René Vallières (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
remporter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-08-18 02:26 pm
remporter) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-08-18 02:26 pm
open; et si c'est la fin du monde
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.
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.
no subject
He waves René off, shaking his head a little. That's going to be a mess to sort out. He's glad he does not have to get involved. "Have fun with that, mate."
no subject
God, how is he real? How is any of this happening?
She doesn't want to wait, too much emotion already bubbling to the surface and held precariously at bay -- But she does. She stops, staring wide-eyed at the dappled forest path before her, because it's Rene, and she has no choice.
Her hands feel slippery with blood, but when she looks down, there's nothing but dirt under her ragged fingernails.
"I don't know what Neil told you," she says when she hears the close scuff of his feet, but she doesn't turn to look at him. "I'm from a long time after you are."
no subject
She's not even looking at him. It takes all of his willpower not to reach out and grab her, to pull her into a tight embrace. Instead, he balls his fists at his side.
"Neil hasn't told me anything," he says pointedly. He tries to soften his voice, but some frustration leaks through. "Neither have you. What happened, Aurora?"
no subject
But with him stepping up beside her as vibrant and whole as if nothing happened after he jumped from that bridge, she doesn't know how she can possibly say the words.
Aurora pulls in a slow breath through her nose, lips briefly thinning, and then finally looks to Rene, her gaze heavy with inevitability.
"There are only three of us left now," she says. "Neil, me and—" Her voice catches on the realization that this Rene, brash and uncowed, won't know who Alfred is. "Someone else, he came in later."
no subject
It's quite a rude thing to say. Especially since René knows she isn't, not with that waver in her voice, most people unable to read her tells--not with how strong a face she puts up, not with how good she is.
No, Aurora's not lying. But René refuses to believe it, confusion slowly ebbing into something else. He can't be dead. Tom, Harry--they can't. They all knew signing up, but--
"--How? How, Aurora?" Yes, she's stated she's from a long time before, but that isn't a satisfactory answer, this doesn't make any factual sense. This whole thing feels one playing card away from crashing the entire house down.
no subject
"The same way as everyone else," she says, and drops her gaze from the treetops to finally level a look at Rene. "The same way we were all waiting for, although we did make it farther than most."