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player plot | when my time comes around, pt. 5
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.
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.
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.
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Torturing Abby with this is infinitely funny.
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"Yeah, that's why I'm choosing no. You have to respect my choice."
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Also, it was just Ellie who gave her shit about the socks, to be fair.
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She's just ignoring that she's the one who gave her shit about the socks too, so.
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Now she's part of it.
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"Abby's busy spooning Wags."
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"Fine. I don't want to move the furniture anyway." She would have done it, but not now!
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Even if she's willing to sleep near Abby, she's definitely not ready to fucking spoon her. Even if she does feel a tiny bit guilty for kicking Clarisse now.
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"You guys can push your bed anywhere you want, but I'm leaving mine here. And I'm going to bed soon, I'm tired."
Actually, really tired. Abby kinda didn't notice it until she said it out loud.
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Clarisse is tired, too. It's evident in the somewhat sulky tone of her voice, even though she really doesn't care whether they push the beds together or not. They've all held it together so far, but... it's been a long day.
She covers her eyes with her forearm and yawns, but pats the spot next to her with her other hand. It's limited space, but she doesn't think Ellie will mind too much.
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She shifts when Clarisse pats the bed, heading over to her side. She tousles her hair slowly with her fingertips, then puts a knee on the other side of her to climb over. She fits herself between Clarisse and the wall, settling on her side with an arm across Clarisse's waist.
It feels so good, she doesn't even care if there's an audience.
He hand tries to shake, but Ellie curls it into a fist, getting a light grip on Clarisse's shirt until it calms.