Maryanne Elizabeth Walker (maryanne_walker) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2017-08-08 01:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, maryanne walker (oe), ~thomas raith |
Who: Maryanne
Where: The ruins of the pub
What: Sulking after making a mess.
When: whenever. After kidlets are off to sleep
Rating: TBD
Open: Yes please
Status: ongoing
It had been months. Months since Mitchell vanished. Months since the pub she sat in the burnt ruins of caught fire, and burned to an unusable husk... And her mind couldn't help but go to that place. The place that wondered, had he died here? Was his ash mixed in with so much of the decor that was rendered into the same state? Had he fought the blaze all on his own? Or had George gone with him? They were heart breaking thoughts about the man that she'd once figured out was her soulmate, even if it wasn't in the romantic sense. Regret filled her heart, that she hadn't really talked to him in what seemed like forever. She'd stayed way because Annie had been jealous, even if she had nothing to be jealous of. One more friend snatched by this horrible place. One more victim of the man that had lived up in that tower. The tower that was now gone. The man that was now dead. While she hadn't found what was left of either the vampire, or the werewolf, she had managed to dig out quite a few intact bottles. Some that had some how managed to hide from the blaze. Some that had been stored up in the rooms over head. Scorched, but not broken. Some that had been behind the bar had even some how made it. And then there were some that had been hidden under the floorboards. And that was where she sat. Holding one of the very few bottles of Elvish wine left on all the island. Behind what was left of the bar. On the floor. Maryanne had dug until her paws had bled. And then dug some more. Climbed and hauled and shoved with all the might her long furry body had to offer, rescuing things that could be rescued. The baby grand that she'd managed to somehow get through the door the first time she'd found it had sacrificed itself to secure her instruments. The Cello that had once belonged to a few of the women she'd descended from names carved into the back. The violin that, viola, the guitar... Things she'd gathered in her life. Some were a little fire touched, and the horse hair would need to be replaced on more than one of the bows. But they were still playable. And that was how she found herself covered in soot. The only clean part of her face was the tracks her tears made, and her lips, washed from the sips of wine she'd had. It had been her sanctuary after Daryl had died... And now it was gone. So was it's wonderful owner, the vampire she'd met on a train that went no where. |