"You're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain, crossing out the good years"
Nikolai Lantsov x fem!OC
[Storm and Siege- ]
Storm and Siege (Complete)
Ruin and Rising (Ongoing)
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Olysia hurled venom at whatever nonexistent Saints in her head for the ache that settled so comfortingly in her chest. The ache that would never quite leave her that she had to pretend she didn't feel. There was nothing she could do about that ache but to feel it quietly.
The Solad Sol got there late that night and got only a few hours of sleep before they set out the next day.
Olysia refused to travel on the sand, memories of running for her life were a little more than prominent and she would rather deal with those sprainly so she traveled on the Bittern well within the bright bubble Alina had created.
It took them the better part of that day and night to cross the Fold and escort all of the Soldat Sol up the western shore.
Olysia was with both Mal and Tolya trying to decide the best marksmen from the Soldat Sol.
"If they continue to be this bad, we might as well just give up now." Olysia said very loudly, judging all of their terrible aim.
Everyone pulled their attention from the targets in front of them and stared at her but she lifted a shoulder unapologetically.
"Let's maybe not insult them and bring down our already low morale." Mal muttered to her, looking slightly peeved.
Olysia gave Mal a dirty side eye. "It's low for a reason."
Tolya rubbed a hand over his face and sighed into it.
Mal kept looking at her with an expectant look on his face.
"What?"
He kept staring at her.
She threw a deep glare at him in return.
"You're a good sharpshooter." Mal was the one who looked away in defeat. "Don't you have any advice to bestow upon them?"
"None that could help them."
The pop of gunfire resumed after she stopped talking, a few jaded soldiers getting better in spite of her.
"That worked, didn't itl?" Olysia smugly looked out over her shoulder and went to find the other Grisha.
They were in the receiving room piecing together a dinner of apples, hard cheese, and stale black bread that Harshaw had found in some abandoned larder.
The dining room and kitchen were a wreck, so they built a big fire in the grate of the grand receiving room and set out a makeshift picnic, sprawled on the floor and the watered silk couches, toasting bits of bread skewered on the gnarled branches of apple trees.
"If I survive this," Alina wiggling her toes near the fire. "I'm going to have to find some way to compensate these poor people for the damages."
"They'll be forced to redecorate." Zoya snorted. "We're doing them a favor."
