The Sky that Nobody Sees

Visceral

Inladris refused to allow Legolas to know whether or not she thought he ought to attend classes the next day, but he decided on his own to attend regardless of his discomfort and displeasure in doing so, as he didn't relish the thought of how his classmates' eyes would turn to follow him again, as they had at the beginning of the semester, before they all got used to having a Volkov in class with them. Now they had a Volkov who had just taken down an armed assailant in the middle of a crowded classroom, and in one of the most attention-grabbing ways possible, not that he'd have done it the same if he'd seen any better choice. But it had been their experience that hiding from attention only caused others' interest to intensify, so attending class as though he had done nothing at all remarkable remained, unfortunately, the better option overall.

He forgot to anticipate the additional reporters outside, and waited for the security guards to clear a path to his bike, which Abram already had waiting for him, before leaving the building as briskly as he could.

Soon after he'd locked up his bike, a text from Inladris came through the group message.

Walking to the damn market. I'll wave at all the security cameras as I pass.

Legolas smiled. Nothing kept Inladris down for long.

I'm meeting Miriess there. If any one of you show up to give her a pat down I'll put paste in your shampoo.

Legolas laughed.

Inladris had her headphones up on only one side, being more careful than she usually was, but still, she confessed, not as careful as they would want her to be. She recognized Miriess by her bright emerald coat—standing out among all the long, black ones that most native Russians were born with. But then again, Inladris's own coat was cobalt.

Inladris hooked her arm into her friend's when she wasn't looking, causing her to start, and Inladris to giggle.

"So what are you looking for?" Miriess asked her. "Or are you just out and about?" This part of the city was reserved for the open-air market that was open nearly every day, year-round. Already Inladris was eyeing one of the booths of hot, spiced wine. Miriess saw her occupation, rolled her eyes, and tugged her over.

"Out and about a bit—I wanted a walk. Plus it's snowing, and you know how I feel about snow. Oh and I want bread! The good kind, not the store kind. Oo and perhaps some canned goods, too."

"Should you have brought a backpack in addition to your basket, perhaps?"

"Most likely. I'll have the red, please," she said to the seller, and handed over a handful of coins.

"Well there's a lot of canned goods down that aisle." Miriess pointed. "But we ought to pick those up on our way out."

"I appreciate the way you plan our trips. Bread first then?"

"Sounds good. Are any of your charges' birthdays coming up?"

"Ah.... Thranduil is next. But he doesn't permit us to celebrate."

"So what did you give him last year?"

"Engraved silver cufflinks."

Miriess chuckled. "I was going to smack you if you said 'soap'."

"I have given him that as well. It was a poor year for finding gifts."

"Evidently."

"It was a very fine soap! It was from Sweden."

"So what are you getting him this year?" Miriess pressed.

"A coat."

"He doesn't have one?"