Ezra + Rowan // Abandoned
Who: Ezra and Rowan
Where: The Hour
When: October 8th
Rating & Warnings: PG for some strong language
Nathaniel had been less than pleased that today, of all days, he would choose to go back to the Hour instead of resting at home. He'd taken the day to himself yesterday and spent most of it asleep, much to the disappointment of his niece and nephew, but upon waking up that morning had felt some of his old energy return, and seizing it had declared today a work day.
Getting around was not the easiest thing to do. One of the more difficult things in fact, but he was determined to get up from his desk while he had the will to. Papers in hand he made his way towards the entrance where they had set up something of a makeshift bulletin board. Notices, positions, random statements, even a doodle or two peppered the wooden board, and he leafed through everything, trying not to lean too much on the crutch underneath his arm nor the casted foot, encased and splinted from the knee down.
Was it a good day? No, far from it. He was far from letting it damper his energetic mood. In fact, he would use it to blot out the millions of things falling apart in his personal life and try to repair everything in his professional one. Putting a few tacks between his lips, he shifted slightly and reached up to put a list of as-of-yet unrepaired hallways up and took two of the tacks to pin it up. Behind it he carefully pulled the rest of the papers out, untacked, and looked at the next slip of parchment. A list of names and their status. Another had died this morning due to injuries, an elderly adept who'd held on, but... Ezra sighed a little and tried not to clear his throat while he still had tacks in his mouth.
Rowan had sat in his office for nearly three hours today, the longest he had managed to stay in there since the attack. Nothing had effected his offices more than a crack in the window and a few pots breaking, but he couldn't get over the jittery panic of staying in any one place for too long. He had always been restless, and spent a lot of time finding ways to adjust to it, but this panic was new. It was also highly inconvient; Rowan was aware his leg needed more rest he was giving it, but he wasn't going to heal any faster if he spent hours sitting in a half-panic that they were being attacked and he was sitting like a lame duck.
Three hours was good enough. He was getting better, he had to be. Rowan stood up and winced, feeling the muscles in the process of healing protest any movement. He waited for them to adjust as much as they would in the circumstances, and walked to the door. The walking stick that had been sitting there, unused for all the years Rowan had had it, was now the easiest way to get around.
He hobbled down the hallway and down the stairwell, and started to walk to the entrance of the Hour. Coming for the day was hard enough. Rowan didn't even want to consider how difficult it would be to spend the night. He stopped short when he saw Erza at the bulletin board, and pushed down the new wave of panic at what he could be putting up. Lucia's broken ribs had punctured her lung and she was on her deathbed, Marijke would never get her mind back...
He shook his head. No. He'd have heard about both before Timekeeper Naevin did. He'd have to have heard it first. Even so ... Rowan had to steel himself before he was able to hobble to the bulletin board. "Hello, Lord Timekeeper."
He nearly set the papers loose into the air at the sound of Rowan's voice, so focussed on keeping everything together that it almost all fell apart at the smallest thing. His leg didn't hurt much (so long as no one poked at it, he'd discovered), only made it difficult to get around, but still he winced, eyes shut until he realized he had the papers in his arms. He let his breath out through his nose and carefully shuffled the papers in his arms until he could grab them with one hand, then took the tacks out of his mouth. "Rowan, good afternoon."
There were a fair deal of matching injuries about the place, though Godric's was certainly one of a kind. He looked back up to the board, to the papers in his hands, and back to Rowan, smiling a little apologetically. "Are you busy? Could you hold these for me?" He scratched at his temple, trying to avoid the stitches closer by his ear. "I only have a few more to put up."
"I'm not." Rowan reached forward to take the papers, gently putting his own walking stick against the wall. He did not need it to stand, after all.
So much news. Rowan gazed at the bulletin board, at all of the still bad news. When would anything pick up again? He did not spend enough time within anymore to truly gauge how empty the halls were, and even if he did he was full aware there were more people who were recovering outside of the Hour and so there would be truly no physical indication at how many lives were lost for another month or two at best.
It felt empty after the werewolf attack. This would be beyond empty and go into haunting.
"What other information is there to put up?" He could go through the stack, he supposed, but that would be somewhat rude.
"Thank you, thank you," he said, mostly under his breath as he sorted out the tacks carefully in his hand, not wanting to stab himself on top of everything else. He took the first page from Rowan and looked it over before he put it between an ad for a lost cat (really now, was that necessary? Whatever gave people comfort, he supposed) and a much older announcement concerning needing test subjects for this or that experiment. He looked at it a long moment, then sighed and ripped the latter down. That Adept was dead now.
"Some of it is a matter of missing objects," he said. "Well. Most of it is. Some of it is... updates." He took the next paper and looked at it again before he put it up in place of the last paper, which he'd folded and stuffed into his pocket. "There are still some people missing. I've been trying to keep the younger ones away from the wreckage.... just in case they... find something."
Normally one to bluster through whatever it was he was saying, it seemed even Ezra was having trouble talking. He was pale, and tired, and the subject seemed to make him nervous. Rowan wasn't the only one to notice the emptiness of the place. Ezra just couldn't find it in himself to leave while things were like this. His family was fine. The Hour was not.
"Ah, but there are several that have sent in notice that they'll be in again soon. That's good, very good," he muttered, putting the much shorter list up, trying not to sound too desperate.
Missing. Rowan was tired, so tired, but still felt guilty that he wasn't doing more to help out the rest of the Hour. It was part of his responsibility ... but only so much he could do with his leg as it was, and his nerves were still frayed from being trapped.
It was difficult to think of something to say. How were they holding up? How were you holding up? Rowan was barely holding up himself, and asking that usually required a response of the same type. "That is good," he said, finally. People were coming back. "I wonder how many ..." he stopped, and shook his head. How many wouldn't return? Rowan supposed the rate would depend in how loyal they were to the Golden Hour as an idea. Rowan wouldn't leave. Fuck leaving. The Hour was the first place where he actually had a place, and fuck anyone who decided that it wasn't up to their standards.
"We'll know soon," Ezra said absently. "It's tricky to know who will come back even when they recover." He'd thought to himself that their luck might turn now but he got the sudden thought of things in threes in his head and he found himself swallowing convulsively.
"Brennen's saying he might not come back at all, though he got out fine. Says his mind can't take it anymore, and with Meebles out... I suppose it's like that for others, too. I can't blame them." He was talking too much, but he couldn't seem to stop. "In the meantime, I've hardly been able to leave. My family's quite cross with me, they had something planned for tonight but... But even a small celebration seems absurd right now."
He hadn't been putting the papers up. In fact, he stared at the board and sighed, giving up. Did anyone even read these?
the hour needed a membership drive
Rowan nodded, avoiding looking at Ezra as he continued to look at the bulletin board. "There are going to be a lot of empty offices, even if those that are considering leaving all come back." He shifted, although not too far because it wasn't like his hurt leg could take much more weight than it already had.
No one had better start a rumor that the Hour was actually haunted, he decided. The last thing they needed was to have the memories of all of this haunt them, literally, forever.
at the rate tyrol's going they could do a pretty successful bottle drive, too
He didn't avoid looking at Rowan- he simply didn't think to. Normally this was not Ezra, who was in everyone's business, concerned for everyone's well-being. If he stopped to think about it- which he would, eventually- he would know the answer without having to ask Rowan at all. "Yes," he said in agreement. "Yes, it will very empty here."
He hesitated a moment, then, lifting his eyebrows in a voiceless sigh, turned to Rowan and held his hand out, taking the papers from him. "They can go up later," he said, tired. "I have other things to do." Nothing any more or less important than this. Everything seemed about equal these days, and apathy came and went in waves. The energy he'd felt that morning had subsided, and he considered just napping in his office. "I'm sorry. Were you heading out?" he asked, looking at Rowan full-on finally. "...have you heard anything more on Ms. Gelen?"
"She's recovering." Slowly, so slowly. Was she recovering dangerously slowly? Rowan had no experience in it, but at least she was awake. "I was just returning back to my parents. It's." He hesitated, but mentally shrugged. Who cares if someone thought less of them? "It's difficult to stay here at night. Or very long."
"I visited her once, but she was asleep." He put his eyes back to the bulletin board, then reached out and tugged another one off. "I seem to have the worst timing..."
His words trailed off as he continued to stare at the bulletin board, and he looked back, almost surprised, as Rowan spoke again. "Oh? Oh! Yes," he said, back to the board again. "Of course. No, I... I understand." Even if he was one of the few that slept at the Hour almost every night now. He had a servant come to bring him things, his office was outfitted for overnight stays, it had a washing room, there wasn't really any need to leave the Hour beyond his desire to. And it wasn't that he didn't desire it, it was only... he felt an overwhelming guilt everytime he stepped out, as though any attempt to enjoy himself was a slap in the face to the dead and injured. Even the simple joy of going home...
"By all means. It's better for you to rest, of course. There are things to do here, but they'll get done," he said, voice firm again. "And if you can't rest here, there's no point in staying."
Rowan nodded. It was true, of course, but that didn't make it much easier to handle. He was one of the people who lived in the Hour ... and now he could barely stay more than an hour with concentrated effort.
"Thank you, Timekeeper." With that, he started to limp away and back to relative safety of his parents, feeling guilty the entire time.
Where: The Hour
When: October 8th
Rating & Warnings: PG for some strong language
Nathaniel had been less than pleased that today, of all days, he would choose to go back to the Hour instead of resting at home. He'd taken the day to himself yesterday and spent most of it asleep, much to the disappointment of his niece and nephew, but upon waking up that morning had felt some of his old energy return, and seizing it had declared today a work day.
Getting around was not the easiest thing to do. One of the more difficult things in fact, but he was determined to get up from his desk while he had the will to. Papers in hand he made his way towards the entrance where they had set up something of a makeshift bulletin board. Notices, positions, random statements, even a doodle or two peppered the wooden board, and he leafed through everything, trying not to lean too much on the crutch underneath his arm nor the casted foot, encased and splinted from the knee down.
Was it a good day? No, far from it. He was far from letting it damper his energetic mood. In fact, he would use it to blot out the millions of things falling apart in his personal life and try to repair everything in his professional one. Putting a few tacks between his lips, he shifted slightly and reached up to put a list of as-of-yet unrepaired hallways up and took two of the tacks to pin it up. Behind it he carefully pulled the rest of the papers out, untacked, and looked at the next slip of parchment. A list of names and their status. Another had died this morning due to injuries, an elderly adept who'd held on, but... Ezra sighed a little and tried not to clear his throat while he still had tacks in his mouth.
Rowan had sat in his office for nearly three hours today, the longest he had managed to stay in there since the attack. Nothing had effected his offices more than a crack in the window and a few pots breaking, but he couldn't get over the jittery panic of staying in any one place for too long. He had always been restless, and spent a lot of time finding ways to adjust to it, but this panic was new. It was also highly inconvient; Rowan was aware his leg needed more rest he was giving it, but he wasn't going to heal any faster if he spent hours sitting in a half-panic that they were being attacked and he was sitting like a lame duck.
Three hours was good enough. He was getting better, he had to be. Rowan stood up and winced, feeling the muscles in the process of healing protest any movement. He waited for them to adjust as much as they would in the circumstances, and walked to the door. The walking stick that had been sitting there, unused for all the years Rowan had had it, was now the easiest way to get around.
He hobbled down the hallway and down the stairwell, and started to walk to the entrance of the Hour. Coming for the day was hard enough. Rowan didn't even want to consider how difficult it would be to spend the night. He stopped short when he saw Erza at the bulletin board, and pushed down the new wave of panic at what he could be putting up. Lucia's broken ribs had punctured her lung and she was on her deathbed, Marijke would never get her mind back...
He shook his head. No. He'd have heard about both before Timekeeper Naevin did. He'd have to have heard it first. Even so ... Rowan had to steel himself before he was able to hobble to the bulletin board. "Hello, Lord Timekeeper."
He nearly set the papers loose into the air at the sound of Rowan's voice, so focussed on keeping everything together that it almost all fell apart at the smallest thing. His leg didn't hurt much (so long as no one poked at it, he'd discovered), only made it difficult to get around, but still he winced, eyes shut until he realized he had the papers in his arms. He let his breath out through his nose and carefully shuffled the papers in his arms until he could grab them with one hand, then took the tacks out of his mouth. "Rowan, good afternoon."
There were a fair deal of matching injuries about the place, though Godric's was certainly one of a kind. He looked back up to the board, to the papers in his hands, and back to Rowan, smiling a little apologetically. "Are you busy? Could you hold these for me?" He scratched at his temple, trying to avoid the stitches closer by his ear. "I only have a few more to put up."
"I'm not." Rowan reached forward to take the papers, gently putting his own walking stick against the wall. He did not need it to stand, after all.
So much news. Rowan gazed at the bulletin board, at all of the still bad news. When would anything pick up again? He did not spend enough time within anymore to truly gauge how empty the halls were, and even if he did he was full aware there were more people who were recovering outside of the Hour and so there would be truly no physical indication at how many lives were lost for another month or two at best.
It felt empty after the werewolf attack. This would be beyond empty and go into haunting.
"What other information is there to put up?" He could go through the stack, he supposed, but that would be somewhat rude.
"Thank you, thank you," he said, mostly under his breath as he sorted out the tacks carefully in his hand, not wanting to stab himself on top of everything else. He took the first page from Rowan and looked it over before he put it between an ad for a lost cat (really now, was that necessary? Whatever gave people comfort, he supposed) and a much older announcement concerning needing test subjects for this or that experiment. He looked at it a long moment, then sighed and ripped the latter down. That Adept was dead now.
"Some of it is a matter of missing objects," he said. "Well. Most of it is. Some of it is... updates." He took the next paper and looked at it again before he put it up in place of the last paper, which he'd folded and stuffed into his pocket. "There are still some people missing. I've been trying to keep the younger ones away from the wreckage.... just in case they... find something."
Normally one to bluster through whatever it was he was saying, it seemed even Ezra was having trouble talking. He was pale, and tired, and the subject seemed to make him nervous. Rowan wasn't the only one to notice the emptiness of the place. Ezra just couldn't find it in himself to leave while things were like this. His family was fine. The Hour was not.
"Ah, but there are several that have sent in notice that they'll be in again soon. That's good, very good," he muttered, putting the much shorter list up, trying not to sound too desperate.
Missing. Rowan was tired, so tired, but still felt guilty that he wasn't doing more to help out the rest of the Hour. It was part of his responsibility ... but only so much he could do with his leg as it was, and his nerves were still frayed from being trapped.
It was difficult to think of something to say. How were they holding up? How were you holding up? Rowan was barely holding up himself, and asking that usually required a response of the same type. "That is good," he said, finally. People were coming back. "I wonder how many ..." he stopped, and shook his head. How many wouldn't return? Rowan supposed the rate would depend in how loyal they were to the Golden Hour as an idea. Rowan wouldn't leave. Fuck leaving. The Hour was the first place where he actually had a place, and fuck anyone who decided that it wasn't up to their standards.
"We'll know soon," Ezra said absently. "It's tricky to know who will come back even when they recover." He'd thought to himself that their luck might turn now but he got the sudden thought of things in threes in his head and he found himself swallowing convulsively.
"Brennen's saying he might not come back at all, though he got out fine. Says his mind can't take it anymore, and with Meebles out... I suppose it's like that for others, too. I can't blame them." He was talking too much, but he couldn't seem to stop. "In the meantime, I've hardly been able to leave. My family's quite cross with me, they had something planned for tonight but... But even a small celebration seems absurd right now."
He hadn't been putting the papers up. In fact, he stared at the board and sighed, giving up. Did anyone even read these?
the hour needed a membership drive
Rowan nodded, avoiding looking at Ezra as he continued to look at the bulletin board. "There are going to be a lot of empty offices, even if those that are considering leaving all come back." He shifted, although not too far because it wasn't like his hurt leg could take much more weight than it already had.
No one had better start a rumor that the Hour was actually haunted, he decided. The last thing they needed was to have the memories of all of this haunt them, literally, forever.
at the rate tyrol's going they could do a pretty successful bottle drive, too
He didn't avoid looking at Rowan- he simply didn't think to. Normally this was not Ezra, who was in everyone's business, concerned for everyone's well-being. If he stopped to think about it- which he would, eventually- he would know the answer without having to ask Rowan at all. "Yes," he said in agreement. "Yes, it will very empty here."
He hesitated a moment, then, lifting his eyebrows in a voiceless sigh, turned to Rowan and held his hand out, taking the papers from him. "They can go up later," he said, tired. "I have other things to do." Nothing any more or less important than this. Everything seemed about equal these days, and apathy came and went in waves. The energy he'd felt that morning had subsided, and he considered just napping in his office. "I'm sorry. Were you heading out?" he asked, looking at Rowan full-on finally. "...have you heard anything more on Ms. Gelen?"
"She's recovering." Slowly, so slowly. Was she recovering dangerously slowly? Rowan had no experience in it, but at least she was awake. "I was just returning back to my parents. It's." He hesitated, but mentally shrugged. Who cares if someone thought less of them? "It's difficult to stay here at night. Or very long."
"I visited her once, but she was asleep." He put his eyes back to the bulletin board, then reached out and tugged another one off. "I seem to have the worst timing..."
His words trailed off as he continued to stare at the bulletin board, and he looked back, almost surprised, as Rowan spoke again. "Oh? Oh! Yes," he said, back to the board again. "Of course. No, I... I understand." Even if he was one of the few that slept at the Hour almost every night now. He had a servant come to bring him things, his office was outfitted for overnight stays, it had a washing room, there wasn't really any need to leave the Hour beyond his desire to. And it wasn't that he didn't desire it, it was only... he felt an overwhelming guilt everytime he stepped out, as though any attempt to enjoy himself was a slap in the face to the dead and injured. Even the simple joy of going home...
"By all means. It's better for you to rest, of course. There are things to do here, but they'll get done," he said, voice firm again. "And if you can't rest here, there's no point in staying."
Rowan nodded. It was true, of course, but that didn't make it much easier to handle. He was one of the people who lived in the Hour ... and now he could barely stay more than an hour with concentrated effort.
"Thank you, Timekeeper." With that, he started to limp away and back to relative safety of his parents, feeling guilty the entire time.