open; et si c'est la fin du monde

[remporter]

WHO: René Vallières
WHERE: The fountain, the inn, 7thi's peach trees
WHEN: 18th
OPEN TO: Open to all, with closed prompts for Neil and Aurora
WARNINGS: Talk of war, nazis, ptsd probably.

---

i ➼ ᴊᴇ ʀᴇɴᴛʀᴇ ᴀ̀ ʟᴀ ᴍᴀɪsᴏɴ; fountain (closed to neil)
René remembers everything so very, very vividly. It's hard not to when everything happens in slow motion, a carefully planned mission going absolutely haywire. A girl runs onto the bringe, and then Neil is there, uniform and all, scooping her up. There's a delay in detonation. A better man would have planned for this. A better man would have seen this coming a mile away and adjusted accordingly.

There were too many players--that line of thinking is unreasonable, but it's the naked truth in the moment. I should have prepared better. I should have been better. A better shot, a better leader, a better anything. Instead, René forces that out of his head and swoops in. He's not losing one of his men, not because of a careless mistake he made. If Neil is going to die it's not going to be because of René, it's going to be because he somehow managed to walk up to Hitler and punch him square in the jaw.

He doesn't hesitate once he's on the bridge, and he opens fire. It's a mess, and all he can smell is gunpowder overpowering the scent of the river. René doesn't have time to do anything except fight, because Harry is somehow delayed--what's taking so long?--and there's a brief, brief moment where he wonders if they're all too new at this to even stand a chance.

No--he has to keep fighting. He needs to, and he keeps shooting, he keeps buying time until his team can scramble together. He manages to cut down quite a few nazis, but eventually, he bolts for the side of the bridge, only to feel a blinding pain in his side. He's been shot. René jumps, or he falls, he can't remember which. All he can focus on is the last glimpse he'll likely ever see of Aurora: that canary yellow dress she turned into the most beautiful thing just by wearing it.

It's not the end. René is still alive, and he must have hit water--he must have--because he's kicking his legs up and trying his best to swim. There's no pain in his side, there's only the urgency of water potentially filling his lungs that spurn him onwards, and he finds himself clawing at the surface, only to be met with smooth stonework.

Gasping for air, René immediately tries to hoist himself up. This isn't a riverbank. This isn't anywhere he recognizes.


ii ➼ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴɴᴇ, ɪᴄɪ, ɴ'ᴇsᴛ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ; the waterfall (closed to neil and aurora)
He's been filled in, but there are still gaps. There's a lot that doesn't make sense, and René dislikes things that don't make sense. He was a journalist before this, crafting words into weapons, using facts and figures to carve out what he needs and what he believes. The word magic lingers in his mind, but he doesn't dare say it out loud. Magic doesn't exist. This has to be a test of some sort.

There's a lot of things, really, that he doesn't trust here. One person he does trust is Neil, however, and when the older man tells him Aurora's here, his heart leaps. He's unsure as to why a meeting needs to be arranged, but agrees to it, and suggests somewhere somewhat hidden, where they can talk in low voices and no one can overhear. The waterfall, wherever that is, sounds perfect. René follows Neil, eyes raking in every detail he can, even if he's distracted.

Aurora's here. Aurora, with her golden hair and mind as sharp as the edge of a knife. He'd seen her only moments before, but that had been a desperate situation, one culminating in René crossing the bridge to try to do something, anything, to help, only to fall. This is a little calmer.

He makes a note to thank Neil as they arrive. Aurora's there first, and his backpack and belongings fall to the floor as he rushes in, spending no time in pulling her close and kissing her.


iii ➼ ᴇᴛ sɪ ᴄ'ᴇsᴛ ʟᴀ ꜰɪɴ ᴅᴜ ᴍᴏɴᴅᴇ; the inn (open)

René hasn't heard the word plague in relation to an actual disease in a very long time, but he's exhausted and weary, and still puzzled over his gunshot wound only being a faint scar. What he wants is a hot meal--a proper meal--and if anyone has a stiff drink, he'd probably think this was something similar to heaven.

It's not, though. This is far from heaven, if what Neil and Aurora have told him is anything to go by. There's death, and monsters--monsters--and, apparently, the plague. You don't have to be a doctor to realize things like that spread, and while the inn is supposedly the best place for information and a meal, it could also be proverbial ground zero. It's obvious René is new, too--he still has white scrubs, still has his backpack, and this village is anything but large. He's an unfamiliar face. He hesitates by the door of the inn, eyes scanning, and once a person walks by he clears his throat politely.

"Is it safe? In the inn, is it safe?" His voice is lower than one would expect but gentle, accent distinctly American.


iv ➼ ᴊᴇ ʟᴀ ᴠᴇʀʀᴀɪ ᴀ̀ ʟᴀ ᴛᴇʟᴇᴠɪsɪᴏɴ; peach trees (open)
There are peaches here. Fresh, not tinned, not rationed, not a reminder of everything people have to give up during a war. They hang right on trees, fresh and juicy and wonderful, and René laughs at how absurd it seems once he discovers them.

Actual peaches<. He misses peaches almost as much as he misses chocolate, and he doesn't even hesitate. He sets his backpack down in one smooth motion, smile still lingering on his face as he takes one. The trek to the other village had been good for more than just personal recon, it appears.

René bites into one and tilts his head back, murmuring his approval as the messy juice dribbles down his chin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, savours every chew, and glances over, holding the peach up to the nearest passerby.

"Peaches."

Astute, René. Astute.


v ➼ ʜᴇʏ ʙᴀʙʏ-ʙᴏᴏᴍᴇʀ, ᴄᴏᴜᴄʜᴇ́ ʙᴀʙʏ ʙᴏᴏᴍᴇʀ; wildcard
Feel free to have René hover around your house, or spot him exploring. He'll be by the river often, and eventually move to 7thi more and more frequently.

Comments

iii. inn

[3ofswords]

Even Kira hadn't really understood why there should be a place to take people that wasn't the inn, when Veronica had proposed it--and he hadn't expected her to be proven correct so soon. But that was the point. People didn't exactly show up on a schedule, and illness swept through as easily as every other disaster.

Lucky for him, the return of his gifts has kept him away from the village at large. He's spent his time fixing up the brick house well behind the inn, hiking into the other canyon, avoiding the guy he puts his mouth on.

He'd been immune to the Green Poison virus, and this one seems close enough, treatable enough not to panic--but the inn and its single bathroom is no place for anyone who hasn't already been exposed. "It's been safer," he answers, eyes sweeping over the clean scrubs folding over the hesitant turn of the man's body. His time away from the village hasn't really left him available to anyone crawling out of the fountain, but at least it means he's poached enough furniture from other broken houses to present a functional alternative. "If you'd rather not chance it, I have a place fixed up nearby, I can get you fed and answer some questions."

[remporter]

It really is obvious he's new, René thinks, and his jaw flexes in thought for a moment. All it takes is a quick sweep of his gaze--a down-up motion, assessing Kira--for him to make up his mind. He doesn't appear sick in the least.

Plus, his stomach is rumbling, and there's no immediate danger. Neil had told him such--that the villagers are allies. René squashes his paranoia down with logic, reminding himself there's no reason, there's no need to get worked up. This isn't Villemarie. This man isn't some sort of double agent. He's just offering food and some company to sort things out.

"Absolutely, I would." He glances back at the inn's door, and then motions with his chin for the other to lead. He'll follow.

"Is this usual?" he asks, referring to the sickness.

[3ofswords]

Kira doesn't exactly hold still for the scrutiny, that gas flame of a mind worrying his details, but he doesn't make a move to lead on until the man agrees to follow. He rolls his shoulders to disengage from the beam he'd leaned against, and nods to a corner of the inn before passing around it. "It's a row or so back from the inn, I haven't had anyone else stay in it yet."

It isn't quite up to snuff: the beds need turning and the new map isn't complete, but it's been scrubbed and stocked with firewood, and he's been keeping what food he can pick from the fields or forest in it, in lieu of the plague.

"We've had illnesses before--usually with a kind of trigger," he explains, heading past the first row of houses for a red brick bungalow on the outskirts. "This is the first one that actually spreads between people, and there's a spring you can drink from that seems to clear it up. It doesn't look fun to have either way, so I've been picking my own food for now."

[remporter]

The buildings look out of place, like some sort of anachronism, and if René had it in him he's sure he could craft some sort of short story about it. The Red Bungalow, maybe, about a newlywed couple moving to a quaint town. He isn't always about facts. He's an idealist and a bit of a dreamer even if it's grounded in reality. He's got a particular weakness for mystery stories and pulp magazines.

"Smart," he commends, though he's aware the other--Asian, of some sort, which is odd--doesn't need anyone telling him his common sense is up to snuff. He's mentally categorizing things--there's a spring, that there's some sort of spark that tends to set something like this off. It's strange.

This whole place is strange. They head up the stairs, and René stops to look back on the porch, taking in everything.

"You think this is some sort of test, then? An experiment?" he wouldn't put it past the Germans. The fact that their technology is this advanced, though, it's not a good sign.

[3ofswords]

"Tests have a grading system," Kira says; "experiments have rules." As he opens the door, he's thinking of Margaery: celebrating a year of life in their enclosed space, celebrating her own ability to cope. Maybe that's winning, in this scenario. Maybe that's as good as it gets.

He should probably decide what the mental health goal is, if he's going to use this place to help the new arrivals find it. Glancing back at his first attempt, there's no judging how well he's going to do. No sense of a future for either of them, for all he can feel the hiccup in the scrutiny when the man's eyes level on his face. It isn't a hostile kind of hiccup, so he holds the gaze, waving him inside. The floors are still clean, gleaming in afternoon light from open windows. There's just enough daylight left for a meal and a tour, he thinks.

"I think it's all a very large distraction," he answers honestly. Would Veronica have wanted to coddle them more? Would she agree on a case by case basis? She isn't here to ask, and she might not be anywhere, anymore. "At this point, I'm starting to side with the people who think we're all dead."

[remporter]

"We might just not know the rules," René suggests, and he's not stupid enough to believe he's the first person to suggest that, but it might bear being repeated.

The house is nice. Quaint, and it reminds him more of a country house Aurora and him had hidden in once before they were even recruited into Camp X. Oddly cozy despite the feeling of something off.

There's a lot of information that's thrown at his face, and he holds up a finger for a moment, brows furrowing, jaw tightening as he thinks it through. So people think they're dead--René knows he's not, he's certain he isn't: Neil had told him as much. Or would have, he's sure. So that leaves the first bit:

"A distraction from what?"

i.

[withoutahammer]

Neil's passing by the fountain when he hears the tell-tale splashing sounds of an arrival and it's almost automatic by now to turn towards them, ready to lend a strong arm to get out of the damn thing and provide what little information and comfort he can. The arrival's wet, his head's down, he doesn't see who it is until he's already reaching for René's hand with a gruff "Easy now, I've got y-"

He cuts off in the middle when he sees those cheekbones, that particular jaw. But that is not bloody possible.

I wanted to know if you died. Before coming here.

Credence had questioned him about it- said he'd been dead himself. It was possible.

Pull yourself together, Mackay.

He hauls upwards, pulling René out with a grunt. "Bloody hell, mate. Did not expect to see you here, but I know someone who's going to be pretty happy about it."

Well, she's going to have some kind of feeling, though it might not be all happiness. Getting him back a second time- it almost seems cruel to Aurora, but at least if there's no risk of recapture. And yes, he's thinking about Aurora because thinking about his own feelings here- that's too much.

[remporter]

He's not sure what he's expecting, in the grand scheme of things. Help is pleasant, help is something he accepts without hesitation: René grabs onto the arm to help himself, using the solid weight and grip to get a leg up on the fountain and push down. It's Neil.

That's what he's not expecting. The familiar round face and sleepy eyes is a welcome sight nonetheless, but he's not in uniform, nor does he look particularily stressed. Spooked, maybe, surprised, but there's no sense of urgency etched on his features, no tremolo in that British accent.

There's something on his back, he realizes, but it's a belated thought. René will assess what the other's said later, 'someone' or not, and he grips both of his arms tightly, gaze searching Neil's eyes.

"The bridge. Did Harry do it?"

[withoutahammer]

"Yeah. Yeah, it's done." Neil meets René's eyes, then pulls him in for a hug that's a lot damper than he'd like. Well, too late now. He'll dry off, but the chance to see René again- he never thought he'd get that. He lets go after a moment, prepared to pretend that it hadn't happened and keep talking. "And he was fine, barely a scratch on him, the lucky bastard."

Far luckier than René. Not that any of them had blamed Harry- it had been their first time, all of them, with an operation like that. Things happened, they'd had that drilled into them from the first. It could have been so much worse, though it had been bad enough.

[remporter]

It's done. Relief floods him, so much so that he closes his eyes for a brief moment, especially in that hug. Strange, Neil's not much of a hugging person, never one to be a touch sort of guy--that's all Tom--but he chalks it up to the fact that René could have died.

But they did it. They're all okay. René, pulling back, can't help the smile and the half chuckle, clapping Neil on the shoulder. Their first mission, and it's success right out the gate.

"And the little girl's safe?" He assumes the answer is yes, and shakes his head, squinting up at the sun.

"Where are we?"

[withoutahammer]

"Dropped her with her grandad myself," Neil assures him. At least there had been one family member left- poor little bean, losing both her mum and her dad in the space of a day, and in such a way. It had made Neil think of Mags and he'd been grateful he'd been able to get her to safety before the explosion. Even if that hadn't gone quite as he'd planned.

"Ah... that's the question, isn't it? Nobody's quite sure." This is just going to be a repeat of the conversation he had with Aurora, isn't it? He's not looking forward to it, but he's braced and ready.

[remporter]

René puts his hand through his hair, trying to pull it back--it's wet, he's wet, it's gross and uncomfortable--and after doing that a few times he pushes the backpack he remembers he has on to the ground, kneeling next to it, pulling out its contents and examining them.

"Good. Good job," He means it, too, gaze flicking up to show as much.

"So how do we get out of here?"

And why does he have supplies?

Peaches

[bit_fairytale]

At some point, Amy might have to come to terms with the fact that she's been spending a lot of time out here away from people. Then again, after her grief of losing Rory and not having the Doctor around to pester her into being a decent person, she's found that she's become the sharp, stringent, blunt person that she could be without restraint. Time alone? Well, it's probably a good idea.

Time with fresh peaches, it's even better, but then it's gone and ruined by someone French. She only barely refrains from rolling her eyes because she reminds herself that people aren't rude for the sake of it, just because they're in the second month of a two-month long bad mood. "You've got a little..." she says, gesturing to his chin warily.

[remporter]

René smiles at that--what a unique way to be introduced, he thinks--and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. He wishes he could say he cares about the mess or how he might look, but he doesn't. He's far too enraptured by non-rationed, non-tinned, actual fruits.

There's not even a black market.

He does have the sense to lift his eyebrows and grimace in half an apology to the leggy redhead, and he reaches over to pluck another fresh fruit.

"Food is always best when shared, you know." He offers it to her, smile still on his face.

[bit_fairytale]

She's grateful that he's plucking fresh fruit, because for a minute, she thinks that if they're going to share, then Amy's definitely going to have to find yet another crack in the canyon and bolt out for yet another place to hide out because this one got too weird. "Thanks," she says warily, though she does reach out to take it in her hands, considering it for a second, then him.

"You haven't felt anything weird? No strange side effects or anything?" It might sound like an odd question, but Amy's definitely used to leading with caution in situations like this.

[remporter]

René admires her caution, and is fairly certain (though now it's too late) he should have as well. It's alarming, what a jolt of excitement can do. He's supposed to be a trained spy.

Well. He's never had to think about poisoned food unless he's the one to do it, and he's never had to--all of those pills are safely in his equipment back home--and he doesn' feel strange in the least.

"I feel fine," He assures. And, after a moment: "Better than fine. These are rationed, where I come from. Even then? Canned."

[bit_fairytale]

It narrows down when he might be talking about, but then, not by much. Amy's been to past and future and she's seen enough wars to know that just because she's got a few in her mind to reference, that doesn't mean that it's the only one (or ones) that matter. "I know you'll probably think that this is blasphemy," Amy says, waving the peach around in her hands to gesture, "but I really don't care about the difference. A peach is a peach, you know?"

Though, it's not like Amy's ever been overly keen on them, but biting into them, she's happy for any food right now that she doesn't have to hunt. "How long do you think a peach would last for?" she asks. "Might be a good idea to stockpile."

[remporter]

"That's what I thought, too," He answers truthfully through a mouthful. He's never been a sweets person, but you definitely don't know what you'll miss when it's gone. He's about to inform her that there's a very big difference, namely one doesn't taste like tin, when she speaks again.

"A week?" He guesses, and his tone is more of a question than an answer. "I've never really thought about it. You could dry them, though."

ii

[clandestin]

Aurora is legitimately beginning to think that they must all simply be dead. Whether this is hell or limbo or just the random firing of a dying brain, she doesn't know. But she does know that for a place which already stretches disbelief, this is truly beyond the pale.

To his credit, Neil had warned her. He'd held Rene at bay and tracked her down, calmly explained the situation while Aurora's logic and ability to reason had sputtered and shut down. She'd actually had to sit down when it became obvious that he was deadly serious.

How, she had wanted to ask, but knew Neil had no better answer than any of them.

No amount of preparation could have buffered her against this moment, against the sight of Rene not simply alive, but whole, surging her way with the untempered passion that had drawn her and so many others to him in the first place.

She doesn't know whether to weep or be grateful, and in the end she simply freezes, unable to keep the fine tremble from her fingertips as he pulls her into his arms.

He smells and tastes exactly the same, and somehow that's the absolute worst part.

[remporter]

Something's wrong. He knows all of his team well, but Aurora he knows best of all--and the moment she starts shaking, minute but there, René knows there's something amiss. What, he's not sure, but it's enough that after a few seconds he draws himself back. He's still holding onto her, not wanting to let go--he's selfish in that aspect, so selfish--but he searches her face, confusion etched across his own features.

"Aurora?"

His hand moves up, gently touching her cheek.

"It's okay, I'm here now." He spares quick glance back at Neil, quizzical.

[withoutahammer]

Neil is studiously looking away, up at the waterfall, definitely not watching the dramatic reunion. Let them have their privacy- he should probably just leave. He doesn't make any immediate move to do so because leaving the two of them alone in public when they're doing everything but watch their own damn backs goes against his instincts. He does catch René's eye when he glances over, and he lies.

Well. He shrugs, lifting his eyebrows. Aurora's reaction? No idea what that's about, mate. You definitely haven't been dead for months. Everything's a-okay with us.

[clandestin]

Objectively, were Aurora to step back from the situation what little she could, she could understand Neil's reaction well enough. If it's anyone's place to tell Rene what happened to him, it's probably Aurora's, and it isn't fair to expect that burden to fall upon Neil's shoulders.

But she isn't objective. She can't step away from this moment when Rene is alive and touching her and telling her everything will be all right, and for a moment she is utterly adrift on her surging emotions: Disbelief, happiness, helplessness, and a thread of white-hot anger.

God, it isn't fair. But what about them ever has been?

And so Aurora swallows all of it roughly down and somehow finds the ability to speak, even if she can't manage a smile.

"We all thought you were dead," she manages, her throat dry and stomach hollowed out. It isn't a lie, not technically.

[remporter]

Neil's no help, but Neil is also probably trying his best not to roll his eyes so far back he blinds himself because of their reunion. René can't blame him. Aurora's upset--Aurora's worried, and he leans in again, this time only to run a thumb gently on her cheek, looking at her directly.

"Can't kill me that easily," he promises, and, taking a step back, lifts his shirt. The bullet wound he earned on the bridge is healed completely, only a faint scar in its place. He glances over at Neil, and then Aurora, and his jaw tightens. He's thinking.

"If I heard things right, there's a new village that's opened up through the canyons walls?"

Time to get to work.

iv. peach trees

[comfortablyerect]

Tim doesn't venture to the mirrored village often. One of these days, he'll recon the entire thing, mapping every inch of it out in his head and committing it to memory. But he'd like to wait until he has a few more knives to carry with him, or until he gets better with the primitive weapons that are available to him. He still feels too bare how he is now, strapped down with kitchen knives because a machete is too hard to conceal.

Maybe he should be less concerned with concealing his weapons. What's important is that he has them, not that other people don't realize he has them. Still, there's something to be said about the element of surprise.

It's Kira's fault he's out here in the first place. Where their village holds a hot spring, the mirror holds a peach tree, and they're damn good peaches. They probably shouldn't trust anything that grows here, but they don't really have a choice, either. Eat their crops, eat what they can hunt and gather, or die. He has a small basket with him, ready to gather some peaches and take them home. He's not entirely surprised to see someone else already at the base of the tree. It's a popular place, these days.

"Better enjoy 'em while they last," Tim says, moving to the other side of the tree to reach up into the branches, pulling one of the ripe fruits down. "Won't be long before it's too cold for 'em to grow."

[remporter]

René doesn't hear him until he speaks, which strikes him as odd, and there's a brief flicker of him that wonders if the other has training of some sort before he chalks it up to how damn excited he is to find fresh fruit instead.

Still. René's let his guard down. That's not good in the least, peaches or no. He seems friendly enough, and he plucks a peach off of the tree, shakes it in the other's vision gently, and then carefully tosses it over to him to gather.

He might as well help.

"It's taking all of my self-control not to eat the entire grove," he confesses. "They're rationed where I'm from. Haven't ate one in months." Okay, slight exaggeration.