07-26-2014, 11:26 AM
[[Continued from Vague Truths]]
She'd been successfully ignoring the buzz of the Wallet in her pocket for some time now; the rhythm synced to the call signified it as not urgent, and she was neck deep in Aria's research, unwilling to be roused. At each vibration of interruption, though, a frown furrowed deeper into her brow, until on the fifth alert - a message this time, not a call - her concentration shattered, and she finally relented to pulling the tech free. It was from Marcus, her liaison when she'd first arrived in DI. Tried to call. You ARE using this thing, right Tehya? HQ has assigned you a roommate. He arrives this evening.
The unexpected flash of words drained her. For a moment she blinked at the screen, letting it sink in. A file accompanied the message, presumably detailing the man she was to expect, but for now Tehya did not touch it. Don't they trust me? Given her conversation with Aria hours earlier in this very room, the suspicion froze hard in her heart. It complicated things tenfold; dropped a stone of doubt in the peace she had found, the hope she had allowed. Resigned, she nursed the bridge of her nose, then scraped back her chair. There was nothing she could do about it. She would endure.
Before relocating to Moscow she'd never lived on her own before, but she'd never shared close confines with a stranger either. In most respects the idea did not bother her; her reservedness was more a result of survival than natural inclination. Of course, it was survival that was the issue. Should she have told Aria? The vulnerability pressed in tight now that she knew an Atharim hunter would be sharing her roof. A brother, she reminded herself. Family. One who'd stick a blade through her heart as she slept if he knew what she was. So much for restful nights.
She tried to leave everything as she'd found it, closed the door softly behind her.
#
Nothing much in the apartment had changed in the months since she had arrived here, the few decorative adornments having been in situ before she arrived, left untouched. She'd stamped no personality on the place, and thus it was inoffensively neutral. The living space was small but comfortable; a kitchenette with breakfast bar, small table with twin chairs, a sofa, coffee table, and a setting for a holoscreen to stream tv and media that she'd never used. Perhaps the only signs of habitation were the faint fragrant evidence of someone who liked to burn incense, and an ancient model of laptop humming loudly on the dining table.
She might not welcome the prospect of a roommate, but she was not impolite either. Since she'd returned from HQ, Tehya had cleaned, made up the until-now defunct spare room with fresh sheets, and perused the file of the man the Atharim was sending to her door. There were creatures that could imitate a man's features, but she nonetheless felt more comfortable with the forearmed knowledge of who to expect. Vincenzo Dolan. Two years to the tattoo, fresh to the wintry depths of Moscow on reassignment. Those initiated late to the cause usually had tragedy to blame for the veil ripped from their eyes, and their loyalty burned on hate. they burned sharp, bright, and all so often short-lived. Not that she would ask his reasons. She respected privacy.
When the knock finally sounded, she stood. Her research had since drifted away from Dolan and refocused on her hunt for intel on the Ijiraq, filling the hours before her colleague arrived with something useful. The half dozen screens emitting from her Wallet vanished with a swipe, and she pocketed the device. Dark eyes hovered on the door, steeling herself, but she did not delay answering.
The man in question stood in the doorway, laden by a bag and two cases. She didn't smile in greeting, though there was nothing unfriendly in the set of her expression. "Vincenzo Dolan?"
It was not much of a question; she knew who he was. "Come in. I am Tehya."
She'd been successfully ignoring the buzz of the Wallet in her pocket for some time now; the rhythm synced to the call signified it as not urgent, and she was neck deep in Aria's research, unwilling to be roused. At each vibration of interruption, though, a frown furrowed deeper into her brow, until on the fifth alert - a message this time, not a call - her concentration shattered, and she finally relented to pulling the tech free. It was from Marcus, her liaison when she'd first arrived in DI. Tried to call. You ARE using this thing, right Tehya? HQ has assigned you a roommate. He arrives this evening.
The unexpected flash of words drained her. For a moment she blinked at the screen, letting it sink in. A file accompanied the message, presumably detailing the man she was to expect, but for now Tehya did not touch it. Don't they trust me? Given her conversation with Aria hours earlier in this very room, the suspicion froze hard in her heart. It complicated things tenfold; dropped a stone of doubt in the peace she had found, the hope she had allowed. Resigned, she nursed the bridge of her nose, then scraped back her chair. There was nothing she could do about it. She would endure.
Before relocating to Moscow she'd never lived on her own before, but she'd never shared close confines with a stranger either. In most respects the idea did not bother her; her reservedness was more a result of survival than natural inclination. Of course, it was survival that was the issue. Should she have told Aria? The vulnerability pressed in tight now that she knew an Atharim hunter would be sharing her roof. A brother, she reminded herself. Family. One who'd stick a blade through her heart as she slept if he knew what she was. So much for restful nights.
She tried to leave everything as she'd found it, closed the door softly behind her.
#
Nothing much in the apartment had changed in the months since she had arrived here, the few decorative adornments having been in situ before she arrived, left untouched. She'd stamped no personality on the place, and thus it was inoffensively neutral. The living space was small but comfortable; a kitchenette with breakfast bar, small table with twin chairs, a sofa, coffee table, and a setting for a holoscreen to stream tv and media that she'd never used. Perhaps the only signs of habitation were the faint fragrant evidence of someone who liked to burn incense, and an ancient model of laptop humming loudly on the dining table.
She might not welcome the prospect of a roommate, but she was not impolite either. Since she'd returned from HQ, Tehya had cleaned, made up the until-now defunct spare room with fresh sheets, and perused the file of the man the Atharim was sending to her door. There were creatures that could imitate a man's features, but she nonetheless felt more comfortable with the forearmed knowledge of who to expect. Vincenzo Dolan. Two years to the tattoo, fresh to the wintry depths of Moscow on reassignment. Those initiated late to the cause usually had tragedy to blame for the veil ripped from their eyes, and their loyalty burned on hate. they burned sharp, bright, and all so often short-lived. Not that she would ask his reasons. She respected privacy.
When the knock finally sounded, she stood. Her research had since drifted away from Dolan and refocused on her hunt for intel on the Ijiraq, filling the hours before her colleague arrived with something useful. The half dozen screens emitting from her Wallet vanished with a swipe, and she pocketed the device. Dark eyes hovered on the door, steeling herself, but she did not delay answering.
The man in question stood in the doorway, laden by a bag and two cases. She didn't smile in greeting, though there was nothing unfriendly in the set of her expression. "Vincenzo Dolan?"
It was not much of a question; she knew who he was. "Come in. I am Tehya."