ᶾ 001 ; open } { when are you gonna come down?

[rumorate]

WHO: Allison Hargreeves + YOU
WHEN: July 1-14
WHERE: Traveling around
WHAT: An arrival + some monthly shenanigans.
WARNINGS: N/A but will edit if that changes


july 1st - an arrival (ota)

Allison Hargreeves is having a very challenging day. Nothing is going as it's supposed to, and she's a little peeved about it.

Not that she should be surprised at this point, that Five trying to time travel them somewhere landed them somewhere else. But she's not thrilled by the idea of being alone again, having to start over again, having to find her siblings again. All she had wanted was to get home to her daughter. And now, after the explanation she was given by Kasra, Claire seems even further away.

Still, she plays with the small bit of quartz she was given as she makes her way through the crowd, intending to make the best of a bad situation. If Reginald Hargreeves taught them anything, it was how to survive. She hangs Luther's locket around her neck, tucks Claire's photo carefully into the middle of From Earth to Moon, and begins wandering through the caravan to see who she can meet and what she can find.

If you happen to cross her path, she'll greet you with a smile, taking the time to introduce herself.

"Allison." She smiles. "Have you been here long?"

july 6-7 - a ghostly interlude (ota)

Allison's never tried to rumor a ghost. She's never really had the opportunity. Ghosts were usually Klaus's department, so she doesn't even know if it would have worked. Right now, though, she wishes she had a bit more than fact.

One night, she stumbles away from a pair of soldiers, starting to come to ahead. As a result, she loses track of her footing in the dark. She forgets where the edges of the cliffs are, only wanting to stay clear of the spectral trouble and finds her way to the precipice of a ravine instead. She feels her balance slip, arms waving in the darkness (Five is going to kill her if she dies like this), but before she can tip over the edge, she feels a presence at her back.

Wide wings stretch out behind her, a physical form forcing her back onto the path. She turns once she settles on her feet again, safe and sound on the ground, and looks back at the tar-covered creature that's become increasingly familiar.

She meets it's eyes, before nodding in acknowledgement. "Thank you."

The harpy doesn't acknowledge her one way or another, before it flies off to do whatever it is it does.

Sometime later, it also might drop off a dead animal for her to eat, almost like a cat leaving their owner a present. Allison, though, is convinced that it believes she can't take care of herself.

(It might be right.)

july 10th - the thing you want most (ota)

The person Allison had wanted to see, more than anyone in the world, was Claire.

Even when she was trapped in 1961, building a life for herself with Ray, Claire never strayed far from her thoughts. She never thought she would have something so tethering beyond her siblings, something that draws her back, no matter how far she wanders or how into herself she gets, but she finds herself, as the caravan moves along, coming back to the photo that she arrived with. She can't help but feel herself wanting to apologize for failing her, even though this particular stop isn't her fault.

She hadn't intended to study the tar so closely. It just keeps coming up, over and over again. The same substance appeared in the temple where she arrived and the hands of the ghost general, and now it seems to be everywhere. Part of her should know better, should be able to see the trap, but she misses her daughter so much she never stands a chance.

She sees Claire's face everywhere she goes, and by the time Claire becomes a fully formed tar construct, Allison is lost, hook, line and sinker. Claire extends a hand to her, luring her further out into the canyon to search for something she can't put a name to.

Part of her knows it's not real. But she can't find it in her heart to say no.

Comments

[downswing]

"You nearly came to end before." And then our enemies prevailed with assistance, he does not add, blood of it bitter and thick against his teeth. If there are truths of discomfort, diplomacy is the art of neglecting them so. Brother taught the lesson well.

They walk, stink of metal and rot at their feet, and the streaks of absence, where other members of the convoy passed with deep footsteps, in search of seclusion or water. From dry waste of deserts in the morning to collapsed filth, come the dark ends of the day — returned to the same form, once dawns brighten. The land here has no chance to heal itself, only to grieve.

Above, the screech of the winged creatures, searching mates or prey or direction in whirls of dark cloud. His hand tightens on Bichen, steeled. "How did the beasts befriend you?"

If there is sorcery in this, the spell can be learned, their travels lessened their burden.

[rumorate]

"Your guess is as good as mine."

If she knew, she might be better at reassuring him that she wasn't the enemy here. She knows slightly more about them than the rest of them do, and she isn't sure what they see in her. She's just smart enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"But I only got here a few days ago. You probably know more about how things work here than I do."

[downswing]

"I keep no company with beasts," he concedes, turn of his mouth soured but shifting. A newcomer, then, bereft of knowledge or defences. If there lives yet patience within Lan Wangji to give, under harsh moonlight and to the screams of flying creatures, she earns it through her circumstance.

Pity her. No, and his gaze stalks her briefly, head to toe and the pull of her shoulders, the poise of her walk. No, she bore a sword by her neck and did not startle to pleading or tears. She is not for Lan Wangji to offend or lessen with misplaced mercy, with shrapnel of his undue pride.

"You wield sorcery?" Perhaps the — harpies are merely drawn.

[rumorate]

"No, I don't."

She has powers, that's not the same as magic. It's a distinction without a true difference, but she doesn't think that telling him that she can rumor people into doing whatever she wants would give her much credence. He can think of her as a poor defenseless human for a little while longer.

"Magic isn't really a thing where I'm from. At least not that I'm aware."

[downswing]

No sorcery, no hidden strength, no appeal to the creatures past the woman's form, her bearing. Her descendance? But he knows nothing of her origin, the blood that smears itself thick within her veins. Perhaps she is part of their ranks, born to the ill-fitting contraptions of a human shape until her inheritance remembers itself.

And in the dark, and blood rains fouling the ground, and Lan Wangji's eyes slanted, searching, what can he see of her hands? No claws, perhaps through her strain. Of her eyes? Controlled, dark-feverish with the survival compulsion of the threat that's barely passed, but not animal, hungry. No black seeps of her, no bone drips down.

"Curses? Winged creatures?" Words stray from him, uncertain. Once, he walked a disciple, the paths of exorcism unknown, interrogations an ambiguity. He knows now to attack a riddle from each corner with needles and thorns, until it reduces itself, shrivels down to seed.

Here, there is a link somewhere, a thread of chains, a sequence. They miss one truth and the ripple-storm of its implications. If the harpies enjoy this woman, it is for a reason, however trifling, lost or little known. "To each consequence, a cause."

[rumorate]

"I'm aware."

She's just not really one to look a gift horse in the mouth when she's in an unknown location and they're saving her life. She's grateful, and it hasn't come back to bite her yet. But then again, Allison is a woman accustomed to taking what she wants, even if she hasn't earned it, waiting for the moment she can twist it to her advantage.

"But they're not exactly the most communicative of creatures. And I'm not one to be ungrateful."

[downswing]

Nor timid, nor prone to disclosure. Gripped close, Bichen yet hums with the quiet thrill of a bite deferred, the prospect of tasting her. The woman lives, still. Close, and her excuses meander, her reasons lose themselves.

Slow travel to encampment. Courtesy dictates his step slow, aligned with her advance. Littered on drenched ground, the hungry mouths of snapping flames, where the watch stood early ground. He joined this shift without intent, but the heavens grinned down, teeth white-blinding, and there's a meanness to divine order he does not contemplate long enough to question. It was willed that he should meet the riddle, Allison Hargreeves. So be it.

Ghosts walk between them, absent, trickled, pale. Etiquette again — this time, when he brings out the sword, it's to keep Bichen a barrier between them and the passing infantry, its gleam white-cold. Whatever the woman's missteps, she does not deserve their haunting.

"Perhaps they consider you marked prey." Alone for their cold enjoyment. He hesitates, teethes at his lower lip. And softer, "You may wish for vigil."

An escort more patient than Lan Wangji, more suitably applied. Perhaps, another woman.

[rumorate]

There is always her sister. Anyone who crosses Vanya would likely regret it, harpy or not. Not that she wants her sister to be her personal bodyguard, put that weight on her. They're still in the process of rebuilding their relationship, after all.

Good thing Vanya isn't the only Hargreeves here.

"I have family here," she replies. "If they decide to come for me, my brother and sister will help protect me."

[downswing]

"Your brother and sister," he echoes, softer at his edges, thinking and thinking, and the thought — catches. To the name, he is indifferent: a confusion of sects and adoption and the same appellative spread oftentimes among men who never crossed the same generation, let alone path, or bloodstream.

But a brother and sister. Only two among them, and Allison of the Hargreeves speaks of recent arrival. She is not of the caravan, no dreg of the citadel Sa-Hareth, nor paid beauty of swelling pride, collared by the merchant Mazyar. Inexorably, she shares of Lan Wangji's fate: brought and chained to a new world, adrift but finding purpose. So, then, her family are known.

Another phantasm flickers beside them, blinks slow and to his heads, and seems to signal they should stay, oh, stay. Hear him. Mercy blooms in Lan Wangji's heart too close to harvest, too easily culled down. He shakes his head and walks them on.

"The child and the woman Vanya." The possessed monster and the mystery, the only possibilities. The only siblings among them, barring the brothers Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin.

[rumorate]

"I'm sure he loves you calling him the child."

But that's not a no. She's much more concerned about his opinions on Vanya than Five, because Five is more thank capable of taking care of himself. Not that Vanya isn't, but her feelings are a little more volatile.

"But yes. That's my family."

[downswing]

"He is a child." This, tainted with the blunted edges of curiosity, of sensing a riddle afoot. Is the boy perhaps so single-minded in his independence that he loathes the admission of his years, tallied on a bead string? Does he think them slight and ridicule? He is so distorted?

The prospect was ever there. Five, likely named to honour the four other sons before him. A spare, no matter death's twisted, potential fortune of removing one or two inheritors before him. Accident and cruelty cannot claim four predecessors. Five will never inherit. And — here, Lan Wangji turns slowly to behold the woman — sisters, at least a pair. It strikes him, inevitably, that a family so blessed with children must number either great coin in their coffers or the bold unaccountability of parents unrestrained.

Suppose Five and Allison and their sister Vanya, and Five's other four brothers, if not more — suppose they were all born to hunger and teeth grinding against their own flesh and mouths dry and bellies unfilled. That would explain so much of the boy's fractious behaviour, twisted like vines growing without pillared direction.

"You will want for safety, but no necessities here."

[rumorate]

Actually, the one thing that Reginald Hargreeves had going for him was that he wasn't completely sexist. Given that all the children were born on the same day, there was no opportunity for seniority by age, only through the manner with witch Hargreeves acquired them from their biological parents.

Allison is Number Three.

But given that he doesn't say any of this, he'll never know. She also doesn't comment on Five's age. That's not her fun tidbit to share.

"Safety's never really been a thing before, so I don't know why it would start now." She's mostly sarcastic there. "But I'll figure it out."