"Maya," said Alex, rolling her eyes. "Come on. You can't not have a drink the night before your wedding!"
"Yes, I can," said Maya. "In fact, this is me doing it." She smiled, helpfully, at Alex.
Alex groaned. "You're so smug. It's disgusting."
"I like to call it 'happy,' " said Maya, but she was grinning at her over the table; through the smoke.
" 'I like to call it happy,' " mimicked Alex, rolling her eyes again. "I never should have introduced you to him."
Maya laughed, full and rich; a long way from the shy, bookish girl that Alex first met at the Academy. Several men sitting at the bar looked in their direction, with interest. "Yes, you should have. Thank you, Alex."
"PHAW!" Alex spat. "I hate it when you do that. Stop it. I'll throw up on you, Vlasova."
The sorceress grinned at her, bright and radiant and unrepentant. "You can't call me that again, after tomorrow."
"Right," said Alex. "Because what the world needs is another Antares thinking they're the greatest thing since the invention of the katyusha."
Maya kicked her chair, laughing. "You could try being happy for me, you hag."
"I am happy for you, numbskull. I offered to buy you a drink, didn't I? What do you want from me, advice for your damn wedding night? I mean, I could do that, but I think you've already got that covere--"
"Alex!" sputtered Maya, and that, right there, was the exact shade of red that Alex was going for. She balled up a napkin and threw it at her; Alex dodged, and finally cracked a (triumphant) smile, and
Every breath rasps painfully in Maya's lungs as she picks her way through rubble and snow, the dessicated skeleton of a building swaying above her against the biting wind. The ash and smoke are acrid; the old tears, frozen on her face, are, too.
I'm sorry, Alex, she thinks, simple and dead, her hand cold around the pictures she wears around her neck. I failed you, too, old friend, and for a second, when she closes her eyes, she mistakes the buffet of wind-driven snow against her face for a retaliatory napkin.
You may regret stipulating the 'flashback' part
"Yes, I can," said Maya. "In fact, this is me doing it." She smiled, helpfully, at Alex.
Alex groaned. "You're so smug. It's disgusting."
"I like to call it 'happy,' " said Maya, but she was grinning at her over the table; through the smoke.
" 'I like to call it happy,' " mimicked Alex, rolling her eyes again. "I never should have introduced you to him."
Maya laughed, full and rich; a long way from the shy, bookish girl that Alex first met at the Academy. Several men sitting at the bar looked in their direction, with interest. "Yes, you should have. Thank you, Alex."
"PHAW!" Alex spat. "I hate it when you do that. Stop it. I'll throw up on you, Vlasova."
The sorceress grinned at her, bright and radiant and unrepentant. "You can't call me that again, after tomorrow."
"Right," said Alex. "Because what the world needs is another Antares thinking they're the greatest thing since the invention of the katyusha."
Maya kicked her chair, laughing. "You could try being happy for me, you hag."
"I am happy for you, numbskull. I offered to buy you a drink, didn't I? What do you want from me, advice for your damn wedding night? I mean, I could do that, but I think you've already got that covere--"
"Alex!" sputtered Maya, and that, right there, was the exact shade of red that Alex was going for. She balled up a napkin and threw it at her; Alex dodged, and finally cracked a (triumphant) smile, and
Every breath rasps painfully in Maya's lungs as she picks her way through rubble and snow, the dessicated skeleton of a building swaying above her against the biting wind. The ash and smoke are acrid; the old tears, frozen on her face, are, too.
I'm sorry, Alex, she thinks, simple and dead, her hand cold around the pictures she wears around her neck. I failed you, too, old friend, and for a second, when she closes her eyes, she mistakes the buffet of wind-driven snow against her face for a retaliatory napkin.