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thearena2015-05-26 01:25 pm
dreadinquisitor) wrote in thearena2015-05-26 01:25 pm
Mountains are crumbling like statues of clay.
Who| The Thedosians & Friends
What| Reuniting and Planning
Where| In the area of the Cornucopia
When| Late evening/night, the first night
Warnings/Notes| Open to all Thedosians and allies who are interested in reuniting post-Cornucopia and plotting out next moves together. This will function like the War Room posts in the Capitol: tag Maxwell, enter into the "planning" catch-all starter, or talk amongst yourselves! If you'd rather your character remain separate, feel free to say they missed this!
Maxwell convinced Shepard to wait until the sun began to sink before he made his move. It had been hours since they'd tucked themselves into the little, bowed house at the edge of the village. Longer still since the troll-child, Karkat, had passed.
The sounds of the blood-bath at the makeshift Cornucopia had faded and died, and an eery hush had fallen, broken only rarely by speech. Far more often it was the house, creaking and groaning around them, squeaking beneath them as they moved about, spending the last of their adrenaline and rage and worry in pacing and checking the ramshackle rooms for anything that might be of use.
There wasn't much. A dirty, chipped cup. A few rusted utensils. A straw-hewn bed, torn full of holes by rodents and an old blanket, still wet green with mold in the folds of the fabric. But without knowing how the Cornucopia went for the others, it was difficult to pass up anything.
Piling it together, they'd waited. Then, finally, Maxwell moved.
As the sky had began to shift from ashen grey, to steel, and then slowly to coal, he clambered onto the sill of one of the open windows and hauled himself as carefully as he could up onto the roof. The wood complained and sank threatening beneath his boots, but it held.
He'd wrapped the silly little cap Jolie had given him around the Anchor to try and disguise it, but he unwrapped it then. The others from the Inquisition would know it for what it was, he was certain, and hopefully the rest would have heard enough about it or were with someone who had.
Holding up his arm, he opened his hand and the ghostly green light spilled free.
What| Reuniting and Planning
Where| In the area of the Cornucopia
When| Late evening/night, the first night
Warnings/Notes| Open to all Thedosians and allies who are interested in reuniting post-Cornucopia and plotting out next moves together. This will function like the War Room posts in the Capitol: tag Maxwell, enter into the "planning" catch-all starter, or talk amongst yourselves! If you'd rather your character remain separate, feel free to say they missed this!
Maxwell convinced Shepard to wait until the sun began to sink before he made his move. It had been hours since they'd tucked themselves into the little, bowed house at the edge of the village. Longer still since the troll-child, Karkat, had passed.
The sounds of the blood-bath at the makeshift Cornucopia had faded and died, and an eery hush had fallen, broken only rarely by speech. Far more often it was the house, creaking and groaning around them, squeaking beneath them as they moved about, spending the last of their adrenaline and rage and worry in pacing and checking the ramshackle rooms for anything that might be of use.
There wasn't much. A dirty, chipped cup. A few rusted utensils. A straw-hewn bed, torn full of holes by rodents and an old blanket, still wet green with mold in the folds of the fabric. But without knowing how the Cornucopia went for the others, it was difficult to pass up anything.
Piling it together, they'd waited. Then, finally, Maxwell moved.
As the sky had began to shift from ashen grey, to steel, and then slowly to coal, he clambered onto the sill of one of the open windows and hauled himself as carefully as he could up onto the roof. The wood complained and sank threatening beneath his boots, but it held.
He'd wrapped the silly little cap Jolie had given him around the Anchor to try and disguise it, but he unwrapped it then. The others from the Inquisition would know it for what it was, he was certain, and hopefully the rest would have heard enough about it or were with someone who had.
Holding up his arm, he opened his hand and the ghostly green light spilled free.
no subject
Turning his wrist, he looked down at the Anchor, burning brightly once against in his palm. His joints tingling, not entirely pleasantly, with power.
"At least I wasn't knocked unconscious this time."
Letting it hang again - green light glowing against his boots - he gestured down at Dorian with the other hand.
"Are you alright?"
no subject
He held up the warhammer. "I found a present for Tabris. She said she used these things, didn't she? I admit it is possibly the least useful piece of equipment I could have managed for myself, but at least someone else may find it of use."
He cocked his head, lowering the hammer.
"And while I'm glad you're not currently unconscious, are you sure you're alright?"
no subject
Twisting slightly at the shoulder, he looked back and up at the matching maker burning above his head, instead. "Shepard had one too, but her's faded after a time. Mine has remained..." he offered softly. Not all that helpful, he imagined, but it was what he had.
Trailing off, he turned back and offered a small smile.
"For the moment."
no subject
"Well, that's a small mercy." There was nothing to say about the lights until they knew what they were for. A trace of worry slipped into his expression. "Have you-- has anyone else come? I admit I grabbed what I could and ran before getting a good look at the aftermath of the cornucopia..."
no subject
Knowing Dorian would want to see them, and guessing that he wouldn't want to linger with him longer than necessary, Maxwell stood then and began to move back from the ledge. The roof protested, groaning and bowing beneath his weight, but it continued to hold.
"I'll keep at it a while longer."
no subject
"Very well. Don't get cold."
no subject
With his back turned, Maxwell could hide the way his face fell. The veneer he'd practiced cracking at the edges and the weariness showing through. Sadness the weight around his eyes; loneliness written in the lines.
It was going to be difficult, to pretend, but he refused to be a further burden. To Dorian, or any of them.
He looked down at the Anchor, glowing in his palm, and willed himself to remember that.
"...Stay warm, Dorian."
no subject
He watched Maxwell turn away, his own face falling as soon as the other man couldn't see it. He'd never liked dramatics, as much as he was prone to his own melodrama. He preferred things simple. No feelings, just fun.
Why was it that he was never actually able to do that?
"You really shouldn't ask the impossible," He said, trying to smile again as he stepped up to the door. "Blame the weather, not me." And then he stepped inside and left Maxwell to his thoughts.