[ She's Russian—! It's a rarity here, one that immediately entitles her to a degree of fondness thanks to the relief of finally encountering a fellow countryman (or woman, as the case may be). She also, apparently, knows how to read the insignias on the coat he holds out to her, or maybe the uniform below it—what time is she from?
She's also very pretty, a thought he tries to push from his head as soon as it occurs to him—he's met quota for three months now with other people, none of them Olga, to survive here long enough to go back to her... but it feels different, actually finding another woman attractive. It's a different kind of betrayal, even if she's probably already forgotten him, or thinks he's dead. The relationship will probably end when he does leave this place and she realizes that the whole, intact man she fell in love with, was attracted to, now walks on legs cut unnaturally short, stumps, balancing on hard inhuman limbs.
She will undoubtedly react with revulsion, even if she thinks she won't until she actually sees them. Maybe that's why he can't find the words to write her. He doesn't want to just face it, to 'pull the Band-aid off', as they say here. Maybe he'd rather linger in the ambiguous silence of her not knowing, of theoretically still having someone waiting for him.
It's a heavy thought, and he's thankful for the distraction of company. ]
Nikolay, [ he corrects, with a faint, welcoming smile. ] What is your name—?
[ Nikolay. No-one left alive knows what that name once meant to her. What are the chances indeed.
She looks at him properly now, sharp and assessing. He has the harrowed look of someone who's been in the field (or somewhere worse) for too long, but recovering perhaps, in the cushy lifestyle afforded to him by the city. There’s a cane propped near his leg, graying hair at his temples. A stoic face softened by the way he brightens at hearing her speak, the relief of finding something familiar.
Meeting another Russian isn't the same comfort to her as it is to him. Still, might as well see where this goes. ]
Natalia.
[ She accepts the coat, draping it over her shoulders and exhaling softly at the immediate warmth. It's well made, even carrying some residual body heat. The hospital gown crinkles as she shoves her arms through the sleeves, which end past her fingertips. ]
You managed to keep this when you were pulled through?
There's a feeling of contentedness as he watches her pull the heavy wool over her frigid body, concealed, now, in a garment much too big for her, protected from the elements. One small, disturbing wrongness of this place has been fixed, for now. ]
Yes. They'll give your things back, too. Are you on your way to public housing?
[ He intends to walk her there, if so—and escort her wherever else she's going if not—this place is dangerous, and she's a woman, small and slightly built, in a state of undress that turns his stomach. He's tall, and whatever the cane detracts from the appearance of a soldier, the loaded gun at his hip returns twofold. ]
[ They had mentioned that her possessions would be waiting in an assigned room. Natasha is curious to see if that includes all the gear she had on her before waking up here, though it seems unlikely.
If nothing else, she notes that Nikolay has a weapon. Two, if he knows how to get creative with that cane. ]
Yes. Might as well see what I have before looking around.
[ She pauses for a moment, slipping her device into one of the coat pockets and sorting out the overly long sleeves by tucking them under her arms. There's no need to hold on to anything, her body instinctively adjusting to the motion of the train. ]
Not all of it. A lot of it, though. There's a cafeteria in the public housing unit, and the food there is safe. There are places here run by other prisoners, but they're usually open about what is and isn't spiked.
[ A pause. She's clearly doing fine standing—more than fine, one of those people who can keep their balance on a train without holding anything—but it's rude not to offer.
He inclines his head toward the open seat beside him. ]
[ That's encouraging. He's also being a lot more helpful that she expected from anyone here, and seems to mean well. Her carefully banked anger at the whole situation doesn't fade by any means, but she can swallow her pride enough to take the offered seat.
That gets a few looks from people, including disdainful stares from a pair where one where is seated normally and the other is kneeling at their feet, a customized collar around their throat. Natasha wills herself not to react, glancing instead at Nikolay to see how he takes it. ]
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no subject
She's also very pretty, a thought he tries to push from his head as soon as it occurs to him—he's met quota for three months now with other people, none of them Olga, to survive here long enough to go back to her... but it feels different, actually finding another woman attractive. It's a different kind of betrayal, even if she's probably already forgotten him, or thinks he's dead. The relationship will probably end when he does leave this place and she realizes that the whole, intact man she fell in love with, was attracted to, now walks on legs cut unnaturally short, stumps, balancing on hard inhuman limbs.
She will undoubtedly react with revulsion, even if she thinks she won't until she actually sees them. Maybe that's why he can't find the words to write her. He doesn't want to just face it, to 'pull the Band-aid off', as they say here. Maybe he'd rather linger in the ambiguous silence of her not knowing, of theoretically still having someone waiting for him.
It's a heavy thought, and he's thankful for the distraction of company. ]
Nikolay, [ he corrects, with a faint, welcoming smile. ] What is your name—?
no subject
She looks at him properly now, sharp and assessing. He has the harrowed look of someone who's been in the field (or somewhere worse) for too long, but recovering perhaps, in the cushy lifestyle afforded to him by the city. There’s a cane propped near his leg, graying hair at his temples. A stoic face softened by the way he brightens at hearing her speak, the relief of finding something familiar.
Meeting another Russian isn't the same comfort to her as it is to him. Still, might as well see where this goes. ]
Natalia.
[ She accepts the coat, draping it over her shoulders and exhaling softly at the immediate warmth. It's well made, even carrying some residual body heat. The hospital gown crinkles as she shoves her arms through the sleeves, which end past her fingertips. ]
You managed to keep this when you were pulled through?
no subject
There's a feeling of contentedness as he watches her pull the heavy wool over her frigid body, concealed, now, in a garment much too big for her, protected from the elements. One small, disturbing wrongness of this place has been fixed, for now. ]
Yes. They'll give your things back, too. Are you on your way to public housing?
[ He intends to walk her there, if so—and escort her wherever else she's going if not—this place is dangerous, and she's a woman, small and slightly built, in a state of undress that turns his stomach. He's tall, and whatever the cane detracts from the appearance of a soldier, the loaded gun at his hip returns twofold. ]
no subject
If nothing else, she notes that Nikolay has a weapon. Two, if he knows how to get creative with that cane. ]
Yes. Might as well see what I have before looking around.
[ She pauses for a moment, slipping her device into one of the coat pockets and sorting out the overly long sleeves by tucking them under her arms. There's no need to hold on to anything, her body instinctively adjusting to the motion of the train. ]
Is all the food here laced with aphrodisiacs?
no subject
[ A pause. She's clearly doing fine standing—more than fine, one of those people who can keep their balance on a train without holding anything—but it's rude not to offer.
He inclines his head toward the open seat beside him. ]
Would you like to sit?
no subject
That gets a few looks from people, including disdainful stares from a pair where one where is seated normally and the other is kneeling at their feet, a customized collar around their throat. Natasha wills herself not to react, glancing instead at Nikolay to see how he takes it. ]
Where is your contract partner?