A man is many things

[cadaverdaddy]

Who: thecorpsedaddy, retraced, shadowsinform, untamable_angel, and goldilocked
When: Sunday, 30th of January, around 2pm
Where: A small courtyard in Sector 4.
Summary: We gather here today to mourn the loss of a great man.
Warnings: Sad, and other things the come from character death.

Comments

You're letting go of strings; [ gathering ]

[cadaverdaddy]

[[ This thread is for everyone to gather in, so whenever you want your character to jump in, just add yourself in! Once everyone who's going to attend has arrived, we'll move to the service thread. ]]

The cold was biting at the tips of Undertaker's fingers as he sat on the edge of the now fresh grave delving deep into the hard ground beneath the tree. His clothes were filthy, though he'd brought a spare robe so that he would at least be presentable. The shovel was propped against the dirt wall within, the same one that his heels clicked against. It was the first time that day that he'd been idle enough to think of what was actually happening, and it made the smile fade from his face as he tipped his head back to look at the sky. He leaned back against his arms, his hair pooling in a silver pile against the grass. A candy clicked against his teeth as he shifted it around in his mouth. It was his own silent tribute.

[shadowsinform]

Sharon hadn't said a word in reply. She hadn't planned on attending but, she supposed, if they were to have a memorial service for him without her, she'd be remiss in her duties as a Rainsworth and as his mistress, at least in this place. Though honestly, she simply hadn't wanted to go because she hadn't wanted to accept the facts. And because she hadn't known whether she could keep her composure through it.

Then again, the house had been awfully quiet. It had been strangely empty since Liam's disappearance - a house that's bought for three hardly suits two people all too well, especially when one of those was only there half the time - and for one...well. She hadn't left her room often and, when she did, it was usually to leave the house.

She'd managed to find suitably black clothing and now trailed at Gilbert's side, head down, veil fitted delicately over her eyes so she wouldn't have to meet anyone else's.

[shadowsinform]

Sharon hadn't been here the first time Break had died and, though she knew he would - though she'd always known he would go before she was ready to lose him (she'd never be ready to lose him), Sharon hadn't been expecting this.

The sting of betrayal was, perhaps, her way of dealing with the grief. Being angry was easier than mourning, and it was as easy to direct that cold anger at Break, at Gilbert, at the Undertaker who had clearly known what Break was up to.

Why had everyone known but her?

Her fingers curled into fists beside her as she struggled to maintain the composure expected from her, and she stared resolutely at the freshly dug grave without really seeing it at all.

[shadowsinform]

Sharon heard it and spared a glance up in Gilbert's direction though said nothing of it. If she was cold, she didn't feel it - though it was most probable that she was. Dresses didn't provide much warmth against the winter chill, but Sharon would have refused to come to this gathering inappropriately dressed no matter what anyone said about times changing. Break would have understood, perhaps, and it seemed like those gathered here did too because no one said a word.

She moved though, hands coming from her sides to clasp each other in front of her, providing just a little more warmth to her extremities. It would be no use loosing use of her fingers for however short a time. She still needed to maintain herself and the house by herself, after all.

[shadowsinform]

Sharon heard the whisper. Or, at least, she thought she did. Perhaps it was Eques, trying to find something to break her silence with, or perhaps it really was just that quiet standing here like this that she really could hear Gilbert despite his best efforts.

Then again, perhaps she could guess what Gilbert wanted to say. Or - perhaps, the thing she wanted to think of least of all - she was projecting her own feelings, her own words, into Gil's mouth.

Break would come back. That was what they said, at least, although she wasn't sure she believed that entirely. Liam hadn't come back.

Maybe her nightmare had come true and she would be in this place alone. The house had been far too empty without Liam, and even emptier now without Break, and everyday was a constant reminder of how incompetent she really was when it came to taking care of herself.

Her breath hitched, just for a moment, and she stomped down the urge to cry. She was in public now; she would shame herself if she was to behave inappropriately at such a gathering.

[cadaverdaddy]

Undertaker sensed the young man as he arrived, though it took a long moment before he decided it best to respond. He'd never met this one in person, but he was a friend of Break's as well. There had been very few people who had been warned against by the clown, but Undertaker felt that there were even fewer who deserved to be here. Break had asked for a small service, something private. And that would be what he would receive.

The smell of tobacco was barely noticed by the man whose senses were lost to the chemicals of post-death treatment. His senses of taste and smell were not nearly what they used to be. His feet continued to kick within the hole as he leaned his head further, his back arching so that he could partially view the youth, albeit from a different angle. His grin was still firmly in place, his eyes closing with the force as he felt his bangs slide away in locks.

"You must be Blackbird~" he cooed with the bounce of a giggle in his voice. Far too cheery for a funeral, but who would expect less from a friend of Break's?

[cadaverdaddy]

Even if Walter had done such a childish thing as to tip a madman, it would have only been met with laughter. The constant peals were something else to focus on. There was an awkward little dance as he pulled his legs from the hole and stood, almost pirouetting in order to stand before Walter. The youth was quite a bit shorter than him, making the reaper loom as he reached out. An impulsive drive drew him to attempt a brush of his nail against a cheek.

"Work like this is not unusual for my time, you see~ It's something personal~ Another little touch of my personal sympathies to add to the gala~" Giggles followed in droves, making his shoulders hunch and shake with the force.

[cadaverdaddy]

The evasion was more than a little entertaining, making another high-pitched, tin laughter leak from the man's lips. More than the majority of people shy away from his touch, from the looming and quite deathly appearance of what can only be called stalking. It was endearing that though the young man was confident in himself enough to assert his disapproval of the touch, he didn't raise his eyes to attempt to meet Undertaker's. Though, in reality, his bangs blocked his own gaze from view.

"And what were the graves of your time like?" The cooing voice came as Undertaker's head rocked to the side in question. It was also quite likely that he would be slapped at least once during this event. He was prepared.

[goldilocked]

Jack's brought flowers - white jasmine and sweet pea. He'd only spoken to Break about twice, and he knows Undertaker more than the man whose funeral he's been invited to, but an invitation is an invitation. He wondered if he'd see Gilbert - or the young Rainsworth that was apparently Break's charge.

He's smiling, too, as he walked up to the other man. He's wearing black finery, from his own time, in contrast to the bouquet that he's brought.

"Tired?"