itscurtains | Week Five

Entry tags:

act 3,
week 5

Week Five

[Last week, you had your very first minor body pileup! Granted, the Balladeer's death was entirely unrelated to anything, but at least he died as he lived - getting completely fucked up in some kind of carnival-themed hellscape. Only two days later, another terrible accident took Rina and Varian both from you. It's just been one of those weeks, huh? At least you got to add both of their corpses to your weird growing collection!

Again, you'll wake up this morning with another new snippet of memory. You'll also find that the stairs in the lobby are no longer blocked. You can only access one part of the second floor, but it seems like there's some neat stuff up there!

Outside, a few things seem to have changed. For one, the weather has turned - it'll be overcast this week, with periodic rain and even scattered thunderstorms. For another, the bushes around that rock out by the football field have bloomed. That's nice.

Get to it, friends! I'm sure everything will be fine this week!]

Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday

(( Be sure to submit your memory regain and your AC for this week! As always, Hester's office hours and the merch booth remain available. ))

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[Anyone who stayed the night in Ambassador noticed (unless they weren't awake) Benjamin drag himself into bed, freshly shower-wet, well after midnight.

But despite how exhausted he was when he laid down, his dreams wake him early. His body aches from spending the night burying Rina and Varian, but there's nothing sluggish or sore in the way that he kicks himself out from under his blanket and gets out of bed, probably long before his roommates are ready to rise.

The work waits, after all.

He dresses there in the room standing at the foot of his bed, also unusual for him, nicer than usual in the waistcoat that he hasn't worn since Sissi picked it out for him, a somber black shirt, and black trousers.

He fixes his hair in the men's room, a tall task since he slept on it wet the night before, and then he makes his way to the cafeteria, to catch the others who might not have been involved in the burying.]

We finished burying them, last night. I was thinking it'd be right to gather for a memorial to them. Around midday, if you'd like to come.

[He's as lively today as he was the first three weeks, but there's almost a manic edge to it, like he's hiding from something. He's not going to sit down or eat today, unless someone makes him. The rest of the morning is spent picking flowers and getting ready for the funeral, including some of the yellow roses from near the football field, discovered when he went to return the shovels to the shed.]

[After the funeral, Benjamin lingers a long time in the garden, sitting vigil with his lit candle until well after dark, when it's burned down to his fingers.

He makes his way back up to the academy in the dark, but instead of going in he sits underneath the awning outside the doors, listening to the thunder as it begins to roll in.]

[Around midday, true to his word, Benjamin can be found in the garden, standing next to the freshly mounded double-width grave. The flowers already picked are sitting in one of two baskets next to the grave, enough for everyone to lay at least a couple, while the other basket is filled with taper candles, to go with the lit one that Benjamin holds in his hands. Anyone who takes a candle will be offered a light off of the one he holds.

Standing over the grave that he dug last night lends it an upsetting reality that it didn't have before. Seeing how short their grave is next to the Balladeer's drives home that they were children.]

Varian and Rina... There aren't words that can be said to express the grief at the loss of a child. A friend, a brother or sister, a s- a son, or daughter... [His voice gives out halfway through the word 'daughter,' and he has to take a breath and look up at the sky for a second before he can continue.]

We mourn them together today, to remember their lives and the love they shared with each other, and with all of us, and to know that it won't be in vain. You are not forgotten, and you will be avenged.

[He lays down two flowers, one on each side of the wide grave, and then steps back for the next person.]

[ Orpheus sits and listens to Benjamin speak. He doesn't cry. He shed enough tears over the course of Friday and Saturday, and now he just feels empty, staring down at the three patches of soil on the ground. ]

May the earth rest lightly upon them. [ he says, quietly. Connor's pouch still rests in his pocket, and despite the six coins he's given away it manages to feel heavier than ever. ]

Amen.

[He murmurs softly, automatically, his eyes closed and his head bowed.]

[ Orpheus is respectfully silent, not recognizing the word Benjamin uses but recognizing it from context as some last respectful call for contemplation. The woods are unnaturally quiet, save for the sounds of the others around him - no birdsong or rustling of creatures in the trees, and it wears at Orpheus until he can't take it any longer, and raises his voice to finish the song he started for Rina when they first found her. ]

A boy may learn and laugh and love
A girl may smile and take his hand
Alas, such things must come and go
Yet be remembered fondly
Oh since it has so ought to be
By a time to rise and a time to fall
Come fill to me the parting glass
Good night and gods be with you all
Good night and gods be with you all

[Farrah's here, because they deserve it, but that doesn't mean she's coping super great. She can't even bring herself to wear black-- it's like if she does, she has to admit it's real, has to admit that this isn't some kind of fucked up nightmare, has to believe that their bodies are-- in the dirt in front of them, instead of living, breathing, and---

By the time she makes her way to the grave, she's gone completely feral again. She throws the flowers she had aside, and instead, just throws her entire body on top of the fresh dirt.

The wide grave may be shorter than the one beside it, but it'd be the perfect size to fit Farrah, too.]

[Benjamin kneels next to her, regardless of the freshly turned earth and his clean trousers, and puts his hand on her back.

He doesn't make a move to try and move her. Not yet. She can say goodbye however she wants, right now.]

That's it, love. There we are...

[The fact that he doesn’t drag her away, or scold her, or try and otherwise stop her means so much. It’s only because of his strong, yet incredibly gentle kindness that after a minute or two of weeping on her friends’ grave, she’s able to get back up again, instead of someone having to drag her away. She climbs back up onto her knees, and gives the grave another long stare, before bending again to press a kiss to the dirt.]

I love you. [She whispers it to the grave, face streaked with muddy tears. And then, to Benjamin, more clearly, as she gets onto her feet again: ]

Thank you.

[She's only a child. Her grief, raw and wild, only drives that home even more.

When she gets up and turns to him, he doesn't hesitate, enveloping her in a hug.]

[Farrah hugs him back tightly, but she does not weep any further. She's cried the last of her tears there, in the dirt, as close as she'll ever be again to the two who quickly had become her dearest of friends. But she does let herself whisper to him, her speech soft and careful as if she's afraid of saying the wrong thing.]

Thank you. For keeping them together.

You kept my promise to them. They're not alone.

[He squeezes her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head and the other around her shoulders.]

One day you'll be with them again. [His voice is rough, tired and sad. The thought of her dying - or, as she's said before, of being dead - stabs his heart, but... This isn't better. This place isn't a life worth living, either.

He wants to tell her she can join them when she's old and grey, with her great-grandchildren holding her hand. He wants to be able to promise that to her so badly that it hurts. But the world is cold and cruel, and thousands of girls her age - Johanna's age (Johanna, locked away, Johanna, Johanna...) - unfairly die every day, and he thinks about a rag soaked in mercy, sweet oblivion in defiance of a bitter end.

But Farrah is like him; something of his temper, flaring out in her fury, so ready to fight during the trial. She won't go gently, but kicking and screaming, and if that's so then so be it.

He slowly releases her, only to cup her cheeks, so soft and delicate in his hands, rough from fifteen years of hard labor, rough from three graves dug in three days time, and he kisses her forehead.]

But we have a job to do, princess. We have to avenge them first.

[The idea that she'll be with them again... Is a little comforting. Even if it's depressing in itself. She has, unfortunately, had to let go of the teenage notion that dying young is something beautiful and romantic. Instead, it's just tragic, raw, and empty.

She peers up at him, the grief somewhat lifted by shock, because no one's ever called her that before-- not Farrah, whose always been rough-and-tumble, whose always talked back, whose always been short of perfect. She's always thought princess-types were weird and annoying, but when he calls her that, even in this terrible moment-- her heart warms, and she thinks she understands.

There's a glint of determination there, too. She nods, firmly.]

We do. We will.

[Angus is also marching through the garden, walking through the aisle of names of the fallen. Four entire weeks have passed since they arrived, no closer to freedom, and with more questions. He keeps his Hammer of Glory strapped on his back, ever since the morning. He can't part from his weapon ever again.

Mr. Barker has been busy all night and all morning, it appears. Angus squats next to the older man.]

Which ones are you looking for?

[Benjamin is lost in his work, in acting to keep himself out of his own thoughts, and doesn't notice Angus until he squats next to him.]

I'm...I'm useless with flowers. I want... I want to see if there's any asphodel, but I don't remember what it looks like.

[A soft, broken sound, as he shakes his head.]

When I was... Well, a young, foolish man, I bought a little book on the meanings of flowers. Asphodel always stuck out to me... It's one of the only ones I remember, even now.

[Angus knows only the flowers of Fife, as a prince should know, but he doesn't memorize everything. He squeezes his eyes, trying to remember if he's ever heard of that name...]

I heard of bog asphodel, native to the swamps of my land, but I doubt that is what you seek. [It likely means something different from London asphodel. He stands up.] Why, what does it mean?

My regrets follow you to the grave.

[He bends over and takes the scissors in his hand, cutting the stem of a pretty spray of multiple pink flowers. Hyacinth, maybe? It's beautiful, and he thinks the color suits Rina.]

...At the time, the meaning stood out because it's so specific. I thought, 'how universal must that feeling be, that a whole flower can be understood to represent it.'

[He shakes his head, laying the flower carefully in his basket.]

I understand better now.

[Angus stands quietly. He's known that feeling too well, but all of the flowers that grow in this garden won't be enough to measure the magnitude of his regrets. The people of his Earth, of alternate Fife, of Rina and Varian and Connor and Sissi. People who he could have had a chance to save. Of Mumble, who had not been aware of his human body's limitations. Of the SQUIP, who could have been taught to disobey its programming. Each flower representing a failure on his end. On everyone's end, he corrects himself.]

There may be a book in the library. Varian and Rina deserve to be remembered for this.

[He rests a hand on Benjamin's shoulder, the other in a fist over his heart.]

Their deaths must have to mean something.

[Benjamin sits there, beneath Angus' hand, steady and firm and holding him back from the yawning void that looms black and empty in front of him. Around him.

There's nothing he can do to get the Judge, now. But he has a new target for the blazing furnace of vengeance that stews in his gut.]

The Wizard will pay for this.

[His voice is rough and threatening.]

[Good.

Good, he tells himself. If Mr. Barker will live to see the Wizard suffer, then he will not die because of this game. Ambassador will not lose anyone else.]

We will ensure that he suffers a painful death. One where he is cast into the fires of justice and destiny.

[Something rotten twists inside of him, dark and angry. For a second the void goes red, and he feels bone shattering beneath his fists, feels blood spilling over his hands, feels the familiar weight of a razor in his hand-

He clenches his hands into fists, against his thighs.]

Justice and destiny, yes. [He sounds half-listening. Prefers the sound of Righteousness and bloody Vengeance, himself.

He gets to his feet, then hefts the basket of flowers.]

I need to fetch candles for the service. I may as well check the library for a guide to flowers, while I'm there.

[Angus makes a grab for the hand of the basket as Benjamin stands, keeping watch of how close his hands are to the petals.]

I'll go with you. I might find a few to add. [And keep him company. He can't let people be alone anymore.] Though it may represent bravery and determination, I doubt that thistles are the the only flower I should seek.

[Benjamin lets him take the basket, instead dusting dirt from his clothes, and then looking up at the sky.]

I hope the rain remains at bay until after the service. Rain always turns a funeral into an even more miserable experience than it already is.

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Week Five

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Funeral

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Picking Flowers

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