Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, |
Having her leg broken once was bad enough. Twice was… She understood the wisdom of the weary-eyed mage who had suggested it -- as expected, in the heat of battle it hadn’t healed cleanly -- but now, splinted and re-healed, it was weak and wobbly and painful. But she had a goal, and she would be damned if she didn’t see her intentions through. It was stubbornness that carried her now, with frequent disappearances when beasts drew too close. There was silence in the back of her mind and she found she missed Ifrit, even with his poor attitude. At least I wouldn’t be alone. Why are you never here when I want you? There was no answer. Slowly, little by little, she made her way down familiar streets made alien by broken and burned husks of buildings, streets made of stones that were pitted and cracked. Even the Armory looked odd once she finally came within sight of it, barricaded as it was against the temporarily empty street. She limped, weary, to the door, knocking softly, Between the messages from Ari, those from Drake, as well as anyone else who may have obtained the call from the network system, the knock at the door caused Aspel to jerk upright. Pain flickering over her features replacing the severe worry - and attempt at masking it - that had settled into her face before. Grunting, and attempting to lock her jaw, to fight off any sign of pain the Councilor moved towards the door, pushing and pulling - even though it made so many muscles in her body scream in pain - until the door was cleared for entry, and pulled open, at least one person behind her likely ready with weapon in case something went wrong. “Ari.” There was a heavy level of relief in her voice upon seeing the other woman, the hardness, the solid strives towards remaining the collected council member that she was certain everyone needed right now slipped away. “Come in.” For the briefest moment she couldn’t forget this all was happening, forget what chaos, what disarray everything was in. For a brief second, this almost seemed like any other night that the bard before may have come to visit. “Please.” A quick lean out was taken, checking the streets, seeing if she would need to rush out to help someone in the area - even in her damaged state - before a hand grasped at one of Ari’s forearms, and moved to pull the woman in as she stepped back, and attempted to close the door. The shop was full -- armor and weapons stacked where people had left them, and those same people in groups, leaning against the counter, stretched out on the floor, one enterprising soul sprawled across the counter. “Seems like I missed a party,” Ari said, the faint attempt at humor her only defense against what had been happening around them today. But her own pinched expression relaxed somewhat at this final proof that Aspel, if not quite well, was indeed alive. She allowed herself to be pulled in, still limping as she crossed the threshold, breathing a bit easier when the door was closed behind her. She didn’t want to go back out there (but she would, she already knew; somehow, she doubted she would be able to remain hidden in the dark, though the implications of that…). “You look…” terrible “about ready to attend a formal function.” Another joke, almost flat in its delivery. She rose on her toes, wincing, to place her lips against Aspel’s for a moment of reassurance. |