a ray of light shone in my darkness

[bearshermark]

WHO: Eleven + various! YOU, if u want
WHEN: Late May
WHERE: The farm
WHAT: Catch-all for misc threads
WARNINGS: Violence, dark topics?

[ooc: prompts in comments. if you've got an idea for a thread outside of El's open thread that you think would work better here, go for it. If you'd like to work something out, pm or plurk!]

Comments

[paperbutterflies]

"... oh."

Sizhui considers this carefully.

"I don't think they would have failed to mention if the person is new to their group. But if you want... they said he was out there where the skirmish was. We could go look."

[bearshermark]

It's unlikely that it's the same person; he knows that, and suspects Sizhui is entirely correct in that assumption. It probably isn't, but.. he can't be sure.

"If you don't mind," he manages after a moment, fingers taking up their trembling again as he fidgets with his baldric, because if they're wrong and it is Erik..

"No matter who it is, we could at least make sure he isn't eaten by wolves."

[paperbutterflies]

"Of course." Sizhui nods. "We can have tea later."

Sizhui pauses.

"Do you need to go take a weapon? We should be careful."

[bearshermark]

Eleven blinks, the question reminding him that for once, he isn't already wearing his swords. Going in to speak with the miners so visibly armed would have sent the wrong message, after all.

He rubs his face and breathes a sigh. If he'd needed proof he isn't as together as he hoped, that would be it.

"Yes, but they aren't far." He steps away to retrieve a pair of sheathed blades just out of view of the door and returns strapping them to himself once more. He hopes he isn't forgetting anything else. "Do you need a weapon?"

[paperbutterflies]

Sizhui's sword is... ... inside his qiankun pouch, which means he takes a white pouch that fits easily on his palm from a sleeve, unties it, and... the sheathed sword, pale blue and silver hilt and scabbard, is in his hand.

"Mine either."

He tucks away the pouch once more, with gentle care, and his left hand grips the scabbard with comfortable familiarity.

"I am ready to go."

[bearshermark]

Eleven frowns, certain he'd missed something when the sword appears. A magical summon, perhaps? In any case, it isn't important, not as his heart thrums with worry.

"Okay," he says, turning toward the woods in the direction he recalls the skirmish. "Let's go, then."

There's an unnatural hush to the forest as they wander through. Already ill at ease, Eleven keeps his hand on the pommel of his sword, eyes scanning the ground for evidence of the fallen they may have missed, hoping to never spot that familiar shock of blue hair.