(Untitled)

[necessary_child]

There is a Sam outside in the moonlight, enjoying the very last tendrils of the summer's warmth to ... well. Who knows. His face is utterly unreadable, but he's out by the lake, sitting on a particularly large rock on the lakeside with his sword (the one that was a gift from Atton, not his true sword, lost beyond his door) balanced delicately

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[olyabird]

There is a silent displacement of air passing close to him, and a moment later, a small shadow alights nearby. It takes a moment to arrange its wings just so before calling softly, perhaps requesting an audience.

[necessary_child]

At the movement of the air Sam turns his head, following the motion, and flickers a faint smile when she calls to him.

"Evening, Olga."

[olyabird]

A moment later, there's a tiny glowing light. The tip of her cigarette flares to life, illuminating her face, pale in the moonlight.

"Sam."

[necessary_child]

Sam watches her steadily, his face pale in the light gleaming along his sword.

"How's tricks?"

[olyabird]

She gives a little half-shrug, taking a long drag on her cigarette and blowing out a cool stream of smoke.

"Better than usual, I suppose." Her gaze falls to the weapon, just for a moment, before returning to meet his eyes. "And you?"

[necessary_child]

Sam's shoulder dips almost imperceptibly in a shrug of his own.

"They go."

[olyabird]

She hums a response, not much inclined to break the stillness of the night.

It's one of the things she enjoys most about Sam's company. Long silences are not uncomfortable, perhaps because they share a different sense of time than most.

After a spell, she does glance back at him. "Are we sitting a vigil?"

Another word that lost its true meaning somewhere down the line.