Han färdas genom natt och dag

Awl in a Sack

The fallout in Star City causes plans to unravel.

ddagent’s summer mini fic challenge | prompt here

“You are late again, comrade.”

Margo Madison was late. And sore. And sweaty. She had slipped on an errant spot of ice near the front steps of her apartment building and fallen quickly, bruising her hip. The winter coat that usually kept her warm in the freezing temperatures of Star City in November had been ineffectual for running across the campus when faced with the prospect of being late. Again. And despite pulling off the hat leaving her hair frizzy and full of static, despite heaving in breath after breath of oxygen, despite her hip blooming in pain, Sergei Nikulov, Chief Designer’s right hand, had the nerve to reprimand her.

She cursed, tugged off the coat, and collapsed into the chair by her work station. “This place is a goddamn maze.”

“Russian, comrade,” Nikulov chastised yet again from the work station one over. His white lab coat was pristine. Not a hair out of place. Asshole. “We speak Russian in Star City.”