(no subject)
Maya steps out of the chow line, a tray of nondescript 'food' (mostly gray and brown shapeless lumps) in her hands. She scans the crowded galley for a moment, looking across tables of troopers and sorceresses -- most either sitting too quietly or laughing too loudly, and looking far, far too young -- for a familiar shock of red hair.
She finds it at a small table by one of the enormous windows, overlooking the snowy, burned hulk that is the enemy city of Bahamut. She makes her way through the galley, gracefully threading through recruits and nodding in return to the several startled salutes that she receives. Once, only telekinesis can save her tray, as a young private -- a big man in the uniform of the infantry -- bumps into her; he stammers an apology and Maya favors him with a strained smile and an, "It's alright, soldier."
Maya sits down across the table from Alex Goncharova, setting down her rescued tray with a click of metal. "Sometimes, I think you like to eat here just because you like making the recruits uncomfortable," she says, eyebrows raised at her best friend. "There is a perfectly good officers' mess, you know." In fact, there are several. The Konstantinov is several long miles of corridors and rooms, batteries and ventral arrays and great engines holding it aloft. It's one of the bigger 'furnaces in the Fleet; it's big enough to have more than one mess.
She finds it at a small table by one of the enormous windows, overlooking the snowy, burned hulk that is the enemy city of Bahamut. She makes her way through the galley, gracefully threading through recruits and nodding in return to the several startled salutes that she receives. Once, only telekinesis can save her tray, as a young private -- a big man in the uniform of the infantry -- bumps into her; he stammers an apology and Maya favors him with a strained smile and an, "It's alright, soldier."
Maya sits down across the table from Alex Goncharova, setting down her rescued tray with a click of metal. "Sometimes, I think you like to eat here just because you like making the recruits uncomfortable," she says, eyebrows raised at her best friend. "There is a perfectly good officers' mess, you know." In fact, there are several. The Konstantinov is several long miles of corridors and rooms, batteries and ventral arrays and great engines holding it aloft. It's one of the bigger 'furnaces in the Fleet; it's big enough to have more than one mess.