Raven had come down from her room, after spending some time resting and getting herself back to feeling somewhat human again. A hot bath had scrubbed most of the evidence of her messy death off her body- mostly the blood and thanks to Arithon, Bar had left her some clothing and shoes.
Now she was ready to eat and get some thinking done. As she passed by Wellards table she remembered that she would need paper. Sighing she glanced back to Bar and then to the man.
"Excuse me?" The girl of about 16 asked with a raspy voice, "May I borrow a piece of paper? I don't want to go back and ask Bar."
Wellard looks up, and nods even as he stands. "Of course, miss. Um- would you need something to write with as well?" There are pencils scattered on the table- he has rather become enamored of using those rather than ink or charcoal. He holds one out to her, even as he searches for the supply of blank paper.
He finds the paper, and pulls off a few sheets to hand over as well.
"Its quite alright, and very nice to meet you, Miss Raven-" Wellard blinks at that, looking at her curiously. "My name is Wellard, Henry Wellard, late of His Magesty's Ship the Renown. ... 1802."
Taking the sheets of paper she murmured a barely whispered 'thank you'. It was hard to work her voice properly, you'd think being dead would elminate all that, but no apparently not.
Clearing her throat, or trying to, she tried again. "Thank you. You were of the British Navy then?"
"Thanks." She did take a seat, she didn't really want to be alone right now. She'd spend enough time alone.
"I.. guess you're curious about what I'm talking about. I'll explain if you want."
She nodded to his last comment. "I can't help, I really don't know history well and I'm always afraid of saying something that may upset the balance of things."
"... If it is something you do not wish to talk about, Miss Raven, I will not ask." He sits down as well, picking up a pencil to fiddle with, eyes on his hands. "It is understandable"
Wellard blinks, looking up at her. "... There is little it could upset, really. At least now."
"I was killed." She states simply as she stared down at her own hands. "I can't really talk about what happened, not yet, it's too painful; but I was killed by a man."
She lifted her head just enough for him to see the jagged line across her throat, looking angry red, as if newly healed. "S'why it hurts to talk and I can't talk too loudly."
Raven looked for all the world like she could cry. She struggles to keep from crying in front of this stranger. She was better than this.
"It's heartening to know that I'm not alone here." It was all she could manage to get out from around the lump in her throat.
After a moment of silence she works up the energy to speak again. "Here is definitely better than anywhere else. I can't go to heaven, I can't go to hell, so it was here or limbo."
Though, if she wanted it- say, if there was something in her eye- there was a handkerchief set on the table. Just in case.
The pencil Wellard had been toying with is now held in white-knuckled hands. "... Better than hell, to be certain." The worlds picked out carefully, as he glances up at Raven.
Now she was ready to eat and get some thinking done. As she passed by Wellards table she remembered that she would need paper. Sighing she glanced back to Bar and then to the man.
"Excuse me?" The girl of about 16 asked with a raspy voice, "May I borrow a piece of paper? I don't want to go back and ask Bar."
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"Please sir, I'm sorry, I'm not quite with it today." She gave an apologetic smile. "My name's Raven."
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"Its quite alright, and very nice to meet you, Miss Raven-" Wellard blinks at that, looking at her curiously. "My name is Wellard, Henry Wellard, late of His Magesty's Ship the Renown. ... 1802."
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Clearing her throat, or trying to, she tried again. "Thank you. You were of the British Navy then?"
Azar, let her history be right.
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"I was, yes. We were at war at that time, if you know of it?"
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"I'm a little familiar with some of it, yes. Not as much as I should be."
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"... If you would like to sit, to work on whatever it was you were planning, there is room, Miss Raven."
Then Wellard shrugs. "I- I don't quite all know what was told afterwards, of everything that happened to us during the war."
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"I.. guess you're curious about what I'm talking about. I'll explain if you want."
She nodded to his last comment. "I can't help, I really don't know history well and I'm always afraid of saying something that may upset the balance of things."
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Wellard blinks, looking up at her. "... There is little it could upset, really. At least now."
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She lifted her head just enough for him to see the jagged line across her throat, looking angry red, as if newly healed. "S'why it hurts to talk and I can't talk too loudly."
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And understanding.
"I am sorry." Quietly. His bites his lip, thinking. "... I was shot."
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Stammering comes pretty easy for Raven. She wasn't quite sure what to say. "You.. you're like me?"
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"Shot. Dead, Miss Raven. I- I ended up here, afterwards. It is... better than other places, perhaps."
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"It's heartening to know that I'm not alone here." It was all she could manage to get out from around the lump in her throat.
After a moment of silence she works up the energy to speak again. "Here is definitely better than anywhere else. I can't go to heaven, I can't go to hell, so it was here or limbo."
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The pencil Wellard had been toying with is now held in white-knuckled hands. "... Better than hell, to be certain." The worlds picked out carefully, as he glances up at Raven.
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