i’ve been waiting on the fault line | OTA

[limier]

WHO: Wren Coupe, Melys, Casimir Lyov, Finch Wicker + YOU
WHAT: Catchall for the month
WHEN: Mid- whatever this month is i give up
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Will edit as appropriate

 

Editing these in as I go, if you’d like a specific starter please hmu on plurk or discord (oeste#8807). ♥

Comments

[limier]

It’s a strong grip. But when you’re roughly the size of a runty qunari, and ready to vibrate out of your own skin, strong gets relative.

"For pity's sake,"

She pauses to allow the hand, the hovering (one ought to be good to one's elders). She’s spun. She’s marched — a step, two — and that's long enough to realize what Teren’s trying to do. Wren sighs, turns to haul her up over a shoulder with fluid ease.

She’s being a problem. Problems get moved.

[doneisdone]

If there's one thing Wren has in her favor right now, it's that nobody else in their right mind would dare do what she's just done. This means that there's a certain amount of shock Teren has to process before she can truly react, and after a few seconds of staring at the ground--which is now her primary focus-- she realizes what exactly just happened.
"Coupe," she growls in a low, dangerous voice, her muscles tensing in fury, "put me down."

[limier]

"Of course,"

The trouble is where. Obviously, lugging Teren about for the rest of their short, natural lives isn't an option — bird-like bones or not, there are certain tasks to which a shoulder crone just isn't suited.

She sucks in a breath, presses tongue to the back of her teeth, and starts a few steps down the hallway, toward a little table. There. That'll do.

[doneisdone]

It's true that Wren's life will be short if she continues, though it may anyway. When she fails to comply immediately, Teren starts to struggle, roaring an impatient "COUPE" and resolving to take the matter in her own hands. Or elbows, as it were, one of which she drives into the small of Wren's back, the most flexibility she has at the moment.

[limier]

She makes a sound somewhere around strangled weasel and staggers, caught off-guard. Reflex draws her grip tighter, crushing, but a week of overdoing it has taken its toll and her left knee decides finally to give —

They sort of end up on the table. Rather, the table sort of ends up on them, in a crash that echoes down the hallway.

[doneisdone]

For her part, Teren suddenly has the same set of instincts as a cat on a tipping shelf. Forgetting for a moment about the total indignity of her position, she scrambles to remain upright even as the person holding her falls, and this results in an awkward tangle of limbs both organic and wooden on the tiled floor.
She's certain she's broken everything. Or rather that Wren has broken everything, but she'll yell about it when there's air in her lungs again.

[limier]

Ow.

"Bordel de merde,"

She coughs, in a hoarse wheeze, already trying to push to her feet. Her leg trembles, refuses to cooperate, and she slumps again in place only briefly before the need to move stirs her again. It's no more cooperative, and she shivers restless, arm twitching to shove the table from place.

It finds flesh instead, and — Teren. Right. Teren. Still in Orlesian, she continues:

"Maker, are you alright?"

[doneisdone]

Teren just lies there for a moment, taking stock of all her joints and organs. She can move everything, and doesn't feel any stabbing pain, which means she's not dying or broken, which is frankly a miracle for someone her age who took a fall like that.
She's silent and stunned for just a moment more, then Wren speaks. In Orlesian.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" she demands, in the same language, beginning to struggle to her feet with much less agility than she'd prefer.

[limier]

She's alright, then. Wren slumps back, eyes slipping shut only to shoot open once more.

"The rest of the place is." It'll occur to her later that they haven't been speaking Trade, and perhaps that'll be due some consideration — "We do not have time for this."

[doneisdone]

"Maferath's flaming bollocks," Teren mutters, rising to her feet and glaring down at Wren, "the rest of the place my arse, you're insane. Will we have to shut you in a broom closet?"

[limier]

"I will find the key,"

She warns, which means: Possibly. Possibly someone's already tried.

[doneisdone]

"I'll swallow it then," Teren hisses, "up. Up with you. You're going to bed."