go to where Vladimir and the American Astronaut were buried out of a sense of strangled and floundering duty, and then, who could say. An evening spent sifting through old Russian poetry in search of something palatable was never out of the question.
She ran her hand wearily over the back of her neck as she pushed aside a low hanging palm frond and stepped down onto one of the lesser worn paths from the slope she'd been quietly traversing, and sighed.
Natalya was miserable.
Having sadly packed away the ski gear and snowboots and reverted to her island uniform of tank tops, shorts and combat boots. She hated them. The worst was that she hated them more, now. More than Kansas, more than she'd hated the island's climate when she'd first arrived, she hated it now because she'd had more than a teasing glimpse of snow, almost a full season of it.
The place had almost felt like home.
Today she was going to indulge in her favorite pastime of climbing trees and pretending to bird watch with her sniper rifle while keeping an indulgent eye out on the horizon for signs of ships. Then she would go to where Vladimir and the American Astronaut were buried out of a sense of strangled and floundering duty, and then, who could say. An evening spent sifting through old Russian poetry in search of something palatable was never out of the question.
She ran her hand wearily over the back of her neck as she pushed aside a low hanging palm frond and stepped down onto one of the lesser worn paths from the slope she'd been quietly traversing, and sighed.
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"Where I am from, is much snow. To be with nearly nothing on is unwise, unless you are having hot spring or warm place that is- close by hands." She was was eighty percent sure that was the correct expression.
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"To be with nearly nothing on outside period is probably a bad idea in general," he agreed. He certainly hadn't meant to be like that. "There's a reason why those sorts of situations are what nightmares are made of. Or, some of my nightmares, anyway. Wow, I just admitted that outloud, didn't I?"
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"This heat, is hard for be blaming peoples," she said, ruefully, and walked farther down the path until she was standing opposite the man and his dog.
"You are very new arriving, then."
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"I am not being here so long as many of residents, but even now I am better at seeing who has and who has not. Longer, though, than ever I had anticipation of," she added after a moment.
"Being here. Well, anyway, welcome," she said, absently murmuring to herself first in Russian, and offered her hand.
"I am Natalya Zamyatin."
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It was nothing he was going to bring up with a complete stranger, of course. It was actually something he just kept pressing to the back of his head in general.
"Thank you. My name is Alistair," he replied, taking her hand and shaking it. "And this is Duncan. If you don't mind me asking, what was that language you were just speaking?"
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"Is Russian," she told him, eyebrows raising up as she turned her face back toward Alistair's.
"Is where I am from. Russia." It was hard with English speakers to not say Russiya, sometimes, but she managed.
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"Is that another place on...Earth, was it?" he asked. He was trying to get a bit of a handle of all the places that apparently weren't even on his world, nevermind near his land. "I've heard about a few places there."
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"This I am seeing. You no are alone in this. Even being from the Earth, as is- yes, Russia is there, I am of Earth- is many peoples being from Earths are not the same. Is same world, different in histories. Events are change, so what comes after also is changed. As you are notice, this language, no is my... first." She smiled a little, abashed despite her general air of confidence.
"Most people they are speaking- like you. Where your home is?"
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"I have no heard of Ferelden," she said, working her way carefully through the word, unfamiliar as it was and filled with a lot of not-Russian-friendly sounds.
"But give this time. You will be taken with surprise, how people from home can will all of sudden be arriving."
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"Only there is one. Yorick. He is- good boy."
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"I would hope some people I knew might show up here but...they're needed back home," he explained, being vague on purpose. He wasn't about to go into the long history of the Blight with a complete stranger who would likely have no interest in it. "Good thing people are very nice here, I suppose."
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"I am not good for explaining these things, is... my language is having not the grace for making good explaining. But. Being here is no meaning you no are still at home. Is like... world is been paused, for you. People who are from being after when you are arrive from, they will no have any idea you are- have been gone. Is impossible for say why. But much in this place, this is impossible."
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Still, there was a level of relief that came with the very thought. It meant, at least, he hadn't abandoned anyone.
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"But I am not best for discuss- philosophy. Not with using this language. Still, maybe is can be comfort. I am left behind very... very important task. Friends are rely on me, very much, then I am here? Was cause much distress until I understand- though I am here, i am not gone, for people I leave behind."
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"Am glad for to help. Eh, is interesting dog," she ventured, nodding to Duncan, although she also made eye contact with the animal. She was talking about him, after all.
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"He's a marbari - they're native to my country," he said, reaching out to pat the mabari on the head. He was growing more affectionate with him lately, even though he doubted he'd be a good owner when he first showed up for him. "They're war hounds. Basically they look nice and friendly - if a bit large - until you make them mad. Then it's chomp and you've lost your arm or some other important body part. I don't suspect you'll be pulling any weapons on me any time soon, though, so not to worry too much about that second part."
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