Her smile falls as she gives a quick shake of her head.
"I can't go back there." There's something very final about the way she says it. This is a decision long since made, and not likely to be revisited. "It's not safe for anybody -- not for me, not my family, not even Oleg. It's better for them if they don't even know I'm alive."
He says- and goes back to his brainstorming, steepling his fingers.
"You could... run a cat or dog shelter?" Giving her a sidelong glance. "Or like. An orphanage, or aquarium or something. A sea turtle hospital and rescue?"
That brings the smile back, but only slightly; she looks a little tired now, the sudden jar back to the dark side of reality taking the wind out of her sails a bit.
"I don't know if we have to decide today," she demurs jokingly. "Maybe you can keep a list for me."
"Oh, absolutely. I have a lot of super specific and detailed information about the seaturtles, that wasn't a wacky hypothetical, there's a market there."
"You told me a little about him. You said he was in Antarctica and that his accent was ridiculous." She tries to think of anything else pertinent she remembers from that conversation. "Very intense man," she recalls. "But Russian men tend to be intense."
"When you were talking about him, I thought maybe he was defector," she admits. "You know? Not a lot of Russians outside of the USSR in my time."
"He was either a lovelorn tragic hero, or an idiot who couldn't keep it in his pants, depending on how you want to look at it- which is is a little bit true of a lot of guys. But basically- it was a day like this one, you know? Grinding. Gruelling. I cast until my nailbeds cracked. Then, Mayakovsky came in with a tray for my lunch, and a glass. He poured exactly two fingers of vodka into it, drank the first finger himself, then gave it to me, and when I'd swallowed it, he just belted me, slapped, right across the face."
With Quentin's ear for nuance, he recreates the man's accent down to practically the part of the continent he's from;
Case in point: she lifts her brows, surprised, but she doesn't seem all that shocked. "Definitely Soviet," she declares knowingly. "They don't do it that way so much on our side of the KGB, but I've known men like this."
"If it's all the same to you, though," she adds, "I'll take the reward and not the punishment."
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magician_king) wrote2020-01-12 01:19 pm
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"I can't go back there." There's something very final about the way she says it. This is a decision long since made, and not likely to be revisited. "It's not safe for anybody -- not for me, not my family, not even Oleg. It's better for them if they don't even know I'm alive."
no subject
He says- and goes back to his brainstorming, steepling his fingers.
"You could... run a cat or dog shelter?" Giving her a sidelong glance. "Or like. An orphanage, or aquarium or something. A sea turtle hospital and rescue?"
no subject
"I don't know if we have to decide today," she demurs jokingly. "Maybe you can keep a list for me."
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He says, contentedly.
"But why don't we call it a day for now?"
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She sighs, setting down her teacup. "We only got one thing done," she laments softly.
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He reminds her, with a smile.
"It means, you are capable of magic."
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"I never would have believed that," she admits. "I never would have even imagined."
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He wonders, as he stands with her.
"I'm definitely not going to do to you what he did to me, but if you ever teach someone, I bet you could get away with it."
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"When you were talking about him, I thought maybe he was defector," she admits. "You know? Not a lot of Russians outside of the USSR in my time."
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With Quentin's ear for nuance, he recreates the man's accent down to practically the part of the continent he's from;
"Zhat is for doubting yourself."
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"If it's all the same to you, though," she adds, "I'll take the reward and not the punishment."
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He says, sincerely, finally showing her to the door.
"Now go get some rest. I'll see you soon, Nina."