Ceasefire, Departure, Traces

Taye

An aftermath:

The Capstan Bedroom.
Several pale-salmon colored rugs are spread throughout the room, adding a touch of color to the otherwise plain wood floors. The walls themselves are white panelling, broken up by the dark colored beams that form the underlying structure of the Inn. Set against the north wall are two oak armoires, complete with decorative brass anchors set within each door. Between the two armoires is a vanity that faces a modified ship's wheel, the center portion now home to a circular mirror. Sitting beneath the vanity is a keg, a leather-covered cushion added to it, forming a stool on which to sit on. Within the central portion of the eastern wall is a large window that overlooks a garden behind the Inn. Hanging on either side of the window are various drawings of ships, a map of Delos as well as a oaken shelf with a sailing ship in a bottle perched upon it. Along the southern wall is a large bed, crafted from oak. An ocean-toned sofa sits here, back curved and seating fat.

You have emoted: It's good, that it's gone. No more reminders. No more squirming, blood-covered, mewling thing, bound to draw attention everywhere Taye goes with it in tow. No more people with eyes she'd like nothing else than to personally reach out and pluck, anything she could do to protect herself from their filthy pity.

You have emoted: It had been bad enough, her staggering journey to Esterport and to this suite. He is damnably well-known. Had he been less known, well. There is nothing she can do; nothing she will, not on this matter. The keys she received. The stairs she walked. The room is, for the time being, Taye's, and who cares how drained this will leave her purse?

You read what is written on an elegant white letter:
Dear Taye,

It is with heavy heart I scribe this letter, as it is one that should not have been scribed in the first place.

I wanted to personally let you know how much we regret the loss of Fayaleti Holbrook Hought. The entire city and the Legion joins me in sending our deepest sympathies during your period of bereavement.

I am personally aware of the numerous professional roles Holbrook undertook to support our city, from being Chief Engineer to his term as Senator. Holbrook was also very active within his guild and his Order. He was the first to bring people together and be a positive leader for others to follow. He was a joy to be around, and he was a solid, faithful man, whose fire and fervor inspired many. He had many people who named him friend and who loved him.

We all share in your pain and sorrow. We would like to pay our final respects to one of our best people. He will always be missed. He will be remembered. Spinesreach will be creating memorials, and he will not just be on the one to those who have fallen in this war because of Duiran's actions, but he will have a headstone in the graveyard where he rests so that he may be visited and remembered for the rest of time.

If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to reach out to Spinesreach. We stand with you.

Deepest sympathies,
Kanivara Sor'Tirivan Inkh Kwille
Iveti wo Ozidmu Chairman of the Secretariat

You have emoted: We stand with you. Nobody stands with her. Nobody can. They sit, happy and safe in their homes. They sit, offering platitudes and some perhaps thankful prayers, thankful that blood has watered a forest and a realm. Taye does not care to learn more. Spinesreach is not her city.

You rip an elegant white letter in two and throw away the remains.

You have emoted: Taye does not need to reach a hand, for the umpteenth time, into that useless pocket of hers. The accursed thing still rests there - anaxagorite and suncrystal, gleaming, glorious, forever a taunt, a thing she cannot destroy as she would meaningless written words.

You have emoted: And so Taye simply laces those coal-dark hands. Family of flesh has failed her, and twice; why not, then, send up an incense of a novice prayer to one God she had spoken with? Distant creator, Divine curiosity, Patron of a place she does not call home?

I am not of Your chosen city. It's possible I will not be for the foreseeable future. I care not for cities and constructs; I wish for something I may focus upon. It might bring diversion, much-needed, in the face of a change I never asked for.
You will be hard-pressed to make a zealot of me. All I wish is to understand, and be anchored.
I don't know what Your right hand will say. To him I ought to speak, no doubt. I... thought I should let You know.

You have emoted: She should be rising. Should be taking pen to paper, write him, as she'd prayed she would. Letter-spots of watercolour bloom and spill, the kind she would eagerly rush to the Lyrist's shop to buy - brimming with news and sunshine twinklings, far, far back and for her beloved. Taye closes her eyes, and grows still.

You have emoted: For where Taye saw jewels in the blossoming paints now there is only pain, and a man she shall not write to again, even should she live a century and more.

cinnamae

Well that broke my heart a bit, yes...