Carry On, Wayward Daughter

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Nev
Posts: 6
Joined: Wed Sep 12, 2018 9:35 am
Topics: 3
Race: Galdor
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Writer: Rem
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Thu Nov 15, 2018 9:36 am

DAY MONTH 2718
Not for the first time today, Nev wondered what it would be like to have her brother with her now. It might ave had something to do with the bottle in her hand, painting the world in a nostalgic hue. Whiskey made her wishful, and now she was counting each one of those wishes. She likely would have still been a Seventen. Proud in uniform; digustingly so. Because that had been their dream, hadn’t it?

But what was the point of that dream now? It wasn’t like her parents cared. A snort there. Unladylike and loud enough to draw attention to her for a moment. Her response was a glare back through the murky glass made murkier by her drink. The matter was dropped.

Were there a means to turn back the wheels of time, she would have done it. Done something that wouuld have saved him. Maybe taken his place; she didn’t put it past herself. Who wouldn’t sacrifice all to save their loved ones? Certainly she. The room was suddenly suffocating, and the comfort she found in a tavern was lost. Out, she needed out.

The air outside was no better, shoving through the door and swallowing the thick lump in her throat. Distress was something foreign to her. But it seemed right at home then, furrowing her brows as she skulked her way down an alley. Shoulders hunched, she distanced herself from the much more lively tavern for somewhere quieter where she might be able to stew in peace. Or for someone who’d be willing to distract her. Either would work at this point.

But neither was what she found.

Instead, she found hard wall and barrels. Maybe this would be better. The first kick didn’t do much, but send a wave of pain up the arch of her foot. It was numbed after the third and the barrel was beginning to lose the impromptu brawl. Putting her foot through it saw little relief, but still something - which was good enough for her.

Nev, though, wasn’t one to take things easy. The barrel was the start and the immovable wall would be the finish. The second her knuckles hit solid, firm brick, she recognizeed the miscalculation even in the slightly drunken rage she’d worked herself into. The shock thhat went from her hand up her forearm gave her only a momentary pause. There had not been enough force in the first punch for skin to break, but she made sure on the next one. And the next. Until she could no longer feel her hand and the bloody mess of its collision with the wall was imprinted in her mind.

Chest heaving, she cradled her stiff fingers as she slid down the same wall as if consoled by a friend. If Tristiaan were around, none of this would be happening. Things would be different. Different enough that she might have allowed for a short sob to roll through her as it attempted to in that moment, but her fully inflated ego would not allow it. She had done her mourning, and now it was time to be angry.

Being angry was tiring affair, though. She brought her knees up and rest her head, hand still cradled to her chest. Maybe a minute or two of rest wouldn’t be so bad.
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Raksha
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Posts: 304
Joined: Sat Mar 24, 2018 10:43 pm
Topics: 65
Race: Storyteller
: Resistance is Futile. Order is life.
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Fri Nov 16, 2018 10:35 pm

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Time Stamp, 2718
​​LOCATION | TIME of DAY
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Image
”Y
​​’know,” A gruff, raspy voice said from the darkness of the alleyway, accompanied by a hacking chesty cough and a clearing of the throat.
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​​ “If y’keep going around beating up innocent walls and barrels and such, one day the bastards’ll fight back.” If Nev were so inclined to glance up from her woeful collapse, she would see an older man leaning against the opposite wall further down the way, bundled inside a large beige trenchcoat with a bottle of something amber in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. He lifted the burning stick of tobacco to thin older lips, squinting through the smoke as he drew a breath, choking back a cough and waiving the cloud of haze to gesture at the angry woman.
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​​ “Seem’s y’got a lot of bad things on y’mind kid. I got a few too, right now more than I’ve had in a long while. Had t’get away for a bit to find myself again ‘fore I pick the pieces all up again…” Pushing off the wall, he came closer with the air of a man who had nothing left to loose, offering the bottle to the woman with a grunt.
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​​ “Won’t fix it, but it helps the hurt. Y’look like y’might already know that, but fuck it.” Whether she took the bottle or not, the man would take another drag of the cigarette, scratching at his dark grey salt and pepper hair. His face was marred by stubble and his eyes bleary, with drink and tears and something else.
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​​ “Was it the fucking riot? Those bastards, fighting when there’s no need to be fighting. Wouldn’t know what fighting was if it bit them on the arse, the whole stinkin’ lot of them. Saw fighting in Hesse, long time ago now. This was just…tempers gone wild. Erseholes burnt my home, hurt my family…Vienda’s the same piece of shit I turned my back on so damn long ago.” Sticking the blunt in his mouth, the man knelt down to examine her hands, gesturing at the bloodied knuckles.
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​​ “Y’know, s’good way to get an infection golly. I can fix that up, the old fashioned way, if y’let me.” It seemed the older man needed to be doing something, anything, the horrors of the riot weighing heaving in his eyes. He coughed again, chest wheezing from damage deep in his lungs.
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​​ “And in case y’were wondering what old fool would approach an angry golly in some back alley of Vienda...” Raising an eyebrow, he looked at the galdor through the curl of his cigarette smoke.
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​​ “Winslow Coors, Clown of Balder’s fucking circus, that’s me. A fuckin’ right crack up I am.” He said with a frown and another cough, reaching slowly for her hands.
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