I already gave you everything |
There really is nothing in there left to save. |
Edited 2015-03-14 21:07 (UTC)
[ He should have expected that he would see her again. She has a habit of turning up when he would have her anywhere else but at his side, when he is the most vulnerable. But the moment he hears the click of her footfalls behind him he knows. His shoulders tighten, the line of his body becoming harsh and unyielding. The wine he has drunk rolls rebelliously in his stomach and he has to clench his fingers to stop them from shaking. The stretch from the tavern to the garrison now feels eternal as though his feet are stuck. It has always hurt walking away from her. His chin tilts as though he would look back at her, but he doesn't move. He does not want to see her. ]
Anne. [ His voice does not tremble. He is glad for that. ] What is it you want?
[ For all that he remains neutral he cannot help the sharp of unhappiness fall into his words. ] Have you come to bribe me once more? Is there another strip of flesh you can pull from my bones?
[ He turns finally, movements clumsy as he looks at her under the light of the moon, his expression wounded even though he would like to stare at her blankly. He cannot hide it any more. ] What? Speak. I already tire of this.
Anne. [ His voice does not tremble. He is glad for that. ] What is it you want?
[ For all that he remains neutral he cannot help the sharp of unhappiness fall into his words. ] Have you come to bribe me once more? Is there another strip of flesh you can pull from my bones?
[ He turns finally, movements clumsy as he looks at her under the light of the moon, his expression wounded even though he would like to stare at her blankly. He cannot hide it any more. ] What? Speak. I already tire of this.
[ Eames collects information about Arthur like each piece is a rare artefacts, things to be stolen and coveted, hidden away so that he can take them out and look at them when he really, truly needs it. Because while they don't necessarily get along - he says necessarily but he knows Arthur's own feelings are more violent on the subject - he can appreciate the aesthetic of them. They're precious, and while he doesn't trade in them he enjoys having the monopoly.
The dream they're in is crystal clear, clean lines of hotel walls and corridors that feel as if they could go on forever and ever. The wallpaper matches the pattern of Arthur's tie, the tiles in the floor the precise angle of his pocket square. There are patterns upon patterns and everything spins in identical formation. He feels dizzy with it, like he's living inside a kaleidoscope.
Arthur never speaks until he's spoken to and Eames very much wants to needle him down, ruin the pristine nature. ]
If you ever stop being a criminal at least you've got a career in decorating for WASPS. [ Everything is neat, in it's place. It's annoying as hell. ]
The dream they're in is crystal clear, clean lines of hotel walls and corridors that feel as if they could go on forever and ever. The wallpaper matches the pattern of Arthur's tie, the tiles in the floor the precise angle of his pocket square. There are patterns upon patterns and everything spins in identical formation. He feels dizzy with it, like he's living inside a kaleidoscope.
Arthur never speaks until he's spoken to and Eames very much wants to needle him down, ruin the pristine nature. ]
If you ever stop being a criminal at least you've got a career in decorating for WASPS. [ Everything is neat, in it's place. It's annoying as hell. ]
4 broody- I guess it's an alien planet with a dead civilization
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
worthyourwhile
2015-03-17 01:33 am (UTC)(link)
Edited (sorry that was HUGE- I MADE IT WORSE) 2015-03-17 01:38 (UTC)
[ It's been a year since he signed his soul over to the devil. A year since he said yes to a woman in a tavern who spoke to him of his brother. A year since he woke up only to be hurtled down from open doors and towards a snowing planet. He has long since retired his cloak, his uniform, instead he wears softer leather that keeps him safe from anything, armour that can spring up from a touch, shirts that have strange restrictions to them. He still talks like he's from the very distant past, still regards many things with suspicion, but like his clothing things have changed.
His acceptance of some people in his life for once.
This planet is strange, cold, the skeleton of something that might once have been. They house themselves in the wooden splinters of old homes, train out in the streets strewn with broken glass, watched only by the religious idols left behind by the people who might have been. Athos feels the strangeness creep up inside him day by day, a feeling of metal at his spine. He tries to stamp it out as he enters the tavern, the lurid CDC lamps strange against stained walls, the liquids in the bottles glowing idly. Athos doesn't stop to look around, just moves to where the darkhaired woman sits and takes a stool beside her. ]
Madame.
His acceptance of some people in his life for once.
This planet is strange, cold, the skeleton of something that might once have been. They house themselves in the wooden splinters of old homes, train out in the streets strewn with broken glass, watched only by the religious idols left behind by the people who might have been. Athos feels the strangeness creep up inside him day by day, a feeling of metal at his spine. He tries to stamp it out as he enters the tavern, the lurid CDC lamps strange against stained walls, the liquids in the bottles glowing idly. Athos doesn't stop to look around, just moves to where the darkhaired woman sits and takes a stool beside her. ]
Madame.
[ It happens so fast at first he doesn't notice it. One moment he's standing in the kitchen, stirring two mugs of tea with a dainty little spoon that can't possibly belong to Lucy, teasing her gayly through the open room. The next there is a stillness to the air that is punctuated only by the slamming of the bathroom door. He doesn't flinch, he's used to loud noises, but ridiculously he keeps stirring, his thoughts struggling to catch up. It takes a beat, then two before he's letting the spoon drop wetly to the counter and turning on his heel.
( This isn't the first time. He knows that. He spent too much time looking into her before he came back not to know what damage there is. But idly, stupidly, he thought that would all change with him back in her life. They had been best friends, surely that had to count for something.
He was fooling himself, because beneath everything has always been his guilt at leaving her behind, and beneath even that there's a darkness inside of her he can't touch. )] Lucy?
[ He moves towards the door but doesn't try to open it. He can't hear her through it but he knows she's there. ] Darling? Are you all right? [ He doesn't know what to do. Nothing he's ever done has prepared him for this. He's usually the one leaving psychological scars, not the one trying to fix it. ]
Love, can you open the door?
( This isn't the first time. He knows that. He spent too much time looking into her before he came back not to know what damage there is. But idly, stupidly, he thought that would all change with him back in her life. They had been best friends, surely that had to count for something.
He was fooling himself, because beneath everything has always been his guilt at leaving her behind, and beneath even that there's a darkness inside of her he can't touch. )] Lucy?
[ He moves towards the door but doesn't try to open it. He can't hear her through it but he knows she's there. ] Darling? Are you all right? [ He doesn't know what to do. Nothing he's ever done has prepared him for this. He's usually the one leaving psychological scars, not the one trying to fix it. ]
Love, can you open the door?
Edited (wtf self) 2015-03-24 18:33 (UTC)
[ He's spent far too long staring at the same patch of roof in his room, his brows furrowed slightly as he breathes in and out. The sun has slowly crept along the ceiling until the patches of shadow start to reach and extend, creeping to the edges of his mattress. He feels blank, as though everything inside of him as hollowed out. Even Cabeswater feels quiet, nothing but whispers at the very edge of his consciousness.
There's so much he could be doing, homework he should be writing, or more research for Ronan, or whatever the hell is on his plate. But he can't force himself to move. He only shifts his line of sight when he feels a change in the air. Noah stands at the edge of his bed and Adam feels the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. ]
Hey. [ He lifts a hand lightly, waggling his fingers. ] Are you okay?
There's so much he could be doing, homework he should be writing, or more research for Ronan, or whatever the hell is on his plate. But he can't force himself to move. He only shifts his line of sight when he feels a change in the air. Noah stands at the edge of his bed and Adam feels the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. ]
Hey. [ He lifts a hand lightly, waggling his fingers. ] Are you okay?
[ Things change after she knows the truth. The two sisters become closer in ways Anna never thought could happen. They talk more, hang out more, Elsa doesn't close doors in her face and Anna finds her every morning to gossip and laugh and pull her sister into her conversations. They eat together, read together, sometimes even nap together. Or at least, Anna does while Else has to deal with the whole running the Kingdom business. She'd feel bad but she knows her sister is far more suited to being a Queen than she ever was.
She'd have the people pay the taxes in chocolate. It wouldn't be good.
But one day Elsa puts her papers down and the pair of them bundle up in fur coats and scarves and mittens and set out over Arendelle, boots crunching in the natural snow. ]
So the woods, huh? [ Anna skips after Elsa, her breath coming out in bursts of fog. ] What's in the woods? Because I can deal with rock trolls, Pappy's totally the coolest, but if you're taking me to visit Marshmallow then I have to say the last time wasn't great considering the whole roaring and throwing me and Kristoff and Olaf off the mountain thing. I mean I'm sure he's a sweetheart. Buuut.
[ She's rambling. ] Why are we going into the woods?
She'd have the people pay the taxes in chocolate. It wouldn't be good.
But one day Elsa puts her papers down and the pair of them bundle up in fur coats and scarves and mittens and set out over Arendelle, boots crunching in the natural snow. ]
So the woods, huh? [ Anna skips after Elsa, her breath coming out in bursts of fog. ] What's in the woods? Because I can deal with rock trolls, Pappy's totally the coolest, but if you're taking me to visit Marshmallow then I have to say the last time wasn't great considering the whole roaring and throwing me and Kristoff and Olaf off the mountain thing. I mean I'm sure he's a sweetheart. Buuut.
[ She's rambling. ] Why are we going into the woods?
[ It's been seventy years since the first time they met, since a kid called Bucky Barnes looked across a crowded room at a sharp man in a suit with the wickedest smile he'd ever seen. Seventy years since his stomach was a mix of fear and longing, a boy about to go to war and wanting to feel someone pressed up against him one last time. Seventy years since a car failed to fly and Bucky had abandoned two beautiful young woman, had found Howard drowning his sorrows in a dirty and questionable bar and kissed him stupid in the alley outside after.
It's been seventy years and they both have blood still rushing through their veins.
The Expo is a little more classy this time round. It's full of people in glitzy clothes, sleek dresses and fancy suits and jewellery that could have bought half of Brooklyn back in the day, the press with their cameras that set the whole place glittering with little lights. The booze is flowing more now too, a world that is no longer shaking off a depression that crippled it. James has pretty much tried all of the cocktails on the list, the glittering and dimante'd young thing who served them to him flirting up a storm. He indulges her until the show starts and then slips off into the crowd.
He's not even supposed to be here. Actually, he's definitely supposed to be here. Howard had invited him specifically, all full of joy and enthusiasm that had burst from him in the days leading up until Fury had come and whisked James away to use his black kevlar and deadly grip. It's only luck that he's back now and Howard definitely doesn't expect him. So James watches from where he can't be seen, a smile on his face as the show gets under way. Howard gives as good as he can but there's something off about it, there's less about him than their should be. It makes something sad twist inside of him, sad and a little bit sorry that he didn't get back earlier, that the surprise could have been more. Because it's important. James knows why the minute he sees the car lift from the stage, sleek and beautiful and gorgeous. It's been exactly seventy years and the car can fly.
He doesn't even care about the spectacle he makes as he pushes through the crowd, leaving people whispering angrily about his rudeness, or openly curious about him as he passes. James salutes the bouncer cheerfully as he he jumps on to the stage, grinning at the dawning understanding on his partner's face. It's easy to pull Howard into his arms then, dipping him with a smirk just before he lands a kiss on him. He can hear some people whooping, can see the burst of light from cell phones at the corner of his eyes. The best thing is the delighted shock on Howard's face though. ]
About damn time.
It's been seventy years and they both have blood still rushing through their veins.
The Expo is a little more classy this time round. It's full of people in glitzy clothes, sleek dresses and fancy suits and jewellery that could have bought half of Brooklyn back in the day, the press with their cameras that set the whole place glittering with little lights. The booze is flowing more now too, a world that is no longer shaking off a depression that crippled it. James has pretty much tried all of the cocktails on the list, the glittering and dimante'd young thing who served them to him flirting up a storm. He indulges her until the show starts and then slips off into the crowd.
He's not even supposed to be here. Actually, he's definitely supposed to be here. Howard had invited him specifically, all full of joy and enthusiasm that had burst from him in the days leading up until Fury had come and whisked James away to use his black kevlar and deadly grip. It's only luck that he's back now and Howard definitely doesn't expect him. So James watches from where he can't be seen, a smile on his face as the show gets under way. Howard gives as good as he can but there's something off about it, there's less about him than their should be. It makes something sad twist inside of him, sad and a little bit sorry that he didn't get back earlier, that the surprise could have been more. Because it's important. James knows why the minute he sees the car lift from the stage, sleek and beautiful and gorgeous. It's been exactly seventy years and the car can fly.
He doesn't even care about the spectacle he makes as he pushes through the crowd, leaving people whispering angrily about his rudeness, or openly curious about him as he passes. James salutes the bouncer cheerfully as he he jumps on to the stage, grinning at the dawning understanding on his partner's face. It's easy to pull Howard into his arms then, dipping him with a smirk just before he lands a kiss on him. He can hear some people whooping, can see the burst of light from cell phones at the corner of his eyes. The best thing is the delighted shock on Howard's face though. ]
About damn time.
[ It's been one hell of a day.
Bucky feels as though every single bit of him aches, his skin one giant blur of bruises and dirt and blood. Part of him knows he should maybe wash up but Dugan's passing him two large tankers of beer and patting him on the back so that's forgotten. Besides, it's not like any of them are winning beauty contests tonight. Even Steve with his blonde hair and big blue eyes looks a little too rough around the edges for the good girls of London.
Bucky takes a large gulp of one drink as he walks, picking his way through the bombed out bar the Howling Commandos and Co. have made their base camp for the night, waving one finger at Steve and Peggy chatting with the General in the corner. He keeps moving, stepping over broken wood and glass and bits of debris, smiling as the bartender bickers with Falsworth about something English. Sometimes it surprises him just how quickly people are getting over the trauma, the bar's in no fit state but it's open anyway. People still need a place to go when it comes down to it.
He finds Howard in the corner, screwdriver between his teeth and a piece of metal between his hands. Bucky places is spare drink in front of the other man and straddles the chair beside him, his knee pressed against Howard's in the dark of the corner. ] Day's over, sweetheart. You're allowed to clock out any time now.
Bucky feels as though every single bit of him aches, his skin one giant blur of bruises and dirt and blood. Part of him knows he should maybe wash up but Dugan's passing him two large tankers of beer and patting him on the back so that's forgotten. Besides, it's not like any of them are winning beauty contests tonight. Even Steve with his blonde hair and big blue eyes looks a little too rough around the edges for the good girls of London.
Bucky takes a large gulp of one drink as he walks, picking his way through the bombed out bar the Howling Commandos and Co. have made their base camp for the night, waving one finger at Steve and Peggy chatting with the General in the corner. He keeps moving, stepping over broken wood and glass and bits of debris, smiling as the bartender bickers with Falsworth about something English. Sometimes it surprises him just how quickly people are getting over the trauma, the bar's in no fit state but it's open anyway. People still need a place to go when it comes down to it.
He finds Howard in the corner, screwdriver between his teeth and a piece of metal between his hands. Bucky places is spare drink in front of the other man and straddles the chair beside him, his knee pressed against Howard's in the dark of the corner. ] Day's over, sweetheart. You're allowed to clock out any time now.
[ Peggy's laughter is wild and wicked as she crashes her way into the dinner, Howard following at her heel. A few people look up and realistically she knows she should feel bad about the racket they make but she's already quite indecent as it is and so the noise doesn't really bother her, not with her hair wild and frizzing and her shirt gone see-through from the rain. Leaning against him in the doorway, Peggy does her best to catch her breath, her hand on his shoulder for a moment as she tries to get her giggling under control. ]
I cannot believe that you of all people couldn't fix a bloody car. [ His look of indignation makes her start laughing again, her fingers in his suit jacket as someone hmms behind them. A waitress who looks a little like Angie seems to be trying to smother her laughter as she asks them if they want a table. ] Oh, oh yes. For two please. And coffee, lots of coffee.
[ Her chin tips up a little higher and she takes the stride over easy enough, her hips swaying and her heels clacking. She has absolutely no care at all about how people are looking at them and they now know it, Peggy beaming up at Howard as she takes a seat. ] You're buying.
I cannot believe that you of all people couldn't fix a bloody car. [ His look of indignation makes her start laughing again, her fingers in his suit jacket as someone hmms behind them. A waitress who looks a little like Angie seems to be trying to smother her laughter as she asks them if they want a table. ] Oh, oh yes. For two please. And coffee, lots of coffee.
[ Her chin tips up a little higher and she takes the stride over easy enough, her hips swaying and her heels clacking. She has absolutely no care at all about how people are looking at them and they now know it, Peggy beaming up at Howard as she takes a seat. ] You're buying.
[ There's a cramp in her foot and a fly buzzing fitfully at the window, wings thrown against an iron frame that lets the light from outside blast across the carpet in zig-zag patterns. Sometimes the noise stops and the pain moves to an odd tingling. Sometimes she has to shake her food and the bzz-bzz-bzz starts up again. She's only vaguely aware of these things though, too busy scribbling away in the relative quiet of Jace's room.
Clary's been drawing him for at least ninety minutes now. He's been asleep for eighty of them.
She's lying on her stomach across the length of his bed, graphite smudged against her fingers and cheek where she'd rubbed at her face. Her sketchbook is strewn in front of her and every time she leans too hard her pencils do their best to roll away. It would be frustrating if she didn't feel so peaceful. And it is peaceful. She's definitely not used to that. She's not used to being allowed these moments alone with him, where she can do her best to capture the vulnerable fan of his eyelashes on paper, where she can look and not feel like a thorn is being pushed into her gut. It's been weeks since they found out the truth but she doesn't think she'll ever get used to it, not really. She spent too long hurting from it.
She's smiling to herself when she curves the wrong way with her drawing hand, spare graphite finally breaking free from her hold of paper and blankets. It rolls off onto the carpet and Clary sighs a little, sparing Jace a glance before she rolls to her left to reach for it. Of course that's when she sees a very fluffy tail making it's way towards the window. Clary narrows her eyes and tries to wave at Church, knowing exactly what he's about to do. ]
Church! [ Her voice is a whisper as she shifts her body closer to the edge to see if she can distract him by petting him. Inch by inch she reaches out. And okay, so she looks like she's trying to slither off the bed by now, one hand pressed to the carpet to hold her up, the other stretching as far as she can. But she's so close and Jace is asleep. Clary doesn't want to wake him. ] Church don't.
[ Church has other ideas though. And he's faster than Clary ( everyone is in the Institute, even the pets ) but not as light on his feet. When he jumps his paws catch on the edge of some dusty book and sends it crashing to the floor. Instinctively Clary tries to grab either him or it and loses her balance entirely. Between her thumping off the bed into an ungainly heap and Church's offended mrrrow there's no way a normal human being could stay unconscious, let alone a shadowhunter.
She sighs and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling. ] The ground can swallow me up now.
Clary's been drawing him for at least ninety minutes now. He's been asleep for eighty of them.
She's lying on her stomach across the length of his bed, graphite smudged against her fingers and cheek where she'd rubbed at her face. Her sketchbook is strewn in front of her and every time she leans too hard her pencils do their best to roll away. It would be frustrating if she didn't feel so peaceful. And it is peaceful. She's definitely not used to that. She's not used to being allowed these moments alone with him, where she can do her best to capture the vulnerable fan of his eyelashes on paper, where she can look and not feel like a thorn is being pushed into her gut. It's been weeks since they found out the truth but she doesn't think she'll ever get used to it, not really. She spent too long hurting from it.
She's smiling to herself when she curves the wrong way with her drawing hand, spare graphite finally breaking free from her hold of paper and blankets. It rolls off onto the carpet and Clary sighs a little, sparing Jace a glance before she rolls to her left to reach for it. Of course that's when she sees a very fluffy tail making it's way towards the window. Clary narrows her eyes and tries to wave at Church, knowing exactly what he's about to do. ]
Church! [ Her voice is a whisper as she shifts her body closer to the edge to see if she can distract him by petting him. Inch by inch she reaches out. And okay, so she looks like she's trying to slither off the bed by now, one hand pressed to the carpet to hold her up, the other stretching as far as she can. But she's so close and Jace is asleep. Clary doesn't want to wake him. ] Church don't.
[ Church has other ideas though. And he's faster than Clary ( everyone is in the Institute, even the pets ) but not as light on his feet. When he jumps his paws catch on the edge of some dusty book and sends it crashing to the floor. Instinctively Clary tries to grab either him or it and loses her balance entirely. Between her thumping off the bed into an ungainly heap and Church's offended mrrrow there's no way a normal human being could stay unconscious, let alone a shadowhunter.
She sighs and rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling. ] The ground can swallow me up now.
[ Basic is a bitch.
He certainly hasn't been a stranger to physical activity in his life - he played football for a couple of semesters, it just turned out that it wasn't for him - but the way they put him through his paces makes him feel like he hasn't walked a day in his life. By the time twilight eventually falls in, Lew always has twinges in places he hadn't known existed before he enlisted. Still, he slowly gets used to it, the sheer toil of it all fading away when he starts building muscle and momentum. It's not so bad.
( He still hates waking up in the morning though. )
What makes it infinitely better is Dick Winters. His sharp little smiles and shared looks are what actually drags Lew from his sorry pit in the morning. Their friendship should be strange, they're miles apart from each other in every way that counts, but for some reason Dick has chosen him as his disciple and hell if Lew doesn't feel lucky about it.
It's with that kind of joy that he jogs up to him today, his skin already a little shiny in the summer heat. ] If I gave you a gun and told you to shoot me, would you do it? [ He may enjoy himself a little more but running around a field when the sun's at its highest is not his idea of a good time. ] C'mon Winters, be a pal.
He certainly hasn't been a stranger to physical activity in his life - he played football for a couple of semesters, it just turned out that it wasn't for him - but the way they put him through his paces makes him feel like he hasn't walked a day in his life. By the time twilight eventually falls in, Lew always has twinges in places he hadn't known existed before he enlisted. Still, he slowly gets used to it, the sheer toil of it all fading away when he starts building muscle and momentum. It's not so bad.
( He still hates waking up in the morning though. )
What makes it infinitely better is Dick Winters. His sharp little smiles and shared looks are what actually drags Lew from his sorry pit in the morning. Their friendship should be strange, they're miles apart from each other in every way that counts, but for some reason Dick has chosen him as his disciple and hell if Lew doesn't feel lucky about it.
It's with that kind of joy that he jogs up to him today, his skin already a little shiny in the summer heat. ] If I gave you a gun and told you to shoot me, would you do it? [ He may enjoy himself a little more but running around a field when the sun's at its highest is not his idea of a good time. ] C'mon Winters, be a pal.
[ They're supposed to be barn cats.
Actually, scratch that. They're supposed to be soon-to-be-adopted-whatever-the-hell-the-new-owners-want-them-to-be cats. But Lew's been systematically flying in the face of both of those rules since the night he found them in the barn. Wherever he goes he's followed by four tiny kittens, a little squadron of sharp clawed menaces that attack his bootlaces and knock over his whiskey bottles and generally wreak havoc. And he's done absolutely nothing to stop them, even going as far as to leave the porch door open whenever they're around so they can move freely into the house. He's just lucky Dick hasn't caught him lifting the smallest one up the porch steps. He still seems surprised as to how she always manages to get in when she can't get back down and Lew does his best to look just as perplexed.
Today's no different. It's his day off from his shitty office job at the bank and while he has a hundred and one things he really should be doing, he's in the barn lazily dragging a straw of hay in front of the ginger tom, grinning a little as he bats it with his claws. The pitchfork ( he's finally allowed to use it again after a thousand promises that he knows to aim it at the ground and not his foot ) is lay abandoned but angled away so that tiny noses can't get hurt on the prongs. ] See this straw? [ Lew is speaking to the kittens at large, as if he's doing one of his old cultural lectures to the soldiers. The cats pay less attention and that's sayiing something. ] I want you to think of it as Mrs. Simmons' ankles, okay? [ The ginger one pounces and Lew nods at him. ] Exactly like that. So when she comes over today I want you to attack. Make sure she never wants a cat again in her life.
[ The white one ambles over and Lew scoops it up in his arms, looking at it mock sternly. ] Your brother's doing his best, you should be too. Do you really want to go and live with her? The whole house smells like turnips. You've never had that assault your nose but believe you me, it's not nice.
[ She meows lightly in his arms and then yawns and so he deposits her back to her siblings. ] Okay guys, I really need your head in the game for this. We have an hour.
Actually, scratch that. They're supposed to be soon-to-be-adopted-whatever-the-hell-the-new-owners-want-them-to-be cats. But Lew's been systematically flying in the face of both of those rules since the night he found them in the barn. Wherever he goes he's followed by four tiny kittens, a little squadron of sharp clawed menaces that attack his bootlaces and knock over his whiskey bottles and generally wreak havoc. And he's done absolutely nothing to stop them, even going as far as to leave the porch door open whenever they're around so they can move freely into the house. He's just lucky Dick hasn't caught him lifting the smallest one up the porch steps. He still seems surprised as to how she always manages to get in when she can't get back down and Lew does his best to look just as perplexed.
Today's no different. It's his day off from his shitty office job at the bank and while he has a hundred and one things he really should be doing, he's in the barn lazily dragging a straw of hay in front of the ginger tom, grinning a little as he bats it with his claws. The pitchfork ( he's finally allowed to use it again after a thousand promises that he knows to aim it at the ground and not his foot ) is lay abandoned but angled away so that tiny noses can't get hurt on the prongs. ] See this straw? [ Lew is speaking to the kittens at large, as if he's doing one of his old cultural lectures to the soldiers. The cats pay less attention and that's sayiing something. ] I want you to think of it as Mrs. Simmons' ankles, okay? [ The ginger one pounces and Lew nods at him. ] Exactly like that. So when she comes over today I want you to attack. Make sure she never wants a cat again in her life.
[ The white one ambles over and Lew scoops it up in his arms, looking at it mock sternly. ] Your brother's doing his best, you should be too. Do you really want to go and live with her? The whole house smells like turnips. You've never had that assault your nose but believe you me, it's not nice.
[ She meows lightly in his arms and then yawns and so he deposits her back to her siblings. ] Okay guys, I really need your head in the game for this. We have an hour.
"You and me, we take Lola and go be anonymous for a while, somewhere else. What do you say?"
[ Before, neither of them would have been ready. They still had too many balls spinning, too many unknown players on the field. It wouldn't have been possible and he doubts she would have been able to leave any more than he was.
But now, well now their world is further tinged by loss and grief. Now the scoreboard's all up and finished, the dust is gathering in the cracks. Skye has loved and lost her parents and Phil - well, he could definitely use a hand adjusting. Besides, now there are other people at the top of shield. He thinks, he hopes, he's done enough to warrant a vacation.
Skye drives. Phil sleeps. The co-ordinates he gave her are easy enough to find and he's sure she'd wake him up if they got lost. He doesn't dream. And it's only when the car bumps along a familiar gravel path that he lets his eyes finally drift open. Trees surround them, the dappled sunlight now low and sweet in the sky. He takes a breath, tasting fresh air and clean earth on his tongue. When they turn at the fork in the road, the grass stretches out in front of him. It's not a cabin this time, it's a house, it has a picket fence. It's Phil's but he doesn't remember the last time he came out here so it doesn't quite feel like home.
Maybe with Skye though --.
Clearing the fog out of his voice with a cough, he turns with his head still resting on the passenger seat. ] Sorry. Didn't realise how tired I was. [ Lifting one hand - his only hand, Christ he has to get used to that - to rub at his eyes. ] You doing okay?
But now, well now their world is further tinged by loss and grief. Now the scoreboard's all up and finished, the dust is gathering in the cracks. Skye has loved and lost her parents and Phil - well, he could definitely use a hand adjusting. Besides, now there are other people at the top of shield. He thinks, he hopes, he's done enough to warrant a vacation.
Skye drives. Phil sleeps. The co-ordinates he gave her are easy enough to find and he's sure she'd wake him up if they got lost. He doesn't dream. And it's only when the car bumps along a familiar gravel path that he lets his eyes finally drift open. Trees surround them, the dappled sunlight now low and sweet in the sky. He takes a breath, tasting fresh air and clean earth on his tongue. When they turn at the fork in the road, the grass stretches out in front of him. It's not a cabin this time, it's a house, it has a picket fence. It's Phil's but he doesn't remember the last time he came out here so it doesn't quite feel like home.
Maybe with Skye though --.
Clearing the fog out of his voice with a cough, he turns with his head still resting on the passenger seat. ] Sorry. Didn't realise how tired I was. [ Lifting one hand - his only hand, Christ he has to get used to that - to rub at his eyes. ] You doing okay?
[ She has amends to make. It probably wouldn't have been that big of a deal before she met Phil Coulson's team, but these things happen. Somewhere along the lines of dodging bullets and gathering intel, she started to like the ragtag bunch. They had charm and they had her back and that's the same even now, after being outed as a spy spying on spies. While she's sure they're hurt they don't exactly freeze her out. Probably having to watch her heal from her fuckton of injuries helped that along.
So she wants to make amends.
With Fitz and Simmons it's simple enough, some techy thing that she spends four days helping them with. It's Friday by the time she's done and her body aches from carting about equipment and being poked and prodded. She spars with May, she says hello to Coulson. It's fine.
So when it comes to Skye's turn for the Bobbi Apology Bonanza she's maybe already a little too hopeful. She wants it to be - well, not easy, never easy - but something gentle. Which means carrying two very full, very ample on the alcohol, glasses into the rec room. ] Hey Skye.
[ Holding one out, the cocktail umbrella sliding dangerously close to falling out as she does. ] I wasn't sure if you'd have preferred the violent peace offering or the alcoholic one? So here. You can punch me after, if you want? But I need the anasthetic.
So she wants to make amends.
With Fitz and Simmons it's simple enough, some techy thing that she spends four days helping them with. It's Friday by the time she's done and her body aches from carting about equipment and being poked and prodded. She spars with May, she says hello to Coulson. It's fine.
So when it comes to Skye's turn for the Bobbi Apology Bonanza she's maybe already a little too hopeful. She wants it to be - well, not easy, never easy - but something gentle. Which means carrying two very full, very ample on the alcohol, glasses into the rec room. ] Hey Skye.
[ Holding one out, the cocktail umbrella sliding dangerously close to falling out as she does. ] I wasn't sure if you'd have preferred the violent peace offering or the alcoholic one? So here. You can punch me after, if you want? But I need the anasthetic.
[ Sometimes when he looks back on his life he can't tell where the dreaming took hold. He'd always been something of a wheeler-dealer, a cocky little toerag who talked big and played with the bad boys. But somewhere along the line it became something more. He grew out of his lanky frame and smoke stained council flat, he got bigger, taller, meaner. Lucy argues with him over that, that a man who still goes goo-goo eyes over a puppy can be mean, but then he proves himself by smashing a bottle over someone's head and it's all forgotten.
Maybe it's not the life he thought he'd have, not the one he imagined providing for her either, but it works. Because they started off small, banding together like a tag-team of petty thieves. He taught her how to pick pockets, she learnt how to hold a gun, he started mimicking accents. Locked doors became a challenge, paintings became tracing paper, Europe was full of shady people and they were one of the worst. And when they met a man with a silver suitcase and the promise of the world changing they both jumped in with held hands.
Sometimes though, sometimes it all comes back to him. Like now, when his bow-tie feels a little too tight and he wants to punch a bloke in the face for their thoughts on the lower masses. It's all Arthur's fault really, sending Eames and Lucy to trail the mark at an event like this. He knows what he's like and knows that she won't stop him. When it all goes tits up he's going to get an earful from Eames.
But for now he just leans into Lucy, his fingers too tight around his flute of champagne. ] Tell me not to beat the bloody mark to death with his Cristal. Tell me the money will be worth it.
Maybe it's not the life he thought he'd have, not the one he imagined providing for her either, but it works. Because they started off small, banding together like a tag-team of petty thieves. He taught her how to pick pockets, she learnt how to hold a gun, he started mimicking accents. Locked doors became a challenge, paintings became tracing paper, Europe was full of shady people and they were one of the worst. And when they met a man with a silver suitcase and the promise of the world changing they both jumped in with held hands.
Sometimes though, sometimes it all comes back to him. Like now, when his bow-tie feels a little too tight and he wants to punch a bloke in the face for their thoughts on the lower masses. It's all Arthur's fault really, sending Eames and Lucy to trail the mark at an event like this. He knows what he's like and knows that she won't stop him. When it all goes tits up he's going to get an earful from Eames.
But for now he just leans into Lucy, his fingers too tight around his flute of champagne. ] Tell me not to beat the bloody mark to death with his Cristal. Tell me the money will be worth it.
( continued. )
[ It's more than ten minutes because he doesn't take the car, he's forsaking gas money for food after all. But when he does open his door it's with a triumphant smile. The bag he waves in greeting before tossing it Noah's way. ]
Apology waffle. For my soul crushing truthfulness.
[ He could sit on the bed or the chair but instead he settles down beside his friend, his skin tingling with the edges of cold where he leans in close. ] So what was with the eagle hallucinations?
[ It's more than ten minutes because he doesn't take the car, he's forsaking gas money for food after all. But when he does open his door it's with a triumphant smile. The bag he waves in greeting before tossing it Noah's way. ]
Apology waffle. For my soul crushing truthfulness.
[ He could sit on the bed or the chair but instead he settles down beside his friend, his skin tingling with the edges of cold where he leans in close. ] So what was with the eagle hallucinations?
[ Noah lifts his head and matches Adam's smile when he comes in. He catches the bag, fumbling it for only a second before rearranging his skinny legs and setting it down in his lap. He pulls out the box, smiling to himself at the bottle of syrup and smarties still nestled in the plastic. ]
Apology accepted. You'll be happy to know my soul has started to re-inflate. [ If souls do that. He's not entirely sure.
In contrast, he'll be able to feel a little of Adam's warmth, even with his senses slightly thinned these days. ] I don't know. I was up in a tree. Maybe that has something to do with it. [ He cocks his head to the side, considering. ]
Apology accepted. You'll be happy to know my soul has started to re-inflate. [ If souls do that. He's not entirely sure.
In contrast, he'll be able to feel a little of Adam's warmth, even with his senses slightly thinned these days. ] I don't know. I was up in a tree. Maybe that has something to do with it. [ He cocks his head to the side, considering. ]
[ They don't talk about it. Not in the time that it takes her to heal and not after. The words don't come and Bobbi does what she's good at and pretends. But with Simmons missing and Skye and Phil off doing their thing, the base feels too large and empty to really help her. She tries to keep busy, does her best to get back into shape, fills in her paperwork, hangs out with Fitz, but then it comes to one of those days where her body hurts and her mind is swimming and Fitz isn't in any state to talk and so she retreats to the common room, bending down stiffly to stare into the fridge.
Alcohol isn't necessarily that great of a tonic but does she care right now? Hunter's beer feels cool in her hands as she takes it out, screwing the top off quickly as she leans back against the now closed door. She swallows down a good quarter of it and closes her eyes, not even caring about the taste only that it should do the trick. She only opens them when she hears footsteps in the doorway and --.
Oh.
Her emotions are complicated things and she rifles through them like index cards before she picks the easiest route. Her fingers wave the beer bottle a little and she hums. ] You don't mind, do you? Desperate times.
Alcohol isn't necessarily that great of a tonic but does she care right now? Hunter's beer feels cool in her hands as she takes it out, screwing the top off quickly as she leans back against the now closed door. She swallows down a good quarter of it and closes her eyes, not even caring about the taste only that it should do the trick. She only opens them when she hears footsteps in the doorway and --.
Oh.
Her emotions are complicated things and she rifles through them like index cards before she picks the easiest route. Her fingers wave the beer bottle a little and she hums. ] You don't mind, do you? Desperate times.
it's great let's do this | w o w sorry he's so salty he'll calm down after the initial bit
ftfy
- 2015-06-17 01:26 (UTC) - Expandthat's p much his mo i think 'be a total ass' 'wow ur a dick' '/calms down'
ftfy
- 2015-06-27 13:01 (UTC) - Expandgood. just drink dumb beer with her. it's how romcoms work.
diffido
- 2015-06-27 15:30 (UTC) - Expand( continued. )
Not a witch. [ He says it with a finality to it. He's not a witch. He can't do magic. He's ... a conduit. He does what Cabeswater wants of him. Ronan calls him a magician but he's Ronan so Adam doesn't think that means much.
He pauses though and concentrates and the air around him feels different. Without his rage over his car Adam can sense the thread rolling off Rafa, the otherness and danger. His eyes go dark, the fingers at his side curling into fists. He doesn't want to be hurt ( he never wants to be hit ) but he'll defend himself if he has to. He'll be better this time. ]
What are you?
Not a witch. [ He says it with a finality to it. He's not a witch. He can't do magic. He's ... a conduit. He does what Cabeswater wants of him. Ronan calls him a magician but he's Ronan so Adam doesn't think that means much.
He pauses though and concentrates and the air around him feels different. Without his rage over his car Adam can sense the thread rolling off Rafa, the otherness and danger. His eyes go dark, the fingers at his side curling into fists. He doesn't want to be hurt ( he never wants to be hit ) but he'll defend himself if he has to. He'll be better this time. ]
What are you?
[ Adam concentrates, and the scent intensifies. Rafa wouldn't miss it now, which he assumes must mean Adam is accessing his power. But he's not glowing, which means he isn't fae, and a dark witch would use something more obvious than focus.
Rafa smiles, and slides his hands into his pockets. He looks small and normal and entirely non-threatening.
None of which Adam should believe for a second. ]
You don't know? You must be new to this. What do you think I am?
[ He takes a few steps towards him, amusement dancing in his eyes. ]
I will let you guess.
Rafa smiles, and slides his hands into his pockets. He looks small and normal and entirely non-threatening.
None of which Adam should believe for a second. ]
You don't know? You must be new to this. What do you think I am?
[ He takes a few steps towards him, amusement dancing in his eyes. ]
I will let you guess.
( continued. )
[ Meeting Peggy Carter for a drink was just one of those things. It should be a possibility and yet it is. Bobbi's long past questioning a lot of stuff that goes down in SHIELD and perhaps that's what makes her a good agent in the first place.
She can roll with the punches and with women from the forties being brought forward in time by Asguardian magic. She's doing well.
At least Gino's is semi-quiet this time of day and she finds it easy enough to pick through the room and take a stool by the bar, one that gives her a good view of the door but also would allow the two of them the exit points advantage. And it's easy when she hears the door open to lift a hand to wave at Peggy. At least she won't swoon over her like Coulson does.
Or at least, she's better at hiding it. ] Hi.
[ Meeting Peggy Carter for a drink was just one of those things. It should be a possibility and yet it is. Bobbi's long past questioning a lot of stuff that goes down in SHIELD and perhaps that's what makes her a good agent in the first place.
She can roll with the punches and with women from the forties being brought forward in time by Asguardian magic. She's doing well.
At least Gino's is semi-quiet this time of day and she finds it easy enough to pick through the room and take a stool by the bar, one that gives her a good view of the door but also would allow the two of them the exit points advantage. And it's easy when she hears the door open to lift a hand to wave at Peggy. At least she won't swoon over her like Coulson does.
Or at least, she's better at hiding it. ] Hi.
[ -- a marked lack of swooning is chief among the reasons she felt so amicably about bobbi morse's company. being thrust upon a new era is a challenge all to itself, but having it coupled with an uncertain measure of celebrity and prestige! well. peggy had struggled too long and too hard to carve out a place for herself at the post-war ssr office to suddenly feel comfortable with all the good works she'd yet to accomplish.
so (tequila tastes aside) she harbours a sly smile as she approaches the table. peggy doesn't wave, but she does rather unceremoniously sink into the chair opposite morse. ] Hello -- [ a little less casual, but not too formal either. ] Please tell me you haven't been waiting long. You would think the streets would still be as easy to navigate as they were seventy years ago.
so (tequila tastes aside) she harbours a sly smile as she approaches the table. peggy doesn't wave, but she does rather unceremoniously sink into the chair opposite morse. ] Hello -- [ a little less casual, but not too formal either. ] Please tell me you haven't been waiting long. You would think the streets would still be as easy to navigate as they were seventy years ago.
i am so sorry i've been in such an rp rut lately that i've only been doing game tags!
diffido
- 2015-06-25 13:43 (UTC) - Expand[ Twilight. The sun has not long set, and the stain of daylight's remains makes the air cool.
A strange text message is left for Adam. It's not from the same number that Rafa used before, and he only signs it with 'R'. It tells Adam to look outside, and nothing more.
On the street, at the boundaries of the land owned by the Church above which the boy lives, there is a car. It's convertible, with the top down, and Rafa is lounging in the passenger seat with his ankles crossed on top of the dashboard. He holds up a keyring between thumb and forefinger, with the key jangling in the air, and his smile is cheerful and inviting. He's waiting. ]
A strange text message is left for Adam. It's not from the same number that Rafa used before, and he only signs it with 'R'. It tells Adam to look outside, and nothing more.
On the street, at the boundaries of the land owned by the Church above which the boy lives, there is a car. It's convertible, with the top down, and Rafa is lounging in the passenger seat with his ankles crossed on top of the dashboard. He holds up a keyring between thumb and forefinger, with the key jangling in the air, and his smile is cheerful and inviting. He's waiting. ]
Edited 2015-06-19 20:11 (UTC)
[ He should stay inside.
That's the thought that's whirring through his mind the minute he looks outside. Adam would be safe with the door of his apartment between them, he would be fine. But the rage that bubbles through his chest is impressive in the way that it steals his breath - he's still carless, he's still having to get Gansey to pick him up in the Pig every month, he's dependent once more - and none of it is his fault. So shoving his shoes on his feet seems simple, seems easy. He stops for only a moment to pull his threadbare Aglionby sweater off, to grab a hoodie that doesn't look like crap, before he's taking the steps down to the side-entrance of the church.
Adam is energy and nothing more as he stomps across the gravel and when he reaches the car his hands curl against the door until his knuckles bleed white. ] I told you to leave me alone. What part of that didn't you understand?
That's the thought that's whirring through his mind the minute he looks outside. Adam would be safe with the door of his apartment between them, he would be fine. But the rage that bubbles through his chest is impressive in the way that it steals his breath - he's still carless, he's still having to get Gansey to pick him up in the Pig every month, he's dependent once more - and none of it is his fault. So shoving his shoes on his feet seems simple, seems easy. He stops for only a moment to pull his threadbare Aglionby sweater off, to grab a hoodie that doesn't look like crap, before he's taking the steps down to the side-entrance of the church.
Adam is energy and nothing more as he stomps across the gravel and when he reaches the car his hands curl against the door until his knuckles bleed white. ] I told you to leave me alone. What part of that didn't you understand?
[ The first time he wakes up in 2015 he feels as though he's finally lost it.
Raven used to always tell him as much would happen, back when he was young and whole, that one day he'd just fuss himself into a mental breakdown and she'd have to spoon-feed him porridge until he was old. He used to tut at her on those days, wave away her offers of getting out of their flat in favour of pouring over books. It hadn't actually gone that way. Charles had fussed, but Raven hadn't been around to complain about breakfast, and it wasn't his' mind that broke but his heart.
Still, the first day he thinks ah, here it is.
The second and third involve a lot more yelling. Mostly at the SHIELD scientists who found them, and then at Erik who's thirty-something and achingly familiar. He likes shouting at Erik the most. Drawing himself up to his full height just to shriek at him - he can do that now, can stand and walk and stomp his way around their strange little facility -. Eventually someone explains something about universes and dimension travel and they send the pair away to a secure boxy little apartment while they figure out if they can send them back or mostly fight with each other about what mutant even means.
Charles takes to Netflix and Doctor Who and laughs himself a little sick when there are paradoxes and walls that can't be breached. He avoids Erik for a bit after that because he can't quite believe they have another world to fuck up and looking at him hurts a little. Eventually though he comes across him, angry and youthful in a small living room, an impossibly large television flickering the news over and over. Charles pauses in the doorway and catches just the very beginning of the reel and it's then he forgets to walk away from his old frenemy because his heart is beating too hard in his chest. ]
Oh.
[ He smiles and it's giddy and ridiculous and so fond of the human race, his feet carrying him into the room. He forgets to be anything else but a hopeless romantic. ] Erik, do you see this?
Raven used to always tell him as much would happen, back when he was young and whole, that one day he'd just fuss himself into a mental breakdown and she'd have to spoon-feed him porridge until he was old. He used to tut at her on those days, wave away her offers of getting out of their flat in favour of pouring over books. It hadn't actually gone that way. Charles had fussed, but Raven hadn't been around to complain about breakfast, and it wasn't his' mind that broke but his heart.
Still, the first day he thinks ah, here it is.
The second and third involve a lot more yelling. Mostly at the SHIELD scientists who found them, and then at Erik who's thirty-something and achingly familiar. He likes shouting at Erik the most. Drawing himself up to his full height just to shriek at him - he can do that now, can stand and walk and stomp his way around their strange little facility -. Eventually someone explains something about universes and dimension travel and they send the pair away to a secure boxy little apartment while they figure out if they can send them back or mostly fight with each other about what mutant even means.
Charles takes to Netflix and Doctor Who and laughs himself a little sick when there are paradoxes and walls that can't be breached. He avoids Erik for a bit after that because he can't quite believe they have another world to fuck up and looking at him hurts a little. Eventually though he comes across him, angry and youthful in a small living room, an impossibly large television flickering the news over and over. Charles pauses in the doorway and catches just the very beginning of the reel and it's then he forgets to walk away from his old frenemy because his heart is beating too hard in his chest. ]
Oh.
[ He smiles and it's giddy and ridiculous and so fond of the human race, his feet carrying him into the room. He forgets to be anything else but a hopeless romantic. ] Erik, do you see this?
[ Something has been brewing in Henrietta for weeks. Adam doesn't know what, only that he can feel it like a gust of wind down the back of his neck at the wrong moment. It's the kind of feeling that makes him uneasy - more so than usual - unable to sleep and fidgety when he's not trying. Mostly he tries to ignore it, but some nights he ends up on his bedroom floor with Persephone's tarot deck spread on the rug in front of him trying to see what's coming. He wishes he were there now, actually, instead of in the dark of Aglionby Academy. His backpack is slung over his shoulder as he hurries down the corridor. He shouldn't be here but he'd left a book behind and part of him is so keyed up that not doing it, not studying, is more deplorable than the dangers that might be out there. And besides, Ronan taught him how to pick locks. It's only fair that he find a way to use that particular skill.
He's made it to the classroom when he hears the first noise, light like footsteps. Adam pauses, his heart hammering inside of his chest as he leans against the door. He could get into trouble for being here and so he doesn't want to get caught. But then he hears a serious of banging sounds that don't exactly seem much like a janitor. Adam feels the chill again. ]
Hello? [ He peers through the dark, wishing he'd thought to bring the flashlight out of his car. ] Is there someone there?
[ A hall light flickers on once, then off again and Adam swears. ] Lynch, is that you?
He's made it to the classroom when he hears the first noise, light like footsteps. Adam pauses, his heart hammering inside of his chest as he leans against the door. He could get into trouble for being here and so he doesn't want to get caught. But then he hears a serious of banging sounds that don't exactly seem much like a janitor. Adam feels the chill again. ]
Hello? [ He peers through the dark, wishing he'd thought to bring the flashlight out of his car. ] Is there someone there?
[ A hall light flickers on once, then off again and Adam swears. ] Lynch, is that you?
so aglionby is a boy's school lET'S PRETEND SHE HIDES OUT OF SIGHT DURING THE DAY
aberth
- 2015-06-29 17:30 (UTC) - Expand[The thing about being nobility, is that more often than not, there are relations in royalty, even if that royalty is from far away. And Athos (if he likes it or not) is nobility, and so there is a relation somewhere that is nobility.
Of course, it's not precisely that simple: to begin with, it's not a close relationship, it's not even cousins, but something far more distant. But it didn't matter. As a child, the Pevensies were sent to France, to stay with relatives, all four of them, and although they were younger than Athos, and mostly kept a polite distance, distance has never been in Lucy's vocabulary even as a child.
And then his disastrous marriage happened, and he disappeared, and Lucy sobbed for days, not knowing what had become of her favorite cousin, of the man who was more a father than her own on those long-ago summers. She was just a girl, and it has taken a great deal of time to grow old enough to want to go on a tour of France, and even more time to slip her guard, to begin to ask around for him. She would find him, of course she would.
It's merely luck that has brought her here, to where the Musketeers are stationed, first, over another guard or another part of Paris.]
Excuse me-
[She's not dressed as befits her station; she's in a simple gown and no jewels at all, but a scarf over her hair, so that she would not be recognized when she left her attendants. There's a ball, or a party, or a dinner, that she should be preparing for. The King was going to announce her arrival tonight. But instead she is here, dressed as a maid.]
Excuse me, I do wonder if you could help-
[Someone, some musketeer, is stopping, and she's on her toes to try and explain what she wants.]
I had hoped I could find a place to hire an escort into Paris-
Of course, it's not precisely that simple: to begin with, it's not a close relationship, it's not even cousins, but something far more distant. But it didn't matter. As a child, the Pevensies were sent to France, to stay with relatives, all four of them, and although they were younger than Athos, and mostly kept a polite distance, distance has never been in Lucy's vocabulary even as a child.
And then his disastrous marriage happened, and he disappeared, and Lucy sobbed for days, not knowing what had become of her favorite cousin, of the man who was more a father than her own on those long-ago summers. She was just a girl, and it has taken a great deal of time to grow old enough to want to go on a tour of France, and even more time to slip her guard, to begin to ask around for him. She would find him, of course she would.
It's merely luck that has brought her here, to where the Musketeers are stationed, first, over another guard or another part of Paris.]
Excuse me-
[She's not dressed as befits her station; she's in a simple gown and no jewels at all, but a scarf over her hair, so that she would not be recognized when she left her attendants. There's a ball, or a party, or a dinner, that she should be preparing for. The King was going to announce her arrival tonight. But instead she is here, dressed as a maid.]
Excuse me, I do wonder if you could help-
[Someone, some musketeer, is stopping, and she's on her toes to try and explain what she wants.]
I had hoped I could find a place to hire an escort into Paris-
[ The Court is aflutter with rumours and whispers about the King's new guest. After everything with Rochefort, the palace clearly could do with a little joy. Athos has heard enough to know that he simply does not care either way. He does not know who the young woman from far away is and Treville would have called for him if he were needed. Instead he is off duty and heading his way to the tavern where he can listen in to the crowds.
( Sometimes, some people like to use the sense of celebration to cover up their nefarious ways. Athos does his best to stop them. )
The girl who stops him is a pretty thing and he blinks at her for a moment as though he recognises her. Then he picks up on what she is saying and he frowns. ] Madame Bonacieux lives nearby. She would know many a suitable guide for a young woman. [ Athos himself knows very little about people nowadays. ]
( Sometimes, some people like to use the sense of celebration to cover up their nefarious ways. Athos does his best to stop them. )
The girl who stops him is a pretty thing and he blinks at her for a moment as though he recognises her. Then he picks up on what she is saying and he frowns. ] Madame Bonacieux lives nearby. She would know many a suitable guide for a young woman. [ Athos himself knows very little about people nowadays. ]
Page 1 of 4