maryasky / / marya && rosalía .
though her integration within the ranks of those who volunteered for the open kitchens of the chapel had been a quicker, less scrutinized process than her assimilation into the volki bratva, whose members still eyed the medik with muted suspicion in their gazes even as she pieces them together with a needle and some surgical thread, she remains wholly aware of the mysteries that surround her past and the child that calls her ❛ mother ❜ with such sweet innocence. ( olga is still too young to be corrected and marya knows that such a conversation would be too much to handle now, so deep in enemy territory. ) her preferences for solitude did not aid in dispelling any rumors, though none could dare call her unhospitable, speaking only when spoken to and never questioning more than what she would be willing to answer herself ─ it was not a skill that she had been born with, but rather a skill that she had acquired as a necessity in times of war. continuing conversations had become easy after several months on the western front, when she needed to keep an injured man awake for just a while longer, distracting with words and with smiles but never allowing herself to be similarly open in return. ( a necessary distance, as she watched those under her care grow strong, only to die another day. there was no time for sentiment in medical tents, and by the time she had returned, speaking of herself felt selfish, filling her with a loathsome guilt that came with surviving when others did not. )
yet rosa was among the few who knew a little bit more than surface - level information, entrusted with good secrets that she had guarded so fiercely against the chest. speaking the names of her brothers without fear of discovery had been surprisingly liberating, fostering a closer camaraderie built over remembrance and a desire to steal some of that peacefulness that she sees, glinting in rosa’s gaze whenever the sun catches against the lacquered wooden statues, for herself. ❝ use my gloves. ❞ she does not care to ask, almost ashamed by the worry that knits at her dark brows, but the soft gloves are pressed into the other woman’s empty hands, cold from the water, as though to apologize for not having anything of substance to soothe the grumbling of the belly. ❝ just until we can get into some place that is warmer. ❞ she recognizes the offer for what it is ─ a chance to feign politeness before returning to her niece, but she chases away the words with a firm shake of the head, cropped tresses brushing against the jaw with each shake.
❝ nonsense. i would not have offered if i thought it would be a burden. ❞ determination sets into her jaw, words uttered through a pouting smile as she intertwines their arms, exchanging the chapel grounds for the streets of moscow. ❝ what are you hungry for ? i know very few street stalls in the area, so you will have to be my guide. ❞
there is a softness to her gaze, reserved for the very few who she had let in past the pleasantries of a performer. she is grateful for the kindness that marya shows her, grateful for the press of warm and well loved gloves pressed into her palms. a quiet thank you is murmured in recognition as they are pulled over her fingers. in addition to her violin, her fingers are her most valuable asset, able to pull beauty and emotion from the strings with a practiced ease, and need protecting. she had been a fool to leave her gloves behind in the warmth of the morning, she knew better. kolya would tell her to be more careful, but she had been running late as it was. now, there is regret gnawing at her stomach along with the hunger of a skipped meal. rosa offers the other a smile in return as their arms are intertwined, she is content to walk beside marya for many reasons, but sharing heat was the top of the list.
the streets of moscow, so different to the chapel they had been in just moments before, called to her. the sound, though overwhelming sometimes, was a siren’s call. she, for what it was worth, had fallen in love with the city. it would be hard to ever leave, to ever return to spain. a bubbling thought comes forward, that if she really wanted to go, she could disappear from this city without a second thought. there was too much here that she would regret to leave behind. “ something hot, ” she answers marya as she is greeted with a cold breeze. she tucks her head into her shoulder to combat it for a moment, “ i’ve an idea. ” she guides marya through the streets with perhaps an unearned ease before coming upon a street stall that, while she hadn’t visited in a while, she quite liked. “ do you have a taste for pirozhki? ”