Log: Alison and Illyana, Russia

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Illyana finally takes Alison up on her offer to chaperone on a trip to Russia, where they pick up some things Illyana's been waiting on. (We're pretending there was some sort of exchange to facilitate this.) Backdated to the end of April.


Illyana wasn't nervous. Not a bit. She'd been to Russia loads of times by herself, of course, so taking Miss Blaire -- because she had to appease the bloody woman sometime or she'd have to convince them she didn't need counselling or a hug or something again -- was not a big deal. They'd barely be in Limbo, and then of course Miss Blaire wouldn't be able to embarrass her because she wouldn't of course speak Russian, so they'd be in and out without any fuss.

She was just suffering from having had too much sleep and too few emergencies over the past month. That accounted for all of it. She strode down the hallway to where she was relatively sure she could find Miss Blaire, stood in front of the doorway, hands on her hips, as though she were telling herself very firmly, Enough of this nonsense, please, and knocked.

The door opened in mid-knock, somewhat spoiling things just a bit as Alison leaned back and avoided getting knocked on instead of the door. "And good morning to you too!" she grinned cheerfully, trying not to snicker as the silliness of the moment. It just wouldn't do for Illyana to think she was laughing at her. Not one bit. "Do I need to get a coat for this, or are we staying indoors the whole time?" Clearly, she was curious about this. And looking forward to it.

Illyana twitched back slightly, blinked, and resolved not to show any more surprise. She said, rather begrudgingly, "Hi. Just something light, if you have it. I don't like 'porting into the library itself. There's this alley right beside it no one really pays attention to. Less conspicuous." She paused, then glanced at Alison suspiciously; looked as though she were about to say something, and then thought better of it. Her posture was a bad facsimile of relaxation; she tried not to look tense and suspicious. It made people disagreeable for some reason.

"You got it!" Literally, as Alison reached out behind the door and unhooked a simple leather coat from behind it, along with a scarf. She wasn't going to argue with the local about the weather, really – and besides, even if it was colder she'd be fine anyway. "I've got my cell phone with me and all that stuff. Anything else in particular I should\ bring or know about, or are we set to go?"

"That should be fine." It wasn't like Illyana was planning for this to be a long trip, after all. "Just -- " Well, she couldn't say, "behave yourself," though that was exactly what she thought. "Be careful," she temporized instead. "Try not to be conspicuous, that sort of thing. Are you sure you're up to this?" she added hopefully. "It was only a while ago you were an invalid."

Oh, this so reminded her of Asgard. 'Don't annoy the big wolf. Stay out of that. Gah, don't you watch were you're going? Keep the lizard off the road!" Alison forcibly kept the smile off her face and the amusement out of her eyes. Somehow. "Yes, mother. I'll be good. I'm feeling fine. I won't bother any of the nice people there. Can we go now?"

"Sure, great. But if you're going to explode, tell me so the Russians don't think they're under nuclear attack, okay?" Without futher delaying tactics -- she wasn't that creative -- they slid through the floor, landing on an echoing marble floor in a very large room. Throne at one end, bigdoors at the other. Limbo rumbled thunder in the distance, reacting to the unexpected visitor with -- what? Well, she didn't care. "Give me a minute to make sure they haven't put guards anywhere." Not that she expected them to. That would be overkill in a country that actually cared. She waved a hand; an image of a thin, stragging alley next between two tall buildings appeared, looking pretty empty, even for an alley.

Alison blinked and then nodded, unzipping her coat before taking the time to look around. She'd read the reports about the place, but this was far less chaotic than anything which had been written up about when Yana was taken. "Not going to blow up," she murmured, calmly. "It'd be rude and I'm trying to impress your friends." A hint of a smile accompanied that, even with the utter alieness of Limbo around them.

The ground underneath her feet felt oddly unsteady for a heartbeat, but so briefly that she shrugged it off as she gazed up at the red skies. "Let me know when you're ready.

They weren't Illyana’s friends. Just... convenient. But some things needn't be said. "Seems all right," she said, flicking the screen to another entrance momentarily; then deciding that Alison had had a good enough view, and if she didn't quit . . . What? A thought pulled them out of the cold throne room and into the rather milder environment of Moscow

Funny how she felt defensive about the eerie wild-dark of Limbo. With a glance at Alison that, she hoped, would quell any kind of independent thought in the woman (at least for the ten minutes Illyana prayed this would take), she motioned for her to follow, and headed around the bend to the bland library entrance. There were still places in Russia with old architecture that left one breathless; this part of Moscow was not one of them. They entered without trouble -- this wasn't precisely a high-security facility -- and Illyana guided Alison past the front desk, raising a hand to the dozing security guard, and through the main part of the library, past the general library, rows of shelves stacked with books she had no interest in. People milling, studying, researching.

Open door labelled 'Archives' in Russian. "Here," she said, only then glancing over her shoulder to make sure she hadn't lost Miss Blaire. She went in as though she owned the place, and said something to the librarian at the desk -- who immediately beamed at her and began babbling at her in Russian.

"Illyana!" the woman cried with easy familiarity. "How are you? Are you here for your files? Who is your friend -- she is very pretty, why have you brought her here?"

"Yes, the files," Illyana said rapidly in Russian, cringing. Okay, so her whole 'have not gone to Russia alone, really' act might be a -little- bit blown. "I'm fine -- and your family? The woman's just a -- a mad tourist I'm carting around. For charity, she's very sad and lonely." She rubbed her thumb and fingers together to indicate that it was charity for herself. "The archive files, yes -- you've got them?" A few moments later the woman had trundled off into the back room, leaving Illyana with a frozen, somewhat pained smile on her face. She looked back at Miss Blaire. "They're friendly here," she said weakly. They even know your name before they meet you! Oh, she was so busted.

"So I see," Alison replied gravely, knowing it would likely drive Illyana mad that she'd done so, but at the same time unable to keep from doing it. It was that or just burst out laughing too. Besides, from the doubtful look the woman had given her, she suspected that some of what had been said likely cast doubts on her mental abilities. Just a bit. She peered at the files in curiosity, then gave Illyana one of those "yes, I'm an annoying adult about to ask you what's in those even if you probably don't want so share" looks.

Illyana glanced up at Alison irritably, more annoyed at the woman's lack of reaction than the nosiness, then sighed. "They're about my family." Or what's left of it, anyway. "Just the records - since I'm not on speaking terms with that idiot,” no question who she meant by that, “I'm just trying to find out --" she swallowed, suddenly dry-mouthed, and moved into easy flippancy. "I'm just trying to find out if I'm going to get cancer and die before I turn twenty or something." She flipped one of the folders open and pointed to a dated school photo at the top. The schoolgirl in it was pretty, round-faced and dark-haired, and bore a vague resemblance to Illyana herself. If she hadn't caught herself, her breath might have caught, but with a short, visible struggle she smoothed her features. Feeling stupid, she elaborated, "My mother." The other files beneath it suddenly seemed real to Illyana, who had spent weeks coercing and cajoling the archivist to dig these up – it seemed there wasn't much of a demand for dead Siberian peasants' life stories.

Getting them gave her a funny tight feeling in her chest. But of course it didn't matter; her parents were dead; and she wasn't looking for anything, just reading up on family history. She shrugged. "That's all. Nothing illegal," she added drily. "Not even organized crime, and believe me, there's lots of that over here."

"I believe you." Alison herself wasn't sure exactly what she was telling Illyana she believed, thought perhaps she was just reachign for what had been left unspoken. And hidden away, carefully so. "You have her nose." The comment was entirely offhand, Alison wistfully smiling to herself - Miles would likely never hear anything even remotely close to that.

"Looks like you have a lot to read through." Taking a quick glance at the clock, Alison considered the options. "Are they letting you take those out, or would you rather I go look at something with pretty pictures while you go through all of that here?"

Illyana blinked, in the midst of casting Alison a sharp glance as though to divine any ulterior motive on the woman's behalf. Finding none, she found she felt bit -- odd, maybe a little tentative, about the whole sharing thing; she glanced down at the picture, drawn inevitably to the girl's nose. "Oh, I can take them," she said after a moment, remembering a response was in order. "They're – I mean, they're just copies, I paid the fee and everything. We can leave, I guess." Her entire tone had shifted a bit, from easy to distracted, as though her mouth was lagging behind her mind.

"It's fine by me either way. I did clear my morning for this and I'm in no rush either way. I think Russia's one of the few places I never had on any of my tour schedules," Alison grinned, taking a peek outside one of the narrow windows at the end of an interminable row of books.

Illyana followed Alison's glance out the window, finding steadiness on the more familiar ground of neutral conversation. "Well," she said, shutting the file casually, "this isn't exactly the tourist district, it's just a lot of old Communist buildings, but if you want to look around, I can . . . show you around." What she'd actually been about to say was a lot less flattering, something along the lines of "keep you from getting into lots of trouble", but the woman had this infuriating habit of taking things like that in a direction
totally unsatisfactory to Illyana's taste.

"I'd like that." The smile that went along with the statement made it clear the sentiment was authentic, Alison smiling politely at the librarian as she wandered by, losing herself in the depths of the book stacks. "Lead the way!" she added cheerfully.

Illyana had long learned not to waste too much time questioning Miss Blaire's motives - no doubt she had them, but by the time they became apparent, she'd moved on to something else altogether. "Sure," she agreed, leading the way out (rather redundantly, she thought, since it was also the way they'd come in) and tucking the files safely under her arm, hardly sparing them the attention one would think a trip to Russia would warrant. "Thanks for coming," she added abruptly, in a tone that stood the line between horrified at her own inadequately-controlled mouth and reluctant gratitute - what for, she couldn't say. The thought of continuing the conversation didn't cross her mind - small talk not being among her talents - but, at least, she didn't stalk ahead of Alison as though she perhaps wanted to lose her this time.