01-21-2023, 09:43 PM
“I don’t really want to go home,” she admitted after a while. Shadows swathed into the deepness of night, punctured by city lights, but it was the apartment itself that felt like a waiting tomb. Natalie felt expunged of feeling, weary of her own thoughts and the snares and traps within them. But she wouldn’t sleep. For now their steady pace kept the restlessness caged, but she could feel it there, keeping step alongside them. Inside she recalled every time her mother had denigrated her father’s name and then forbidden to hear it in their home at all. Every time she had refused to intercede when Natalie begged her, the unanswered visitation order crumpled in hand; never understanding how the cut could be so clean and so final. How could love exist so strongly one moment, to be swept away like debris in the next?
She was aware of Toma’s shrewd attention dissecting her from the corner of her eye. The woman had ditched the tailored shirt and tie, though she still wore the jacket over her black tank. Darkness clung to the sharp slopes of her cheeks. Her gaze glittered with resolution like twin black jewels.
“Then tonight the city is ours, sweet Natalie.” She grinned.
The evening couldn’t have ended further from its sumptuous beginnings. Manifesto elevated like stars in the firmament, offering the godly heights of possibility. This bar didn’t even appear to have a name outside, though Toma strode confidently through the flyer-pasted door. The light was grungy. Most of the patrons did not look up. Inside it smelled like greasy food and sour vodka, but there was a pool table that Toma commandeered, and Natalie was glad of the distraction and the lack of obvious scrutiny. In contrast to DeGarmo’s smooth vintage, whatever it was the other woman ordered her from the bar burned enough to make her eyes water. “Jesus,” she murmured, stifling a weak cough, but Toma only seemed to find it funny.
She watched her set up the game, leaning on a cue, and found herself thinking about Aaron for the first time in a long time. The self-reflection was maudlin, but her thoughts flattened to the task, mostly because it hurt to do so. The pain of it felt a lot like release. The moment Aaron had admitted he knew who her father was she had pushed him away, refusing the step from intimacy to trust like he’d held out a flaming brand instead of a shoulder to lean on. Love had finite boundaries and Natalie was not prepared to suffer the loss. Betrayal vindicated the choice soon after, or so she chose to believe then. She’d missed him a long time after that, yet she’d never called either. Amidah says you're just as broken as us, Imani had told her once, when they’d escaped the compound at Jasiri; she says it's why you're really here. Natalie had brushed it off. Familial sins seemed a lighter load than the crushing blows those girls had been through. It felt uncomfortably true now, though.
Toma jibed her for being shit at the pool game, until the hooks of her thoughts uncurled the hold. Natalie frowned at the insult, though distraction made it true. Or maybe the numbing embrace of that whiskey.
When they finally returned in the early hours, she slept exhausted.
The apartment was not much of a home, and she had no real desire to use it for an office either. Within an hour of waking she was dressed and ready to leave – all but for the faint curl of emotion beginning to form in her chest like the kindling spark of flame. It wasn’t quite indecision, but it was a flicker that momentarily held her back.
Her anger simmered low, not extinguished, but confronting Eleanor now felt like a distraction she couldn’t afford to indulge. In coldness she was not sure if she instead preferred ignorance; to use the same tactics both her parents weaponised against her. Maybe Toma had been right about some kinds of honesty. Railing angrily at her father had only deepened the wound. The past could not be undone; she had no forgiveness to offer.
There was something else, though.
She paused over her wallet, fingers hovering above a particular name. The silence felt a lot like he’d finally let go. Natalie resented the pain it made her feel, honestly. She understood the reasons, in as much as she exonerated the possibilities and yanked herself back from her own precipice in the process. Stubborn pride accounted for the rest. Staying away seemed like a perfectly reasonable guard against the kind of injuries Jay had proved himself more than capable to inflict.
You can’t lose something you don’t have to begin with, Adrian had told her yesterday. It wasn’t the only lure that drew her to him, though his blunt and unfeeling promises had not hurt either. But it had exemplified something for her too. At the time it had felt like a determined shield of self-protection. Now it felt like a recognition of emptiness. Because Natalie had lost. More than she cared to linger over. But Adrian was wrong about the value of his advice, just as Natalie was beginning to realise she had been wrong about the things she was prepared to fight for. Sometimes it was worth having something to lose.
Pancakes?
She shoved the wallet into her bag after she hit send, and gathered the rest of her things. Resolved not to look at the screen again.
The coffee shop was too formally luxurious for her tastes, but it was close by, and without a trip on the metro she was not likely to find anything simpler. The furniture was all curly art nouveau inspired, as delicate and insubstantial as the frilly cakes behind glass stands. It all smelled divine, though. In a corner with coffee, Natalie worked on the proposal she planned to present to Zhenya Disir. An invitation had already been forwarded to Pervaya to organise a meeting for earliest convenience. Afterwards she researched the identities of Moscow’s big players; separated them into potential clients, potential allies, and potential obstructions. Learned as much as she could about the political landscape. She drafted a message to Evelyn, who she’d not contacted since they’d been holed up in Jensen’s estate. It was too early to call; in Washington it’d be past midnight now. Her chest tightened to share the news about Cayli. Not the full details, of course. The feeling did not release when she shared plans of honouring her memory too.
Later, a message arrived from Adrian’s office concerning plans to get the building’s structure updated and ready for habitation. She forwarded the building blueprints, signed what she needed to, and stated a desire to meet with the architect. The communications relayed back and forth for a while; Natalie was prompt in reply, splicing her attention between that and other things in the meantime.
The focus came easy when she fell into a rhythm. Yet the time did not seem to pass quickly.
Jay hadn’t shown, which was not unexpected. Her gaze had stopped bouncing up to the door every time the bell rang by now. She swallowed the disappointment.
That was an answer then.
![[Image: nat-1.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/nat-1.jpg)
![[Image: zblue2.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/zblue2.jpg)
Natalie & Zhenya
That afternoon she met with the CEO of Pervaya Liniya for lunch. Zhenya was resplendent in cobalt, her hair smoothed back into a sleek bun, her makeup minimal and flawless. The power hovered about her aura like sunshine, and she greeted Natalie with such sisterly affection an observer might be forgiven for assuming a long acquaintance between them. Natalie composed herself beneath a modicum of surprise, but she found the affability an easy mask to adopt. Zhenya’s manner was as warm and welcoming as the very epithet of summer.
The restaurant was silver service; not the fuss of something Natalie particularly enjoyed. Great crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, reflecting the gilt of the tables. Napkins were arranged in artful displays, and flowers decorated centrepieces. The servers all wore impeccable white. Zhenya was polite and amiable with them, which Natalie at least took as a good sign of her temperament. They seemed to dote on her in turn, presenting the recommended wines and dishes like favoured secrets.
The discussion seemed to go well. Natalie used her wallet to hover screens displaying various shots and details of the property between them. The kind of security she desired would come with a hefty price-tag, but as she’d hoped, after the preliminaries Zhenya’s curiosity for the venture ran deeper than pure business. She used the power like second nature the entire time; small flourishes, mostly indistinguishable from good fortune if you could not see the delicate threads as Natalie could. “You may not know, but I have a daughter. She is too young to know for sure if she will be like her mother. But I would have the world prepare for the possibility. Girls should not have to suffer the process as we did, no?”
Zhenya smiled over the edge of her fluted glass, ripe with tease, though she did not choose to dangle the bait long.
“I must confess, Natalie, that we have some passing acquaintance between us. Alvis was remiss to hoard us all away from each other for all these years. I told him so on many occasions. But you know how he is, of course.” She waved a dismissive hand for that last bit and seemed to wait for recognition, but Natalie was wary to give it. The name from someone else's lips took her by surprise. After a moment she allowed the reaction to show, reasoning there was no reason not to. Perhaps it was only a result of the power bridging connections between them, or maybe it was just the geniality of Zhenya herself, but it settled something in her. Until Cayli the power had always been isolating. She’d never considered the obvious possibility that Alvis had helped others.
Zhenya gave a delighted smile. “Oh we must trade stories soon!” she promised, reaching her hand across the table to squeeze Natalie’s hand. The way the light coalesced around her, in accent of her mood, she looked blindingly beautiful. Her laughter chimed like bells.
She leaned back to sip delicately at her champagne, then added, amused, “You are popular today, no?” Curiosity shone her eyes with a sly twinkle then. Her glass twinkled too as she twisted the stem in her fingers.
This morning Natalie had not heard her wallet from where it had been relegated to exile in the bottom of her bag, but she had discovered the litany of messages later. Hope flared and stilled when she began to realise exactly what Jay had been doing with his time. The messages were nonsense, mostly. Video loops. Memes. Incoherent ramblings. Like every thought that entered the orbit of his awareness was suddenly given leave to fly from drunken fingertips. It might have been endearing if she had not also found it distressing.
Natalie had muted the alerts by now but the phone still lit up at intervals where it lay beside her on the table. She was surprised he had not yet passed out. Though there had been lulls of quiet, so perhaps he had and the alcohol-fuelled bender just recommenced the moment he woke again. By the bruised shot of his hand, the knuckles erupted in bloody volcanoes, she imagined it was not the only vice he indulged. The rest, well, she really didn’t want to know.
She glanced at the latest alert as it pinged and faded from the top of her screen.
Cayli. Chocolate chips.
Her heart squeezed tight.
“If you tell me that is Adrian Kane I shall simply die. The man is an eternal bachelor despite my best efforts.”
Natalie’s pale gaze returned to the moment, the rest of her thoughts compartmentalised away. She smirked for the interested and co-conspiratorial way Zhenya leaned in for the gossip. The woman laced her hands, one perfect brow raised. She’d seen Adrian follow her out of the club, after all. “It’s not,” she assured. Beyond the note from his office, she had not heard from him at all. It did not surprise her. Neither did she discover disappointment in her reaction, or even offence, which she might have been entitled to given the manner of their parting. The ardour cooled. But it was his investment she had sought before the intensity of his passion.
“Hm.” Zhenya’s lips twitched in mirth, her eyes narrowed for the mystery, though she did not persist with it. They moved on to speak of other things.
[[continued in Pancakes]]
She was aware of Toma’s shrewd attention dissecting her from the corner of her eye. The woman had ditched the tailored shirt and tie, though she still wore the jacket over her black tank. Darkness clung to the sharp slopes of her cheeks. Her gaze glittered with resolution like twin black jewels.
“Then tonight the city is ours, sweet Natalie.” She grinned.
The evening couldn’t have ended further from its sumptuous beginnings. Manifesto elevated like stars in the firmament, offering the godly heights of possibility. This bar didn’t even appear to have a name outside, though Toma strode confidently through the flyer-pasted door. The light was grungy. Most of the patrons did not look up. Inside it smelled like greasy food and sour vodka, but there was a pool table that Toma commandeered, and Natalie was glad of the distraction and the lack of obvious scrutiny. In contrast to DeGarmo’s smooth vintage, whatever it was the other woman ordered her from the bar burned enough to make her eyes water. “Jesus,” she murmured, stifling a weak cough, but Toma only seemed to find it funny.
She watched her set up the game, leaning on a cue, and found herself thinking about Aaron for the first time in a long time. The self-reflection was maudlin, but her thoughts flattened to the task, mostly because it hurt to do so. The pain of it felt a lot like release. The moment Aaron had admitted he knew who her father was she had pushed him away, refusing the step from intimacy to trust like he’d held out a flaming brand instead of a shoulder to lean on. Love had finite boundaries and Natalie was not prepared to suffer the loss. Betrayal vindicated the choice soon after, or so she chose to believe then. She’d missed him a long time after that, yet she’d never called either. Amidah says you're just as broken as us, Imani had told her once, when they’d escaped the compound at Jasiri; she says it's why you're really here. Natalie had brushed it off. Familial sins seemed a lighter load than the crushing blows those girls had been through. It felt uncomfortably true now, though.
Toma jibed her for being shit at the pool game, until the hooks of her thoughts uncurled the hold. Natalie frowned at the insult, though distraction made it true. Or maybe the numbing embrace of that whiskey.
When they finally returned in the early hours, she slept exhausted.
***
She woke to early morning sun bursting through the floor to ceiling windows, and the brash greeting of the indomitable Moscow skyline. She realised blearily that she’d fallen asleep on the sofa rather than her bed, though it was not unusual really. As she pushed herself up and stood her shins smarted a dull reminder of where the car had knocked into her. It was easily ignored, as was the memory of last night's foolishness. She showered. An itinerary for the day marched through her mind as the water scalded just a little too hot. For now yesterday’s revelations were tucked carefully away in favour of focus.The apartment was not much of a home, and she had no real desire to use it for an office either. Within an hour of waking she was dressed and ready to leave – all but for the faint curl of emotion beginning to form in her chest like the kindling spark of flame. It wasn’t quite indecision, but it was a flicker that momentarily held her back.
Her anger simmered low, not extinguished, but confronting Eleanor now felt like a distraction she couldn’t afford to indulge. In coldness she was not sure if she instead preferred ignorance; to use the same tactics both her parents weaponised against her. Maybe Toma had been right about some kinds of honesty. Railing angrily at her father had only deepened the wound. The past could not be undone; she had no forgiveness to offer.
There was something else, though.
She paused over her wallet, fingers hovering above a particular name. The silence felt a lot like he’d finally let go. Natalie resented the pain it made her feel, honestly. She understood the reasons, in as much as she exonerated the possibilities and yanked herself back from her own precipice in the process. Stubborn pride accounted for the rest. Staying away seemed like a perfectly reasonable guard against the kind of injuries Jay had proved himself more than capable to inflict.
You can’t lose something you don’t have to begin with, Adrian had told her yesterday. It wasn’t the only lure that drew her to him, though his blunt and unfeeling promises had not hurt either. But it had exemplified something for her too. At the time it had felt like a determined shield of self-protection. Now it felt like a recognition of emptiness. Because Natalie had lost. More than she cared to linger over. But Adrian was wrong about the value of his advice, just as Natalie was beginning to realise she had been wrong about the things she was prepared to fight for. Sometimes it was worth having something to lose.
Pancakes?
She shoved the wallet into her bag after she hit send, and gathered the rest of her things. Resolved not to look at the screen again.
The coffee shop was too formally luxurious for her tastes, but it was close by, and without a trip on the metro she was not likely to find anything simpler. The furniture was all curly art nouveau inspired, as delicate and insubstantial as the frilly cakes behind glass stands. It all smelled divine, though. In a corner with coffee, Natalie worked on the proposal she planned to present to Zhenya Disir. An invitation had already been forwarded to Pervaya to organise a meeting for earliest convenience. Afterwards she researched the identities of Moscow’s big players; separated them into potential clients, potential allies, and potential obstructions. Learned as much as she could about the political landscape. She drafted a message to Evelyn, who she’d not contacted since they’d been holed up in Jensen’s estate. It was too early to call; in Washington it’d be past midnight now. Her chest tightened to share the news about Cayli. Not the full details, of course. The feeling did not release when she shared plans of honouring her memory too.
Later, a message arrived from Adrian’s office concerning plans to get the building’s structure updated and ready for habitation. She forwarded the building blueprints, signed what she needed to, and stated a desire to meet with the architect. The communications relayed back and forth for a while; Natalie was prompt in reply, splicing her attention between that and other things in the meantime.
The focus came easy when she fell into a rhythm. Yet the time did not seem to pass quickly.
Jay hadn’t shown, which was not unexpected. Her gaze had stopped bouncing up to the door every time the bell rang by now. She swallowed the disappointment.
That was an answer then.
Natalie & Zhenya
That afternoon she met with the CEO of Pervaya Liniya for lunch. Zhenya was resplendent in cobalt, her hair smoothed back into a sleek bun, her makeup minimal and flawless. The power hovered about her aura like sunshine, and she greeted Natalie with such sisterly affection an observer might be forgiven for assuming a long acquaintance between them. Natalie composed herself beneath a modicum of surprise, but she found the affability an easy mask to adopt. Zhenya’s manner was as warm and welcoming as the very epithet of summer.
The restaurant was silver service; not the fuss of something Natalie particularly enjoyed. Great crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, reflecting the gilt of the tables. Napkins were arranged in artful displays, and flowers decorated centrepieces. The servers all wore impeccable white. Zhenya was polite and amiable with them, which Natalie at least took as a good sign of her temperament. They seemed to dote on her in turn, presenting the recommended wines and dishes like favoured secrets.
The discussion seemed to go well. Natalie used her wallet to hover screens displaying various shots and details of the property between them. The kind of security she desired would come with a hefty price-tag, but as she’d hoped, after the preliminaries Zhenya’s curiosity for the venture ran deeper than pure business. She used the power like second nature the entire time; small flourishes, mostly indistinguishable from good fortune if you could not see the delicate threads as Natalie could. “You may not know, but I have a daughter. She is too young to know for sure if she will be like her mother. But I would have the world prepare for the possibility. Girls should not have to suffer the process as we did, no?”
Zhenya smiled over the edge of her fluted glass, ripe with tease, though she did not choose to dangle the bait long.
“I must confess, Natalie, that we have some passing acquaintance between us. Alvis was remiss to hoard us all away from each other for all these years. I told him so on many occasions. But you know how he is, of course.” She waved a dismissive hand for that last bit and seemed to wait for recognition, but Natalie was wary to give it. The name from someone else's lips took her by surprise. After a moment she allowed the reaction to show, reasoning there was no reason not to. Perhaps it was only a result of the power bridging connections between them, or maybe it was just the geniality of Zhenya herself, but it settled something in her. Until Cayli the power had always been isolating. She’d never considered the obvious possibility that Alvis had helped others.
Zhenya gave a delighted smile. “Oh we must trade stories soon!” she promised, reaching her hand across the table to squeeze Natalie’s hand. The way the light coalesced around her, in accent of her mood, she looked blindingly beautiful. Her laughter chimed like bells.
She leaned back to sip delicately at her champagne, then added, amused, “You are popular today, no?” Curiosity shone her eyes with a sly twinkle then. Her glass twinkled too as she twisted the stem in her fingers.
This morning Natalie had not heard her wallet from where it had been relegated to exile in the bottom of her bag, but she had discovered the litany of messages later. Hope flared and stilled when she began to realise exactly what Jay had been doing with his time. The messages were nonsense, mostly. Video loops. Memes. Incoherent ramblings. Like every thought that entered the orbit of his awareness was suddenly given leave to fly from drunken fingertips. It might have been endearing if she had not also found it distressing.
Natalie had muted the alerts by now but the phone still lit up at intervals where it lay beside her on the table. She was surprised he had not yet passed out. Though there had been lulls of quiet, so perhaps he had and the alcohol-fuelled bender just recommenced the moment he woke again. By the bruised shot of his hand, the knuckles erupted in bloody volcanoes, she imagined it was not the only vice he indulged. The rest, well, she really didn’t want to know.
She glanced at the latest alert as it pinged and faded from the top of her screen.
Cayli. Chocolate chips.
Her heart squeezed tight.
“If you tell me that is Adrian Kane I shall simply die. The man is an eternal bachelor despite my best efforts.”
Natalie’s pale gaze returned to the moment, the rest of her thoughts compartmentalised away. She smirked for the interested and co-conspiratorial way Zhenya leaned in for the gossip. The woman laced her hands, one perfect brow raised. She’d seen Adrian follow her out of the club, after all. “It’s not,” she assured. Beyond the note from his office, she had not heard from him at all. It did not surprise her. Neither did she discover disappointment in her reaction, or even offence, which she might have been entitled to given the manner of their parting. The ardour cooled. But it was his investment she had sought before the intensity of his passion.
“Hm.” Zhenya’s lips twitched in mirth, her eyes narrowed for the mystery, though she did not persist with it. They moved on to speak of other things.
[[continued in Pancakes]]