She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have time for him. The first trains had already pulled out of or into the station, with the travelers all greeting their relatives or making their way quickly to their business. It was officials, usually, dressed in the same dull colors as everyone else,  She was usually supposed to be still asleep by now, working at night and sleeping the morning away, and long out of sight of any of the officials or patrons.

But Noski had gotten out while she tried and failed to get some sleep, too tired to even get undressed. Something had caught his eye, and Zorya had only just managed to get her shoes on fast enough to give chase.

Noski was faster, however. And smaller, even he was large for a cat. He slipped between the sparse crowds and under benches. People stared as they went by, staff members apologizing and excusing their eccentric chimney sweep who usually is so well behaved.

Zorya tried to pay them no mind. She cursed just loud enough to be heard, skidding and nearly tripping over her half-tied boots, and apologized to the fine folk on the platform.

“Excuse me. Pardon. Not a pest, just my cat.” Who was, admittedly, a significant pest at a time like this. But she could insult him later.

Zorya finally caught the damn thing under a bench, purring away over a piece of bread stolen right from the hand of one of the travellers.

“Damn thing,” she hissed, down on her knees, face nearly to the floor. “I hope you paid for that.”

He blinked slowly and rolled over onto his back.

“Spoiled beast.” Zorya dragged him out by the scruff of the neck, and all but sprinted back to the shadows. She just barely missed the station inspector and any trouble he might bring with him. Petrovsky and his dog Maks had more love for Noski than they ever did for Zorya herself, and she wasn’t about to test her luck by being seen after sunrise. It was nearing noon by now, but it was still better she make her way out of sight as quickly as possible.

Once she was safe, Zorya slowed to a walk, shuffling Noski around until she carried him like a baby in her arms. He was still purring, proud as can be. 

Zorya took the bread from his mouth. “You’re a bastard little beast, you know that?” Then, despite her better judgement, she took a bite. It was still hot, no doubt fresh from a bakery, and a little sweet. Better than she’d eaten in weeks.

Noski meowed.

Subconsciously, Zorya began to pet him, scratching behind his ears, as she spoke between bites. “I ought to feed you to the next wyrdbeast that shows up here you know. Go right up to it and say, good evening, comrade. I’ve brought you a snack. I hope you like useless cats.”

Nosky mowed again as she entered her room, shutting the door tight behind her.

It was little more than an oversized closet at best, one of many apartments hidden in the back of the station for the other workers, with just barely enough space for a bed, her trunk, and a single chair on which sat a pitcher of water. Someone snored on the other side of the thin, unadorned walls, and she dropped Noski unceremoniously onto her bed, where he immediately got comfortable.

Her work clothes were sloppy at best, old and stained and too short. Brown pants, a once-white shirt and brown vest. She washed them often as she could, when she could trade favors with the washerwomen down the way, but it wasn’t as often as she’d liked. Zorya liked to tell herself she’d buy new ones one day, or at least new shoes. But her meager bankroll, hidden at the bottom of her trunk, said otherwise.

Her daily clothes, at least, were more tolerable. A skirt -- once red and checkered, now faded and too short, but mostly free of soot and stain -- and a once-fine blouse that had been gifted to her by a woman down the way. Zorya had cleaned her chimney and fireplace for a bit of extra money. She pulled her hair down for a quick cleaning -- all dark curls and waves. It was impossible and unruly, and made her sallow skin and freckles seem all the more stark in contrast.

Noski grumbled as she sat on the bed, looking up in expectation. To be held? Pet? It didn’t matter, so long as he got attention. But Zorya had a routine and little time.

She held her hands out loose in front of her, then snapped them upwards.

Soot and dust came alive, floating gently away from her hair, her face, her clothes, in organized streams. Noski batted at one as it passed him, before it joined the others in a single swirling mass in the center of the room. Then, with another flick of the wrist, Zorya sent the soot out through the crack in her window, and out into the early autumn frost.

Her hair was somewhat more manageable then, and could be coerced into something resembling a neat plait down her back, though her hands would never truly be clean again. One of the downsides of being a witch. Magic always left its mark.

From the bottom of her trunk, Zorya pulled her three most expensive possessions, all issued to her from Moscow’s Small Council: a near-black greatcoat with oversized lapels, a wide-brimmed hat to match, and a copper pin in the shape of three crescent moons, joined at the apex. The brooch of a Moscow Lesser Witch. And Zorya was certainly among the least. 

But she was a witch all the same, and she would be seen before the Small Council today whether she liked it or not. 

Looking as presentable as she’d ever get, Vitsina settled Noski into his bag and slung it over her shoulder. She donned her hat, and slipped out into the day.

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