(no subject)
Maya stands in front of the massive windows in Skymarshall Urik Antares's office, overlooking the frozen, burning city that swallowed her best friend. Everything is snow and ash and black smoke, with occasional bright points of fire; the clouds -- what clouds can be seen, above the smoke -- seem to threaten snow.
The sorceress's back is ramrod straight, her shoulders held unnaturally high; how she has carried herself for the past week. Her hands in her pockets, she watches the patterns of the smoke; she watches a particular building burn and she wonders, absently, if anyone is in it.
Kyuzo, loyal Kyuzo, stands with his back to the glass, several feet away, and Urik -- Uri Antares sits at his desk, with that bottle of cheap vodka that has been in the top drawer for months.
" That was how the dream ended," Maya says to the glass. "It seems ridiculous now that I've said it." Her hands are in her pockets; motionless against the wool of her greatcoat. "Dreaming of saviors like some child." She scoffs bitterly. "Not in this world."
She falls silent; stops watching the snow and the flames far below and stares into the glass, into nothingness.
After a moment: "This could be anywhere, Urik. Anywhere. Today, it's Nokgorka. Some small nation no one knows the name of." Her mouth tastes sour with regret and with swallowed fury; with resignment to the natural order of things, and to the fact that Alexandra Goncharova is dead.
"Tomorrow?"
Maya exhales, low and emotionless, her eyes burning into the glass.
"Who knows?"
The sorceress's back is ramrod straight, her shoulders held unnaturally high; how she has carried herself for the past week. Her hands in her pockets, she watches the patterns of the smoke; she watches a particular building burn and she wonders, absently, if anyone is in it.
Kyuzo, loyal Kyuzo, stands with his back to the glass, several feet away, and Urik -- Uri Antares sits at his desk, with that bottle of cheap vodka that has been in the top drawer for months.
" That was how the dream ended," Maya says to the glass. "It seems ridiculous now that I've said it." Her hands are in her pockets; motionless against the wool of her greatcoat. "Dreaming of saviors like some child." She scoffs bitterly. "Not in this world."
She falls silent; stops watching the snow and the flames far below and stares into the glass, into nothingness.
After a moment: "This could be anywhere, Urik. Anywhere. Today, it's Nokgorka. Some small nation no one knows the name of." Her mouth tastes sour with regret and with swallowed fury; with resignment to the natural order of things, and to the fact that Alexandra Goncharova is dead.
"Tomorrow?"
Maya exhales, low and emotionless, her eyes burning into the glass.
"Who knows?"