[open-ish] limping from the darkness

[thereneverwas]

WHO: Barrow + you (with a couple closed starters)
WHAT: May catch-all
WHEN: after the Gallows attack
WHERE: hither and thither
NOTES: feel free to wildcard or hit me up for a prompt if you'd like one!

I. Cleanup Cleanup Everybody Everywhere

The work is seemingly unending, and Barrow swears the debris that needs hauling and arranging and rehauling has started multiplying like rabbits when he's not looking.
Being of a persuasion more geared toward physical labor, he's doing his best to oversee those less inclined to move heavy things around, coaching and helping and cleaning and not getting enough rest and then doing it all over again the next day. He tries to keep things upbeat, with a song or a joke here and there; he's not the only one struggling, after all.

When not throwing himself into the effort of cleaning the rubble of the fallen towers, Barrow can sometimes be found relaxing in the chair he salvaged from the attack: his King of the Training Yard pavilion was decimated but small victories deserve to be celebrated. He smokes a cigarette, hums to himself, stares into the middle distance, and is happy to make conversation pleasant or otherwise with whomever takes him up on it.

II. Camping

No stranger to roughing it on the road, Barrow has made his home in a shared tent around where the training yard used to be. He's only found in it when he's sleeping, really, but the usual entourage of cats hangs around, and it's audible to all when he and Lazar are bickering.
Or snoring.
(loudly)

III. Wildcard

[fingerguns]


for Research nerds

With the workrooms back up and running at least in a limited sense, there's one day mid-month that Barrow pokes his head into the door and scans the occupants.

"I know you're busy," he announces to anyone listening, "but if you've a moment, I'd like your thoughts on something."

Comments

[succise]

"Yes," she says impatiently, and pauses because she is waiting for him to tell her his name since she just admitted to not knowing it. Nothing comes. Vega's hands descend to her hips.

Fine! Let the record show she tried to be polite.

"I found the spot where my room used to be but I can't lift the rest of the debris. Will you move it for me?"

[thereneverwas]

He balks at that, blinking slowly, like he isn't quite sure what she's asking.

"Something in particular you're looking for?" he asks, resting his elbow on the haft of the practice poleaxe he's been using to lever the debris.

[succise]

"Yes." She doesn't elaborate but draws her arms tighter about herself, squeezing, holding herself in place. Then she takes an ungainly step off the bit of debris she was addressing him from, not bothering to take her skirts and hold them up away from her boots. What's the point of it? Everything is already dirty. Everything already has holes in it. Doesn't matter if she rips a hem now when there is already a tear in her sleeve and one by her knee.

"Come on," she calls. She is going to lead him towards it.

[thereneverwas]

A little sigh, a glance of supplication to the heavens, and Barrow trundles after her. This had better be good.

[succise]

It is good. Or, rather, bad: the spot where her room used to be was in the air, five floors up the mage tower. Now her room is on the ground, the bed frame cracked in two and pinned beneath large slabs of shattered rock; she did not bring him here for her bed. Vega clambers over the debris, crab-shuffling until she finds what she's looking for: something that was a bookshelf and is now mostly wood. There are some books scattered around, many fragments of loose pages underfoot.

Vega's voice is tight. "Can you help with this? Please."

There is a boulder there. Currently it pins a handsome book to the ground by its spine.

[thereneverwas]

It hurts to see the tower this way, ruined belongings scattered amongst the rubble. Barrow can't be too annoyed; this girl is new, she isn't used to the sort of things they deal with here, and she's clearly lost something of considerable importance.

He nods mutely, picking his way over to press his weight against the boulder. He'd never be able to actually pick it up, but he can budge it enough to take some of the pressure off the book, to which he gives a quick nod-- do it now-- when he sees a chance for Vega to grab it.

[succise]

She sees what he's doing and stills, waiting — her hand darts out like a snake the moment he's pushed the weight of the rock off her prize and she grabs it, gasping in dismay when some of the pages come out, torn from the binding. She gathers it all up, every last bit.

"Oh," she inhales, a wobbly gasp. Her eyes are very big. "Well! Thank you. That's all."

[thereneverwas]

After he's released the boulder, a slight wrinkle in Barrow's brow conveys quiet concern for Vega and her book, even as her words of dismissal grate on his pride.

She's young, she's new, they've been through a lot, and so forth.

"Just shout if there's anything else," he offers, rather than insert himself in her business.