Kian left the prison with a now habitual to him sense of accomplishment. The road he walked was quite empty, so even though he was still absorbed in his thoughts about this young "witch" girl, his sharp (as expected of an Imperial Soldier) attention was caught by a woman walking towards him. It is not that she was particularly attractive – quite the opposite, in fact; she was seriously unkempt, her clothes drab and tattered, her shoulder-length hair unevenly cut, her expression pale, haggard and gloomy. But there was something about her walk and poise that seemed uncharacteristic of both Azadi ladies and Marcurian females. She seemed shifty, unsecure yet at the same time grim, resolved and far too masculine - such a contrast to graceful Azadi women and lively, unconstrained Marcurians.
Still, it was not the difference about her that attracted his interest, but the aching feeling of familiarity. It was ridiculous to think he has seen her before, and yet that was how it felt. He wanted to stop her, but what could he do? What would he say? Still, he had to start somehow.
"Pardon me, mistress…" She looks up, startled. "I am new to the city and I seek a place to buy a hot meal".
She answers something, but he doesn't hear. He is too caught up with the improbability, the unnaturality of his situation. He hadn't met that many people in his life, what with living his childhood in an orphanage and his youth and adult years as a trainee and later a soldier. Everyone he had met, he remembered, and he surely would remember such an alien woman.
She speaks no more. He thanks her, and she starts to walk away. He grows desperate. When one can't come up with anything else, one has to tell the truth.
"Pardon, mistress… Do I know you from somewhere? You are familiar to me".
She shrugs. "I don't think so. Who are you?"
He wants to answer with an alias prepared in advance but something stops him. If I want to get the truth, I have to be honest also.
Kian Alvane introduces himself and momentarily understands that it was a mistake. She steps back, her expression changes from aloof to fierce and disgusted.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Indeed, why? She is surely not fond of us Azadi. I wonder, why? I ruined everything.
"It seemed the right thing to do, Mistress". I grow into more of a fool with every passing moment. "Perhaps, I wanted to know what you truly think of my people".
This half-baked excuse was meant to pacify her, but it does the exact opposite. She launches into the long tirade about ghettos and freedom and religion, which was probably building up for a long painful time. He listens and doesn't understand. And along with misunderstanding and frustration his anger builds up. Her otherness, which seemed exotic at first, now seems an insult to him.
He answers sharply, almost without thinking. He is honestly surprised that she doesn't understand the simplest and most obvious things, for she does seem intelligent. What is more surprising is that even his perfectly lucid arguments don't sway her.
She turns to leave, and his grievance disappears without a trace. He has scared her off, how could he? He'll have a lot of time to persuade her, not now. Now there is a more important subject to discuss.
She shakes her head at his repeated question. "We're from very different worlds… in more ways than you can possibly imagine".
That much I have seen for myself already.
"Maybe I can learn about your world and you about mine". The words spring to his mouth, probably the most sincere that he has ever spoken. Yet she is untouched. He suddenly feels very tired, more tired than after an entire day on a training ground. It's useless to try and get something else from her now. Maybe the next time with a different approach…
They part, and it's not until he takes the turn on his left when he understands that he doesn't even know her name.