Reynard North (
shardofwinter) wrote in
nexus_crossings2017-04-30 10:53 pm
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Cleaning up after chaos: A post Khan event question
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?"
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?"
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Reynard shakes his head and folds his arms. "It's Khan and his people who should feel guilty. No one else. You did what you could, and that's all anyone can do. We can't have the whole world paralysed by wishing things were different."
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Oberyn points out, but he still can't help but to feel guilty. He starts to rethink living along the seaside of the Nexus.
"If I'm to live here, I should be able to defend it. But you're right, I was not here, and I made the effort to come fight for the people who lie here due to Khan."
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The destruction makes him sombre, the sight of friends doing well makes him glad, but he doesn't feel the guilt so many express. He nods and shrugs his shoulders. "We do what we can, and we can do no more."
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This is an odd conversation to be having among the bodies of those who were killed by Khan and his followers. "That is quite true. And I would be more than willing to lend you a hand with preparing them. Or to help with preparing their lives to be celebrated."
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Reynard eyes Overyn up and down and a crooked smile appears. "Excuse me for saying, but you don't look like the type of man suited to hefting mangled corpses from one place to another, or for tidying them up."
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A smug look crosses his face, and he knows he has heard the 'don't look the type' more than he would like to hear. "I didn't look the type to fight to the death in the Free Cities, but alas I fought to the death. And while I might not be a servant of the Many Faced God, nor am I dressed the part, doing something to aid in the service of those who have fallen is quite the honor."
"So if it isn't tending to the dead, perhaps I can be of service to them in some other way."
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There's a second where Reynard simply watches the other man. Then, slowly, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "A dead man can help his fellow dead in whatever way he likes. Who am I to stop you?"