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[rowan_narrators]

Midday on Wednesday, the caravan finally breaks the monotony of farms and fields as far as the eye can see and hits a town on a series of rolling hills. It's about the same size as Jhelbor, but not half as coordinated -- where Jhelbor was identical buildings in identical lines, this is a jumble of houses and rooftops, cluttering the valleys, with a

Comments

[melodyofwater]

The room was nice, as was water, and as was food.

But Demyx really, really want to be able to play some music and he still didn't have a lute or anything. Heck, he'd settle for a harmonica at this point. (Well, no he wouldn't, but it would make him feel better.) The elves had just given him one, but he had a feeling that wouldn't quite work here. He asked one of the servants about it (very nicely, he thought) and they told him that yes, he would need money.

Ugh. Well, he didn't have money. But he remembered talking to Clara and that she was really nice and maybe she could help. Maybe. It was worth a try, anyway. So he asked the nice servant (who did seem kind of freaked out) if he could ask Clara, with the promise that Demyx would be happy to play for her.

[rowan_narrators]

The servant kind of cringed, at the approach of Demyx's request, like she was afraid it was going to be something really strange. But at the mention of a lute, she relaxed and laughed a little, albeit in a puzzled kind of way.

She disappeared for a few hours, and returned with a package stamped with a logo of a master craftsman in the city. "Compliments of the princess," she told him, and left it with him.

[melodyofwater]

Demyx called a 'thank you' after her, reminding himself to thank Clara too if he saw her later, because even if he didn't know about this master craftsman, he could tell this was an awesome instrument. After making sure it was tuned, he sat on the bed and began to play. It was nice to play again. He probably wasn't going to be leaving this room for at least a couple of hours.

[actually_a_king]

After the servant is gone, and Edmund has taken a bath, cleaned himself up, and gotten dressed in more presentable clothing -- well, Edmund can't lie to himself about it anymore.

He's well adrift.

He's used to having a goal, at least. In the past, it's always been quite clear, once he stopped to listen: beat the White Witch, beat the Telmarines, save Narnia. But this isn't Narnia, or if it is, it bears almost no resemblance to the Narnia that Edmund knew. And Susan's presence, and her attitude, makes him feel even more at odds.

He doesn't like feeling at odds.

[wreckedbytrain]

Edmund isn't the only one feeling at odds or out of sorts. Not by a long-shot. Susan knows she's being unreasonable. She knows she's hovering, sounding and acting more like Mother (oh, how she misses her too) than herself but she can't help it. She had only just begun to figure out a way to keep going when everyone around her had ceased to exist and then she found herself here.

Wherever here was, Narnia or some place like it. Some place else that wants her. Wants him. Wants help.

Edmund. The one whose death was oddly hardest to bear, maybe because she'd almost lost him once before (to the Witch) and then lost him again for good. She can't say. She does know that she has him back and she knows it terrifies her. Terrifies her because if this place is Narnia or even like it, once they've done what they came to do--she'll lose him once again.

So, Susan hovers and smothers and mothers. In fact, she's waiting for him as he's finished his bath and gotten dressed again.

"Come eat, before it gets cold."

[actually_a_king]

"You sound like Mother," says Edmund, running a hand through his hair to shake off some of the excess water.

He half-smiles, for a moment -- "Or Mrs. Beaver, remember...?" and his voice trails off. Because Mrs. Beaver has been dead for thousands of years, hasn't she?

[producescoffee]

Dangerfield, huh? Nice name.

This probably wasn't their final stop, since apparently the caravan itself was heading to Jericho. But from the sound of it, the whole group had been stuck in the desert for a while. There was some good timing involved, then. After being shown a room, he took a bath and got into some decent clothes, before deciding to explore the town a bit. He'd like to learn a bit more about this place, after all. Plus this town meeting sounded interesting. Wonder what the occasion was?

[mutestronaut]

Guy feels oddly uncomfortable, in the room, by himself. Unsettled. He doesn't even come close to opening the journal, set carefully on the ground by the bed. Bathes, slowly and thoroughly, eyes closed, trying not to listen to the sounds outside the window.

He's still a little damp when he settles back on the bed, damp enough for there to be a hint of chill with the air of coming autumn, shifting in through the crack in the window.

He draws his jacket close around him, and waits.

[not_even_dreams]

Sam shuffles down the hallway, hands in his pockets, averting the sight of servants and whoever else happens to pass by. He had meant to catch hold of Guy earlier, before everyone broke off into rooms, but hesitation and the general business of the crowd had prevented him.

Luckily he'd managed to spy which room Guy had been herded into just before being taken into his own. He doesn't know how he would have found him otherwise. Asking someone is a bit out of the question.

He pauses at the door, just for a moment, then knocks.

[mutestronaut]

Guy is on his feet before his mind catches up with his ears. Reflex action, not conscious.

Does he really want to answer it?

He exhales, and steps to the door, opening it.

[not_even_dreams]

Oddly enough, the first thought he has is that Guy looks cleaner. Sam more than very likely does, too, although he still hasn't shaved. He supposes he'll have to eventually.

Not that that's his chief concern at the moment.

"Can I come in?" It's a mutter, a mumble -- and if he hasn't actually said the words 'I'm sorry' yet, the sentiment is already there.