[Mari^2] - souls
Who: Mari and Marijke
Where: Marijke's quarters
When: After this
Ratings & Warnings: PG, mentions of death
MARIJKE AVOIDS EVERY SUBJECT AND MARI GETS THE WRONG IDEA THIS IS EVERY ASPECT OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP
Mari took longer than an hour to see the body.
It was near five before she came back to the Hour. She'd stayed, weeping over the body until she couldn't cry any more, then stayed longer to clean up the blood where he'd been hung. Then she'd simply walked around Tyrol, clutching the lock of hair she'd taken from his body as though if she held it tightly enough he'd come walking around the corner. Where did he live? She didn't know, she realised. Had he family other than his mother? Clutching the lock of hair tighter, she walked until her hands went from burning in the cold to red and numb.
Her eyes were red rimmed from crying, her nose stuffed up from a mixture of flu and sobbing. What she wanted was Moirine, someone who'd also known Rhys but- Marijke. She wanted Marijke too, perhaps more in that moment. Once she found herself back at the Hour, she'd pushed her clothes into a bag, picked up the cat and wandered to her friend's room, all the time thinking he's dead, he's gone. She'd never see him again.
Her hands were full with her things and the cat. She couldn't knock, so she kicked the door instead. Hopefully Marijke would not have left. Hopefully she would not press her for details. All she wanted was to be held and to sleep for a long, long time.
Marike had not left.
After the first hour, she had been worried, but not naive enough to think that Mari wouldn't need time, that she might be late in the coming. But then another quarter of an hour passed, and then another. She'd put water on to boil for tea, a sleeping mixture that might at least quiet her mind for a few hours.
Two hours had brought her to pacing. She had nearly written, then, nearly gone to Mari - and, later still, the guard - out of her concern. Tyrol's streets were more dangerous by the day. But she let it pass and waited. She never acted. She never, ever acted.
Her legs were sore when Mari finally came and there was a pit in her stomach the size of a boulder.
"Mari," she breathed, harsh with worry. "Come inside, now." She ignored the cat, took the girl by the shoulder and nudged her inside.
Standing in the middle of Marijke's room, hugging the cat close, Mari felt suddenly useless, mute, almost. What could she say? How could she put voice to how she felt? 'I've lost my friend' didn't even begin to cover the physical pain of those words, but simple words were all she had. Opening her mouth, shutting it, she tried to say something but couldn't find the right terms.
She dropped her bag and reached into her pocket, holding up the lock of hair. Her grip was too tight for Marijke to take it if she tried, but loose enough that she could see it. 'This was his', she wanted to say, 'this is all I have left of him'.
Marijke looked at the lock of hair but hardly registered it. Objectively, she knew where it had come from; she knew what it was and what it meant. But Marijke look past it.
She put one arm around Mari's shoulders, drawing her close with still no attention paid to the cat. Her chair was at her heels; she sat down quickly and pulled her younger friend with her, giving her a place to be held.
Mari allowed herself to be pulled, but tried to keep ahold on her emotions right up until she realised she was being held. It was then that she dissolved into silent tears, letting the cat down so that she could fling both her arms around Marijke's neck and hang on to her.
Her shoulders shook; the rest of her began to as well in due course. Suddenly she wanted to confess everything, to tell Marijke everything about Rhys and the Whispers, the strange other gang that had declared war on them using him - but even as the urge came, she realised she wouldn't be able to summon the words for that either.
Mari was nearly as big as she was, but Marijke pulled her as close as possible. The younger woman was a heavy weight in her sorrow, but she held her the best she could, fingers threading soothing through Mari's cropped hair.
She had never felt she had enough to offer in the way of comfort, but this was not the first time Mari had come to her for it. There was so little she felt qualified to soothe loss; words meant nothing and gestures were customary. All those things had their place -- later, beyond this.
Sweeping her thumb across Mari's forehead, Marijke closed her eyes and let her grieve.
"Shhh," she said quietly, an automatic reflex.
Mari had her eyes closed, but she was aware that she'd be leaving round circles of tears to stain Marijke's shirt. Her breathing calmed, regulating when she was pressed close against her, to short sobs and shuddering sighs. The tears were petering out finally, giving her time to reflect. The day felt like it'd stretched into a week, each task performed seeming to have taken far longer than it had in actuality. Exhausted. She was exhausted, falling over tired.
Why had she come here? This was where she'd stitched him up, where he'd helped carry Marijke up to, where she'd cried and hugged him. She should have stayed in her own room and asked Lucia to stay with her, or with Rowan. Even with her eyes shut tight, she could relive the memories as though they played out in front of her- but then she could do the same in her room, or half a dozen inns in town.
"I'm tired," she said after a moment, so quiet her wrecked ear made it hard to hear. Another thing she'd miss; not having to listen, having conversations through writing, or signs. "I'm- tired."
"You should rest." The bed was there and made - Marijke planned to give it to her while she needed it. Shifting her weight to keep supporting them both, she ran her hand straight down through Mari's hair. "I have made tea, if you'd like some beforehand." There was still water left. She didn't think it would take very long to heat again.
Mari shook her head and swallowed, pointing at the bed with her chin. What she wanted was to sleep, for as long as humanly possible. The cat had already located the bed, it being the softest, warmest part of the room, and now stared at her from one of the pillows. Not even bothering to get undressed, she tugged off her boots and lay facedown on the bed, her arm covering the left side of her head. After a moment, she shifted to uncover her ear, her hand going to trace a line down the cat's fur. Arrangements would have to be made. She'd been too young to make them for her family, but she could do this for her friend.
A wake, of course. A good feast to send him off with. Then the sin-eater would absolve him, as he'd died so suddenly. That, she would have to do herself. She'd never seen the practise outside of Wales. Closing her eyes until the cat faded to a blur of orange, she considered the duty. A sin-eater took on all the sins of the dead, at the expense of their own mortal soul. It was as though they healed people by absorbing their colds and flues, taking on their sicknesses for their own. Most people avoided them, as though they had contagious diseases. Mari had never really thought about a soul before, what that meant. The exchange was supposed to be symbolic, but while normally she grappled with the idea that any action might have an unfavourable consequence, she could not help but wonder if, in a place like Tyrol, a symbolic exchange might become a real one.
"What do you think," she coughed a little, her throat still sore from her cold, "of souls?"
Her blankets were in decent enough shape. Shortly after Mari climbed into bed, Marijke went to cover her, shaking the wool out against her leg.
"Souls?" She frowned, smoothing out the fabric with one hand. She continued in a slow, measured voice.
"I do believe that all men are in possession of an eternal soul." How could she not? "And often they are the best part of a man.”
The best part. Mari kept herself from swallowing through sheer force of will. She'd been taught, growing up, of the soul being the part which allowed a person to enter the afterlife. It was clear to her why the sin-eaters at home had been so reviled; their entry to the afterlife was barred. Any consciousness thought after death, the happiness her siblings had found, that would be taken. The idea of the soul being the best part of a person seemed easier to bear. How long would she live anyway? Her thumb rubbed over the scar on her palm, the one cutting her lifeline into halves. People were forever telling her she would die soon; how long until Belief took effect? It would be easier to cope with losing her best parts briefly, than it would to be the same and unable to see her loved ones once more.
"What happens if you lose it?" That made it sound like it was a bauble, to be lost and found. Something that wasn't as vital as it really was.
Marijke's expression became pinched. She returned to the blanket, shaking it out again even though it didn't need it.
"You're troubled, Mari. You should rest your mind." Smoothing it out again, she moved to cover the girl lying prone on her bed, making allowances to move around the cat. There was no sense in letting the girl dwell on sin and souls, not when she was grieving: no matter the truth of it she would not come to a good answer.
No answer. Did that mean Marijke didn't have one, or just that she didn't wish to dwell on it? Mari tugged the cover up to her nose and closed her eyes. She needed to speak to someone far older and wiser. The problem was, finding them.
"Alright," she mumbled. Her body relaxed almost immediately when she stopped talking, her tired mind not making any protestations. In that chair, she'd stitched him up, over there they'd laid Marijke, over there, they'd hugged...Shutting her eyes, she found herself falling into a deep, but not dreamless, sleep.
An OOC Interlude:
IT MEANS PROBABLY RHYS WENT TO HELL MARI
PROBABLY HE WENT TO HELL
YOU ARE THE WORST
YOU'RE GOIN TO HELL TOO MARI
PROTESTANTS
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The end.
Where: Marijke's quarters
When: After this
Ratings & Warnings: PG, mentions of death
MARIJKE AVOIDS EVERY SUBJECT AND MARI GETS THE WRONG IDEA THIS IS EVERY ASPECT OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP
Mari took longer than an hour to see the body.
It was near five before she came back to the Hour. She'd stayed, weeping over the body until she couldn't cry any more, then stayed longer to clean up the blood where he'd been hung. Then she'd simply walked around Tyrol, clutching the lock of hair she'd taken from his body as though if she held it tightly enough he'd come walking around the corner. Where did he live? She didn't know, she realised. Had he family other than his mother? Clutching the lock of hair tighter, she walked until her hands went from burning in the cold to red and numb.
Her eyes were red rimmed from crying, her nose stuffed up from a mixture of flu and sobbing. What she wanted was Moirine, someone who'd also known Rhys but- Marijke. She wanted Marijke too, perhaps more in that moment. Once she found herself back at the Hour, she'd pushed her clothes into a bag, picked up the cat and wandered to her friend's room, all the time thinking he's dead, he's gone. She'd never see him again.
Her hands were full with her things and the cat. She couldn't knock, so she kicked the door instead. Hopefully Marijke would not have left. Hopefully she would not press her for details. All she wanted was to be held and to sleep for a long, long time.
Marike had not left.
After the first hour, she had been worried, but not naive enough to think that Mari wouldn't need time, that she might be late in the coming. But then another quarter of an hour passed, and then another. She'd put water on to boil for tea, a sleeping mixture that might at least quiet her mind for a few hours.
Two hours had brought her to pacing. She had nearly written, then, nearly gone to Mari - and, later still, the guard - out of her concern. Tyrol's streets were more dangerous by the day. But she let it pass and waited. She never acted. She never, ever acted.
Her legs were sore when Mari finally came and there was a pit in her stomach the size of a boulder.
"Mari," she breathed, harsh with worry. "Come inside, now." She ignored the cat, took the girl by the shoulder and nudged her inside.
Standing in the middle of Marijke's room, hugging the cat close, Mari felt suddenly useless, mute, almost. What could she say? How could she put voice to how she felt? 'I've lost my friend' didn't even begin to cover the physical pain of those words, but simple words were all she had. Opening her mouth, shutting it, she tried to say something but couldn't find the right terms.
She dropped her bag and reached into her pocket, holding up the lock of hair. Her grip was too tight for Marijke to take it if she tried, but loose enough that she could see it. 'This was his', she wanted to say, 'this is all I have left of him'.
Marijke looked at the lock of hair but hardly registered it. Objectively, she knew where it had come from; she knew what it was and what it meant. But Marijke look past it.
She put one arm around Mari's shoulders, drawing her close with still no attention paid to the cat. Her chair was at her heels; she sat down quickly and pulled her younger friend with her, giving her a place to be held.
Mari allowed herself to be pulled, but tried to keep ahold on her emotions right up until she realised she was being held. It was then that she dissolved into silent tears, letting the cat down so that she could fling both her arms around Marijke's neck and hang on to her.
Her shoulders shook; the rest of her began to as well in due course. Suddenly she wanted to confess everything, to tell Marijke everything about Rhys and the Whispers, the strange other gang that had declared war on them using him - but even as the urge came, she realised she wouldn't be able to summon the words for that either.
Mari was nearly as big as she was, but Marijke pulled her as close as possible. The younger woman was a heavy weight in her sorrow, but she held her the best she could, fingers threading soothing through Mari's cropped hair.
She had never felt she had enough to offer in the way of comfort, but this was not the first time Mari had come to her for it. There was so little she felt qualified to soothe loss; words meant nothing and gestures were customary. All those things had their place -- later, beyond this.
Sweeping her thumb across Mari's forehead, Marijke closed her eyes and let her grieve.
"Shhh," she said quietly, an automatic reflex.
Mari had her eyes closed, but she was aware that she'd be leaving round circles of tears to stain Marijke's shirt. Her breathing calmed, regulating when she was pressed close against her, to short sobs and shuddering sighs. The tears were petering out finally, giving her time to reflect. The day felt like it'd stretched into a week, each task performed seeming to have taken far longer than it had in actuality. Exhausted. She was exhausted, falling over tired.
Why had she come here? This was where she'd stitched him up, where he'd helped carry Marijke up to, where she'd cried and hugged him. She should have stayed in her own room and asked Lucia to stay with her, or with Rowan. Even with her eyes shut tight, she could relive the memories as though they played out in front of her- but then she could do the same in her room, or half a dozen inns in town.
"I'm tired," she said after a moment, so quiet her wrecked ear made it hard to hear. Another thing she'd miss; not having to listen, having conversations through writing, or signs. "I'm- tired."
"You should rest." The bed was there and made - Marijke planned to give it to her while she needed it. Shifting her weight to keep supporting them both, she ran her hand straight down through Mari's hair. "I have made tea, if you'd like some beforehand." There was still water left. She didn't think it would take very long to heat again.
Mari shook her head and swallowed, pointing at the bed with her chin. What she wanted was to sleep, for as long as humanly possible. The cat had already located the bed, it being the softest, warmest part of the room, and now stared at her from one of the pillows. Not even bothering to get undressed, she tugged off her boots and lay facedown on the bed, her arm covering the left side of her head. After a moment, she shifted to uncover her ear, her hand going to trace a line down the cat's fur. Arrangements would have to be made. She'd been too young to make them for her family, but she could do this for her friend.
A wake, of course. A good feast to send him off with. Then the sin-eater would absolve him, as he'd died so suddenly. That, she would have to do herself. She'd never seen the practise outside of Wales. Closing her eyes until the cat faded to a blur of orange, she considered the duty. A sin-eater took on all the sins of the dead, at the expense of their own mortal soul. It was as though they healed people by absorbing their colds and flues, taking on their sicknesses for their own. Most people avoided them, as though they had contagious diseases. Mari had never really thought about a soul before, what that meant. The exchange was supposed to be symbolic, but while normally she grappled with the idea that any action might have an unfavourable consequence, she could not help but wonder if, in a place like Tyrol, a symbolic exchange might become a real one.
"What do you think," she coughed a little, her throat still sore from her cold, "of souls?"
Her blankets were in decent enough shape. Shortly after Mari climbed into bed, Marijke went to cover her, shaking the wool out against her leg.
"Souls?" She frowned, smoothing out the fabric with one hand. She continued in a slow, measured voice.
"I do believe that all men are in possession of an eternal soul." How could she not? "And often they are the best part of a man.”
The best part. Mari kept herself from swallowing through sheer force of will. She'd been taught, growing up, of the soul being the part which allowed a person to enter the afterlife. It was clear to her why the sin-eaters at home had been so reviled; their entry to the afterlife was barred. Any consciousness thought after death, the happiness her siblings had found, that would be taken. The idea of the soul being the best part of a person seemed easier to bear. How long would she live anyway? Her thumb rubbed over the scar on her palm, the one cutting her lifeline into halves. People were forever telling her she would die soon; how long until Belief took effect? It would be easier to cope with losing her best parts briefly, than it would to be the same and unable to see her loved ones once more.
"What happens if you lose it?" That made it sound like it was a bauble, to be lost and found. Something that wasn't as vital as it really was.
Marijke's expression became pinched. She returned to the blanket, shaking it out again even though it didn't need it.
"You're troubled, Mari. You should rest your mind." Smoothing it out again, she moved to cover the girl lying prone on her bed, making allowances to move around the cat. There was no sense in letting the girl dwell on sin and souls, not when she was grieving: no matter the truth of it she would not come to a good answer.
No answer. Did that mean Marijke didn't have one, or just that she didn't wish to dwell on it? Mari tugged the cover up to her nose and closed her eyes. She needed to speak to someone far older and wiser. The problem was, finding them.
"Alright," she mumbled. Her body relaxed almost immediately when she stopped talking, her tired mind not making any protestations. In that chair, she'd stitched him up, over there they'd laid Marijke, over there, they'd hugged...Shutting her eyes, she found herself falling into a deep, but not dreamless, sleep.
An OOC Interlude:
IT MEANS PROBABLY RHYS WENT TO HELL MARI
PROBABLY HE WENT TO HELL
YOU ARE THE WORST
YOU'RE GOIN TO HELL TOO MARI
PROTESTANTS
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The end.