(no subject)
Piotr and Kate will be heading back to their world, soon. Back to the Mansion, and back to the war.
Even if that's not technically what it is, any more. It always is, one way or another.
At any rate, Piotr doesn't know when he'll be back, once they do. Time passes differently; last time he was gone for two and a half days, a month went by at Milliways.
So he's outside, enjoying the winter while he can. It might be spring by the time he sees this lake again. And Piotr, Siberian farmboy that he is, has always appreciated a good snowfall. He's been out here for some time, while evening darkened around him, strolling slowly with his hands in his pockets and a sketchbook in its case slung over his back, just in case.
At least until a gout of white flame catches his attention abruptly.
(It's far enough away that he restrains the automatic impulse to go metal, which is his usual reaction to being startled. But only barely.)
Even if that's not technically what it is, any more. It always is, one way or another.
At any rate, Piotr doesn't know when he'll be back, once they do. Time passes differently; last time he was gone for two and a half days, a month went by at Milliways.
So he's outside, enjoying the winter while he can. It might be spring by the time he sees this lake again. And Piotr, Siberian farmboy that he is, has always appreciated a good snowfall. He's been out here for some time, while evening darkened around him, strolling slowly with his hands in his pockets and a sketchbook in its case slung over his back, just in case.
At least until a gout of white flame catches his attention abruptly.
(It's far enough away that he restrains the automatic impulse to go metal, which is his usual reaction to being startled. But only barely.)