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Entry tags:
- ! open,
- ! player plot,
- bastien,
- benedict quintus artemaeus,
- derrica,
- ellie,
- fifi mariette,
- florent vascarelle,
- gela,
- james flint,
- julius,
- loxley,
- matthias,
- mobius,
- petrana de cedoux,
- redvers keen,
- stephen strange,
- tsenka abendroth,
- vanya orlov,
- viktor,
- wysteria de foncé,
- yseult,
- { peter parker },
- { tony stark }
player plot | when my time comes around, pt 2
WHO: Anyone who didn't die here.
WHAT: A sad week.
WHEN: Approx Solas 21-30
WHERE: Granitefell, the Gallows, wherever else you want.
NOTES: A second log for this plot. Additional posts/logs will cover the time travel/fix-it components—this one is for the time period where no one knows that's a possibility.
WHAT: A sad week.
WHEN: Approx Solas 21-30
WHERE: Granitefell, the Gallows, wherever else you want.
NOTES: A second log for this plot. Additional posts/logs will cover the time travel/fix-it components—this one is for the time period where no one knows that's a possibility.
Those who fly out to Granitefell arrive a few hours after dawn to find a smoldering gravesite and fewer than twenty living souls, Riftwatch's five included. The survivors have done what they can in the intervening hours, but there's still work to be done to tend to wounds, move the bodies—especially the delicate ones—and help the remaining villagers, mostly children, build pyres to see to their own dead before they're relocated somewhere safer. Somewhere with roofs that aren't collapsed or still lightly burning.
Carts to carry Riftwatch's dead won't arrive for some time afterward, and bringing them back takes just as long. It's a few days before they're returned to the Gallows, preserved from decay as best everyone could manage but nonetheless in poor shape from the battle. Pyres are an Andrastian tradition for a reason—to prevent possession—but burials and mummification aren't so unheard of that anyone will be barred from seeing to their loved ones as they see fit.
Before, during, and after any funerary rites, there are absences. Empty beds, empty offices, voices missing from the crystals, pancakes missing from Sundays. Belongings that need to be sorted and letters that need to be written. And, perhaps most pressingly, work that still needs to be done, including the work left behind by those who can no longer follow through on their own projects or tie up their own loose ends, as the world and its war keep moving steadily onward as if nothing happened at all.
Carts to carry Riftwatch's dead won't arrive for some time afterward, and bringing them back takes just as long. It's a few days before they're returned to the Gallows, preserved from decay as best everyone could manage but nonetheless in poor shape from the battle. Pyres are an Andrastian tradition for a reason—to prevent possession—but burials and mummification aren't so unheard of that anyone will be barred from seeing to their loved ones as they see fit.
Before, during, and after any funerary rites, there are absences. Empty beds, empty offices, voices missing from the crystals, pancakes missing from Sundays. Belongings that need to be sorted and letters that need to be written. And, perhaps most pressingly, work that still needs to be done, including the work left behind by those who can no longer follow through on their own projects or tie up their own loose ends, as the world and its war keep moving steadily onward as if nothing happened at all.
no subject
Gela forces herself to breathe. It comes in suddenly and she swallows, wiping her eyes across the back of her arm. Be calm, be polite, don't give her any reason. The coat is burning away on the top of the water and Gela can smell the burning fibers.
"I see. I'm sorry, I thought you dropped them."
Not wanting to seem like she's trying to run away, she gets very slowly to her feet, brushing her skirts off.
no subject
“How kind of you,” she says, courteous by rote as if she hadn't disabused Gela of that notion with unnecessary harshness— or, not really even as if that. As if it is simply beyond her to muster a reaction that isn't dredged up from habit, empty muscle memory. “As you see, no assistance is required.”
no subject
But all those coats in the water, a bitter protest... She looks at them again, then at her hands. Some of the skin on her fingers is growing red and shiny, blistering from where the heat licked her; anger and pain.
"Who did they belong to?"
no subject
There are only so many people it could be, surely. Sixteen. Less than that, narrowed down by those who'd fit these coats. Those who'd actually wear them. Hard to imagine Ellis in them. That strapping young rifter girl would have looked terribly smart.
“Captain Rowntree,” she says, and there's an edge in it, the effort that it takes answering the question straightforwardly and without any cruelty to a man no longer here to complain of it or of her ill-treatment of his coats or, for that matter, Gela. “He has no further need of them. Neither do we.”
Julius may feel differently, but the thing is done.
no subject
"Okay." That's all she needs to say. "Then I'll leave you to it."