[ They -- they haven't fast-pentaed her. That sends a bit of alarm through him, immediately, a confusion as he tries to puzzle that out. Not out of kindness, of course it wouldn't be out of fucking kindness, why wouldn't they fast-penta her immediately? Miles' secret is safe, for now, the location of the camp if she could find her way back . . . He's racking his brain, thinking of what their motivation could be. A thought occurs to him, especially as he keeps listening to her, from the tone of her voice when she says she'll try and keep Byerly safe, but then.
There's a weight to her words that makes Wash stop, that makes him put it aside. He just focuses on listening to her, for now, nodding, his expression quiet. Girls from orphanages, and again, what she says is moved, and what Wash hears in his mind is taken. She keeps talking, and Wash listens, the name Bolshevik rings a bell but all this is history he was never taught, old Earth things, a time long before his own. What she says he commits to memory though, as readily as he memorizes everything else, following the words as she says them even when he isn't sure what they mean. Velikaia Knanhna Natalia Alianovna Romanova.
That's her name, he realizes. That's her real name. Close enough to what he knows but just far off enough, too, and from what she said earlier, the Romanovs being the Imperial family, he understands what that has to mean. And then she confirms it. Grand-daughter to the last Emperor of Russia. She's -- a princess. A Russian princess. Taken from the orphanage into which she was placed. And why she doesn't think she can leave Sonia alone clicks right into place. ]
-- Tashka. [ His voice is soft. Should he be calling her a princess, now? No, probably not, the same way he'd never called Sonia a princess. Belatedly he realizes he's been holding his breath most of that time, takes a moment to steady himself before he continues. ] Thank you for telling me that.
[ He means thanks because it was important for him to know, but also just -- he knows. He knows how hard it must be to talk about, to share. A pause, and softer still; ]
no subject
There's a weight to her words that makes Wash stop, that makes him put it aside. He just focuses on listening to her, for now, nodding, his expression quiet. Girls from orphanages, and again, what she says is moved, and what Wash hears in his mind is taken. She keeps talking, and Wash listens, the name Bolshevik rings a bell but all this is history he was never taught, old Earth things, a time long before his own. What she says he commits to memory though, as readily as he memorizes everything else, following the words as she says them even when he isn't sure what they mean. Velikaia Knanhna Natalia Alianovna Romanova.
That's her name, he realizes. That's her real name. Close enough to what he knows but just far off enough, too, and from what she said earlier, the Romanovs being the Imperial family, he understands what that has to mean. And then she confirms it. Grand-daughter to the last Emperor of Russia. She's -- a princess. A Russian princess. Taken from the orphanage into which she was placed. And why she doesn't think she can leave Sonia alone clicks right into place. ]
-- Tashka. [ His voice is soft. Should he be calling her a princess, now? No, probably not, the same way he'd never called Sonia a princess. Belatedly he realizes he's been holding his breath most of that time, takes a moment to steady himself before he continues. ] Thank you for telling me that.
[ He means thanks because it was important for him to know, but also just -- he knows. He knows how hard it must be to talk about, to share. A pause, and softer still; ]
It might do you good to stay away from her.