[Witches' Horses] Sibir
Title: no head for the waters of life
'Verse/characters: Sibir; Sergeivich, Stas, Marya
Prompt: 6B "truth"
Word Count: 477 587
Notes: after *poink!*, before repurposing. Stas is convinced his commanding officer needs to meet girls.
The currents of people moving through the room eddied, long enough to attract her attention, so she was watching as that lievtenant--Stas, maybe?--had a grinning argument with a blond kid half a head taller than he was but only about half as broad in the doorway.
The difference in body language was fascinating; the lievtenant favoured expansive gestures, inviting the kid into the room, while the kid, who was aware of the other people around him--he dodged out of the doorway a couple of times to let people pass--focused on the lievtenant, his few hand movements all directed there too.
The kid was losing, and lost dramatically when a group of mixed riders and soldiers came off duty and called greetings to both men, blocking the doorway completely for a few minutes before the kid acquiesced and came in, one of the lievtenant's hands under his elbow.
It was with considerable surprise that she watched them come to her, instead of going to a table with the rest of the army personnel. She let the lievtenant kiss her cheek, smiled up at him, didn't laugh when he all but tripped the kid into the chair opposite her and then bounced off to the other table.
"I am here under duress," the kid half stated, half apologised, sitting perfectly straight in the chair.
"So I gathered," she said, trying not to laugh. "Would you like a drink?"
"Is he watching?"
She looked over his shoulder, craning her neck. "Yes. Grinning, too."
He scrubbed both his hands over his face, slumping towards the table surface, then straightened up again. "Would you mind if I had water?"
Boje moi, he'd actually drink something else if I looked upset at this. She waved a hand as gracefully as she could manage, forgiveness and attracting the attention of a server at once. "No head for vodka?"
"I don't like the taste much." His mouth quirked up suddenly, green eyes twinkling, and she suppressed a flutter in her chest, "and, yes, no head for it."
He couldn't be much past twenty; she found herself wondering if he'd pulled himself out of some university program to volunteer for the war. Wondered if he'd ever been sweet and shy instead of formal. Wondered, too, what rank he was, because despite his plain gear--Stas, she was almost sure--hadn't manhandled him the way he would have done to an adopted comrade younger than he was.
"Would you mind if I asked--" she waved at the door, at Stas.
"--What that was about?" He accepted the water the girl brought him with a polite nod, wrapped his hands around it. "He thinks I need to get out more--read fewer reports and meet more girls."
She couldn't help it. She giggled, then laughed, happily enough that he eventually joined in, softer, smiling at her.
She held out her hand, grinning. "Marya Ivanovna."
He shook it, mock gravely. "Ruslan Sergeievich."
She blinked, flicked her gaze over the braid, the lack of insignia on his shoulders, neck and wrists, then squeezed his hand a bit before she let go. "The?"
"God the Father help anyone stuck with the name who's not me," he said, dry, then leaned back in the seat, sipping at the water. "So which rumour was it?"
"Combat-promoted, does right by his people, doesn't wear his tags because he wants people to respect the uniform. Possibly mythical to bolster morale." She twinkled at him. "I'll have to start a pool and see how much I can get."
'Verse/characters: Sibir; Sergeivich, Stas, Marya
Prompt: 6B "truth"
Word Count: 477 587
Notes: after *poink!*, before repurposing. Stas is convinced his commanding officer needs to meet girls.
The currents of people moving through the room eddied, long enough to attract her attention, so she was watching as that lievtenant--Stas, maybe?--had a grinning argument with a blond kid half a head taller than he was but only about half as broad in the doorway.
The difference in body language was fascinating; the lievtenant favoured expansive gestures, inviting the kid into the room, while the kid, who was aware of the other people around him--he dodged out of the doorway a couple of times to let people pass--focused on the lievtenant, his few hand movements all directed there too.
The kid was losing, and lost dramatically when a group of mixed riders and soldiers came off duty and called greetings to both men, blocking the doorway completely for a few minutes before the kid acquiesced and came in, one of the lievtenant's hands under his elbow.
It was with considerable surprise that she watched them come to her, instead of going to a table with the rest of the army personnel. She let the lievtenant kiss her cheek, smiled up at him, didn't laugh when he all but tripped the kid into the chair opposite her and then bounced off to the other table.
"I am here under duress," the kid half stated, half apologised, sitting perfectly straight in the chair.
"So I gathered," she said, trying not to laugh. "Would you like a drink?"
"Is he watching?"
She looked over his shoulder, craning her neck. "Yes. Grinning, too."
He scrubbed both his hands over his face, slumping towards the table surface, then straightened up again. "Would you mind if I had water?"
Boje moi, he'd actually drink something else if I looked upset at this. She waved a hand as gracefully as she could manage, forgiveness and attracting the attention of a server at once. "No head for vodka?"
"I don't like the taste much." His mouth quirked up suddenly, green eyes twinkling, and she suppressed a flutter in her chest, "and, yes, no head for it."
He couldn't be much past twenty; she found herself wondering if he'd pulled himself out of some university program to volunteer for the war. Wondered if he'd ever been sweet and shy instead of formal. Wondered, too, what rank he was, because despite his plain gear--Stas, she was almost sure--hadn't manhandled him the way he would have done to an adopted comrade younger than he was.
"Would you mind if I asked--" she waved at the door, at Stas.
"--What that was about?" He accepted the water the girl brought him with a polite nod, wrapped his hands around it. "He thinks I need to get out more--read fewer reports and meet more girls."
She couldn't help it. She giggled, then laughed, happily enough that he eventually joined in, softer, smiling at her.
She held out her hand, grinning. "Marya Ivanovna."
He shook it, mock gravely. "Ruslan Sergeievich."
She blinked, flicked her gaze over the braid, the lack of insignia on his shoulders, neck and wrists, then squeezed his hand a bit before she let go. "The?"
"God the Father help anyone stuck with the name who's not me," he said, dry, then leaned back in the seat, sipping at the water. "So which rumour was it?"
"Combat-promoted, does right by his people, doesn't wear his tags because he wants people to respect the uniform. Possibly mythical to bolster morale." She twinkled at him. "I'll have to start a pool and see how much I can get."