08-10-2013, 03:05 PM
2036
There were plenty of places to disappear in this neighbourhood; not that Oriena was hiding so much as avoiding. She didn’t want to go home. Not yet, anyway. But, with no money and no viable destination, her options were pretty limited; she slunk through the derelict quarters of Zamoskvoreche, dwarfed amongst the grey, square-faced buildings and their crumbling facades, smothered by the poverty, looking for quiet. The people here were distant; squatters and misfortunates who watched with cautious, red-glazed eyes from the shadows of the hovels they’d claimed their own. Disinterested. Most of them, anyway. Ori was careful to elicit no unwanted attention; she might be reckless, but she wasn’t naïve. She kept herself sharp, but her gaze turned away.
The day was dim even though it was only mid-afternoon; the sun suffocated behind thick grey clouds, and the air was swollen with the promise of rain. Ori ducked into the half-subsided entrance to an old apartment block and picked her way through the debris, careless to the possibility it might cave in on her head. Honestly, she was probably in more danger from the local drugheads than structural collapse, though both risks were met with little more than consummate adolescent apathy. Somewhere to sit in peace for a few hours; that’s all she wanted. And the best way to find it was to slink inside one of these empty-tomb buildings, to squeeze into the crevices adults could not fit, and disappear for a while.
Inside it was cool where the sunlight never touched, and it smelled faintly of earth and decay. It was very silent. Until a shuffle sounded behind her. Ori spun, startled. It took a heart-thumping moment to adjust to the gloom; to hone in on the source of the noise. Thick rags covered the stranger’s body, pulled up in a hood over their head, and shadows obscured any hint of features – but for the faint glint of eyes. Instinctually a vibration thrummed in her chest, shooting waves of warmth that spread unconsciously from her body and shimmered out in dizzying tendrils.
She’d dealt with shadows before, and she knew how to protect herself from them.
But the feeling of power shook loose when she realised it - he? she? - was cowering from her, literally pressing itself into the join between wall and floor like it might disappear. Coolness washed her out. The impulse did not come from principle. Nor shame. Instead it was surpassed by a disgusted sort of curiosity, and such a lack of fear that the control fled entirely. The patterns she had woven, locking the stranger in, faded, and with it her awareness of the room dimmed. Still, nothing moved. It really might have just been a pile of rags.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Irritation bled into her tone; her lips pressed tight, and her hands fisted onto her hips. Truthfully, she did not know what she had been about to do, but she meant no harm now. The stranger did not move. Ori could barely make out breath beneath its heavy covering; no hint of skin or face, scarcely even of form. “I said--”
“What are you?” The voice was breathy, indistinctly male or female, but pitched high enough to mark a child. Orphans weren’t exactly uncommon, and it didn’t mean Ori was safe – well, not from some crimes – but she felt some tension release anyway. It was just a kid, creeping about the abandoned parts of Zamoskvoreche. Scavenging, probably. Even without the burning fire in her chest she could defend herself if things turned nasty; so, keeping a sensible distance, she sat down amidst the dust and muck, back against one of the walls. And frowned at the question. “I’m Ori.”
Silence answered.
She sighed viciously and pulled her legs up tight to her chest, toying with her shoelaces. What are you? Not who. Her brows dipped low over her eyes, until she was scowling at the dusty tips of her boots. Different. Like her mother, but in a distinctly unnatural way. Outcast, exile, freak. Of course, she was too prideful to take offense. Whether it had been an exclamation or an accusation, Ori’s dignity flared defensively bright. Which was why she had stubbornly answered with her name, and ignored the inference. Her eyes peeked up from her glower, testing the edge of her self-righteousness against this stranger’s judgement. But she couldn’t tell if they were even looking at her.
Then faint movement caught her eye. Ori had the distinct impression the child untangled more than shifted, for it had a distinctly inhuman resonance. She blinked the absurdity away. There was not enough light by which to make out much, and though sometimes her senses were sharper than they had any right to be, it was not something she could call upon on whim. She squinted a little, though it didn’t really help. Deformed maybe, or disfigured in some way. Moscow was not kind to such people, even children. Explains a lot. A little of her indignation faded at the realisation.
“It felt like rope. But... you didn’t touch me.”
A pause. Discomfort prickled Ori's skin, though only for a moment. She was not ashamed, but she was suddenly wary. People rarely reacted well to strangness, and what if she had been wrong? What if the kid wasn't alone? A quick glance found nothing substantial in the shadows, but just in case she reached for the feeling, tried to drag it back into her grasp. She might as well have stood on tip-toe and spread her fingers up to catch the sun. She could feel it, though; that sweetness, just beyond her senses.
“Look, I’m not going to apologise. You took me by surprise.”
The words were matter-of-fact rather than affronted; steel edged and sure. She hoped the confidence made an impression, and had been about to say more, but the child interrupted.
“You should be careful.”
What if it wasn't a kid? It sounded like one. But it didn't speak like one. “What are you?”
It came out like a demand; childish and surly and offended, because she was unsure if a threat was wrapped in those words. This wasn't the expected reaction, and she was irritated that this stranger presumed to give advice. They had been as startled as she, to begin with. But no longer. Cautious, yes; it was palpable, the strain of uncertainty. But not quite afraid; their voice had been steady. The calm was unsettling; they didn't find her strangeness strange.
More movement, and Ori tensed. But the stranger was folding back, still pressed against the wall, edging slowly away. She let them go.
“They hunt those like us. Those different. You should be careful.”
Then, gone. Ori scrambled on her feet to follow, grasping at the wall for sudden support when the darkness below her feet grew black. A hole. A hole the stranger had slipped down. Chunks of plaster fell off in Ori's hands, chalking the air cloudy, but her footing steadied. Curiosity and indignation scalded her thoughts in equal measure... but; reckless, not naive. No way she was going down there.
There were plenty of places to disappear in this neighbourhood; not that Oriena was hiding so much as avoiding. She didn’t want to go home. Not yet, anyway. But, with no money and no viable destination, her options were pretty limited; she slunk through the derelict quarters of Zamoskvoreche, dwarfed amongst the grey, square-faced buildings and their crumbling facades, smothered by the poverty, looking for quiet. The people here were distant; squatters and misfortunates who watched with cautious, red-glazed eyes from the shadows of the hovels they’d claimed their own. Disinterested. Most of them, anyway. Ori was careful to elicit no unwanted attention; she might be reckless, but she wasn’t naïve. She kept herself sharp, but her gaze turned away.
The day was dim even though it was only mid-afternoon; the sun suffocated behind thick grey clouds, and the air was swollen with the promise of rain. Ori ducked into the half-subsided entrance to an old apartment block and picked her way through the debris, careless to the possibility it might cave in on her head. Honestly, she was probably in more danger from the local drugheads than structural collapse, though both risks were met with little more than consummate adolescent apathy. Somewhere to sit in peace for a few hours; that’s all she wanted. And the best way to find it was to slink inside one of these empty-tomb buildings, to squeeze into the crevices adults could not fit, and disappear for a while.
Inside it was cool where the sunlight never touched, and it smelled faintly of earth and decay. It was very silent. Until a shuffle sounded behind her. Ori spun, startled. It took a heart-thumping moment to adjust to the gloom; to hone in on the source of the noise. Thick rags covered the stranger’s body, pulled up in a hood over their head, and shadows obscured any hint of features – but for the faint glint of eyes. Instinctually a vibration thrummed in her chest, shooting waves of warmth that spread unconsciously from her body and shimmered out in dizzying tendrils.
She’d dealt with shadows before, and she knew how to protect herself from them.
But the feeling of power shook loose when she realised it - he? she? - was cowering from her, literally pressing itself into the join between wall and floor like it might disappear. Coolness washed her out. The impulse did not come from principle. Nor shame. Instead it was surpassed by a disgusted sort of curiosity, and such a lack of fear that the control fled entirely. The patterns she had woven, locking the stranger in, faded, and with it her awareness of the room dimmed. Still, nothing moved. It really might have just been a pile of rags.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Irritation bled into her tone; her lips pressed tight, and her hands fisted onto her hips. Truthfully, she did not know what she had been about to do, but she meant no harm now. The stranger did not move. Ori could barely make out breath beneath its heavy covering; no hint of skin or face, scarcely even of form. “I said--”
“What are you?” The voice was breathy, indistinctly male or female, but pitched high enough to mark a child. Orphans weren’t exactly uncommon, and it didn’t mean Ori was safe – well, not from some crimes – but she felt some tension release anyway. It was just a kid, creeping about the abandoned parts of Zamoskvoreche. Scavenging, probably. Even without the burning fire in her chest she could defend herself if things turned nasty; so, keeping a sensible distance, she sat down amidst the dust and muck, back against one of the walls. And frowned at the question. “I’m Ori.”
Silence answered.
She sighed viciously and pulled her legs up tight to her chest, toying with her shoelaces. What are you? Not who. Her brows dipped low over her eyes, until she was scowling at the dusty tips of her boots. Different. Like her mother, but in a distinctly unnatural way. Outcast, exile, freak. Of course, she was too prideful to take offense. Whether it had been an exclamation or an accusation, Ori’s dignity flared defensively bright. Which was why she had stubbornly answered with her name, and ignored the inference. Her eyes peeked up from her glower, testing the edge of her self-righteousness against this stranger’s judgement. But she couldn’t tell if they were even looking at her.
Then faint movement caught her eye. Ori had the distinct impression the child untangled more than shifted, for it had a distinctly inhuman resonance. She blinked the absurdity away. There was not enough light by which to make out much, and though sometimes her senses were sharper than they had any right to be, it was not something she could call upon on whim. She squinted a little, though it didn’t really help. Deformed maybe, or disfigured in some way. Moscow was not kind to such people, even children. Explains a lot. A little of her indignation faded at the realisation.
“It felt like rope. But... you didn’t touch me.”
A pause. Discomfort prickled Ori's skin, though only for a moment. She was not ashamed, but she was suddenly wary. People rarely reacted well to strangness, and what if she had been wrong? What if the kid wasn't alone? A quick glance found nothing substantial in the shadows, but just in case she reached for the feeling, tried to drag it back into her grasp. She might as well have stood on tip-toe and spread her fingers up to catch the sun. She could feel it, though; that sweetness, just beyond her senses.
“Look, I’m not going to apologise. You took me by surprise.”
The words were matter-of-fact rather than affronted; steel edged and sure. She hoped the confidence made an impression, and had been about to say more, but the child interrupted.
“You should be careful.”
What if it wasn't a kid? It sounded like one. But it didn't speak like one. “What are you?”
It came out like a demand; childish and surly and offended, because she was unsure if a threat was wrapped in those words. This wasn't the expected reaction, and she was irritated that this stranger presumed to give advice. They had been as startled as she, to begin with. But no longer. Cautious, yes; it was palpable, the strain of uncertainty. But not quite afraid; their voice had been steady. The calm was unsettling; they didn't find her strangeness strange.
More movement, and Ori tensed. But the stranger was folding back, still pressed against the wall, edging slowly away. She let them go.
“They hunt those like us. Those different. You should be careful.”
Then, gone. Ori scrambled on her feet to follow, grasping at the wall for sudden support when the darkness below her feet grew black. A hole. A hole the stranger had slipped down. Chunks of plaster fell off in Ori's hands, chalking the air cloudy, but her footing steadied. Curiosity and indignation scalded her thoughts in equal measure... but; reckless, not naive. No way she was going down there.
![[Image: orianderis.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/orianderis.jpg)