(Closed) Do you feel home from all directions?

[armd]

WHO: Mine and yours
WHAT: Catch-all
WHEN: ~Harvestmere
WHERE: Various
NOTES: Closed starters (for now); if you're after something or someone, hit me up and I'll craft you something bespoke!

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[armd]

"Yeah. No magic though. We were fighting a creepy death cult called the Seraphites. And the infected obviously," wait does he know about that? It's hard to keep track of who knows about that, "But that was kinda secondary to the whole Scars — uh, Seraphites thing. We wanted control of the same city."

[dissolving]

"Infected," Table that, he's writing. "Sure. Sounds like you needed a damn break."

Creepy death cult, scars, and Abby may not be looking at him, but he's watching her face sidelong. Isn't only Abella came in here ugly.

"How'd you get involved with it all?"

[armd]

Without thinking about it she's brought her hand up, knuckles kneading into the crook of her neck while she talks. Cedric's gaze prickles on the side of her jaw. Abby's voice is level, almost brisk. "I was originally with another group working on a cure for the infected but we got attacked and lost most of our members, and our leader. We voted to formally disband. And then a friend of mine heard about the WLF, so we decided to throw in with them."

She finally looks at him and shrugs. "Was there for a couple years. Now I'm here."

[dissolving]

The chalk could scrape. He sets it down. Lot of skipped ground, lot of details he might pry. But these aren't histories, not really; not meant to be a list of facts alone.

"Been a lot of fighting," Been more than just that. The books, sure — the Infirmary, too. A cure. "Y'ever get sick of it?"

[armd]

Abby lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Yeah. When I got here I thought..."

She frowns and takes her hand from her neck, looking at her palm. This is embarrassing to admit but she's started saying it already. "I wasn't gonna join Forces at first. I didn't like who I was and the fighting made me that way. But that's what I'm the best at doing."

[dissolving]

"'S why I didn't," Passing admission. A different one than he gave Gwen, Benedict. Embarrassing, yeah: "Dunno if it changed much."

Didn't set down the sword. War goes on, whatever else you're trying to be.

"What would you do, if it weren't just best at?"

[armd]

Abby grunts, shifts her weight. Yeah. It's not like you can show up to a war and go hey, no thanks, I was already doing that back home and I don't like the way it made me feel so I'm gonna sit this one out okay? Okay.

"I dunno." She rolls her eyes. "I know what it sounds like, saying that I don't know if I have anything else going for me. But that's what it feels like."

[dissolving]

"There any time that it don't feel like that?" The vague wave of a hand. "Y'know, just when you're thinking on it least."

[armd]

"... Maybe when I'm in the infirmary?" She says it like a guess. One shoulder lifts in a shrug. "I'm good at first aid." And that's useful in a war.

Glancing at this chalk and board she adds a little suspiciously, "Are you writing all of this down?"

[dissolving]

"'S shorthand," Too obviously a joke to leave it there. His head cocks, chalk taps on slate. "I want to. Write it down, I mean. But seemed like y'were going somewhere."

"You're good at patching folks up. Did it before the fighting. Did y'like that Abby?"

[armd]

"Ha ha."

Did she like it? Honestly, "No. My dad was a surgeon. He wanted me to help him out but it's — so fucking stressful. I couldn't do what he did."

[dissolving]

"Maybe that's the story. That you did things when it was hard, and did 'em anyway. That's a skill, too."

A looping line across board.

"He real steady?"

[armd]

Abby shrugs but there's a tiny smile somewhere in the corner of her mouth. "Yeah. Pretty steady. I don't know how he did that without freaking the fuck out but I guess he was just used to it."

It doesn't hurt to talk about him like this any more. It's nice, actually.

[dissolving]

Push your arm in a chest, and you'll come out red-handed. Oughta be the same, shouldn't it? Taking folks apart. To one aim or another,

It's not. But Abby's smiling a bit. But the dead live on:

"What was his name?"

[armd]

"Jerry."

It's been a while since she's said his name; not that she hasn't been talking about him but that 'dad' still rolls off her tongue first, instinctively. And everybody in her circle back home already knew his name. She says, "Gerald," and smiles suddenly, wide. "And I'm Abigail."

[dissolving]

"Abigail," And find someone who wouldn't grin back – it'll take a bit – "That when you're in trouble?"

[armd]

"Yeah." How'd you guess? "Or if you're trying to annoy me."

Owen said it more than anyone, even more than her dad. She misses that about him, misses a lot like that, weird little things, like when he called her Abby-gail or automatically steadied her with his hand if she was getting too worked up about something in his presence.

She hooks a hand around her neck. "These are the kinds of questions I should be asking everybody else?" They're... personal. Not that that's a bad thing, but—

[dissolving]

"What d'you think?" His head tilts, "Is it too much on where someone's been? Instead of who they are now."

"When I die, it'll be more'n me goes with. Places. Folks." Memories transfigured for Fade. It doesn't disappear, he'd told Jayce. Only changes. "Reading the records, that helps us."

Lately he isn't so sure.

"Writing it, maybe that helps them."

[armd]

Abby shrugs. "Guess not, when you put it like that. They're both important." Though every rifter may not see it that way, it's good to built a complete picture. Leave a full reflection behind.

When she dies, Jerry goes with her. Games of chess in the sun. Her friends, and Lev and Yara — and the aquarium, the secret entrance you could only reach by swimming under and then up through one of the old exhibits, all of Owen's string lighting for Christmas, his stupid target practice stuff and the moonshine station set up in the corner. The spotted seal that visited... Abby is the only one left who knows about it, at least from her own perspective. Nobody else knows what it's like to be her. Writing everything down seems, suddenly, imperative.

She's grown quiet, a little pensive.

Eventually she nods, running her tongue over her teeth. "Okay."

Then, "You know, it's weird. When I first got here it felt like just a dream, but eventually it's going to be the other way around."

[dissolving]

"Feels like 'm sleepwalking sometimes." A steady dance away from the real. "But last time I went back, y'know. To the March... didn't feel no different. Same kinda hazy."

The other way around. Sure, eventually, maybe. Maybe somewhere will feel like waking.

"You ever try to read in a dream? The words change."

He tips over the slate to examine: Abby Anderson, no matter how she blinks or turns her head. Still just her.