OPEN: Kirkwail

[faderifting]

WHO: Anyone
WHAT: Ghosts
WHEN: Wintermarch 20
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: OOC post. More content warnings than you can shake a stick at, probably, including allusions to slavery and violence in the body of the log post. Please use appropriate warnings in the subject lines for your own threads.

The storm sweeps in like an assassin: unexpected, in the dark, and throwing sharp pricks of sleet at exposed eyes and noses with expert aim and enough force to almost draw blood if the angle is right. Half an hour after the clouds crest the cliffs is all it takes for the city to retract indoors and huddle around fireplaces, settling in for a long night that will, unforeseen, turn into a long two days.

The Gallows, too, is pelted with ice; the walls of the cliffs and the fortress protect much of it from the worst of the wind, but when it can find a path over or through the walls, it slams through windows or doors to scatter papers and snuff out fires.

In the dark, in the rain, hurrying between towers or already accustomed to jumping firelight casting strange shadows and the wind howling like a wounded animal, people might be forgiven if they don't notice at first. But there's a hanging in the courtyard, a dozen translucent wisps of bodies dangling from the idea of nooses, and there's a girl's voice in the basement of the templar tower screaming for her mother, and there's a ghostly man in the library holding the blade of a knife to his palm and whispering this is it, this is it—or maybe there isn't, actually, when you lift your head to pay closer attention.

But as the night wears on they multiply, and they brighten, and even if you haven't noticed them, they begin to notice you.

Comments

[hassaran]

Yseult's bafflement is complete, and obvious enough that even someone not extraordinarily well-versed in reading her could see it. She looks at Darras for a long moment, though not as long as the last, and then shrugs and nods at the same time.

"Yes. Alright. If you'd like." If he'd still like, maybe she should say. Who knows what he'll want in an hour's time, at this rate. "I should be finished in an hour or two. You can meet me at my room."

[staysail]

"So what's that look for," Darras says, because sure and he can see that look on her face, and read it. "Is it that strange for me to ask that of you?"

Especially after everything that he's told her, and everything she's seen. And all of it within a few hours. It's enough that he feels wrong-footed. Adrift, like. He looks down at their hands, the interlacing of their fingers.

"You're something constant," he tells her. "Even with--everything that's between us, even if you're running off to some meeting that can't wait--and that's not even so surprising, when I think of it, I should have guessed it. That's why I asked."

[hassaran]

"A moment ago you didn't even want to walk with me," Yseult points out. So, yes. It is that strange.

And after everything that he's told her and everything she's seen, she'd like some time to herself to decide what to make of it. But it was her choice to reach out and try to help; there's nothing to be gained by stepping back now while he still needs her. There will be time after to sort through it all.

She lets her mouth tilt into a fond half-smile and she reaches up with her other hand to touch his cheek. "Don't sit here alone and brood while I'm gone. Go for a walk, get something to eat."