it feels as though she has not slept for the past several months. ever since that damned bubble went up, she's done nothing but worry that the last thing she ever said to her dad was, dude, you have to stop sending the same memes from three years ago to this group chat. but that's the thing about good-byes, isn't it? you don't get to choose the when or the how or the why. some good-byes are messy and complicated, but most are abrupt and unsatisfying.

so she counts her blessings every single day. staying positive about the whole thing has been easy because the last few months were so hard. dealing with credit transfers and papers and keeping herself afloat (even if grandpa kept slipping her some money in an attempt to stop her from taking odd jobs around town).

he never really understood why she took all those jobs from the, as he put it, "ungrateful mudak." even though miss evangeline can get testy and doesn't know how to work her lips to say "thank you," sasky knows she appreciates all the help she can get.

people are funny that way. 

but now she's here. she's off the plane and she has what belongings she wanted to move back home with (stuffed in an overflowing canvas bag and a too-big backpack). her wyrdeer carries the heavier pack at a slow trot beside her. kirin only just evolved last month, thanks to one of saskia's cadet academy exams.

the modest home comes into view and her smile breaks. she would break into a skip if she could, but her backpack weighs her down, so she can only half-scamper up to her dad, feeling foolish and elated at the same time. 

she doesn't care that she might just get a face full of smoke. 

"you look like a lumberjack, papochka," she says affectionately, breathlessly, as she clumsily trips into him and circles her arms tight around his sides. 

Nikolaj Volosenkov

☉

two weeks ago today had been the hardest of her life. it was on the news around the world. messages started flooding into her phone, started flooding into everyone's phones. her father's voice - distorted and rough around static, but distinctly his, telling her in too many words goodbye. 

her stress is evident with the lilac under her eyes, the knots in her shoulders. but she's home now and breathing in that oiled leather smell. she leans into him again, not letting him disentangle. 

kirin dips her head and munches on the lawn. 

"crowded. travel's crazy as hell. i'm just glad to be home. didja see my exam scores though? aced all of 'em. even kirin evolved." she bounces, pride glimmering in her bright green eyes. 

Nikolaj Volosenkov

☉

there's the callous mouth. saskia tries not to laugh; if her mental tally is correct, it hasn't even been fifteen minutes since they'd first started talking. she'd bet herself they wouldn't make it to twenty before he dropped his first f-bomb. 

some things never change.

she does disentangle from him finally. her hands find her backpack straps and tug down to take some of the weight off her back. she totters from side to side, exaggerating just how heavy it is. 

"grim is good. better." she's a terrible liar. "i got him to practice on kirin and not me last week." for like all of five minutes, but she doesn't need to mention that part.

"but things have been okay here? for the most part? and mama?"

Nikolaj Volosenkov

☉

and there's her papa's skepticism. she bristles, ready to staunchly defend both maugrim and her own skills, but gives herself a hot minute to just stare annoyedly at the back of his head instead. she's just too happy to taint any part of her homecoming with a silly argument about her unruly puppy. 

"it's over," she repeats, albeit softer than him. she casts a wayward glance at his still-smoldering cigar. though the smell of it clinging to his clothes is nostalgic for her, she'll never stop giving him hell for smoking them.

"those are bad for you, y'know," she says teasingly, mimicking the million and one other times she's said so before. 

"man, it's going to be so nice. i'm so glad it worked out. honestly, the rangers seemed kinda glad i wanted to be stationed here in oldale. doesn't seem like they get a lot of recruits that wanna be in this sleepy little town." she smiles. 

"you sure it's okay i'm not out there roughing it on my own? living in a dumpy apartment and supporting myself like a strong, independent twenty-one year old?" she puffs out her chest and then breaks out in laughter.

Nikolaj Volosenkov

☉

she doesn't take the teasing any further. no sense beating a dead horse there and besides, coming home to the house like this, it helps ease the stress and anxieties of the last few months. part of her had been worried she'd come home and everything would feel different. her parents were overprotective like that, keeping the worst of it to themselves.

which reminds her of what she knows about her father. she regards him while his back his turned, and then less obviously when he pours a couple glasses of oran juice ("yes, please. same.") for the two of them.

hard to imagine those gentle hands doing deeds for rocket.

the question remains there in between the lines - why don't you want do to that? but she's traveled much more than her peers; she's gone on excursions to cities all over the place. oldale is sleepy, but it's charming in a way those other cities will never be. 

"we'll see how you feel after a few weeks. betcha you'll get sick of me." 

she brightens suddenly and hops off her kitchen chair to scurry back to her backpack. it's bulging, all of her belongings having been spread across two packs. so a few articles of clothes fall out when she zips it open. but what she's looking for is near the top anyway. 

she bounces back to the kitchen and holds out the wooden carving with its crumpled bow on top. "deda taught me woodcarving! not to brag, but i've gotten pretty good." her father's aggron is not perfectly replicated in the wood, but small details hint at her hours spent toiling on the gift. "mama's comfey was hard, but i think she'll like it."

Nikolaj Volosenkov

☉

and in that small way she confesses how much she's missed him. those little strings she's tried to pull between her father and her grandfather, though neither party is aware of it. he'd looked at her oddly, sure and she'd had to do plenty of coaxing and favors to get her grandfather to agree to it.

her shoulders square, chest swelling with pride (and ego) as he compliments her work. but then she deflates when he asks to see the comfey. it's not nearly as good. the only reason she hadn't done another one is because she ran out of time. 

still, she rummages around in her bag to find the less-than-adequate carving and hands it over to him. 

"did yours look like this when you first started?"

Nikolaj Volosenkov

☉

saskia watches him intensely, looking for any sign of a scowl, any glimmer of faked enthusiasm, only to (of course) find none whatsoever. she looks down from him and to the comfey that she'd poured her love (and her frustrations) into. 

she rearranges the two little sculptures on the table so they're looking at each other and, instead of going upstairs like he suggests, trots behind him and follows him out the door. 

kirin looks up from grazing on the grass, ears flicking. she stops and lounges up against the railing of the porch and sways on the balls of her feet. 

"i'm actually kinda like, energized. you know when you're so tired you're not tired? and 'sides, i wanna show you what i've learned! kirin wants to too!

Nikolaj Volosenkov

☉