(OPEN) There's always more to you than there are of them

[armd]

WHO: Abby n' pals
WHAT: Catch-all open log for the month
WHEN: September
WHERE: All about
NOTES: Will update as needed. If you'd like something specific, hit me up and I'll write you a starter!

𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐲
Abby is stationed out on the docks this evening, a posted sentry in charge of Riftwatch's section of the piers on an unusually still night. The air coming in off of the ocean is cool. The weather could stand to be a lot worse, but it's not the most exciting job to have been assigned. She's been standing here for an hour already with a few to go, whiling away the time by idly stretching, and shadowboxing the space in front of her when nobody is around to catch her doing it.

It's odd, not having to stand around and specifically listen out for sounds of infected. Abby keeps thinking that she'll hear one, the old expectation lingering in the back of her mind. Maybe it's for that reason that a sudden stagger of footsteps has her reacting instinctively, defensively.

She draws her sword. It's nothing fancy, basic issue, and she has only half of her armor on for this watch: a cuirass on over a long-sleeved, quilted shirt to keep her warm.

"Who's there."

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦, [𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝]
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Leave a little something, nothing– exorbitant, or dramatic. It gave Abby time to sit down and pen a few things to people she has been deliberately keeping herself from thinking about and it helped in the smallest of ways to get it out and then leave it behind.

It takes a few days after the disastrous run in with Ellie for Abby to realise that what she's left there could be read by anybody passing through, but she wouldn't– would she? The possibility clings to her anyway, and makes her feel self-conscious. Those words weren't meant for anybody else.

So she trails down toward the courtyard the very same day the moment dusk falls to retrieve them, but– well, she didn't mark her notes on the outside and a lot of people have been here both before and after her.

Abby has to search, painstakingly careful with the folded pieces of paper that don't turn out to be hers.

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝
(If you feel like writing your own: Abby is usually found in the library, the training yard, out doing menial Gallows work for the Forces division, or exploring Kirkwall. If you have a dog fork it over)

Comments

[armd]

Abby, who thinks she's still comfortably within the 'new' period enough to be acceptably slow at recognising anybody, takes a little more time to lower her sword than she probably should... but it seems fine. The wineskin indicates that her sudden companion isn't in the mood to fight.

"Uh," she says, glancing down at the sword in her grasp. It's... what she's trying to specialise in, but Abby knows what she'd do if something tried to attack her out of the blue.

She shows Jone her other fist. "These."

[poleaxed]

Jone considers that. She considers her own training methods, which largely rely on intuition. She considers how bad her gut instincts often are.

"How long you been using that?"

[armd]

"What, this?" She wiggles her fingers, eyebrows bouncing, "Twenty-two years."

Bad joke, sorry, "Uh– since I got here. Couple months now, I guess. Never held a sword before that."

[poleaxed]

Jone lets out a snort of laughter. Was she like this when she was young? Is she just thinking like this because talking to a twenty-two year old makes her feel old? There's the real answer.

"What'd you use before this? A hand-axe?" She tilts her head to the side. "Swords're about maneuverability."

[armd]

"Anything I could get my hands on, really." Can't afford to be picky in the middle of a tight situation. Pipes are just as good at bashing heads in as anything else.

"Is it that obvious that I don't know how to use this thing?" She tilts the sword in her hand, her grip loose.

[poleaxed]

She shrugs, kind and sort of empathetic. There's a special hell for big women in this world, and so a crude string of sympathy is hooked between them. Jone, who still prefers to feel nothing if at all possible, is tied inextricably.

"Could do some real damage, yeah," she says, "but good sword work is about finesse... look, I were a mercenary before this, and now they have me as a trainer. Professional bloody curiosity."

[armd]

"Somebody else already suggested a mace." Abby doesn't know why she didn't try it then and there.

Actually, she does– because it's Arthurian, like all the best books she's ever read. Kinda romantic, in a way? Maybe Abby likes the idea of herself like that, even though it's stupid and unrealistic.

"I should just switch." Y'know, if finesse is that important.

[poleaxed]

"You've options," Jone says, studying the girl. It's hard to get the exact shape of her build under the armor, but she can take a guess-- or maybe she's just seeing herself, younger and less wretched. "Come round the training yard. I'll get you kitted with something more interesting."

[armd]

"Sounds good to me."

It's slightly annoying that she didn't think of asking somebody this before she started messing around with the sword, but– well, she'd rather know a little bit than nothing at all, just in case. It isn't time wasted, not really.

"I'm Abby," she offers, both her name and an outstretched hand.