Time Warp: Give up Gravity to Feel (Mai)
Aug 12, 2013 10:35:16 GMT -5
Post by Valentia de la Torres on Aug 12, 2013 10:35:16 GMT -5
Canon: 2009
Valentia spent much of her excess time at the Odarennyĭ Institute. She had students of her own now, and would rotate through training them when she wasn't on assignment. But for the time being, she had been back. And while the halls had a familiar sense of home to them, they also offered a distant nostalgia. Over a decade ago - when Valentia was younger - she wandered the place with another. Not often by choice, but she didn't always mind the company. She grew to accept it.
It had been years.
On her own, Valentia would admit to herself that there were times where she regretted turning her back without the security of a phone number.
But to Manya and those in the military, she was glad to be rid of that which seemed to hold her back.
Word passed through the halls like clockwork of another death within the faction of the Odarennyĭ Institute. In the faculty meeting, Valentia stares at a distant place. She's used to hearing of people passing. The words of the report fade in and out, like white noise. She fiddles with a pen in her hand and feels the energy rise as the story reaches the purposeful point; the point of knowing.
"...ally recovered, Erik Shalamar was pronounced dead aft..."
Manya looks to Valentia with a stern gaze as the pen ceases to exist in her hand - it burns with an electrical current and falls to ash.
The rest of the meeting dragged almost endlessly, but the end was signified and Valentia left her seat quickly while others chose to stay and converse over the recent, unfortunate casualty. Daring to pass the line of disrespect, Valentia went into the fallen's office. Because it had to be there. Sure enough, tacked to the board was the number in question. But it wasn't something to just... Converse on over the phone. It came with an awful feeling - one of much more than disrespect - but as she rifled through his papers and assorted files, she found letters. Recent ones that gave her the location in question.
Mumbai? Maiella picked the strangest place to reform, but Valentia wasn't one to openly judge on that. It wasn't important.
What was important was getting there. Despite how difficult it would seem, she dragged herself to the airport and flew there The cost didn't matter. Manya's disapproval barely mattered. If the situation were reversed, Maiella would do the same for her. She re-read the letters on the trip over, guilt wracking her system as she did so. Everything - where she was, what she was doing - it was all offered in printed for. And military contacts made the concept of tracking someone down a simple feat. They had their own power-based trackers stationed sporadically.
But her absolute exact location? It wasn't so easy. She had no choice in the end but to call her. Standing in the torn street, she brought the phone to her ear and shuffled her free hand into her pocket.
The signifying click had her breath in her throat, briefly.
"Maiella," She exhaled the simple greeting, "It's Valentia."
Valentia spent much of her excess time at the Odarennyĭ Institute. She had students of her own now, and would rotate through training them when she wasn't on assignment. But for the time being, she had been back. And while the halls had a familiar sense of home to them, they also offered a distant nostalgia. Over a decade ago - when Valentia was younger - she wandered the place with another. Not often by choice, but she didn't always mind the company. She grew to accept it.
It had been years.
On her own, Valentia would admit to herself that there were times where she regretted turning her back without the security of a phone number.
But to Manya and those in the military, she was glad to be rid of that which seemed to hold her back.
Word passed through the halls like clockwork of another death within the faction of the Odarennyĭ Institute. In the faculty meeting, Valentia stares at a distant place. She's used to hearing of people passing. The words of the report fade in and out, like white noise. She fiddles with a pen in her hand and feels the energy rise as the story reaches the purposeful point; the point of knowing.
"...ally recovered, Erik Shalamar was pronounced dead aft..."
Manya looks to Valentia with a stern gaze as the pen ceases to exist in her hand - it burns with an electrical current and falls to ash.
The rest of the meeting dragged almost endlessly, but the end was signified and Valentia left her seat quickly while others chose to stay and converse over the recent, unfortunate casualty. Daring to pass the line of disrespect, Valentia went into the fallen's office. Because it had to be there. Sure enough, tacked to the board was the number in question. But it wasn't something to just... Converse on over the phone. It came with an awful feeling - one of much more than disrespect - but as she rifled through his papers and assorted files, she found letters. Recent ones that gave her the location in question.
Mumbai? Maiella picked the strangest place to reform, but Valentia wasn't one to openly judge on that. It wasn't important.
What was important was getting there. Despite how difficult it would seem, she dragged herself to the airport and flew there The cost didn't matter. Manya's disapproval barely mattered. If the situation were reversed, Maiella would do the same for her. She re-read the letters on the trip over, guilt wracking her system as she did so. Everything - where she was, what she was doing - it was all offered in printed for. And military contacts made the concept of tracking someone down a simple feat. They had their own power-based trackers stationed sporadically.
But her absolute exact location? It wasn't so easy. She had no choice in the end but to call her. Standing in the torn street, she brought the phone to her ear and shuffled her free hand into her pocket.
The signifying click had her breath in her throat, briefly.
"Maiella," She exhaled the simple greeting, "It's Valentia."