Cleaning up after chaos: A post Khan event question

[shardofwinter]

Not everyone who frequents the Nexus was unfortunate enough to be caught up in Khan's attack. Reynard had ended Winter in his own world and engaged in his usual annual seclusion that, as it always did, ended once he had run out of alcohol. The sight of an obliterated Nexus was not the pub crawling paradise he'd remembered it as. It seems that he's missed the action and stumbled into the aftermath. People are tired, disoriented, upset and in shock, or powering through their emotions by helping organise everyone else. Without much of a thought, Reynard falls into a group that is already working to set everything right again. Or as right as things can be set. As it turns out, an atmosphere of destruction and tragedy does wonders for a Spring-sick Winter spirit. 

He looks as awful as he feels, and far more sober than he'd like to be. He's forgone his coat, but kept his gloves on and a makeshift mask for the work at hand. Reynard has volunteered for the grim task of working with the dead. In a shaded area he helps move bodies to rest side by side, covered in shrouds that have started to vary in colour as they run through their supplies. These are the ones who have not, or cannot, be identified. 

It's been a long day, and it's been hard graft, and everything feels hotter than it is, especially with the cloth around his face. Reynard takes his gloves off, leans against the edge of a table, and pulls away the mask, revealing an unkempt beard. "What would you like to happen at your funeral?"

Comments

[shardofwinter]

Any uncertainty in Reynard's expression vanishes the instant Harrowheart demonstrates his ability. The Winter spirit waves his hands in large, rough, crossing motions and he steps away from the death knight and his minion. "No, no, no!"

He folds his arms tightly, adamantly disapproving and uncomfortable all at once. Any friendliness is gone, his tone and body language uptight and sharp. "I don't condone slavery. I don't accept it!" He glares at Harrowheart and growls, "And I don't like slavers."

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart scoffs at Reynard's show. People disapproving of what he does is nothing new to him, but calling him a 'slaver' is a new twist on the old classic.

"I'm not a slaver," he says, his tone bordering on contempt. "How can I be a slaver? A slaver is someone who keeps someone else against their will."

Then he motions to the zombie swaying tiredly in place, her slack jaw hung open dumbly. Harrowheart looks between her and Reynard before he, too, crosses his arms over his chest.

"She's just a body, Reynard. Meat. No free will. She ain't any more a slave than a horse in a stable. Unless you think that's slavery too?" Somehow he's not inclined to believe he does.

[shardofwinter]

"You're using her body without her permission!" Both arms wave wildly at Harrowheart. Reynard jabs his index finger angrily at the death knight. "A slaver is someone who looks at people and sees meat, sees beasts of burden, sees property, an object, and then acts on it. The only difference is you have literally killed her will, not 'broken her in' the usual ways."

The zombie catches his eye again and he visibly flinches and looks away. "Seasons... Let her die, Harrowheart."

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart snorts dismissively at Reynard's first exclamation and half-listens to the rest of his passionate argument with his arms still crossed.

"Reynard," he says with a tilt of his head, "Y'know, sometimes shit happens to ya without your permission as a consequence of gettin' caught doin' somethin' bad. If you're so damn invested in thinkin' I'm keepin' her 'against her will,'" and he says that with heavy air quotes, "Then just pretend I'm a jailer, and she's a prisoner servin' for her crime. Ain't it fair to put criminals in the stocks where you come from?"

He looks to the ghoul, who nods her limp head in jerky, marionette motions.

"See? She knows that what she was doin' here in the Nexus was wrong. And you know what it was she was up to, Reynard? Killin' people. The minute I met her she was throwin' some civilian out of an office window. She came here with the rest of the people who did this, followin' their leader, that Khan, to kill anyone and everyone that got in their way. Who knows how many other folks she brutalized? What happened to their free will? Their justice?"

He shakes his head and reaffirms his crossed arms. "Far as I'm concerned, this is gonna be her punishment for a while. And sooner or later, when the summer heat melts her like it looks like it's meltin' you, I'll let her sleep."

[shardofwinter]

All he wants is for Harrowheart to understand. To immediately, intrinsically understand, and for this to be put swiftly into the past. The fact that this is not what is happening infuriates him. Worse than that, it rattles him.

He locks eyes with him and steps close, lowering his voice to a growl that has a tremor, almost hidden, buried within it. There are certain things Reynard knows he and Harrowheart share, certain truths he trusts the other to understand whether he has a right to or not. His voice might waver, but it's strong when he asks, "And you haven't killed? You haven't followed orders? You haven't been a villain? Don't use 'justice' as your excuse for desecrating her body just so you can feel big and powerful and better than other people."

[westfallcorndog]

Reynard steps closer and Harrowheart leans away, though not likely intimidated as simply unwilling to be any closer to an opinionated Reynard smelling not-so-vaguely of stale alcohol and sweat. He watches with suspicious, narrowed eyes and a set jaw, and there's not a hint of levity in him as he stands trial before a weary-looking yet nevertheless emotionally powerful man.

When Reynard falls silent he doesn't immediately respond. His body is motionless like so many that lay covered around them. Eventually his nostrils flare, but no cool breath streams from them. His jaw grinds. His thoughts grind. What he's being presented with is an argument to which he has no good rebuttal. But nonetheless, to concede would be incredibly difficult...

In fact.

Impossible.

Harrowheart points a finger at Reynard as if his sharp argument were a blade to be parried. But blocking a blade has always been a simpler matter than rebutting an argument. "I have, I have, and I have," he says gruffly through gritted teeth. "And I don't need a lecture on morality from the guy who tried to turn a whole world into his own winter fuckin' wonderland. So how 'bout you just get back to buryin' bodies, and I'll get back to bossin' 'em around."

No matter how well-formed his argument, no matter how passionate, no matter how universally true... It seems Reynard's wish won't be granted today. Harrowheart doesn't see the intrinsic value in this woman's free will. Worse than that, he's invested in not seeing it. He'd rather turn and leave, as he is doing with the woman's body in stumbling tow, than see things Reynard's way.

[shardofwinter]

What else did he expect? For a stubborn man to listen? No... No stubborn doesn't cover it. The kind of people who exert power and control over others for the sake of it, because they think they're entitled to... They can't be reasoned with. How can they, when they think they're better than you?

He can't stop Harrowheart. What could he do? The death knight is stronger than him, healthier than him (ironically). If he were to strike the man the response would be swift and potentially crippling if it wasn't lethal. Instead he stands and watches helplessly as the undead leads the undead.

"I'll remember that you think it's all right to punish people this way, Harrowheart," he calls out with as much spite and dry humour as he can muster. "I'll remember!"