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[At the few minutes mark.]
Abby? Abby, are you there? Clarisse isn't responding, I just- want to check in. You guys okay?
Abby? Abby, are you there? Clarisse isn't responding, I just- want to check in. You guys okay?
Abby.
[This time it's barely more than a whisper.]
Abby. I'm on my way.
[Tell her that, she wants to say. Instead:]
Just let me know. Let me know you're okay.
[This time it's barely more than a whisper.]
Abby. I'm on my way.
[Tell her that, she wants to say. Instead:]
Just let me know. Let me know you're okay.
[An envelope appears in Abby's assigned pigeon hole in the main hall. The envelope itself is quite plain, though the wax sealing it has been stamped with an official mark of Riftwatch—a hand with a rune in its palm. The contents of the envelope, which consist of a single page with excellently looping handwriting, reads:]
Miss Anderson,
You are formally and immediately required to supply a full written account of your whereabouts on the 19th day of Kingsway, 9:49. Please include remarks regarding your assigned duties, any transit to and from the Gallows, and notable persons who might corroborate your account should it be required.
Please submit your account to my desk in the Research division offices directly.
Wysteria A.P. de Foncé
Mediation Officer
Miss Anderson,
You are formally and immediately required to supply a full written account of your whereabouts on the 19th day of Kingsway, 9:49. Please include remarks regarding your assigned duties, any transit to and from the Gallows, and notable persons who might corroborate your account should it be required.
Please submit your account to my desk in the Research division offices directly.
Wysteria A.P. de Foncé
Mediation Officer
(A note shows up on Wysteria's desk a few hours later, folded over in half to hide its message. The paper is clearly from the corner of a page, torn off and reused. There is some irrelevant scribbling on the other side of it.
The bit for Wysteria says:)
Why
Abby Anderson
Forces
The bit for Wysteria says:)
Why
Abby Anderson
Forces
One fine autumn evening, very soon after this, Benedict finds Abby in the dining hall and sashays over to plunk his tray down across from her, quite decisively seating himself right after.
Then he takes a sip of water, eyeing her shrewdly over the rim of the tin cup, choosing his words.
Then he takes a sip of water, eyeing her shrewdly over the rim of the tin cup, choosing his words.
Ah. Abby doesn't say anything as he definitely claims a seat across from her, only continuing to pick pieces off a bread roll and pop them into her mouth one at a time. She does make a point out of checking him over though. Two arms, still? That's good.
So she's still feeling a little stung.
So she's still feeling a little stung.
By the time the ferry has hacked across the harbor, dusk has given way to a purplish early evening. Various lamps have been lit in public house windows; the merchant stalls have rolled up their mats and hurried off with their wares; and the crowding of hawkers and traders which stuffs the harbor front during daylight hours is diminishing with each passing hour as upstanding tradesman quit their work to hurry home or find their way to a drink. In their place, the sailors and fishermen and businessmen and women of somewhat sketchier repute bustle to fill various vacated posts. Here are is a roving knot of merchant sailors, hard handed and already stinking of ale, laughing loudly as they traipse up a stairwell; and here are two harried members of the Kirkwall guard peeling a wriggling pickpocket out of a gutter; and there pass a cadre of dwarven mercenaries, clinking in their ring mail and leathers as they walk ahead of a bobbing palanquin whose curtains have been drawn tight shut.
Desidério Amanza cuts a sharp little figure in this muggy scrapped light between intermittent lanterns as he and Abby climb the stairwell up out of the harbor front and into the warren-like tangle of streets which begin a half story above it. At some point between his arriving and today, he's found himself a smart coat more fit for the weather than what he'd arrived with. He's also wearing the long Riftwatch uniform cloak, jauntily tossed across one shoulder thanks to the fact that it is not, presently, pissing down buckets of rain on their heads.
Every step he takes clinks softly: the wear of leather and metal from the sword belt he wears, the rapier's pommel cajoling eagerly against a buckle or miscellaneous stud.
"I don't think I managed to catch your roommate's name," he is saying while rifling around in the interior pocket of his coat.
Desidério Amanza cuts a sharp little figure in this muggy scrapped light between intermittent lanterns as he and Abby climb the stairwell up out of the harbor front and into the warren-like tangle of streets which begin a half story above it. At some point between his arriving and today, he's found himself a smart coat more fit for the weather than what he'd arrived with. He's also wearing the long Riftwatch uniform cloak, jauntily tossed across one shoulder thanks to the fact that it is not, presently, pissing down buckets of rain on their heads.
Every step he takes clinks softly: the wear of leather and metal from the sword belt he wears, the rapier's pommel cajoling eagerly against a buckle or miscellaneous stud.
"I don't think I managed to catch your roommate's name," he is saying while rifling around in the interior pocket of his coat.
Stepping out into a narrow alleyway doesn't carry the same feeling as trying to cross lanes of traffic; it is busy but not in the same, urgent way it is during the day. Awkward silences don't exist when you can instantly tune into somebody else's conversation whether you'd like to or not and even loud, long belly-laughter bounces off the brick walls, creating a constant hum of noise and energy. Any conversation held has to raised slightly, just to be heard.
Which is why Abby says, "Huh?"
Then, "Oh," sighing, "Yeah. That's—her name's Clarisse. She's my best friend." But she's not wading into the contents of that embarrassing conversation, not if she can help it (even though she listened to the entire thing, both irritated and curious). 'Tis the season, and so she chose the smart, dark-blue, double-breasted jacket that Loki gifted her a couple of Satinalias ago to come out and meet Desidério in, because it's a nicer thing that she owns. A Riftwatch pin is affixed neatly in place.
She adds, gesturing ahead, "The place I was talking about is off the edge of Hightown. Wanna go up and circle back onto it?" It'd be thematically appropriate, given the name.
Which is why Abby says, "Huh?"
Then, "Oh," sighing, "Yeah. That's—her name's Clarisse. She's my best friend." But she's not wading into the contents of that embarrassing conversation, not if she can help it (even though she listened to the entire thing, both irritated and curious). 'Tis the season, and so she chose the smart, dark-blue, double-breasted jacket that Loki gifted her a couple of Satinalias ago to come out and meet Desidério in, because it's a nicer thing that she owns. A Riftwatch pin is affixed neatly in place.
She adds, gesturing ahead, "The place I was talking about is off the edge of Hightown. Wanna go up and circle back onto it?" It'd be thematically appropriate, given the name.
It's the evening after this bullshit and Benedict, having spent most of it likely hiding in his office, has descended to the dining hall, where he sits alone (as he often does, this in itself isn't unusual) and scowls at his food, periodically pushing his hair back from his face in a nervous gesture. He seems anxious and hurried, in the manner of one who is trying to sustain himself and then disappear again as quickly as possible.
If he came to the dining hall late hoping to miss most of the usual crowd he may be disappointed when Abby comes in, fresh from the baths, her hair drawn back in a tight, still-damp braid. There is a wet spot on the back of her shirt where the tail end rests against it.
Naturally, the moment she spots him, she takes her food over to the same table to she can sit down opposite from him.
"Hey."
He does seem anxious and hurried, but these are not unusual Benedict emotions, so.
Naturally, the moment she spots him, she takes her food over to the same table to she can sit down opposite from him.
"Hey."
He does seem anxious and hurried, but these are not unusual Benedict emotions, so.
So who was strongest?
Do you you think I always need to be the center of attention? And that me and Ellie talk about each other all the time?
[ He waits a day or two, and then he waits until he sees her without working very hard to seek her out—though he didn't have to walk past the training yard, to get where he's going. ]
Hello.
[ She doesn't have to stop what she's doing, unless she wants to. He's going to sit on a barrel a safe distance away regardless. ]
Hello.
[ She doesn't have to stop what she's doing, unless she wants to. He's going to sit on a barrel a safe distance away regardless. ]
(Abby pauses with a practice weapon held high over her head, some sort of hatchet; she brings it down hard into the target and leaves it there, stuck halfway in. Her hands go to her hips. Bastien is sitting on the barrel and seemingly waiting for something so she wipes her mouth on her arm and calls to him.) Is it your turn next?
(Ha ha
Anyway. She pauses to put her boot on the target and yank the hatchet out; for all that it was buried deep in there, this poses very little problem. She joins him at the barrel, trailing the weapon at her side, catching her breath. Hopefully he won't mind a sweaty conversation. Despite the joke, she can tell why he's here.)
You good?
(Ha ha
Anyway. She pauses to put her boot on the target and yank the hatchet out; for all that it was buried deep in there, this poses very little problem. She joins him at the barrel, trailing the weapon at her side, catching her breath. Hopefully he won't mind a sweaty conversation. Despite the joke, she can tell why he's here.)
You good?
[About one hour after Minrathous starts going to shit and concurrent with the start of this.]
Abby? Sound off, you okay?
Abby? Sound off, you okay?
Edited 2024-04-03 17:17 (UTC)
( the walrus is gone, and gwenaëlle sits with the note she finds in her pigeonhole for a time. smooths it out, sets it and the book down on coupe's letter still on her desk.
what a cunt. she misses him a great deal already. she sits there, understanding no nevarran at all, for quite some time before she reaches for her crystal, hanging from the chatelaine at her waist with her spectacles. )
Abby, you remember we were talking about books.
what a cunt. she misses him a great deal already. she sits there, understanding no nevarran at all, for quite some time before she reaches for her crystal, hanging from the chatelaine at her waist with her spectacles. )
Abby, you remember we were talking about books.
Edited 2024-04-11 21:23 (UTC)
Hey. Yeah.
(Books. They're a sensitive subject right now, what with the top half of the Templar tower blown to pieces and nobody being allowed inside. She actually has no idea what has happened to her stuff, that reading stack beside her bed. It's stupid to hang around and feel sad about something like that but she kinda does anyway.)
What about them?
(Books. They're a sensitive subject right now, what with the top half of the Templar tower blown to pieces and nobody being allowed inside. She actually has no idea what has happened to her stuff, that reading stack beside her bed. It's stupid to hang around and feel sad about something like that but she kinda does anyway.)
What about them?
[ where is abby staying now? with her friends, probably; where there's a roof, maybe. but for whatever reason, tonight, she's not. they're both stuck in a shitty little tent, on bedrolls too thin not to feel every last stone,
so he's awake. and he's sure she is. and it's 3 am or so when a very important question arises - ]
If you were a dracolisk, what kinda breath would you want?
so he's awake. and he's sure she is. and it's 3 am or so when a very important question arises - ]
If you were a dracolisk, what kinda breath would you want?
(Abby doesn't think she'd be able to sleep even if she were lying on a bed of feathers; everything is uneasy following the attack on the Gallows. Like what, realistically, exists to stop the Venatori from launching another ambush while they're picking up the remains of the towers? She keeps catching herself watching the skies. She's not the only one doing it.
Hearing a stupid question now is sweet relief from gnashing her teeth together in the darkness.)
Spaghetti. (It would be funny and getting pelted with boiling hot, wet spaghetti sounds fucking awful.) You?
Hearing a stupid question now is sweet relief from gnashing her teeth together in the darkness.)
Spaghetti. (It would be funny and getting pelted with boiling hot, wet spaghetti sounds fucking awful.) You?
How did you go about naming your dog?
[ —is probably a little shower-thoughts in energy, given the call comes in sometime during the evening, a few days after the Agonies. Impulse, either way. ]
[ —is probably a little shower-thoughts in energy, given the call comes in sometime during the evening, a few days after the Agonies. Impulse, either way. ]
Something about the night is twisted when Clarisse is away from the Gallows.
Ellie can never sleep, so she doesn't try. Instead she haunts the Gallows grounds, tracking the obvious shadow of the guard up on the walls, the one she recognizes instantly without considering what time it is or who's on shift.
Not that she didn't know exactly who was on shift tonight. Maybe that's not... better.
Ellie shows up like a ghost on the crenellations near the stairs, her hands bundled in her pockets and looking way too much like an intruder for comfort, especially in the dimly lit stairwell.
"S'up?" she says, which may be the least threatening greeting, and hopefully enough to tip Abby off that she isn't about to get murdered.
Ellie can never sleep, so she doesn't try. Instead she haunts the Gallows grounds, tracking the obvious shadow of the guard up on the walls, the one she recognizes instantly without considering what time it is or who's on shift.
Not that she didn't know exactly who was on shift tonight. Maybe that's not... better.
Ellie shows up like a ghost on the crenellations near the stairs, her hands bundled in her pockets and looking way too much like an intruder for comfort, especially in the dimly lit stairwell.
"S'up?" she says, which may be the least threatening greeting, and hopefully enough to tip Abby off that she isn't about to get murdered.
Abby swears and fumbles her mace, knocking the handle into the wall with a dull thunk. Straightening up she hisses, "I almost hit you."
It's the end of a long shift. She's been up here for hours; Forces has been spread thin across the Gallows and partly into Kirkwall, thanks to their recent disaster. Abby doesn't mind pulling her weight but guard duty is deeply fucking boring and officially her least favourite task. Grants so much time to stand around and think.
She squints at Ellie's shadow, only just visible where it hovers by the top of the stairs. "What are you doing up here?"
Ellie isn't taking her place for the rest of the night, is she? Abby's pretty much done her time.
It's the end of a long shift. She's been up here for hours; Forces has been spread thin across the Gallows and partly into Kirkwall, thanks to their recent disaster. Abby doesn't mind pulling her weight but guard duty is deeply fucking boring and officially her least favourite task. Grants so much time to stand around and think.
She squints at Ellie's shadow, only just visible where it hovers by the top of the stairs. "What are you doing up here?"
Ellie isn't taking her place for the rest of the night, is she? Abby's pretty much done her time.
"Abby. Hey, Abs."
The nudge to her shoulder is too worried to be gentle. It's more of a yank, and then another follows for good measure. As soon as she stirs, Clarisse draws her hand back, but she stays where she is, crouched next to Abby in her pajamas, her hair a mess.
It's morning. Barely. Pale light is bleeding in through the gap in the tent flap, and though they’re in Clarisse's new temperature-controlled tent, the quality of the light suggests fog and a slight chill in the air, at least until the sun gets a little stronger a couple hours from now.
It's not strange for Clarisse to be up this early. (Unfortunately.) It's not even weird for her to be waking everyone else up, on purpose or by accident.
What's strange is everything else, the sense of something being slightly off. Wrong.
The nudge to her shoulder is too worried to be gentle. It's more of a yank, and then another follows for good measure. As soon as she stirs, Clarisse draws her hand back, but she stays where she is, crouched next to Abby in her pajamas, her hair a mess.
It's morning. Barely. Pale light is bleeding in through the gap in the tent flap, and though they’re in Clarisse's new temperature-controlled tent, the quality of the light suggests fog and a slight chill in the air, at least until the sun gets a little stronger a couple hours from now.
It's not strange for Clarisse to be up this early. (Unfortunately.) It's not even weird for her to be waking everyone else up, on purpose or by accident.
What's strange is everything else, the sense of something being slightly off. Wrong.
It's like a switch is flipped on Abby: she was asleep and then isn't, from the moment Clarisse yanks her shoulder a second time. Her eyes open and squint through the dim light. "What," she whispers. She's not really looking at Clarisse, more holding utterly still and listening. It takes a moment to place herself. She stares at the canvas of the tent over her head, feels the lumpy bedroll underneath of her, hears Clarisse shifting her weight restlessly beside her. Later, she'll realise what she was listening intently for was the sound of the Venatori attacking—
But they aren't. She pushes up onto an elbow.
"What's going on?" Her voice is thick, tired.
It's only the two of them in the tent.
But they aren't. She pushes up onto an elbow.
"What's going on?" Her voice is thick, tired.
It's only the two of them in the tent.
[maybe like 20 minutes after the ellie-ing:]
Hey. Let me know if you want some other company. Or need some kind of distracting work to do. Or- [if she wants help tucking herself into a space in the library? but maybe don't suggest that outright] -anything.
Hey. Let me know if you want some other company. Or need some kind of distracting work to do. Or- [if she wants help tucking herself into a space in the library? but maybe don't suggest that outright] -anything.
When you got a moment,
[ when she can stand to have one, from the sound of things ]
Got a project to talk on. For the library.
[ when she can stand to have one, from the sound of things ]
Got a project to talk on. For the library.
Vanya and Abby don't train together so regularly that there's anything to reschedule; if they're both in the training yard at the same time, they tend to spar, but that's mainly routines that happen to sync sometimes. So after the crystal announcement about Ellie vanishing, he doesn't know if he'll see her more often or less. Either would make some sense.
(He'd, himself, gone up to the eyrie for a while after he heard. Just to be quiet, and maybe to sneak an extra treat to Artichoke as well as Pamplemousse.)
The first time he sees her, it's brief when he says "I'm sorry," quiet and low, but he doesn't linger over it. He mainly plans it to be a normal match, starting with his normal warm ups. He's working his way back after a the month of malnutrition due to demons, and he's getting back toward normal these days. Close enough he doesn't expect her to go easy on him, certainly.
(He'd, himself, gone up to the eyrie for a while after he heard. Just to be quiet, and maybe to sneak an extra treat to Artichoke as well as Pamplemousse.)
The first time he sees her, it's brief when he says "I'm sorry," quiet and low, but he doesn't linger over it. He mainly plans it to be a normal match, starting with his normal warm ups. He's working his way back after a the month of malnutrition due to demons, and he's getting back toward normal these days. Close enough he doesn't expect her to go easy on him, certainly.
Abby doesn't say anything. It's been not a whole week, though it has felt like longer than that, and the feelings haven't subsided — they haven't even made themselves truly known, really. Every day is a bit different. She's upset, often angry, almost spiteful. She's thought some deeply uncharitable shit about Ellie ever since her disappearance and, when she catches a glimpse of Clarisse looking upset or listless, she immediately feels guilty about that. It's hard to know how to feel.
Clearly other people think she should be told 'I'm sorry', like she's suffering an important loss, but that doesn't sit so well with her.
It's good that Vanya doesn't linger on the point. Abby came down here because she's tired of people looking at her with sympathy or trying to be nice to her. She wants to hit things with a fake weapon. It was going to be targets but it can be Vanya, that works too.
"First to five?" Hits, that is. She's got her training armor on and is bouncing her weight from foot to foot, restless.
Clearly other people think she should be told 'I'm sorry', like she's suffering an important loss, but that doesn't sit so well with her.
It's good that Vanya doesn't linger on the point. Abby came down here because she's tired of people looking at her with sympathy or trying to be nice to her. She wants to hit things with a fake weapon. It was going to be targets but it can be Vanya, that works too.
"First to five?" Hits, that is. She's got her training armor on and is bouncing her weight from foot to foot, restless.
No one has seen much of Edgard since he returned from his capture several months ago. He has thrown himself into work and kept to himself mostly. Until one day, he shows up extremely drunk to Abby's quarters and stumbles in through the door.
"You have to tell me!" He shouts at her, eyes glistening. "Have to. Please!"
It's unclear what he's asking for. He half sits half falls onto the floor and blinks, surprised at the perspective change. He hiccups.
"You have to tell me!" He shouts at her, eyes glistening. "Have to. Please!"
It's unclear what he's asking for. He half sits half falls onto the floor and blinks, surprised at the perspective change. He hiccups.
Abby actually smells him coming first and turns in her seat to greet him, both surprised and pleased, but the moment she sees him and takes in those glistening eyes, the red face and slightly sweaty sheen to him, she stands.
"Hey — holy shit, stop yelling at me."
He sits. Abby stares at him, then — fuck it — sits down on the ground too, opposite. "What is it? I don't know what you're talking about."
"Hey — holy shit, stop yelling at me."
He sits. Abby stares at him, then — fuck it — sits down on the ground too, opposite. "What is it? I don't know what you're talking about."
[ ooc; Shortly after this, in the Gallows. ]
[ There's thankfully nobody in the training yard this early in the morning, and therefore nobody can witness Hermione Granger sitting in front of a dummy, legs crossed, a tome open in her lap, attempting to wrap the knuckles of her right hand carefully.
According to the instructions of All You Need To K.O.: A Comprehensive and Brief Guide to Boxing, which is half written in Orlesian (she can just about half-understand those parts), she has to hold the end of the bandage in her fist, then roll it over her knuckles, and then -
The important thing, you understand, is that this is after punching Clarisse LaRue in the middle of a mission because the young woman had basically told her to. Did it awaken something in Hermione, the adrenaline rush of a well-aimed punch, the violence, the feeling of competence? Yes, sure, but so does incendio. This is just going to be back-up.
She's decided to take these matters into her own hands, here! (And has therefore found a book promising instructions on how to box, so she doesn't get put through the LaRue School Of 'Just Hit Me You Coward' for self-defence.)
(When have books ever lead her astray?) ]
...what the bloody hell is a pouce?
[ There's thankfully nobody in the training yard this early in the morning, and therefore nobody can witness Hermione Granger sitting in front of a dummy, legs crossed, a tome open in her lap, attempting to wrap the knuckles of her right hand carefully.
According to the instructions of All You Need To K.O.: A Comprehensive and Brief Guide to Boxing, which is half written in Orlesian (she can just about half-understand those parts), she has to hold the end of the bandage in her fist, then roll it over her knuckles, and then -
The important thing, you understand, is that this is after punching Clarisse LaRue in the middle of a mission because the young woman had basically told her to. Did it awaken something in Hermione, the adrenaline rush of a well-aimed punch, the violence, the feeling of competence? Yes, sure, but so does incendio. This is just going to be back-up.
She's decided to take these matters into her own hands, here! (And has therefore found a book promising instructions on how to box, so she doesn't get put through the LaRue School Of 'Just Hit Me You Coward' for self-defence.)
(When have books ever lead her astray?) ]
...what the bloody hell is a pouce?
(You mean there's nobody around to witness this... yet.
Several people frequent the training yard early in the morning. The best time for a run is when the sun is still struggling to get up; any later and it gets too hot and, most importantly, heading off to the baths later afterwards all but ensures you're gonna have a weird, crowded wash with your coworkers. Better to be up and at 'em. That's Abby this morning, turning toward the training yard to pass it on her second lap of the grounds.
From a distance she doesn't recognise her at first, but as she approaches and slows it becomes more obvious — she's also in Forces, Abby's seen her at Gwenaëlle's elbow a few times as she's disappeared through eluvians. They haven't spoken much.
She slows to a stop.
Hermione might have heard her coming but Abby makes a point out of scuffing her shoes against the ground anyway, reaching up to wipe her brow against the back of her bare arm with a sniff and loud exhale. So hopefully it isn't too surprising when she suddenly answers the question from the fence ringing the training yard, leaning on it for a moment.)
You know there are swords and stuff, right? You don't have to take a book into a fight. (It's a light heckling, okay. She's grinning.)
Several people frequent the training yard early in the morning. The best time for a run is when the sun is still struggling to get up; any later and it gets too hot and, most importantly, heading off to the baths later afterwards all but ensures you're gonna have a weird, crowded wash with your coworkers. Better to be up and at 'em. That's Abby this morning, turning toward the training yard to pass it on her second lap of the grounds.
From a distance she doesn't recognise her at first, but as she approaches and slows it becomes more obvious — she's also in Forces, Abby's seen her at Gwenaëlle's elbow a few times as she's disappeared through eluvians. They haven't spoken much.
She slows to a stop.
Hermione might have heard her coming but Abby makes a point out of scuffing her shoes against the ground anyway, reaching up to wipe her brow against the back of her bare arm with a sniff and loud exhale. So hopefully it isn't too surprising when she suddenly answers the question from the fence ringing the training yard, leaning on it for a moment.)
You know there are swords and stuff, right? You don't have to take a book into a fight. (It's a light heckling, okay. She's grinning.)
I've been thinking about what you said.
[ Months ago. ]
That maybe rifters are not here by chance or to save us all, but you're here because it is what you need. Do you feel that? That it is better you are here, I mean. For you.
[ Months ago. ]
That maybe rifters are not here by chance or to save us all, but you're here because it is what you need. Do you feel that? That it is better you are here, I mean. For you.
( following this: )
Delivered to Abby's cubby are a small book of drawings, done on the backs of old pamphlets and tied together with string. They depict the journey of a very brave dog, named Dog, who flies out of the sun to eat demons and put out fires. His paw is green and magic, and so is his poop.
The artist-slash-author, TONI age SIX, seems to think this last bit is quite funny. There's a whole page about it.
Cedric's added a note at the end: FOR YOUR PERSONAL LIBRARY
Edited 2024-10-30 06:49 (UTC)
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