[Witches' Horses] Sibir
Title: no space for a bow
'Verse/characters: Sibir; Nadya and Stas
Prompt: 12A: "tea theory"
Word Count: 788
Notes: Sometime between tea stained paper and no head for the waters of life. Her name means 'Hope'.
Her first proper--ish--introduction to Lievtenant Stanislav was when he and one of his sergeants dragged a couple of unranked soldiers through the lock and offered them up to her tender mercies.
Nadya finished knotting her kerchief at the nape of her neck before she came over to see what had happened, her hands propped neatly on her hips as she did the initial visual.
After a moment, she pronounced her hypothesis. "Barfight?"
"In one," the lievtenant replied, his tone mildly impressed, and he started the automatic once-over. Then he did one of those doubletakes that weren't exaggerated for effect, but a real 'did I actually just see that?' sort of look.
She widened her eyes, gave him the little-girl moue, and he started laughing, the light stubble on his cheeks folding into the laugh lines by his mouth.
One of his soldiers groaned, and he promptly laughed louder, reached down and cuffed the man on the shoulder she'd already mentally written off as uninjured. "I'm pretty sure I told you not to pick fights."
"Actually, you said 'don't pick any fights 'til I'm off-duty', sir," the sergeant said placidly, giving her a polite nod of greeting. She dimpled a reply, because he'd been in more than a couple of times already, usually at night and usually for much this reason.
"Up on the beds, gospoda," she ordered, and between their officers and themselves the soldiers got settled with ice packs and mild painkillers so she could finish a proper assessment and treatment plan.
One of them had a boxer's break and a gloriously blacked eye, the other had narrowly avoided breaking a couple of ribs. He yelped when she flicked one of them, then straightened up, tugging her apron back into place. "Well, I've seen better. Don't pick fights with whoever you did again, boys--" she turned away from the beds, looked up at their officers. "Gospoda, I'll keep them the night to make sure there's nothing I haven't spotted already. Hand over the paperwork for it."
The lievtenant gave her a shifty look, but the sergeant sighed, handed over proper papers, already largely filled out, and the younger officer blinked at him.
"When did you have time to do that?"
The sergeant smothered a snicker. "We get a lot of barfights, sir. I keep paperwork around."
"Your leave, dyevuschka?" the lievtenant asked when the paperwork was finished and signed--no missing soldiers banging around at all hours tonight (so far anyway)--and she nodded.
"Good night, lievtenant."
He was back the next morning to check on his soldiers, this time without a sergeant in tow, and he waited politely enough for her to finish a set of notes and put them away before he leaned over the half-wall, held out his hand. "I forgot to introduce myself last night. Lievtenant Itzaak Nicolaievich Stanislav."
She dimpled, held out her own hand to be caught in rider-calloused fingers. "Nadyezhda Valentinevna Arshuna, no official rank. And yes, I've heard all the jokes about how well the men in my care must do."
"Never even crossed my mind," he lied cheerfully, squeezed her hand too hard to be just polite but far from hard enough to hurt, which was a neat trick.
He accepted custody of his soldiers gracefully not long afterwards, and she found herself smiling as she went off-duty and to bed.
Katusha told her the next night that he'd stopped in a couple of times while she was on duty, and he'd eventually got up the balls to ask after Nadya's duty shifts. Katusha had managed to keep herself from collapsing giggling until after she'd told him to come back the following noon and shooed him out.
Nadya giggled herself at the recounting, gave Katusha permission to hand over her information if he asked again.
"He is a handsome man," Katusha confessed, and Nadya threaded arms with her, giggled again.
"He is, isn't he. Well, if I don't like him, you're welcome to nibble."
Katusha went off to her bed laughing, and Nadya was smiling herself as she went through the night.
Sure enough, Lievtenant Stanislav showed up at noon, as she was signing over control to Dmitri Vadimovich.
Kerchief shed, apron put away, she took a moment to put her hands at the small of her back and stretch before she went out to greet her visitor.
"I have a theory, Lievtenant," she told him.
"Pray tell," he replied, all ears.
"It involves you, me, a samovar, this stash of honey I happen to have access to, and the afternoon."
He pretended to consider the notion, then gave her a huge grin. "Stas."
"Nadya," she replied, and took the arm he offered her, squeezed his forearm companionably.
'Verse/characters: Sibir; Nadya and Stas
Prompt: 12A: "tea theory"
Word Count: 788
Notes: Sometime between tea stained paper and no head for the waters of life. Her name means 'Hope'.
Her first proper--ish--introduction to Lievtenant Stanislav was when he and one of his sergeants dragged a couple of unranked soldiers through the lock and offered them up to her tender mercies.
Nadya finished knotting her kerchief at the nape of her neck before she came over to see what had happened, her hands propped neatly on her hips as she did the initial visual.
After a moment, she pronounced her hypothesis. "Barfight?"
"In one," the lievtenant replied, his tone mildly impressed, and he started the automatic once-over. Then he did one of those doubletakes that weren't exaggerated for effect, but a real 'did I actually just see that?' sort of look.
She widened her eyes, gave him the little-girl moue, and he started laughing, the light stubble on his cheeks folding into the laugh lines by his mouth.
One of his soldiers groaned, and he promptly laughed louder, reached down and cuffed the man on the shoulder she'd already mentally written off as uninjured. "I'm pretty sure I told you not to pick fights."
"Actually, you said 'don't pick any fights 'til I'm off-duty', sir," the sergeant said placidly, giving her a polite nod of greeting. She dimpled a reply, because he'd been in more than a couple of times already, usually at night and usually for much this reason.
"Up on the beds, gospoda," she ordered, and between their officers and themselves the soldiers got settled with ice packs and mild painkillers so she could finish a proper assessment and treatment plan.
One of them had a boxer's break and a gloriously blacked eye, the other had narrowly avoided breaking a couple of ribs. He yelped when she flicked one of them, then straightened up, tugging her apron back into place. "Well, I've seen better. Don't pick fights with whoever you did again, boys--" she turned away from the beds, looked up at their officers. "Gospoda, I'll keep them the night to make sure there's nothing I haven't spotted already. Hand over the paperwork for it."
The lievtenant gave her a shifty look, but the sergeant sighed, handed over proper papers, already largely filled out, and the younger officer blinked at him.
"When did you have time to do that?"
The sergeant smothered a snicker. "We get a lot of barfights, sir. I keep paperwork around."
"Your leave, dyevuschka?" the lievtenant asked when the paperwork was finished and signed--no missing soldiers banging around at all hours tonight (so far anyway)--and she nodded.
"Good night, lievtenant."
He was back the next morning to check on his soldiers, this time without a sergeant in tow, and he waited politely enough for her to finish a set of notes and put them away before he leaned over the half-wall, held out his hand. "I forgot to introduce myself last night. Lievtenant Itzaak Nicolaievich Stanislav."
She dimpled, held out her own hand to be caught in rider-calloused fingers. "Nadyezhda Valentinevna Arshuna, no official rank. And yes, I've heard all the jokes about how well the men in my care must do."
"Never even crossed my mind," he lied cheerfully, squeezed her hand too hard to be just polite but far from hard enough to hurt, which was a neat trick.
He accepted custody of his soldiers gracefully not long afterwards, and she found herself smiling as she went off-duty and to bed.
Katusha told her the next night that he'd stopped in a couple of times while she was on duty, and he'd eventually got up the balls to ask after Nadya's duty shifts. Katusha had managed to keep herself from collapsing giggling until after she'd told him to come back the following noon and shooed him out.
Nadya giggled herself at the recounting, gave Katusha permission to hand over her information if he asked again.
"He is a handsome man," Katusha confessed, and Nadya threaded arms with her, giggled again.
"He is, isn't he. Well, if I don't like him, you're welcome to nibble."
Katusha went off to her bed laughing, and Nadya was smiling herself as she went through the night.
Sure enough, Lievtenant Stanislav showed up at noon, as she was signing over control to Dmitri Vadimovich.
Kerchief shed, apron put away, she took a moment to put her hands at the small of her back and stretch before she went out to greet her visitor.
"I have a theory, Lievtenant," she told him.
"Pray tell," he replied, all ears.
"It involves you, me, a samovar, this stash of honey I happen to have access to, and the afternoon."
He pretended to consider the notion, then gave her a huge grin. "Stas."
"Nadya," she replied, and took the arm he offered her, squeezed his forearm companionably.