[Witches' Horses] Witches' Horses
Title: bad news
'Verse/characters: Witches' Horses; Stas, Sergeievich
Prompt: 71A "premonition"
Word Count: 263
Notes: follows . . . okay, then. Roughly a week before arrest.
"Hey, boss--" Stas swung through the hatch, kicked it closed and latched behind with a foot, then arrested his spin with a hand on a bar. "Got a few singers for you to see."
Sergeievich raised an eyebrow, but held out a hand for the pad, flicking down the text with his thumb as he skimmed.
"Lightning saints," he said eventually, and Stas found himself nodding like the general had uttered a heartfelt curse. Which technically he had, if you spoke fluent Sergeievich.
A vezha near Tver scrambling to get a variety of electronics in, directly following a warrant for a man's arrest, with notes on the horse he'd taken passage on, his general description, and to bring anything electronic the man had on him directly to the vezha's engineers instead of putting it through standard arrest decontamination and examination.
Stas waited while his commanding officer thought, catching the paper as Sergeievich tossed it back to him.
"I find myself afflicted," said the general meditatively, "with a premonition of ship trouble at a vezha out Tver way."
"That's funny, boss," Stas replied, "I just heard a man swearing down the corridor about some idiot buying bad grease for some moving parts, and how things are going to bind up."
"Please don't tell me details I'll have to forget later," Sergeievich said, mildly affronted. "After that stunt you pulled with the interviews I find I really don't want to know what you can come up with given more than thirty seconds' lead time to plan."
Stas grinned his most innocent grin. Sergeievich covered his eyes.
'Verse/characters: Witches' Horses; Stas, Sergeievich
Prompt: 71A "premonition"
Word Count: 263
Notes: follows . . . okay, then. Roughly a week before arrest.
"Hey, boss--" Stas swung through the hatch, kicked it closed and latched behind with a foot, then arrested his spin with a hand on a bar. "Got a few singers for you to see."
Sergeievich raised an eyebrow, but held out a hand for the pad, flicking down the text with his thumb as he skimmed.
"Lightning saints," he said eventually, and Stas found himself nodding like the general had uttered a heartfelt curse. Which technically he had, if you spoke fluent Sergeievich.
A vezha near Tver scrambling to get a variety of electronics in, directly following a warrant for a man's arrest, with notes on the horse he'd taken passage on, his general description, and to bring anything electronic the man had on him directly to the vezha's engineers instead of putting it through standard arrest decontamination and examination.
Stas waited while his commanding officer thought, catching the paper as Sergeievich tossed it back to him.
"I find myself afflicted," said the general meditatively, "with a premonition of ship trouble at a vezha out Tver way."
"That's funny, boss," Stas replied, "I just heard a man swearing down the corridor about some idiot buying bad grease for some moving parts, and how things are going to bind up."
"Please don't tell me details I'll have to forget later," Sergeievich said, mildly affronted. "After that stunt you pulled with the interviews I find I really don't want to know what you can come up with given more than thirty seconds' lead time to plan."
Stas grinned his most innocent grin. Sergeievich covered his eyes.