Well, it's a good thing she didn't decide to kick off her shoes.
There is a split second when Sonia does react, a fractional moment as she widens her eyes and stops breathing altogether, but it's over by the time Byerly has finished depositing the guards down the lift tube and gestures her to follow. God, she hadn't even recognized him at first, not when he was moving like that. Sonia forces herself to breathe again and takes off after him, soft-soled shoes slapping against the floor. The robes are heavy, too many layers, and she's already beginning to sweat. These stupid Cetagandan clothes. She's never hated them more than she does right now. Sonia lets out a frustrated noise and tugs open the elaborately knotted sash and sheds everything but the chemise she's wearing underneath without even slowing down. She lets the robes hit the floor behind her in a heap without a backwards glance.
Her heart is thudding painfully in her chest, her throat too tight, a cold, sick feeling of relief in her stomach that she wants to own. The hope that burns in her chest nearly chokes her, but she holds onto it. She wants so badly to say something, to hear Byerly say something, but even demanding, impulsive Sonia knows that they don't have time to talk right now.
Her heart jumps in her chest when Natasha suddenly steps in, and Sonia starts but keeps pace with them, looking startled and nearly overwhelmed. This all happened so fast. "Natalia," she breathes in surprise, her eyes darting between Natasha and Byerly. Byerly really had meant it when he'd said she could trust Natasha. She's running blind, just following them, but she looks at Byerly just for a moment, a little bit desperate.
"Byerly -- "
She isn't trying to start a conversation, or even get him to say anything at all. A mere look in her direction, a nod, would do. Some assurance that this is real, that this is happening, that they're really doing this.
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There is a split second when Sonia does react, a fractional moment as she widens her eyes and stops breathing altogether, but it's over by the time Byerly has finished depositing the guards down the lift tube and gestures her to follow. God, she hadn't even recognized him at first, not when he was moving like that. Sonia forces herself to breathe again and takes off after him, soft-soled shoes slapping against the floor. The robes are heavy, too many layers, and she's already beginning to sweat. These stupid Cetagandan clothes. She's never hated them more than she does right now. Sonia lets out a frustrated noise and tugs open the elaborately knotted sash and sheds everything but the chemise she's wearing underneath without even slowing down. She lets the robes hit the floor behind her in a heap without a backwards glance.
Her heart is thudding painfully in her chest, her throat too tight, a cold, sick feeling of relief in her stomach that she wants to own. The hope that burns in her chest nearly chokes her, but she holds onto it. She wants so badly to say something, to hear Byerly say something, but even demanding, impulsive Sonia knows that they don't have time to talk right now.
Her heart jumps in her chest when Natasha suddenly steps in, and Sonia starts but keeps pace with them, looking startled and nearly overwhelmed. This all happened so fast. "Natalia," she breathes in surprise, her eyes darting between Natasha and Byerly. Byerly really had meant it when he'd said she could trust Natasha. She's running blind, just following them, but she looks at Byerly just for a moment, a little bit desperate.
"Byerly -- "
She isn't trying to start a conversation, or even get him to say anything at all. A mere look in her direction, a nod, would do. Some assurance that this is real, that this is happening, that they're really doing this.