quicktoanger | Third Report: Blackstone's Rifle [Action/Voice, backdated to the night of the third.]

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Third Report: Blackstone's Rifle [Action/Voice, backdated to the night of the third.]

[Action]
[He's been searching for hours. He's probably a bit drunk at this point, and more than a little put out, but he has to find them.

He knows they're here. He knows they are.

He's been going back and forth between the clothing shop and the weapons shop all day, searching. He's reasoned it out, see. Every time he leaves and comes back, he finds that whatever bloody fairy magic makes this place work has changed the contents of the shops. So if he leaves faster, comes back faster, they'll change faster. He's not seen people bringing things to and from the shops, so it must be more of whatever madness this village is full of, right?

Well. It didn't work, it turns out- if there are 'Shifts' on the shops, he can't induce them. Which is when he went out and got a drink, and now, drunk, has decided to just look for them anyway.

They have to be here.

He walks into the smithy again, silently shifting through the various weapons in their various racks. He's seen all manner of primitive weapons, even one or two that resemble guns, but he wouldn't have the least idea how to operate them. More of that advanced technology from other worlds, he supposes. It all sounds terribly farfetched to him, but what's a soul to believe when he wakes up with wings and a magic book that lets you talk to people?]

"I know you're here, damn you, stop hiding!"

[Wait. Wait, what was that? There. Far wall, near the corner... he heads over. It is. It is. A Baker rifle, battered but still in perfect working order.

He should know, he's the one who kept it that way. He reaches out and grasps the rifle, and with a series of practiced, ritualistic movements, he inspects it.

Not just any rifle. His own rifle. He knows every single scuff and scrape on the weapon's surface, remembers the battle that put each mark in its place. Never anything that would affect the weapon's performance. He was always very particular about avoiding that.

He has his rifle. He'd already had his rifleman's jacket, found a week after his arrival. Why was there nothing of the Major's property here?

Well. He couldn't very well give his jacket to Sharpe- he was far too tall and skinny for that, of course- but this? This was something he could set right.]

[Voice, locked to Richard Sharpe- the filter isn't even at 1%, he's rubbish at them.]

"Begging your pardon, Major, but I believe I've found something you may want to have a look at."

[He seems to have acquired a bit of a Cockney accent somewhere along the line.

Feel free to find him around the village, searching through the weapons earlier in the day, or, as is so terribly common, getting thoroughly drunk in Good Spirits.]

[Notes: Unlike Sharpe, Harry has his Rifleman's jacket and typically wears it into town. He's been camping with Sharpe, rather than taking an apartment in town. He's also clean-cut and clean-shaven in the military, in sharp contrast to his usual... scruff.

He's still about three miles tall, though.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nothing that can be changed, Harry.

[She lifts her head when his hand extends, blinking at the handkerchief...and manages a tiny smile. A soft huff of laughter.]

You are a terribly sweet man. [The kerchief is taken and she uses it to dab her eyes.]

"If there's anything I can do, ma'am..."

This is...this is good. Really. A good drink, pleasant company. Though I do not look forward to returning home alone.

[She gives a half laugh and shakes her head at herself. It should sound quite a bit more pleading and seductive, not. Resigned and tired. Oh well.]

"Does nobody live with you?"

[... Well. Perhaps he could spare part of an evening, as long as he was back tonight to check on the shops, right?

She just seems so... lonely.]

You can live with people and yet remain alone.

I've housemates, three. But. I do not think I will go back to the house tonight. Helios still aches for his lost love, Ginia is in pain, Sabriel is still putting her father to rest in her heart.

Part of my...[She waves a hand.] I feel what others feel. Emotions, sensations. Were you to be cut, I would feel you bleed. And bleed with you. Were you to feel grief so keen it rent the very core of you? I would weep as well. So to return to a house full of that...

[She shakes her head.] I would rather not.

"Then... where shall you stay this evening?"

A tree. A roof. There's room enough in the barracks I suppose. Or I could just. Not sleep. I've done it before.

[... what?]

"Surely there's some place you could go that has both peace and a proper bed. You can't just consign yourself to live like..."

[... Like one of us.]

"... like a leper."

I've slept in worse places.

[She shrugs.]

I can go a long while without sleep if I'm too...raw. To find rest. I suppose if I drink enough it will not bother me. But then. It usually makes me feel things all the more keenly.

"Could you not at least find an empty room somewhere?"

I could. It would not help. I'd lie awake, aching for every hurt in the village instead of managing to sleep.

It's easier to manage when I am not on my own.

"... Could you not find somebody at peace, then? Content-like, that you could stay with and focus on?"

If you are able to find such a person in this place, tell me. I have yet to meet them.

"Surely one soul in this village is happy or... or not emotional. Something."

[He refuses to believe he's the happiest soul in the place, and really, he has little by way of complaint. Save frustration that his things aren't about, and even that's sort of trivial.]

Let me check.

[She downs the rest of her whiskey, pours herself another glass, then does the same. She waits a moment for i to warm her, ease her well trained filters, as Red called them, and lets herself feel. Harry's mild frustrations prick up first, and the rest comes streaming in. Depression. mild aches. Deep pains. Grief, joy, love, irritation, hate, nausea, anger, anger, anger-

She flinches in her seat and veers her mind away from that roiling pit, whoever it was. Back to easier things. Depression. Isolation. Exhaustion. Every last person in her ability to feel was edged with something that would keep her from rest. There was no glowing warmth of comfort, no serene pool of contentment. Not even amongst the Jedi.]

...not that I can feel Harry.

"Has it always been this difficult to deal with?"

Normally? No. I've a friend that can work as a point of serenity for me most of the time. But right now he is...not. Of a mind to assist me. Not in that he does not wish to help- there are extenuating circumstances I don't want to think about right now.

[And she's still swimming a little, focus drifting out, making her flinch. Too much. And she can't quite reel it all in again. She doesn't think about reaching over and taking Harry's hand, turning to press the back of it against her cheek. Just. A small comfort, against everything she couldn't ignore. A heartbeat, two, and she sighs. It hurts her a little less, when she has this.]

[Ordinarily, he would protest, but he can't. Not know. The peace it brings her is obvious, and so he instead turns his hand to gently cup her cheek, thumb caressing the cheekbone. He doesn't speak, simply allows her to take what comfort she can in the gesture.]

Thank you.

[Soft. Sincere. She can't help but tilt her head against his palm, letting him take the weight in more ways than one. Her own small, slim hand rests against the back of his, her other one slipping up to cradle his wrist. It wasn't much. It wasn't being held by Red, or leaning against Ben's back when he meditated- but it was enough.]

"Your servant, ma'am."

[He gives her a somewhat impish smile. And doesn't remove his hand.]

Tell me that and I'll start to get ideas, lovely.

[She opens her eyes and offers him a gentle smile.]

[... If he doesn't stop blushing whenever she says something like that, she'll have a hard time of it. Hand still not moving, though.]

You're a sweet man Harry. A kind man. Thank you for joining me for a drink tonight.

[She turns her head and presses a soft, dry kiss to his palm before letting it fall away from her face, instead cradling it between her hands.]

[Quite sudden, his next statement.]

"Suppose I found you a place to stay tonight. And remained there with you, like. Just so you had a measure of peace, nothing improper."

...You don't have to Harry. Not if it would blemish your honor to do so. You're a decent man, I'd hate to ruin that.

Well. [A half smile, a flicker of her earlier sauciness.]

I would enjoy doing so thoroughly, but only if you wished it as well.

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