heirring: ([006])
Wysteria Poppell ([personal profile] heirring) wrote in [community profile] faderift2021-09-07 02:54 pm

[open]

WHO: Wysteria & YOU
WHAT: Anchor-related adventures and/or drama in fantasy September.
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Some anchor and rift-related peril; open stuff is in the comments, but may use this as a catch-all. If an open prompt doesn't suit you, feel free to wildcard me or hit me up and I can write something bespoke. Prose or brackets is a-okay.


bouchonne: (annoyed)

[personal profile] bouchonne 2021-09-07 10:42 pm (UTC)(link)
A thing Byerly Rutyer cannot abide: the sight of a young woman looking frail and unwell.

Another thing Byerly Rutyer cannot abide: Wysteria Poppell.

He stands, torn, at war with himself, for perhaps a good minute. Because - not talking to her is such an appealing notion. Leaving her be. Letting her plunge into the water and - It takes the girl swaying slightly to the side for him to act; he steps up beside her and offers, stiffly -

"It would please me to carry your parcels, if it would please you to be unburdened."
heorte: (rm00494 (2))

slides this across the table before i dip out

[personal profile] heorte 2021-09-07 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)
And Ellis is on hand.

On hand between the spans of time where he is well and truly required elsewhere, though he has capitulated to those duties with quiet reluctance. The pinch of worry has not left his face. If anything, that it is reduced to a pinch is some improvement over the entirety of their flight from said skirmish.

There is a singed book open across his thigh, but he's diverted from the reading to look at Wysteria and her flushed face, her obvious misery.

"Keep the cloth across your forehead," is spoken very quietly, instruction that precedes Ellis reaching over to her to readjust said cloth for her.
kantikoy: (the animals the animals)

[personal profile] kantikoy 2021-09-07 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Adrasteia is well-positioned at the moment to encapsulate herself, Wysteria, and whoever else is within a yard or so of the two of them into a protective shielding bubble, the ground beneath their feet lighting up with the runic activation of a spell well-cast.

The next thing she does is cast once more, this time a fireball that launches itself towards the only marksman she can clearly see from her position. It hits him square in the face, the person beneath the armor screaming out in pain.

"Are you all right?" This is to Wysteria; Adrasteia is pulling off her gloves with her teeth in preparation for laying on hands to heal the other woman if needed. If that would even work, in this particular scenario. She's not sure it will, actually.

There's still the matter of the open Rift to contend with, and the demons advancing on their location.
bouchonne: (side-eye)

[personal profile] bouchonne 2021-09-08 12:19 am (UTC)(link)
And what, is he going to fight her on that? When she's taken on a look like he's a pile of manure gently wafting odors at her? Absolutely not. Every time he has endeavored to help Wysteria, every time he has tried to engage with her in any meaningful way, she has rewarded him only with contempt and biting judgment. He will be on his way.

"You look poorly."
acreage: (} 020.)

[personal profile] acreage 2021-09-08 12:31 am (UTC)(link)
"I brought you some water."

He says by way of announcing himself, as he lets himself in. He's careful to pull the canvas closed completely, offer Wysteria what protection from the elements they can afford her out here.

It's not enough.

But nothing is going to be until they can get her back to the Gallows. He doesn't dwell on the fact that he doesn't know what they'll be able to do for her there; he can't help thinking that the person he'd normally ask that question would be Wysteria. Instead, he focuses on what he can do — which is drawing closer, right now, sitting near her cot and looking for her response. There's a flask in his hand, and he uses the other to open it so that he can bring it to her mouth if she so desires.
heorte: (rm00301)

[personal profile] heorte 2021-09-08 01:30 am (UTC)(link)
"We have time," Ellis tells her, a statement which is true to a degree. There is no specific sense of when they'll be able to travel safely. And so it is fortunate he'd brought something long and so far, satisfactory as a distraction.

He turns the cloth over on her forehead, tipping it back slightly in concession to the clumsy trajectory of Wysteria's fingers.. His thumb briefly smooths along her brow.

And despite the implication in her question, Ellis still asks, "Is the pain any less?"

His voice is very steady, quiet over the words. What he wants to say is that she should drink some water, or tea, or eat even a single slice of bread to fortify herself for the trip back. But he stops over that one question, assessing before deciding whether to press her or go back to the book as prompted.

A fortunate thing: Ellis is well-practiced at suppressing worry, at being a steady, fixed point in the middle of any difficult situation.
heorte: (42)

[personal profile] heorte 2021-09-08 01:44 am (UTC)(link)
A bubble that happens to include Ellis, whose movements had been fortuitously guided backwards in response to the Terror demon. It means he can retreat further back when Wysteria shouts, but the presence of archers—

"We need to close this and go," is a reluctant observation. Either those soldiers are interested and the rift, and must be denied, or they're interested in any of the shardbearers on hand, and must absolutely be denied.

His off hand comes to Wysteria's shoulder briefly, though the look he shoots at Adrasteia communicates the exact gravity of the situation: caught between Terror demons and Venatori is no place for them to stay.
bouchonne: (annoyed)

[personal profile] bouchonne 2021-09-08 01:45 am (UTC)(link)
"Unlikely," By returns, which is such an easy retort that now he is deeply worried. Usually the girl's tongue is so disagreeable that he has to put some small effort into coming up with a response. This was far too obvious.

"Sit down. I'll hold the ferry till you've a chance to climb on board." And - "Have you been to see my wife?"
heorte: (rm00115 (2))

[personal profile] heorte 2021-09-08 02:22 am (UTC)(link)
Will it pass?

Ellis doesn't know. There is no one to ask here, and perhaps no one to ask back at the Gallows. His thumb strokes once more along her forehead, thumb coming to rest at her temple, his attention held more by the blithe assertion of improvement than the possibility of the purchase of a new horse.

The missing link between her answer and her objection to the horse isn't questioned, but it wedges like a stone alongside all the worries he is careful to keep from his tone. At any other point Wysteria might have noticed, but he has an advantage in this.

"We can see about purchasing a horse," Ellis says, proposition taken in stride. "You'd have to stable whatever your new mount at the Gallows, unless we knock down the brick wall and expand into your neighbor's yard."
kantikoy: (that it doesn't hurt me?)

[personal profile] kantikoy 2021-09-08 02:42 am (UTC)(link)
"It weakens when the demons are dead," Adrasteia replies, because she doesn't believe herself currently capable of closing the rift in the Fade on her own, and she isn't sure that Wysteria is in any position to be trying to use her own shard to do anything. "That will be our best bet."

She can keep refreshing the barrier to keep the arrows from doing much damage, but they won't be able to avoid being corralled at the moment; she can't get a good enough line of sight on the entire set of archers to do much about them.
helpinghidinghaunting: From your feet (The reminders pull the floor)

Kirkwall Docks

[personal profile] helpinghidinghaunting 2021-09-08 06:29 am (UTC)(link)
It's very suddenly that Wysteria may feel a presence beside her - a soft one, a quiet one, belonging to an incredibly ratty and thin young man in torn leathers. His pale face is shaded deep beneath the brim of an overlarge hat, sleepless eyes cast downward. Cole can hear that she is unwell, feel the reeling, the rending, the roiling of the Rift...and he had just happened to be heading back from a day in the markets when he noticed her.

When she wasn't looking, he had dropped his invisibility, choosing instead to approach her plainly...but he doesn't stare. Mustn't stare.

Clutched in one hand is a waterskin, glistening around the cork as if it has been freshly filled. He's holding it out to her, awkwardly, his voice tiny when he finally finds it.

"...You need this." Not accusatory, no hint of derision - simple, like a child might sound.
nonvenomous: (thinking)

WILDIN.

[personal profile] nonvenomous 2021-09-08 06:35 am (UTC)(link)
Some weeks ago, Mr. Dickerson cordially requested Wysteria’s covert assistance in assessing which of the newly born nuggets stabled in a straw-lined crate in a straw-littered, dark, and musty storeroom beneath the mage tower might possess extraordinary abilities.

If any.

That the message arrived a cautious four to five days after the incident at the tournament is surely a coincidence.

There are eight of them squirming in the lamplight, Adrasteia II’s piggy eyes gleaming with pride for what she and Marius Squarebush have wrought. Their weird little bodies are wrinkled and naked in a translucent spectrum of white, pink, and brown, tiny hands grasping for teets as they bow and flex for purchase in a pile. They’re just a few days old, their eyes darkened lumps on the sides of their soft, suckling skulls, not yet open.

Beside Wysteria, lamp in hand, Richard is too taken in by the sight to suppress a rankle at his nose, a thin show of his teeth.

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