player plot | when my time comes around, pt. 5

[cozen]

WHO: Everyone!
WHAT: Everything's fine and we're going to have feelings about it.
WHEN: August 15 9:49
WHERE: Primarily the Gallows! But potentially anywhere.
NOTES: We made it! You are all free of my tyrannical plot grasp! There is a final OOC post with some notes + space for plotting here.

This is a timeline where, some mild chaos aside, things for the last month have carried on as normal. Riftwatch hasn't lost anyone at all. There were no funerals. The work continued. The late afternoon of August 15 may find people at their desks, in the midst of meetings or debriefs, in the library, in the sparring yard. Or maybe afield, seeing to errands or meetings or missions somewhere else in Thedas. Maybe, if they are particularly unlucky, they are deep in conversation with an ally or embroiled in combat with an enemy agent at the precise moment when the magical connection between two realities closes and the diverging timelines snap together into one existence.

At that moment, everyone forgets what it is they were just doing. Instead they remember what they might have been doing in the world where a third of Riftwatch's number was lost, despite their hands suddenly occupied with the normal business of handling pens or swords or books they don't recall picking up.

For the always-living, it may feel as though they have been magically transported somewhere new mid-thought. For the dead—the formerly dead, the might-have-been dead—it will feel as though they have just woken up. Perhaps they'll have a vague sense of a dream they now can't recall, in between their last conscious moment amid the blood and screams in Granitefell and awakening just now in a quieter world, or perhaps they'll have a sense of nothing at all.

For a few hours, the worse world will be the only one anyone can remember. Over time, memories of the other world—the only one that really exists now—will filter in, competitive with other memories in a way that might require everyone to double or triple check whether they wrote a letter or completed a mission in that timeline or this one. But the memories of death and dying will never fade into anything less real.

Comments

[armd]

Anything she was about to say, facetious or otherwise, dies on her tongue when he hugs her like that, tight. Abby breathes out. She says, "Sorry," and it's quiet, muffled by his shoulder. She hugs him back.

They don't really do this. But it feels right.

[altusimperius]

He holds her for a moment longer, perhaps too long (in his estimation, at least), then releases her just as quickly, looking away with a scowl. It's the sort of concentrated expression one makes when trying not to show any emotion, but Bene being who he is, it's harder for him than for some.

[armd]

Abby doesn't notice if it's too long. When they finally let go she can't quite bring herself to smile. They're still standing quite close to each other. She's actually grateful that Benedict won't look at her; any kind of scrutiny makes her feel self-conscious about her face, even though it's fine. Healed. She touches it anyway just to make sure, brushing her jaw with her fingertips.

Yeah. Still good.

"You okay?"

[altusimperius]

He's still looking down and away, like a sulky child withholding an apology. He hesitates, then shakes his head, wiping a hand across his mouth.
"Are you?"

[armd]

"I dunno."

It's weird. She gives her head a little shake. "It's... hard to stop thinking about it."

The battle. The dragon overhead, the heat and the cloying black smoke, all the screaming. What it felt like getting hit in the head, falling down, and knowing she wasn't going to get back up again.

[altusimperius]

Benedict's arms are folded tightly against him now, but he casts a furtive glance up at Abby.

"I bet."

A long pause, and then, "you could always... not, for a while." He nudges his head toward the residential tower behind him; there's a cure for thinking, it's called drugs.

[armd]

He's left himself wide open for a filthy joke at his expense and Abby can't even bring herself to make it. That's how she knows something is really off.

When she exhales it feels like she's trying to slough something off. "... Okay."

Might be nice, actually.

[altusimperius]

Such jokes would only leave behind hurt feelings (on both sides) in their wake, so it's probably for the best. He gives a tired little smirk and turns to go toward the tower, swaying a little bit: he's already drunk, or high, or maybe both, but holding himself relatively well

[armd]

Ah, yes, she has witnessed Benedict like this before. Drunk, dragging himself through Lowtown. It isn't quite that bad this time but he gets a certain swagger about him. Abby realises she's starting to know him enough that she can sort of tell. She follows him up the tower.

The spots where he smokes are always well-cushioned.

She has a seat, tucking her arms in over her chest.

"Ellie told me it's been a month."

[altusimperius]

"Something like that."

He sits himself and begins to methodically set up the pipe, with the air of concentration one only gets when one is already somewhat under the influence. He manages it fine (he's an old pro) and, once he's satisfied by the state of the coal and has taken a test draw, passes the hose to Abby.

[armd]

"What did you guys even do?" For a whole month. Without them. Work on that fix, obviously, but...

She takes the hose, and clearly has no idea what she's doing, copying what he did before (after wiping the mouth of it off on the collar of her shirt automatically, thoughtlessly). She exhales perhaps too quickly, coughing once, and passes it back.

[altusimperius]

Benedict can't resist the little smile that creeps up when he sees Abby doesn't know what she's doing, and he makes a little grabbing gesture for the hose, and demonstrates carefully before speaking again.

"Panicked," he replies drolly, smoke streaming from his nostrils in his deep exhale as he hands the hose back, "...and tried to figure out where to go from there. With most of Forces gone."