Dreams of Fire

[Thalia]

Incarcerated in a room at a CDPS station, Thalia folded over the desk. Her forehead rested on her crossed arms, frizzed hair -- matted one side with red paint -- fanned out like a bloody halo. She had wanted desperately off the train, and it had been granted. The details didn't much matter to her, and if she only traded one captivity for another she was too glad to be rid of the first to care. The barage of tests at the station had been met with mild curiosity, and she had answered every question truthfully. She'd recovered quite quickly from the horrors, burying them in the deepest depths of secrets she kept from herself, so that everything blurred a little in her mind and reanimated in a way that made a better sense. Fear was a distant memory. A bitter one.

Now she was just grievously bored, because they had left her in this room a very long time. She rocked on the edges of falling asleep -- maybe she had fallen asleep -- but the three rap knock roused her from stupor. Probably her face was a little crumpled where she'd laid on it, but her eyes were bright enough. If there was ever a time to regret the eccentricities of her appearance, though, it was now. The scarlet and orange paint hardly made a favourable impression; she was the epitome of scatty artist. Not to mention that in the middle of Moscow's winter she'd left without a coat, and with bare arms besides.

Being kept so long at the metro station had settled a chill into her bones, though it was pleasantly warm in here she supposed; either way, the prolonged discomfort didn't seem to have predisposed any enmity towards the man who finally broke her solitude. She offered a smile, and watched him enter with open curiosity. He was grey. A wash of grey, nuanced in light and dark and shade, but very very grey. There were wrinkles in his suit; she noticed those details before the sling that held his arm close to his chest. He seemed harried, a little frayed at his outer edges, but he was also immensely solid. Perhaps that was just because he was so tall and broad, but that was her impression.

It's morning, then. She must have been painting most the night, and it explained why the metro had been so empty in the first hour or so she'd ridden it in circles. Plus Kat had been on her way to work. "Did someone ring my sister? I asked a couple of times. But everyone seems so busy." Her shoulders inclined a shrug, but if Aylin didn't come to meet her after she was released she was going to be pretty stuck. She could get home, of course, but she'd have to bank on a neighbour letting her in -- because although some loose change and Dane's card sat in a pocket, her keys and Wallet were back at the studio. Which she was not ready to face yet. "And it's okay, Chief Inspector. I'm glad to be off the train."

Her eyes dipped to the offerings. "Pastries and coffee, huh? I'm glad I'm not the only stereotype." An impish grin quirked her lips. She slid the coffee a little way across the table; he looked like he could use it more than her, then helped herself to a tile of the gingerbread. Perhaps she'd watched too many bad cop movies, but she didn't think they usually provided the suspects with sweet treats during interrogation. Though she supposed she wasn't a suspect. She wasn't sure what she was, only knew that apparently the CDPS had a lot of questions.
Edited by Thalia, Jun 4 2014, 09:11 AM.