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Really. We can work on it together, yeah? Take me a bit to put some in,

[ but maybe, by then, the wound'll be a bit less fresh ]

Let you know when I do.

They sit together like that in silence for a while. Rubbing Clarisse's back helps Abby too because all she has to do is concentrate on that movement, keep it going, slow and even. Up and down. She can feel Clarisse's breathing starting to slow under her palm and if she thinks about that, lets it fill up her mind, she can walk herself back from the edge of needing to scream.

She tunes back in inelegantly, hand stalling but remaining, tethered, to Clarisse. Oh, fuck. "Yeah.

"Tomorrow." There's no way she could figure something like that out right now. She eyes Ellie's bag where she left it, sitting in the tent. Opens her mouth to tell Clarisse that she went through it before and took things out of it to keep, that she can have the rest — and closes it again. She doesn't need to know that. And what if she asks Abby to give it back? She has the better claim to it but Abby feels oddly possessive over the Ellie that existed before she came through the rift, even the Ellie that, in the early days of them being here together, stabbed her in the marketplace.

She has so few things to remind her of it. Scars and old notebook pages.

"We'll figure it out tomorrow."

She huffs out her nose when he won't retaliate, when he steps back to draw her forward again, and part of her can see what he's doing in baiting her over and over, but a bigger part of her doesn't care. The faster she strikes him the closer he gets to hitting her back and actually starting a bout, right?

"Come on," she mutters, watching him keep on his toes, waiting.

A few more seconds respite — then she lunges again, the same as before. Mace back, behind her body, starting to swing forward.

Clarisse lets the air out of her lungs in a tired sigh. "... Yeah."

In a way, it's a relief being given permission to put those things off until the next day. She would have done them tonight if Abby had wanted to but the thought of having to divvy up Ellie's things makes her feel like throwing up. So does the way she'd brought up the idea almost as soon as she'd finished crying, like some fucking vulture.

It's just that she doesn't know what else to do, and if she's not doing something, Clarisse doesn't know how to handle herself. She opens her mouth a couple times and closes it again, feeling like she should say something to Abby but not sure what.

Slowly, she extracts her hand from Abby's, though she doesn't try to move away from the palm resting on her back. Secretly, she hopes Abby keeps it there. The weight of it is warm and comforting.

"Kind of wish we had some Ambien right now." As an attempt at humor, it mostly falls flat. And she's not even a little bit kidding, anyway. She would absolutely say yes to being unconscious for a while right now.

Expecting it this time, he takes the opening. Most men his height are used to being taller than their opponents, and he was no exception when he was younger, but he's learned a few more strategies in the meantime. He lunges, shield up to catch the place he expects the mace to be. She's created an opening with the swing where he can hit her lower abdomen; if she's nimble enough to change course, her blow will necessarily lose its power, and if she's not, he's likely to get his hit in, even as she jars his arm. It does, however, mean sacrificing his own mobility for a moment if he's misjudged the arc of her blow.

She keeps it there, not in a firm grip, clinging, but gentle, moving every so often in a slow circle; it's helping her as much. Feels good to move, to feel like she's helping in some way, even if all she's doing is rubbing Clarisse's back, keeping them linked. It's a reminder, a reassurance. I'm still here. I won't go.

She laughs, once. It sounds flat, fake. "God, yeah. Same.

"Want me to punch you in the head until you're out cold? I'd do it."

You know, as a friend.

Nah, Abby doesn't do nimble, no precise moment. Once she's moving forward, with energy and purpose, that's the way she's going. She sees every hit through for better or for worse and so she collides with his shield, feeling the block ring satisfactorily down both her arms. Her hands sting on the handle of the mace. She grins, pressing her teeth together until they hurt.

"Are you gonna do anything? Or block me until I give up?"

It wrenches a shaky, morbid laugh out of her, too. "Don't tempt me."

Clarisse sniffs. She's not really crying anymore, but every so often her chest hitches. She pinches the bridge of her nose and blinks, hard. Her eyes feel swollen, scratchy.

It's dark out now, helped along by the rainstorm, but not that late, all things considered. She'd never go to bed this early normally, but what else are they supposed to do? Go get dinner, and have to explain why it looks like they've both been crying? Potentially field some awkward question about where Ellie is? Her stomach flips, and she bites down on her lower lip, hard.

"Did you eat?" she asks Abby, finally. "There's food in..." Well. In Ellie's bag.

Abby's lip twitches but she doesn't say anything more, falling silent to listen to the rain on the tent and Clarisse sniffling, her own heart thumping in her ears. There's so much to think about... where the fuck does she even start, with all of this? She kind of wants to lie down and curl up.

It's a relief when Clarisse says something and she has to focus on that instead.

"No." It makes her realise that she's actually really fucking hungry, and that she hasn't eaten anything all day. Too busy looking, too busy worrying, waiting for everything to turn out in the end. She didn't even pretend to finish off that bowl of whatever she made Clarisse eat in the morning, she left it there at the table missing three big bites.

She looks at the bag for a long moment before she gets to her feet to go retrieve it from the corner of the tent. "She won't mind." She doesn't need it any more. Survivor rules. Abby opens it up like she's never done it before, extracts some fruit and bread, something wrapped in wax paper that smells sweet; she tosses the little package to Clarisse.

Abby says she won't mind, but it still feels like stealing to Clarisse as she watches Abby go and get Ellie's bag from the corner, open it up, and take out the food. She doesn't even hesitate.

Clarisse has been to Seattle. She remembers the way they went out and picked over dead people's stuff, and that it was normal, but she hadn't known those people and hadn't cared about them, which had made it easy. Ellie's not dead. She didn't bequeath them her stuff, or anticipate last night when she went to bed that the following evening Clarisse and Abby would open her bag and dig through it for food. It feels gross and wrong to be doing this. Clarisse catches the package Abby tosses her way, on instinct more than anything, but doesn't unwrap it yet. It smells like something sweet inside.

Ellie wouldn't mind. Ellie shared food with her all the time. Sometimes she brought food along just to give to Clarisse, if they were out for the day, because she knew that Clarisse would get cranky and annoying if she didn't eat something. For all she knows, this little package of wax paper could have been intended for her.

Telling herself this, she slowly unwraps it. There are three cookies inside, hard biscuits with raisins baked into them. She takes one and offers the rest of the package to Abby.

"Trade you for some of the bread." She's not very hungry, though. Her stomach feels like it's all knotted up. Still, she'll eat if Abby does, just to keep herself going.

All Abby takes is the food. She doesn't keep rooting around, once she's got these things and tossed the third one to Clarisse she puts the pack back down where she found it in the corner. If this were reversed — if she left and Ellie had her stuff she'd do the same thing, Abby has no doubt.

She's bringing Ellie's apple to her mouth and thinking about what she would have found in Abby's bag, what she'd be standing here eating now. Bread and nuts. Oh, and that jerky she got from the Kirkwall markets last week.

She's gotta be making a face while she eats but Clarisse hasn't pointed it out.

"Sure."

Abby comes to sit. She takes the package and hands her the bread in return, glancing into the wax paper wrapping, lifting it up to sniff. Then she sighs. "I hate raisin cookies." Like Ellie did this on purpose, to spite her from beyond the rift.

Clarisse is tearing the bread in half and doesn't say anything until she's finished and can set one piece aside for Abby. Then, "Ellie doesn't like those either."

She lifts the cookie to her mouth and takes a bite out of it, but it's clear her heart isn't in it.

They agreed on dealing with it tomorrow, but she's still thinking about what else is in the bag and what they'll end up doing with Ellie's stuff. Most of it will get absorbed back into Riftwatch, she guesses, like any extra supplies. Weapons. The knife she made Ellie she doesn't want going to anyone else, but she doesn't want it for herself, either.

This sucks. Part of her hates how unfair it is that she's going to have to figure this out. The other part of her wouldn't trust anyone else to do it. Except for Abby, but she's not sure how much Abby will want to involve herself in dealing with Ellie's things.

Abby watches her take a bite out of the cookie and then she looks away, down at her hands instead. She takes the bread that Clarisse ripped off for her and puts it absentmindedly into her mouth, ignoring the dull ache when she clenches her teeth down to bite through the crust. Her stomach feels like it's in her shoes.

It's just gonna be like this now, huh. Everything is gonna remind her of Ellie one way or the other until enough time passes that it doesn't. Even shitty cookies aren't safe. It feels a little like she has a gut wound, like she's gonna be working around it for a while, instinctively moving her body in a different way to protect the part that's hurt.

Wags has put his chin on her knee in an attempt to commiserate — or maybe he just wants some of the bread.

"Wanna stay up and just... watch the rain?"

She doesn't know what else to do. There is nothing else to do right now except wait until tomorrow, when they can start doing something about this.

Clarisse sees Abby look away, and the bite of cookie feels like it turns into a dry lump in the back of her throat. She swallows it down, feeling even worse now. She hadn't meant to make Abby feel bad, it had just... been the truth. But she shouldn't have said anything about Ellie. She's always saying things, never thinking about them first.

She forces herself to eat the bread, at least. It's better than nothing. And tomorrow she'll make herself eat breakfast even if she doesn't want that, either. That's step one.

Unfortunately, step one being several hours in the future means they're still living in step zero right now, so it's a relief when Abby finally speaks up.

"Yeah. I don't think I could sleep." Maybe if they sit watching the rain long enough, it will sort of... lull them?

"Neither." It's gonna be a shitty first night, but you only have to do the first night once. "C'mon."

She's getting up, grabbing her bedroll and bringing it over to the lip of the tent, pulling back the front of it so that it exposes the rain fall. Still loud and heavy but there's no wind, so it comes straight down. She parks it on the bedroll, turned to face the outside. This way they don't have to sit inside the tent and feel how empty it is, or have to look at Ellie's bag slumped in the corner. They can sit here instead and stare at the rain until it stops or until they finally get tired and have to go to bed. Whatever comes first.

[ 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?

(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.)

[ Oh, she was sort of hoping this would be early enough that people prone to be out there running with the crack of dawn (you know the type), would not be around for a while to witness Hermione fumble with wrist wraps.

She does not want to be laughed at. It was hard enough (of a sort) to admit that she wanted to learn to punch better, if she was meant to have a back-up plan aside from magic in the first place, but to be reminded that she's short, human, and fragile-looking? Thank you, no.

She misses, therefore, that she has been perceived, and nearly jumps out of her skin at the heckle. Does keep her wrap in place with - ironically, the pouce - her thumb, and looks up. ]

You don't know how good my throwing aim might be. [ Arms. And a familiar face, albeit one who she can't put a name to yet, on account of how busy she's kept herself since leaving quarantine.

Busy work is, of course, the most efficient way to deal with one's trauma. ]

I'm not sure I could pick up any of the great swords or axes, let alone swing them.

True. But you'd have to... put a strap on it, so you could get it back after you throw it. Or take a whole series with you. (Har har.

Please know she's laughing at this imaginary scenario and not at Hermione directly. To her, it looks like Hermione is getting ready to shadowbox that dummy. This isn't unusual Forces behaviour.)

When I first got here I wanted to be a sword fighter. It's a lot harder than it looks. (What it looks, is cool. It ended up being deceptively fast and fluid, two things that Abby is not. Not with arms like these.)

I have ways to get it back. [ There's a practical thought. Throw a book, accio it back. There's a beat, and then she gives the tome in her lap a gentle tap, almost as if promising I'd never throw you, don't worry. ]

Ah - well. [ She lifts her book enough for the title - in large, gaudy and gilded font - to be legible. ] I've decided to start small. You're a Rifter, too?

[ She gets up from the grass, abandoning all pretense of trying to wrap her knuckles now, in favour of holding the closed book in one hand and holding her right one out for a handshake. ]

Hermione Granger.

(Squinting at the cover gets a scoff out of her but she doesn't elaborate, instead extending her arm for a shake. Feels good, feels normal. Her grip is solid but not painful or overpowering.) Abby Anderson. Yeah, I'm a Rifter too.

D'you want somebody to spar with? (It's time to make it known she has noticed the knuckle wraps.) It'd be easier than punching that thing and getting no feedback.

(Abby's warmed up already and, now, officially interested. Still leaning over the fence, but clearly ready to hop it if she needs to. Hermione is only gonna get so far with the reading; soon, she'll need actual practice.)

[ Earth, possibly - where and when are mysteries, for now, parked to the side in favour of answering the question about sparring.

Punch me. How am I supposed to help you learn to punch better if I don't know how bad you punch now? ]

Uhm - It's not a no, but I am currently trying to figure out how to properly wrap my knuckles so I don't bruise or break them? I kind of need the use of my hands, and -

[ She is rambling, and that's not really the reason she's saying not right now. ] When you say spar, you don't mean tell me to punch you to see how hard I can hit, right? Because I've been through that with Clarisse already and I think might've almost broken her nose. Do you know Clarisse?

(Abby opens her mouth and closes it again when Hermione barrels on — and her nose scrunches up in amusement. God, that is so Clarisse.) You hit her in the face? (She should probably defend her, right, except that it's really funny and she's obviously having trouble not laughing.) Wow. Guess she underestimated you.

(+1 approval.)

I know how to wrap knuckles. D'you want help?

[ Oh, she can tell - having been the perpetrator of similar amused looks and bitten back laughter before, she can tell that Abby is amused and that is endearing. +2 approval, there. ]

More like she told me to.

[ She doesn't bother to say I am not a violent person, because it'd be a lie. Several giant spider nests in Thedas and harpies from Akhuras could confirm that she very much is, and there is the fact that she joined Forces to stay on the front lines.

But Clarisse did order her to punch her, in Hermione's defense.

She looks desolately at her failed attempt to learn how to wrap her knuckles with a book, and then at Abby, nodding. ] Please and thank you. Can you teach me how to do it, also?

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.

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/handwaves in action meet-cute

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crystal.