Who: Rose and Byron When: Afternoon, November 5th Where: Near the Bandaid Station, Midway What: Hell if I know Warnings: Byron
Two and a half more days. That was all Rose had to get through before they were leaving Russia behind, the cold of Moscow in November both strange and familiar. Like coming home but not; she was from farther north, but this was the closest she'd been to her home since leaving it over one hundred and fifty years before. While she was glad they'd landed in the big city instead of closer to the mountain village she'd once called home, the motherland in her entirety presented a bittersweet welcome.
It had been easier not to think of it the past few days, with the screams of the dying filling her ears amidst the snarls and growls and howling of the supernatural creatures that made up the Cirque Nocturne. It was an uncomfortable similarity to working near the war zones where she'd nursed during her wandering years. Rose had elected not to lock herself in her trailer; she didn't like being locked anywhere that she didn't have control on whether or not she could leave, and she wasn't about to abandon her job during one of the few times it seemed more likely she'd be needed.
But neither did she want to sleep in the clinic, which left the only option a daily walk from her trailer to her job like it was a normal day. She'd been lucky during her previous trips back and forth; she hadn't run into anyone and she hadn't been seen by any of the fleeing humans. She didn't want to be spotted; the rules mandated that all humans who entered would die, a thing that went fundamentally against her training, her gift, the preservation of life that had mandated her actions her whole life.
And then it happened. A dark haired girl rounded the corner, bloodied and panting from fear and exertion, slamming headlong into Rose and nearly knocking her off her feet. Rose steadied her with hands on her upper arms, fighting down the urge to let her gift work on the injured woman. She looked so like one of her younger cousins, it nearly took her breath away.
"Help me," the girl pleaded in Russian, gripping Rose's arms with shaking hands. "Please help me!"
It broke Rose's heart, but she pulled herself away, disentangling herself from the fleeing girl, and turned her so she was facing down the Midway. There was no help for her to give, only the hope that she would find a creature who would kill her with some measure of kindness. In the same language, the one she'd so rarely spoken since leaving the country, she said one word.