sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Wendi-go-go to the inn

[MINGLE] Wendi-go-go to the inn

WHERE: 6I Village and Inn
WHEN: 27-31 July
OPEN TO: ALL - Mingle
NOTES: The Wendigo threatening the village will be killed mid 28 July, with a Blue Lily, per these threads. Plot details here. Note: The final fight is close enough to be seen from the upstairs inn windows.
WARNINGS: Wendigo attack mingle, please warn in comment headers if discussing violence, gore, or related trauma. Possible mentions of character death.

The urgent warnings come from villagers returning south from the lake: a creature twice the size of a man, antlered and voracious. Larger than any they've seen on the plains, stalking its way to the main village. Some might have their own names for this hunger in a skin of shadow; others might remember that it was the first to claim a life, in their village's short history.

Whatever context one has for it, best to secure all pets and loved ones before it arrives. With weapons and food stores at the inn, the call goes out to gather — And to bring back any tools, because there's no telling what doors and windows can do to stop such a creature.

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Skulking just outside the front door, unlit cigarette in hand, Sirius watches her go. It's easy enough to guess what task she's set herself, and he only lingers a moment more before he tucks the cigarette behind his ear, steps inside to fetch a second shovel, and quietly follows.

He doesn't speak when he reaches the place she's chosen — Barely even looks at her, actually, before he steps up and sets to work thrusting the shovel into the loamy ground. He's still barefoot, but that hardly seems to matter.

She must have been aware of him on some level. His arrival. The second shovel hitting the dirt but there's no acknowledgment from Rose as she pours herself into the task, giving her mind over to the repetition of digging as if it would help somehow.

In a way, it did. The sense of purpose was what she needed as she tried to stay one step ahead of reality. The ache in her limbs, the sting of her hands as blisters formed, a welcome distraction. Physical pain was always easier to bear than emotion, especially when it came to guilt and regret and she embraced it as she exposed the earth, the mountain of soil growing higher beside them.

Of all the things to penetrate the bubble she existed in, it was the sight of Sirius’ bare feet, her body stilling once she finally registered what she was seeing, her head cocked to one side.

“You should put shoes on.” Her quiet words sounding hollow, like her voice belonged to somebody else as it broke through the silence of their task.

They've been digging for several minutes before she speaks, and in the post-battle silence, the handful of words sound like a shot. Sirius halts, blinking down at the shallow hole they've begun, and then immediately returns to driving his shovel into the soil.

"Don't worry about it," he says, not looking up. The exhaustion is evident in her voice, but Sirius isn't going to be the one to tell her she needs to rest. He's been here before, more times than he honestly wants to consider. He doesn't even know her name, but he knows she likely isn't going to stop until the job is done.

The familiarity of his voice doesn't register enough for her to lift her gaze, Rose allowing his dismissal of her words to penetrate the fog in her head as she stares at his pale skin against the dark of the earth. Perhaps she should have been more concerned for his well-being, for her own - but it was easier to simply exist in the moment, allowing the strain of her muscles to distract her thoughts as she goes back to her digging.

This was what she did best: Action rather than emotion. She did it so well, in fact, that she'd forgotten the last time she'd actually stopped to process the death around her. It was easier for her to keep moving, in the hopes of staying one step ahead of the consequences.

It never really worked out the way she wanted it to, though. Eventually, something had to give and rarely for Rose did that release come quietly. The bomb inside her head had been ticking long before she'd come to this place and while Peeta's death may not be the thing to make it detonate. It would push her one step closer to that eventuality.

For as long as he would allow her to continue in silence, however, Rose would do just that; Until her hands were bloody and raw. Until the pain of her injuries forced their way to the surface. Until she didn't think she could dig anymore, and even then, because she was just that stubborn and stupid, she'd continue until it was done.

Later, when he's back in his window aggressively smoking into the night, the irony of their shared silence might strike Sirius, considering how they met and the back and forth which had ensued. She was so incensed at him then, and truthfully, had he been more of his old self at the time, he'd likely have taken after her, turned on enough to drag the argument out as far as it'd go.

Now, though, he's no more interested in trying to shoehorn words into the situation than she is, and simply continues on, the only sound that of their shovels chocking into dirt and the rustle of leaves on the trees. Even the birds seem to know to keep their thoughts to themselves today.

It's only when the hole is more than sufficiently deep and he steps back, dirt smeared across his forehead, that heaves a sigh and speaks.

"I think that's all right," he says, leaning forward against the handle of his shovel, casting her a calmly curious look as the sweat trickles down the back of his neck.

The depth of the hole, cut the light from inside, Rose half cast in shadow as she finally lifts her gaze. The sweat that trails down her temple to her jaw, carves a clean path through the blood and the dirt that cakes her skin and for several long moments, the only answer he receives is the sound of her heavy breathing.

Slowly, his face comes into focus. The man with the cigarettes whose only real crime had been sitting on a bridge when she’d been looking for a fight. An excuse not to deal with the things she’d been avoiding until she was ready to face them. There’s no fire in her eyes today, however. Just a heaviness that makes her look far older than her years on earth should have suggested.

People always wanted to fix things, to talk about them, to try and make them better. They dealt with what was happening around them by trying to help others, but Rose had never been somebody who processed things like a ‘normal’ person. She didn’t want help. She needed to be allowed just exist, to do whatever she had to until she could bear to stop. Of everyone she’d met in her time here, the man from the bridge would have been the last she expected to understand that.

“No, it’s not.” Clear in the way she said it, that she wasn’t talking about the hole.

Her shovel hits the ground with barely enough force for it to stand up in the soil, Rose staggering back until her body hits the wall of dirt behind her.

“But it’ll work.”

She glances up towards the edge of the grave, her eyes closing as she breathes in the scent of earth. As much as she knows she’s run out of reasons to avoid returning to civilization, she can’t bring herself to move from this spot, more at home in the dark, damp earth than she ever could be back there, at least right now.

A sprinkling of dirt rains down on her as she slides to the ground, the cool of the soil a welcome balm against her too warm skin. She can feel rather than see the blisters that have formed on her hands, the edge of pain, keeping her focused as she finds enough energy to lift her head to look at him.

“Rose.” She supposed if he was willing to help somebody he barely knew, dig a grave for a person he may not have ever met… he’d earned the right to know that much.

"Sirius."

He steps over, shucking off his filthy shirt and casting it aside as he joins her against the mound of dirt. Every bit of him feels sore, but there's no regret; this was something that needed to be done, and he couldn't very well allow her to do the entire thing alone. His outstretched feet are clotted in dried mud, little bits of grass sticking on like they were sprinkled there on purpose. Whoever follows him in the inn bathroom is going to want to commit murder.

He tips a weary glance Rose's way. "Want to go out to the spring?" They can get clean, and there's some sort of enchantment on the water, too, that might help them both feel a bit better. Physically, at least.

The removal of his shirt received little more than a casual glance, Rose too strung out to even offer the tattoos that were revealed, more than a lazy once over. They reminded her in some small way, of the ones inked on the back of her neck, her fingers moving to graze the skin there, as if she could feel them there somehow. If she were back home, she’d be receiving another for this. Another reminder that a Guardian’s marks were just as much for death as they were for kills.

The thought of trying to move from this spot was almost too much, but she wasn’t exactly spoiled for choices right now. Stay here, sitting by a grave as if she’d become a leading character in a Beckett play? Make the trek back to the Inn where everyone would be waiting… She would have agreed to just about anything to avoid that eventuality.

As she shifted, the pain that radiated through her side was enough to make her grimace. The numb and adrenaline wearing off to the point where she could finally feel the damage done to her body.

“Probably a good idea.” Probably better she didn’t go back there looking like this either. People found it easier to cope with death when they didn’t realize how messy it was.

They've agreed, but having only just sat, it takes Sirius some time before he can muster the energy to push himself back to his feet. He reaches for his discarded shirt and loops it over his neck, paying no mind to the soil crumbling off his bare back.

If this were another girl, he might offer a hand up, but he gets the sense this one wouldn't appreciate the gesture much. He pushes both hands over his face with a slow intake of breath, smearing even more dirt across his skin, and then begins a plod in the direction of the spring.

If it were another day she might actually have welcomed the hand but not this one. For as much as she hated pain, there wasn't much she wouldn't endure in order to not appear weak. So despite the protest of her body, Rose forced herself to get back onto two feet, defying gravity as she swayed for a moment before pushing herself into motion.

Raised by the Academy, modesty was a learned trait she'd never bothered with, Rose peeling her shirt off as soon as they reached the springs. Like this, she doubted she was much to look at anyway. There was blood and dirt in places that rarely saw the light of day and the bruising that was revealed had turned her skin a mottled canvas of purple, black and red.

The only other sign that she'd been fighting the Wendigo, were the four score marks that ran across her stomach. Red and raised, angry looking things that were barely a ghost of what they should have been without her abilities. It was hard not to think she'd cheated death, just so somebody else could take her place.

If there was ever a time when Sirius was modest, he can't remember it. Even in the little time before he took hold of rebellion with both hands, he had always been a Black, and that meant that there was nothing desired he didn't fully deserve, nothing he ever had to be ashamed of.

There's an innate power to his body, its movement, despite how slender he remains: The insouciant lift of his chin contrasting the sharpened wings of his shoulder blades or the way his ribs carve a ladder under his pale skin. There is not a tick of hesitation in abandoning every stitch of clothing to the shoreline so that he can wade calmly in after.

She looks quite honestly terrible, but in the binary of his mind, this is preferable to the alternative. The wounds might hurt, but it never occurs to him they could ever be deadly; back home, they never would be.

He ducks beneath the water, surfaces a moment later with both hands lifted to sluice the water from his face and hair. Passively, he watches her as he blinks the damp from dark eyelashes.

It was necessity more than modesty that kept her underwear on for now, Rose working on her boots as she lifts her gaze to watch Sirius enter the water. She observes him with a muted curiosity that was born from sizing up opponents. Seeing him without really seeing him as fingers fumble with the laces of her shoes.

He made her look clumsy in comparison as she finally followed, her body stiff and hindered by the ache that she could no longer simply ignore. While she might be slender she lacked the softness one often expected in a young woman. Her clothing had masked a body that was long lines and hard muscle, the kind of definition that could only come from years of training. Still, she managed to retain the curves that had marked her as so different to the Moroi she grew up with, the only thing Rose would claim that Janine Hathaway had ever really given her.

You could see the lines of strain slowly slip away as the warm water enveloped her, Rose finally trying to rid herself of the last of her clothes, as still clumsy fingers fumbled with the clasp at her back. Every action was slow, methodical to watch as she peeled away the layers, slowly ridding herself of the remnants of a fight that would haunt her in the coming days.

It’s only when she moves towards the waterfall that she starts to look like something that resembles human, the water spilling over her head and shoulders, washing away the blood and dirt that had rendered her almost unrecognizable as the person he’d met on the bridge.

With her back to him, she allows herself just a moment to feel the weight of the day press down on her. Her head tipping forward and shoulders slumping as if somebody were pushing her down. Some absent part of her mind registers his presence, but she lacks the energy to keep her guard up where he's concerned, Rose running her hands over her face to wipe away the evidence of the day.

For one who had so clearly been used to fights of this nature, it's almost surprising to see the smooth, unblemished plains of her body. The only marks the strange tattoos that are revealed on the back of her neck, as her hair is pushed forward by the falling water.

Were it him post-battle, there would be very specific activities he'd be leaning into in the name of a little oblivion, but he hasn't got the sort of bead on her that he'd like. She's fierce, might not thank him for the attention, but it's hard to know for certain. She's kept her knickers on; that maybe says enough.

He drifts forward, water rippling around him, and reaches long fingers to skim across the inked symbols on the back of her neck. They draw away as he makes for the edge of the pool, not a retreat so much as a casual opening salvo, an offer silently made as he leans back against the smooth stones.

The fact of the matter is, it had never occurred to her, not until she feels the heat of his body near her own. The shiver that involuntarily runs down her spine as he traces the symbols on the back of her neck. That touch is the first thing to pull her out of the dark recesses of her own mind, Rose’s gaze sliding in his direction as he pulls back to the edge of the pool.

Another time, another place she might have volleyed back a brutal rejection for no other reason than the wind had changed. There was a promise in that touch that had her wanting it back the second he retreated though, it never occurring to Rose that it was an offer to choose, rather than seeing if she’d stop him or not.

She wouldn’t have, no more than she intends to stop herself now as she slowly turns towards him, looking at Sirius for perhaps the first time since he’d joined her by the grave. Still, she doesn't see him, not the way that she should, not as the person who’d gotten under her skin when she’d been looking for a fight - an excuse. She sees only the promise that touch had held as she pulls away from the waterfall, a change in the air as she closes the distance between them and allows all other thoughts to slip away.

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[MINGLE] Wendi-go-go to the inn

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