Barel; The morning after
Disclaimer: Actions either happened, or have been okayed by characters players.
Her dreams were under attack again; a horrible nightmare where the world tilted and spun, and her head was filled with cloying shadow. Her eyes were closed; she should try to open them, and make out what details she could so she could report them to…
Realisation slowly sunk in, and she cautiously opened her eyes. The light was too bright, and the tilting of the room intensified, causing her head to pound and her stomach to roll in protest. She squeezed her eyes tight shut again, assured that this was not, after all, a nightmare… at least, not one of dreams, or the Games Masters design.
So, it was a hangover. She had been told about them, and had experienced something much milder back in Blackgate, but she had never believed that they could possibly be this bad. People would never drink again if this was a possible result. What had possessed her…?
Piece by piece, the memories started to come together in her head. The horrible patrol at Lake Odus, Sylvie, and Smithy hovering at the edge of death. She’d left as soon as she’d known that he was going to be okay, and was in safe hands; she hadn’t been able to face staying and knowing that she couldn’t do anything... that she hadn’t been able to do anything.
She’d been halfway there before she had realised she was heading to the Griffinwold rather than the Capital. She had nearly turned back, but had reassured herself that they were friends, and friends could turn to each other when they were upset, or scared. It was a flimsy excuse, but she had clung to it, justifying what she wanted to do by pretending she had no ulterior motives.
She had been relieved to find him before she’d had to ask someone where he was; she was still unused to the attention she occasionally got now her scars were healed, and whilst he hadn’t done anything wrong, the way the messenger had looked at her the last time she had sought out Gerrard had made her want to hide her face all over again.
She had tucked herself into a corner out of the way, and just enjoyed the opportunity to watch him; something she would never dare do on a patrol, or if there was a chance that he might notice her. His attention had been entirely focussed on the new recruits - he had told her that training them was the bulk of his official responsibilities - and he had chivvied and berated them in a manner that was ridiculous if you really knew him.
And then, afterwards, when he had seen her standing watching, the first thing he had done was to reassure her that it was only a role… as though she couldn’t already know that. But it meant that she cared what she thought of him, surely?
The thought gave her a warm glow, then and now. He wouldn’t care what she thought of him if she didn’t matter to him in some small way.
He’d found her somewhere quiet to sit, and he’d comforted her, and told her it had not been her fault. She’d tried to believe it, but then he had taken her hands in his own, and she’d found herself devoting all her energy to not stammering, or blushing bright scarlet. She had started talking about Bader, trying to keep her thoughts under control. He had told her she was brilliant, amongst other things. His exact words; brilliant, amongst other things.
She frowned, something niggling at the back of her mind. She should surely be happy at the way the evening had gone, but instead felt strange; almost a sense of foreboding. She had assumed it was the hangover, but it had intensified the clearer the memories got. Was that normal?
When he’d mentioned going for a drink, she had felt emboldened enough to agree to it, declaring herself no longer a child. When he had suggested that she was maybe too young, she’d actually said - she groaned aloud at the memory - sweet sixty and never been kissed. And then followed it up by asking if he was going to corrupt her!
Maybe she could hide here until she no longer felt the shame of it… it would only take ten years or so, and no one had come to wake her yet.
He’d talked of making sure she was protected from boisterous men, and then left to find her a room; this room, she supposed. She’d almost changed her mind at that point, realising that she did not have enough experience of alcohol to trust herself. But if she was to try and achieve a boon from Brilliance, she had to learn to be stronger in herself, take more risks…
It had been pleasant… truth been told, it had been more than pleasant. It had been wonderful. Gerrard had been wonderful; attentive and charming in equal measures, entertaining her with tales of the camp, drawing her into conversation and listening to the small stories she had to share as though they actually interested him.
She had been having such a wonderful time that, when she had felt the alcohol start to take effect, she had decided that she would stay. The last thing she remembered clearly was the thought that she would keep it steady, and everything would be fine…
She struggled to remember what happened next. It suddenly seemed dreadfully important that she knew what had happened. The sense of unease was getting worse too. The conversation had turned to Bader again, she thought, and whether she would cope with the trials…
She sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide open, shock momentarily overcoming the headache and the nausea. She had told him that she could face anything as long as he was with her! Alcohol addled, she had actually stared adoringly across the table at him, and said those words! And now she could remember the look of shock on his face, the pause that had stretched out unbearably, and his declaration that she was tired and he should take her back to bed - to her own bed, in the guest room, he had hurried to point out.
She collapsed back onto the pillows, a small strangled sob breaking loose. The walk back was blurry, but she remembered that he had been obviously very uncomfortable, talking at great length about getting her back safe, and a drink of water. And then she had been handed over to someone - a woman, one he was comfortable asking for help from late at night - and he had vanished. No wonder no one had come to wake her; he was obviously mortified, and avoiding her until her could work out how to let her down gently.
She couldn’t stay here. She should go back to the Capital, at once. Or should she apologise? Try and pass it off as a misunderstood comment on their friendship? Pretend not to remember it, and try and behave as though it had never happened?
What was she going to do?
Her dreams were under attack again; a horrible nightmare where the world tilted and spun, and her head was filled with cloying shadow. Her eyes were closed; she should try to open them, and make out what details she could so she could report them to…
Realisation slowly sunk in, and she cautiously opened her eyes. The light was too bright, and the tilting of the room intensified, causing her head to pound and her stomach to roll in protest. She squeezed her eyes tight shut again, assured that this was not, after all, a nightmare… at least, not one of dreams, or the Games Masters design.
So, it was a hangover. She had been told about them, and had experienced something much milder back in Blackgate, but she had never believed that they could possibly be this bad. People would never drink again if this was a possible result. What had possessed her…?
Piece by piece, the memories started to come together in her head. The horrible patrol at Lake Odus, Sylvie, and Smithy hovering at the edge of death. She’d left as soon as she’d known that he was going to be okay, and was in safe hands; she hadn’t been able to face staying and knowing that she couldn’t do anything... that she hadn’t been able to do anything.
She’d been halfway there before she had realised she was heading to the Griffinwold rather than the Capital. She had nearly turned back, but had reassured herself that they were friends, and friends could turn to each other when they were upset, or scared. It was a flimsy excuse, but she had clung to it, justifying what she wanted to do by pretending she had no ulterior motives.
She had been relieved to find him before she’d had to ask someone where he was; she was still unused to the attention she occasionally got now her scars were healed, and whilst he hadn’t done anything wrong, the way the messenger had looked at her the last time she had sought out Gerrard had made her want to hide her face all over again.
She had tucked herself into a corner out of the way, and just enjoyed the opportunity to watch him; something she would never dare do on a patrol, or if there was a chance that he might notice her. His attention had been entirely focussed on the new recruits - he had told her that training them was the bulk of his official responsibilities - and he had chivvied and berated them in a manner that was ridiculous if you really knew him.
And then, afterwards, when he had seen her standing watching, the first thing he had done was to reassure her that it was only a role… as though she couldn’t already know that. But it meant that she cared what she thought of him, surely?
The thought gave her a warm glow, then and now. He wouldn’t care what she thought of him if she didn’t matter to him in some small way.
He’d found her somewhere quiet to sit, and he’d comforted her, and told her it had not been her fault. She’d tried to believe it, but then he had taken her hands in his own, and she’d found herself devoting all her energy to not stammering, or blushing bright scarlet. She had started talking about Bader, trying to keep her thoughts under control. He had told her she was brilliant, amongst other things. His exact words; brilliant, amongst other things.
She frowned, something niggling at the back of her mind. She should surely be happy at the way the evening had gone, but instead felt strange; almost a sense of foreboding. She had assumed it was the hangover, but it had intensified the clearer the memories got. Was that normal?
When he’d mentioned going for a drink, she had felt emboldened enough to agree to it, declaring herself no longer a child. When he had suggested that she was maybe too young, she’d actually said - she groaned aloud at the memory - sweet sixty and never been kissed. And then followed it up by asking if he was going to corrupt her!
Maybe she could hide here until she no longer felt the shame of it… it would only take ten years or so, and no one had come to wake her yet.
He’d talked of making sure she was protected from boisterous men, and then left to find her a room; this room, she supposed. She’d almost changed her mind at that point, realising that she did not have enough experience of alcohol to trust herself. But if she was to try and achieve a boon from Brilliance, she had to learn to be stronger in herself, take more risks…
It had been pleasant… truth been told, it had been more than pleasant. It had been wonderful. Gerrard had been wonderful; attentive and charming in equal measures, entertaining her with tales of the camp, drawing her into conversation and listening to the small stories she had to share as though they actually interested him.
She had been having such a wonderful time that, when she had felt the alcohol start to take effect, she had decided that she would stay. The last thing she remembered clearly was the thought that she would keep it steady, and everything would be fine…
She struggled to remember what happened next. It suddenly seemed dreadfully important that she knew what had happened. The sense of unease was getting worse too. The conversation had turned to Bader again, she thought, and whether she would cope with the trials…
She sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide open, shock momentarily overcoming the headache and the nausea. She had told him that she could face anything as long as he was with her! Alcohol addled, she had actually stared adoringly across the table at him, and said those words! And now she could remember the look of shock on his face, the pause that had stretched out unbearably, and his declaration that she was tired and he should take her back to bed - to her own bed, in the guest room, he had hurried to point out.
She collapsed back onto the pillows, a small strangled sob breaking loose. The walk back was blurry, but she remembered that he had been obviously very uncomfortable, talking at great length about getting her back safe, and a drink of water. And then she had been handed over to someone - a woman, one he was comfortable asking for help from late at night - and he had vanished. No wonder no one had come to wake her; he was obviously mortified, and avoiding her until her could work out how to let her down gently.
She couldn’t stay here. She should go back to the Capital, at once. Or should she apologise? Try and pass it off as a misunderstood comment on their friendship? Pretend not to remember it, and try and behave as though it had never happened?
What was she going to do?