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!
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."
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."
"'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?"
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.
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."
"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—
"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."
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."
"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.
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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."
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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?"
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"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."
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Glancing at this chalk and board she adds a little suspiciously, "Are you writing all of this down?"
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"You're good at patching folks up. Did it before the fighting. Did y'like that Abby?"
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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."
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A looping line across board.
"He real steady?"
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It doesn't hurt to talk about him like this any more. It's nice, actually.
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It's not. But Abby's smiling a bit. But the dead live on:
"What was his name?"
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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."
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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—
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"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."
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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."
no subject
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.