this is a torch song [arrival]

[beautyisaweapon]

She can feel the city burning around her. It's more than just the smell of the smoke, the taste of the ash in the air, the heat of the flames--no, it's deeper than that. Troy igniting is more than just a physical burn. It's all of Helen's hopes evaporating

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[sissy_queen]

Guinevere was up early, probably waiting for Agron to show up again, because she worries for him (and feels responsible for the man she nursed), or maybe for another reason. She was in the common room, tracing figures on the frozen windows when she saw the woman outside.

It takes her little time to understand what is happening - she's been there so long, she knows.

Having found a coat and boots, she grabs a blanket and steps out to meet the new arrival.

"Mary," she calls, "All is well, come, lest you catch death!"

[beautyisaweapon]

Her eyes widen as she sees the woman, relieved.

"Thank you," she says, walking towards the porch, and when she gets there, she'll reach for the blanket.

Helen's still shaken, still confused--she wants to ask so many questions, but is thankful for the warmth, frankly, and so she'll be silent, until she steps inside.

[sissy_queen]

Guinevere doesn't speak until they've passed the threshold, and she'll lead Helen to the hearth. "Come, let me seat you by the fire," she says softly. "I will find more blankets for you."

If Helen agrees to sit by the fire, Guinevere will wrap her feet in a blanket (because sandals in the snow are a most horrible combination), and she'll make sure the new arrival is properly bundled.

[beautyisaweapon]

Helen nods. "Thank you," she repeats, because she does not know what else to say. Questions are swirling in her mind, but she is so grateful for the fire that she doesn't want to interrupt this woman's kind actions.

She'll sit by the fire, gladly bundled, and sighs. It's not fierce like the flames that engulfed Troy, she thinks--it's calmer, more controlled.

She shudders, half from cold, half from the memory.

[regency_twihard]

Perhaps later in the day, perhaps in a corner of the main room, Helen might come upon a young woman in white, a fleece throw blanket around her shoulders, seated at a writing desk, scritching away in a journal, clearly absorbed in her work. She's still quite interruptible, though.

[beautyisaweapon]

She's been warmed up by now, thanks to Guinevere, and so Helen has been exploring the Mansion. When she makes her way back to the main room, she finds a young woman, looking cozy and content, writing.

She watches for a moment, somehow enthralled by the other woman's devotion to the work.

"May I ask what you're working on?" she says, finally.

[regency_twihard]

The scritching pen pauses and the young lady will look up, surprised by the voice, though a friendly smile soon crosses her face: she's not beautiful, but she's pretty in a down to earth way. "Oh, I am sorry that I did not say hello sooner," she says. "I regret to say that I was rather wrapped up in a short story that I was writing."

[beautyisaweapon]

"Oh, no, it's all right!" Helen replies. "Don't mind me. I was just looking around this place."

[redundncyarcher]

If she ventures out into the snow-covered rear garden, she might hear the whisssh-plokk of an arrow hitting a target, and should she follow the sound, she might come upon a tall man in black (ordinary modern garments, not the medieval/Asian Kevlar garb of the Dark Archer: he keeps that in a box under his bed), armed with a bow and firing arrow after arrow at a straw target.

[beautyisaweapon]

She sees the man practicing, and remembers. Paris, her love, was an archer, and she closes her eyes a moment, as if trying to conjure him back to her, here, at the Mansion.

She doesn't interrupt the man. Instead, Helen waits for his practicing to be over.

[tricky_bowman]

Perhaps at somepoint Helen will find Tristan working quietly in one of the smaller lounges. His dog is there, resting quietly, and the knight is fletching, slowly working on better, surer arrows.

He could do with company, though.

[beautyisaweapon]

She smiles when she sees the dog, and she steps into the room quietly, not wanting to disturb anything.

"Hello," Helen says politely, almost guarded in her tone--even with the dog there, he is still a man, after all.

[tricky_bowman]

Husdent is a friendly dog, and though he is still recovering from surgery, he looks up at the approach, then a gigantic tongue lolls out of his mouth and he pants expectantly at the stranger.

Tristan stands, putting down his work, and bows.

"Lady," he says, very politely. "Is there aught for your service?"

[beautyisaweapon]

"I was just exploring," she explains, her look softening a little. "If you want, I can leave. If I'm disturbing you."

[elven_irs]

Because she does need to come across one of those types at some point, here is Caranthir, who will be found in the kitchen. He may be a warrior but he isn't warrior-ing at the moment: in fact, he is instead tinkering with his still, trying to fiddle with the process to make his mead finer.

He is tall, handsome, dark, brooding, and the scar on his left cheek does nothing to hide his nature as a fierce fighter.

For now, though, he is quite focused on his work, and rather peaceful, in a way.

[beautyisaweapon]

Helen's made her way into the kitchen as well, and when she sees the tall man there, working, she stops, seeing the scar.

Warriors were never good news to her.

However, her curiosity gets the better of her (of course!) and she'll step forward, chin up (she wants to seem brave, or even bold, perhaps), and ask:

"What is it you're doing?"

[elven_irs]

What she seems, to this one, is striking.

Caranthir was going to reply something sassy, but instead he just blinks at the human woman. Contrary to most of his kin, he has a weak spot for those - even though he knows mortals are only going to bring him further pain.

"... fixing a still," he replies. "It is made in the Khazalid style, perhaps that is why it looks foreign to you, lady?"

It's certainly more sophisticated than anything you'd find in Atika or anywhere in the Egean islands.

[beautyisaweapon]

She recognizes the look he gives her--she knows it well, actually, from years of having people stare at her.

"Ah, yes," Helen says, nodding. "It does look foreign to me."

She steps forward again.

"My apologies. I have been exploring this place, and I came into the kitchen just to...look." Cue a bashful laugh. "My name is Helen."