11-10-2026, 04:35 PM
[[This thread is during the snow cataclysm. It's currently closed, however if you have a character you think would be there send me a message. I'm basically just using the thread to document where a bunch of my characters were, and what happened to them during the storm. So there's no story as such, and I am going to keep things moving fairly quickly over the few days while they are trapped. That's really the only reason it's closed.]]
Noémi rarely thought to take time off without prompting, but when Alexandrova had gently pointed out she’d been in the office every day over Christmas, she politely took the hint. It was a significant day at the Kremlin, and one that had taken considerable planning, but not a day for which she was needed. She was not sure if there had been a gentle emphasis on that point, or if she was simply sensitive to the idea that she might be considered a distraction. They never crossed those boundaries, she and Nikolai, and Noémi’s dedication to her job was entirely separate from her devotion to the man the consulate served. Still, she felt a little stung, and had been left wondering since if she had inadvertently caused an indiscretion about which Alexandrova had been quietly disproving.
January in Moscow was not the most pleasant; the snows were often deep, the cold apt to bite right through to the bone, but it was at least bright today. After running the usual errands, she spent the morning in the city exploring thrift stores and antique treasure troves. Sometimes she paused to snap pictures as scenery and light caught her eye. She was content to spend the time alone, and since Rafael had stopped returning her messages she had few people she might call on for coffee and company anyway.
Though she tried to stop herself, her eyes caught occasionally on a familiar-seeming passerby, her heart hitching a little with residual worry. She had heard nothing from Dima since his parent's celebration, and had not expected to, not with what she understood must have happened that night at the Vasiliev party. She didn’t truly think he would be so foolish as to defy a warning from the Ascendancy by seeking her out, yet the anxiety rooted unwelcomed anyway. Truthfully it was not Dima who Noémi was worried about. It was Sofia.
Reluctant to go home once she had exhausted her distractions, she took the subway out of the city and spent the journey writing poetry in a journal she always kept in her bag. The walk to the church was only a short one once she exited the station, but when she returned to the world beneath the sky she discovered the weather had begun to turn. Snow fell in thick drifts, and the hanging clouds made it seem hours later than just before midday. Noémi pulled the scarf tighter about her throat, and glanced back down the street, but the indecision was only momentary. She would have to shelter at the church; it was the only sensible option she had.
By the time the building came into view the storm had begun deepening in a way that fluttered her stomach with worry, yet between one step and the next it was like a veil had been drawn. She entered a fragile stillness, the snow no longer heavy but drifting like a dying snowglobe.
Ezekiel stood on the steps, staring upwards, breathing hard. His fists were curled. The colour had drained from his golden skin.
When Noémi looked up to see what he beheld her eyes widened. A battle swirled in the sky, of cloud and shadow and eerie shafts of light, and beyond a savage vortex of white.
“My phone,” he said. It came out a croak. She did not know Ezekiel well, but he had always seemed the indolent sort. Noémi could certainly never have imagined hearing him panicked, but it shook in his tone now and the surprise alone stole her gaze back down. “Take it from my pocket. Call my cousin, tell him to evacuate the carnival. They’re going to be buried.”
Noémi shivered under the weight of ice caked on her shoulders. Confusion pressed her brow into a faint frown, but given decisive direction she didn’t choose to question and instead hurried up the steps. She pulled the stiff gloves from her hands with her teeth. Her fingers were frozen blocks yet she still felt the faint tremor inside him as she pulled free the phone and he uncurled a cold finger from his fist to allow her to unlock it.
He was channeling, she realised then, and that made her frightened too.
“Your cousin?” She was already slipping through the numbers. Her heart was beating hard, but none would ever know it: Noémi was remarkably collected under such pressure as fear. It had saved her more than once.
“Dominik,” he said. Then: “You’re going to have to get them out. The tunnels. They know the way. Hurry, hurry. I can’t hold this.”
The church. He meant the people in the church. She stared at him, aghast with responsibility, but he had not yet broken gaze with the scene above and there was no one else. Authority did not sit an easy mantle upon her. Unless Rafael were inside she knew none of these people, and they had no reason to trust her. Yet she didn’t argue, just pressed the phone to her ear as she ducked inside the threshold. It was only as a voice crackled across the line that she realised what Ezekiel had said.
Buried.
The man who answered asked no questions when she gave him the message, or even asked her to identify who she was. Noémi’s dulcet voice was steady but urgency slipped between the syllables and it seemed to be enough. When he hung up she pushed the phone into her coat pocket without thinking, and moved seamlessly to the next task. The doors were heavy and stiff.
A sea of eyes met her from the cool hallowed space within, and the way their attention moved like a single creature caught in her throat. Noémi had performed under far more exacting circumstances, but this was not a performance, and it had been her body on display then and not her voice. People were huddled under coats and blankets and sleeping bags. Somewhere a child was whimpering and it echoed strangely in the space.
“Take what you can easily carry,” she told them. Her voice lifted and carried effortlessly. It was not a calm she felt, but one she discovered she could impart nonetheless. “Prioritise warmth and food. Help those who need it. Ezekiel says we must make for the shelter of the tunnels, and quickly.”
Noémi rarely thought to take time off without prompting, but when Alexandrova had gently pointed out she’d been in the office every day over Christmas, she politely took the hint. It was a significant day at the Kremlin, and one that had taken considerable planning, but not a day for which she was needed. She was not sure if there had been a gentle emphasis on that point, or if she was simply sensitive to the idea that she might be considered a distraction. They never crossed those boundaries, she and Nikolai, and Noémi’s dedication to her job was entirely separate from her devotion to the man the consulate served. Still, she felt a little stung, and had been left wondering since if she had inadvertently caused an indiscretion about which Alexandrova had been quietly disproving.
January in Moscow was not the most pleasant; the snows were often deep, the cold apt to bite right through to the bone, but it was at least bright today. After running the usual errands, she spent the morning in the city exploring thrift stores and antique treasure troves. Sometimes she paused to snap pictures as scenery and light caught her eye. She was content to spend the time alone, and since Rafael had stopped returning her messages she had few people she might call on for coffee and company anyway.
Though she tried to stop herself, her eyes caught occasionally on a familiar-seeming passerby, her heart hitching a little with residual worry. She had heard nothing from Dima since his parent's celebration, and had not expected to, not with what she understood must have happened that night at the Vasiliev party. She didn’t truly think he would be so foolish as to defy a warning from the Ascendancy by seeking her out, yet the anxiety rooted unwelcomed anyway. Truthfully it was not Dima who Noémi was worried about. It was Sofia.
Reluctant to go home once she had exhausted her distractions, she took the subway out of the city and spent the journey writing poetry in a journal she always kept in her bag. The walk to the church was only a short one once she exited the station, but when she returned to the world beneath the sky she discovered the weather had begun to turn. Snow fell in thick drifts, and the hanging clouds made it seem hours later than just before midday. Noémi pulled the scarf tighter about her throat, and glanced back down the street, but the indecision was only momentary. She would have to shelter at the church; it was the only sensible option she had.
By the time the building came into view the storm had begun deepening in a way that fluttered her stomach with worry, yet between one step and the next it was like a veil had been drawn. She entered a fragile stillness, the snow no longer heavy but drifting like a dying snowglobe.
Ezekiel stood on the steps, staring upwards, breathing hard. His fists were curled. The colour had drained from his golden skin.
When Noémi looked up to see what he beheld her eyes widened. A battle swirled in the sky, of cloud and shadow and eerie shafts of light, and beyond a savage vortex of white.
“My phone,” he said. It came out a croak. She did not know Ezekiel well, but he had always seemed the indolent sort. Noémi could certainly never have imagined hearing him panicked, but it shook in his tone now and the surprise alone stole her gaze back down. “Take it from my pocket. Call my cousin, tell him to evacuate the carnival. They’re going to be buried.”
Noémi shivered under the weight of ice caked on her shoulders. Confusion pressed her brow into a faint frown, but given decisive direction she didn’t choose to question and instead hurried up the steps. She pulled the stiff gloves from her hands with her teeth. Her fingers were frozen blocks yet she still felt the faint tremor inside him as she pulled free the phone and he uncurled a cold finger from his fist to allow her to unlock it.
He was channeling, she realised then, and that made her frightened too.
“Your cousin?” She was already slipping through the numbers. Her heart was beating hard, but none would ever know it: Noémi was remarkably collected under such pressure as fear. It had saved her more than once.
“Dominik,” he said. Then: “You’re going to have to get them out. The tunnels. They know the way. Hurry, hurry. I can’t hold this.”
The church. He meant the people in the church. She stared at him, aghast with responsibility, but he had not yet broken gaze with the scene above and there was no one else. Authority did not sit an easy mantle upon her. Unless Rafael were inside she knew none of these people, and they had no reason to trust her. Yet she didn’t argue, just pressed the phone to her ear as she ducked inside the threshold. It was only as a voice crackled across the line that she realised what Ezekiel had said.
Buried.
The man who answered asked no questions when she gave him the message, or even asked her to identify who she was. Noémi’s dulcet voice was steady but urgency slipped between the syllables and it seemed to be enough. When he hung up she pushed the phone into her coat pocket without thinking, and moved seamlessly to the next task. The doors were heavy and stiff.
A sea of eyes met her from the cool hallowed space within, and the way their attention moved like a single creature caught in her throat. Noémi had performed under far more exacting circumstances, but this was not a performance, and it had been her body on display then and not her voice. People were huddled under coats and blankets and sleeping bags. Somewhere a child was whimpering and it echoed strangely in the space.
“Take what you can easily carry,” she told them. Her voice lifted and carried effortlessly. It was not a calm she felt, but one she discovered she could impart nonetheless. “Prioritise warmth and food. Help those who need it. Ezekiel says we must make for the shelter of the tunnels, and quickly.”
![[Image: noemi-ages-banner-scaled.jpg]](https://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/noemi-ages-banner-scaled.jpg)