askthelookout: (Watching from the shadows)
2015-03-01 01:23 am

A Shorter Trail (for apassingafternoon)

Bert walked fast, keeping pace with the dull throbbing of his head. Anger lengthened his stride - anger at Alain for running away, at Roland for not being there, at Kaine for being stupid enough to get them all in this mess, even at Jamie for dying. Because that was the core of it, really. Anger was easy to feel, a great deal easier than grief or fear or worry, and anger would keep him going where the others were likely to make him stop and collapse.

Everything was gone. Even his world was gone. And Alain hadn't let him go with it. That hurt, a deep, gnawing loss that had nothing to do with Alain at all, really. He'd set himself up as a dinh in Roland's absence, and even though he'd known that they would lose the battle, he still felt the dull blade of failure, that hideous knowledge that he could have done more or acted differently. If Roland felt this way all the time, he thought blackly, it was a wonder he hadn't gone completely mad.

He was so lost in those thoughts, and the black void of anger they pulled him into, that he almost didn't see Kaine. He'd been expecting her to be a half-hour or more outside the town by now, not huddled so close to its gates. A few feet more, and he would have fallen over her.

Taking a deep breath, he did his best to push down his feelings, hunkering next to her and reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Kaine?" Then, as if only now registering her nakedness: "Hold steady, I'll lend you my shirt. Hardly a Fair-Day gown, but it'll cover you."
askthelookout: (Lonesome inside)
2015-02-22 01:58 am

The Stars Still Shine (for apassingafternoon)

It was a long day, and one which seemed as if it might never end. Long after the sun had gone down, Cuthbert was crutching his way around the little tent city which was sprouting up on the practice ground. He'd had the rest of his injuries seen to briefly - by Jamie, not Eunyce, largely because he trusted a fellow gunslinger much more to understand why he wouldn't take anything to put him to sleep - and he'd wiped off the worse of the dirt that clung to him, but he still looked thoroughly sick and weary.

He'd managed to see Rebecca's girls in the hands of someone he trusted, at least, and made sure they were sleeping soundly. Those with friends or family in the lower town had long gone to find shelter there, those without had set up tents and campfires and settled themselves down in the ruins. But it was the small hours of the morning before he lay down himself, on the bare ground, and tried to rest.

It was maybe half an hour later that he gave up on the attempt, hauled himself back to his feet, and limped away again. He found Kaine without too much trouble, and levered himself down onto the grass next to her. With a rather sick feeling, he remembered just how recently they'd been sitting on this ground in the sunshine, telling stories in the shadow of the castle complex, and how he'd felt that things were finally relaxing a little. Ka-mai, indeed, he thought bitterly.

Leaning over a little, he touched her shoulder. His voice was low, so as not to wake the rest of the camp. They needed sleep, he knew. Everyone was weary as all hell.

"Kaine? Are you awake?"
askthelookout: (A deeper darkness)
2015-02-19 08:26 pm

Out of the Rubble (for apassingafternoon)

Cuthbert hadn't been present for the battle in the courtyard, a fact that would make his stomach roil when he thought about it for a long time to come. He and Thomas, along with several of the apprentice gunslingers, had been inside the castle complex, trying to help people to safety as the walls fell in around them. Rebecca's eldest daughter had joined him, despite his protestations, and he hadn't had time to fight her on it; when the roof had come in, he had done the only thing he could think of, and dragged them both under a table, shielding her as best he could.

When he opened his eyes, he thought for a moment that he might have died in the process. What little light there was came through in a dim, grey haze, and for a fraction of a second, everything was so quiet and so still that he couldn't believe it was real. Then he breathed, and pain came flooding into his world. He was alive, all right. Dead men didn't feel broken ribs.

Lisbeth hadn't been so lucky. The young girl was lying under him, still warm, but the side of her skull was stoved in, and when he felt for a pulse - his bruised and battered arm screaming out at the movement - there was nothing there. He might have cried then, but it felt as if the dust all around them was clogging his tear ducts; nothing came. Pushing himself off her, he started to dig himself out of the ruin that had been his home.

He hadn't been unconscious for long. Although he didn't know it, when he came to Roland was still in the courtyard, weeping over Nariko's body. It took him several minutes to drag himself out and down the stairs, one injured leg dragging behind him, and by the time he managed to get out to the courtyard, it was all over. Alain still stood there, still as a stock, staring at the space where Roland had been; Jamie, too, looked in shock. But most of the other gunslingers had started to go about their business, silent and long-faced as they knelt to help the wounded and close the eyes of the dead. Into this, Cuthbert came; a slight figure grey with dust and streaked with blood, all trace of humour gone from his face.

"What happened?" He looked around at the courtyard, his voice rasping from the dust he'd inhaled. "Where's Roland?"