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Entry tags:
- ! open,
- alexandrie d'asgard,
- bastien,
- benedict quintus artemaeus,
- darras rivain,
- gwenaëlle strange,
- isaac,
- james flint,
- john silver,
- julius,
- kostos averesch,
- teren von skraedder,
- yseult,
- { adasse agassi },
- { alistair },
- { anders },
- { colin },
- { ilias fabria },
- { iorveth },
- { leander },
- { merrill },
- { nathaniel howe },
- { romain de coucy },
- { sidony veranas },
- { sorrelean ashara },
- { thor }
open: lol never mind.
WHO: Open!
WHAT: A memorial that doesn’t go as planned.
WHEN: Justinian 1
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Nah.
WHAT: A memorial that doesn’t go as planned.
WHEN: Justinian 1
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Nah.
The ceremony takes place in one of the side courtyards that’s been converted into a garden, where the oppressive architecture is offset with flowers and trees. There’s a small pyre, for those whose traditions call for pyres, but no bodies to burn. Instead there are tokens, flowers, favorite foods, treasured possessions—not yet lit.
(For the others, the Dalish and Nevarrans and anyone else with a different wish, their friends and family will have made different arrangements alongside the pyre, probably, if they aren’t universally reviled.)
Anyone who wants to speak, whether it’s a prepared speech or a single spontaneous sentence, can do so. The tone is respectful but only so solemn. It’s been more than a week. For many, the worst of the shock has passed, and the sun has continued to rise and set, and there’s room between bouts of misery for fond memories and occasionally laughter. The memorial is a door that’s closing—slowly, kindly—and tomorrow, on the other side of it, the war will continue.
Today, on this side, the only people judging anyone else for crying are the assholes.
***
Across the harbor, more than a dozen filthy and tired people come to a stop on the docks, and the loitering ferryman pauses to take stock of them, then starts laughing. There isn’t even any local mythology about ferrymen and the dead. It’s just that funny to him on its own, that he’s been rowing miserable people around all week, and here’s the source of all that misery, dirty and tired but significantly less dead than believed.
When he stops laughing, he offers to dunk everyone in the harbor before rowing them over. For the smell, you know. No one is going to be happy to see them if their eyes are watering too much to actually see them. Then he laughs some more at his hilarious joke.
But he does eventually load up his boat—and maybe there isn’t room for everyone all at once, maybe some dramatic reunions will be delayed, maybe some people will be even more fashionably late to their funeral than the others—and carries everyone across the bay, still chuckling intermittently.
***
In the courtyard, the speeches and anecdotes (and singing, perhaps) wind down to long silences peppered with murmurs or sniffling. Someone is preparing to light the pyre. And then the gate creaks open.
(For the others, the Dalish and Nevarrans and anyone else with a different wish, their friends and family will have made different arrangements alongside the pyre, probably, if they aren’t universally reviled.)
Anyone who wants to speak, whether it’s a prepared speech or a single spontaneous sentence, can do so. The tone is respectful but only so solemn. It’s been more than a week. For many, the worst of the shock has passed, and the sun has continued to rise and set, and there’s room between bouts of misery for fond memories and occasionally laughter. The memorial is a door that’s closing—slowly, kindly—and tomorrow, on the other side of it, the war will continue.
Today, on this side, the only people judging anyone else for crying are the assholes.
***
Across the harbor, more than a dozen filthy and tired people come to a stop on the docks, and the loitering ferryman pauses to take stock of them, then starts laughing. There isn’t even any local mythology about ferrymen and the dead. It’s just that funny to him on its own, that he’s been rowing miserable people around all week, and here’s the source of all that misery, dirty and tired but significantly less dead than believed.
When he stops laughing, he offers to dunk everyone in the harbor before rowing them over. For the smell, you know. No one is going to be happy to see them if their eyes are watering too much to actually see them. Then he laughs some more at his hilarious joke.
But he does eventually load up his boat—and maybe there isn’t room for everyone all at once, maybe some dramatic reunions will be delayed, maybe some people will be even more fashionably late to their funeral than the others—and carries everyone across the bay, still chuckling intermittently.
***
In the courtyard, the speeches and anecdotes (and singing, perhaps) wind down to long silences peppered with murmurs or sniffling. Someone is preparing to light the pyre. And then the gate creaks open.
no subject
"There were...complications," Loki explains. Or rather doesn't. Of course he can fly. If he could have flown would he be here, looking like this. And on that note, he looks like this, so clearly everything couldn't be awry.
"Besides, I could hardly have left the rest of them. How would that reflect upon us?" Use your head, brother.
Yes, scolding has him back in his stride and Loki manages to reach up and comb back his hair. His fingers snag in it and he scowls openly, but he plays off the move.
no subject
"The hero, bringing word that those who were captured and thought dead were instead alive and on their way back, perhaps in need of supplies and support and reinforcement? But hindsight is easy and it is clear your time was not a pleasant one." Not 'easy,' nothing that could be taken as offense, hopefully.
"I am glad you are back. Have you spoken with the new Rifter here who thinks he knows us in part? He is strange, but friendly." Thor would bring up Alexandrie, but he's quite certain that the moment he mentions her Loki will head off to look for her and he badly needs this time with his brother.
no subject
"I have stepped off a boat and been carried by you," Loki adds and finally shifts so that he can attempt to push Thor off. It is a challenge (and, though he would never admit it aloud, he is not trying very hard) but he gives a decent shove against Thor's torso as he is set upon.
"You may introduce me to your new strange friend once I've washed some of this off. Assuming he is not also in attendance at my funeral?"
no subject
"I do not know," Thor says, looking around. "I was not exactly paying attention to the crowd." He was not here for them. He was here for himself and for Alexandrie and for the memory of the man who stands before him. After a moment he shakes his head.
"It does not matter. How are you? You do not look injured, but we can get you to the healers if there are things you have not dealt with yet."
no subject
"I am fine, scrapes, bruises, the sort of damage one takes in confinement and travel," Loki explains quietly. "Though I am utterly famished and my clothes are beyond the help even magic can afford."
Loki pauses a moment and looks vaguely alarmed.
"I do hope you have not set about packing my belongings."
no subject
And thus disprove what had been proven. Though clearly proven incorrectly. He looks his brother over again, feeling the haze of shock and grief start to fade away. Loki's here. Thor reaches over to clap Loki on the shoulder once.
"See to your clothing and bathing. I will go to our estate and get them working on a feast for the three of us." He steps back and pauses. "It is good to have you back, brother."