Nearly before she has dampened the flames, Maya knows that there is someone else out here. A man, she sees in the split second's afterglow left by the fire. A very big man.
She is less worried about his size, however, and more about--
"Goddammit, I'm sorry," she calls, and the apology sounds (and is) very sincere. "I didn't see you there." She takes a few steps, her boots crunching in the snow, and she leans on the still-warm rock, looking into the darkness. "Are you alright?"
Maya's smile is tiny and equally rueful, as she says, "Don't be. When I heard your voice and your name -- I assumed the same thing. You're the closest I've come to anyone from my world here." She leans back against the rock she'd scorched, one arm folded across her midsection and the other still held outward with its dancing flame.
"Do you mind if I--?" She pulls a demonstrative gesture with her hand, making as if she were going to close her fingers, thereby putting out the light.
The last good look that Piotr will get of Maya, if he is looking, are blue eyes swinging toward him as the flame vanishes.
They've established that they aren't from the same place, yes, but if questions about Maya's last name are asked, they typically involve her husband (the holder of most of the academy's sporting records) or her brother-in-law (the skymarshall) or Maya herself, on occasion.
She wasn't expecting (what she thinks could be) name recognition from the man from another world.
"I am," she says. "I'm a warkaster in the Sorceress Corps. It's a branch of the Complex of Military Industrial Sorcery." It's all very confusing, to someone who hasn't grown up with that; she picked that much up from the reactions of people she's spoken with here.
"More simply -- I'm a sorceress-major in the Red Fleet."
Maya started to pay attention to the way people phrased things, after she lost Marcus. Piotr Nikolaievitch said 'my sister was a sorceress.' That's a whole lot more final than what some people might say: 'my sister used to be a sorceress.'
"There are none of those in my world, either," she says. No 'magicians,' and no battalions of sorceresses all lined up in a row, though she doesn't say it. "Only the Sorceress Corps. And the Nistaani sorcerer."
(He is a high-priest, technically, Kar Dathra the Eternal, but after what Maya saw at Kar Dathra's Gate -- he will be listed, if with an iron jaw, when she discusses these matters. Always.)
"All women," Maya confirms, and she doesn't say 'besides the Nistaani high priest' because she's fairly certain she doesn't have to. 'Sorcerer' is an unmistakably male title.
He reminds her of her Guardsman, when he's quiet; it's something about the big bulk of a man standing in front of her, about the wordless communication and the innate comfort with silence.
Maya has never been one to needlessly fill silence just for the sake of hearing her own voice, or anyone else's. Especially not with Kyuzo as a constant companion.
It's the work of a moment to hoist herself up high enough to sit on the boulder she's been leaning against. The stars aren't especially bright tonight, but there's enough light to watch the way that it plays across the water.
She is less worried about his size, however, and more about--
"Goddammit, I'm sorry," she calls, and the apology sounds (and is) very sincere. "I didn't see you there." She takes a few steps, her boots crunching in the snow, and she leans on the still-warm rock, looking into the darkness. "Are you alright?"
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"Do you mind if I--?" She pulls a demonstrative gesture with her hand, making as if she were going to close her fingers, thereby putting out the light.
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"Is Antares your last name?" he asks as an afterthought.
Might as well make sure of all the assumptions, while he's at it.
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They've established that they aren't from the same place, yes, but if questions about Maya's last name are asked, they typically involve her husband (the holder of most of the academy's sporting records) or her brother-in-law (the skymarshall) or Maya herself, on occasion.
She wasn't expecting (what she thinks could be) name recognition from the man from another world.
"Yes," she says, after a startled half-second.
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"I assumed again," he explains.
"Rasputin is mine. Piotr Rasputin. Nikolaievitch is my ochestvo -- my father's name was Nikolai."
"It is the Russian way. Usually I leave it out here."
For some strange reason, most Americans (and similar) find Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin confusingly long.
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Maya doesn't seem to struggle with the name.
Then again, she is accustomed to similar. You try saying Alexandra Goncharova five times fast.
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"Piotr is fine," he adds. "Or Piotr Nikolaievitch -- whichever you want."
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Her smile is small, but audible.
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And smiles back, for all that she can't see it.
"Sorceress-Major," he says musingly, after a few moments of comfortable silence. "You are in the military?"
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"More simply -- I'm a sorceress-major in the Red Fleet."
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"My sister was a sorceress," he says after a moment. "But I think it is different."
"In my world it is not so organized. There are no battalions of magicians."
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Maya started to pay attention to the way people phrased things, after she lost Marcus. Piotr Nikolaievitch said 'my sister was a sorceress.' That's a whole lot more final than what some people might say: 'my sister used to be a sorceress.'
"There are none of those in my world, either," she says. No 'magicians,' and no battalions of sorceresses all lined up in a row, though she doesn't say it. "Only the Sorceress Corps. And the Nistaani sorcerer."
(He is a high-priest, technically, Kar Dathra the Eternal, but after what Maya saw at Kar Dathra's Gate -- he will be listed, if with an iron jaw, when she discusses these matters. Always.)
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And a familiar sort -- the kind that says old trouble, or old grief. She didn't ask about his sister, and he doesn't ask about this.
"All women?"
Huh. Interesting.
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Piotr makes a hmm, interesting noise of understanding.
Around them: the sounds of the wind, the lake waves, the occasional dry leaf rattling along rock or snow.
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Maya has never been one to needlessly fill silence just for the sake of hearing her own voice, or anyone else's. Especially not with Kyuzo as a constant companion.
It's the work of a moment to hoist herself up high enough to sit on the boulder she's been leaning against. The stars aren't especially bright tonight, but there's enough light to watch the way that it plays across the water.
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