Rain of death
Who: Harry, Ramona, and OPEN TO ALL!
Where: Fontaine Park
When: Evening
It was horrible for Ramona to even consider, but the papers wouldn’t lie, neither would the priest who’d delivered a somber mass less than an hour earlier. An entire town gone, burnt together in some horrible sacrifice of the war overseas. It had always been a distant thing for her, an event Ramona knew was happening, but was so far removed from that it was dry and observational only, like a history or geography lesson.
And yet here she was now with so many others, more than ever actually attended the services at St. Peter’s, huddling together in the park with their cheap white candles and paper guards to keep their hands safe from the wax. Here she was, mourning the deaths of absolute strangers and feeling far too shaken by it. Not everyone was praying, but most people were, Ramona among them. Whispering the last words of her ‘Hail Mary’ and adding a few for mercy to the deceased, Ramona looked up from her candle at the wary form of her driver where he lingered just beyond the proper group, watching her diligently.
Across the way from Ramona, hands folded around a candle like the countless others in the sea of lights, Harry might’ve looked like he was praying, given the terse line of his mouth and the way his eyes were nearly shut. In truth, he was trying not to think about the atrocity they were all here for, and really had only come as a show of support for the church itself. Harry wasn’t a vocal parishioner, or a particularly notable one, but his faith had seen him through dark days indeed. The least he could do would be to stand in support of it at times like these.
Still, the news made him nearly ill as he considered once again the difference between himself and the enemy overseas. Yes, civilians had been killed in bombing runs, but they were nowhere near so premeditated, so cold and callous. A bomb was quick, whereas burning alive? Not so much. But Harry didn’t get to dwell before a harsh, distant noise snapped through the air and yanked him from his reverie.
It was a metallic groan, echoing from far away, towards Temperance Row, and whatever it was? It was loud enough to scatter birds from the trees in a dark rustle that blotted out a patch of darkening sky, making it look as if night was rushing in all the quicker. Then came a soft whistle, reedy and faint, and another with it, and another still. More and more edged into hearing, filling the night with a chorus of thin keening sounds that broke the focus of the church group as a whole, drawing plenty of heads upwards.
Ramona wasn’t one of them, which left her with the horror of seeing the first impact as a length of pipe suddenly flashed through the candle light, dropping with crushing speed to spear through a woman standing ten feet from her. Neither she or Ramona lost a second before both were screaming, people receding from both of them to see what happened. Which was when more of the iron began to fall. A rain of it.
(Harry and Ramona are open for separate interactions)
(to Ramona)
Dodge didn't go to the ceremony at the church. He had no need for that nonsense, no interest in it whatsoever, but he liked the park. As a street kid he'd loved these sort of things, candelight vigils. A perfect chance to pick pockets and bask in the candlelight. He'd come out of some sort of nostalgic feel in the event and out of habit had lifted a pocket or two before the noise. He'd heard that noise before though, and the one that followed. No. No. Eyes wide he watched the iron sink to the ground, impaling people, not refrigerators. No.
He was quick on his feet, instinct telling him to run but the girl there, the one screaming, he couldn't leave her. Say what anyone said about Dodge, but he helped those around him. In an instant his hand was clamped on her arm, dragging her with him forcibly, just as another stake landed where she'd been standing. "Run!" he shouted to her pulling her harder.
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Hauled off-balance by the tug at her arm, Ramona stubled backwards into Dodge as her driver started towards her, one hand dipping into his coat at the sight of Dodge grabbing her. For just a moment, Ramona's heart raced even faster as she wondered if he was going to shoot this man, this whoever it was that grabbed her. Then? A length of iron sheared through the front of his leg and anchored into the ground, dropping him with a scream that blended in with far too many others. "What is this?" she shrieked at Dodge, reaching clumsily to pull herself upright. "What's happening?" Answers or no, she was doing as she was told.
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It was the end of the god damned world was what it was. Dodge wasn't military, he didn't have this background. His idea of a fight was a scuffle of street boys beating each other to a pulp. He'd watched his own boys dole out that kind of punishment without batting an eye but as he watched a length of iron slice through someone's back not two feet away, he had to force himself not to get sick and stay focused. "We go this way," he yelled to her, not answering her questions but dragging her with him, in a different direction than the crowd seemed to be going for. They were headed for an exit and Dodge was head for cover. He knew this park like the back of his hand, knew which alcoves had the best cover and there was one in particular he was headed for.
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"The fountain?" Ramona yelled questioningly as she stumbled along with Dodge, already spying two other men helping the wounded head in that direction. Later, she'd puzzle over the oddity of it; how she was still soaking in the details of the moment despite her fear and adrenaline, but right now? She was very definitely afraid. "We can't leave them!" she added desperately, thinking sick, panicky thoughts about her driver, not to mention the scores of parishioners who'd all come here together. "We need to help!"
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Dodge was tugging, not answering her questions, just pulling them both towards the alcove with the fountain, the one with the statue in that that would provide actual cover. Help them? How was he supposed to help them? Hell was falling from the sky, and he wasn't the type who knew what to do. Turning he meant to look back at the girl, but instead caught sight of the aftermath of it all and it slowed his steps. Dear God. He knew what he was looking at, knew what had done it. Somewhere in the junkyard there was a similar aftermath of the same caliber. Dodge slowed toa stop, staring, throat gone dry. He'd done this. He'd handed over the plans for this. He'd taken money for them. "No."
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"No?" Ramona repeated in confusion, pitching forward when Dodge stopped to look back. She landed on a palm in the grass, feeling slickness there and praying it wasn't blood. But with just that one word from Dodge, Ramona had plenty of opportunity to hear the moans of the hurt, the screams of the fleeing. She couldn't abandon them, that wasn't what her faith taught her. Blinking away tears and letting them run down her cheeks, she got back on her feet and slapped Dodge, hard. "Help me!" she demanded. "Now! They're dying!" And she ran, hoping he wasn't a coward who would let her do this alone.
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The stupid girl hadn't understood him and while her slap knocked Dodge out of his frozen panic, the shock of it left him staring at her to the point where she was out of reach before he could stop her. No, he'd been too caught up in what had happened, who had done it. Not no he didn't want to help them. But what could he do? "Wait!" he called after her, changing directions and trotting forward. I hope to hell you only loaded that thing once Eric.
to Harry
Roy had looked up at the sound. It called to other memories, and for a moment, even after there was blood splashed slightly on his left side, he was wondering if he was really seeing what he was seeing, or having another flashback to times overseas. What sort of pulled him from the idea was the fact that he'd not seen anything like this. And the man who was twitching and bleeding out on the ground in front of him was a man he recognized from church.
He really wished he didn't already know the guy was a gonner, that people who were screaming and scattering wouldn't be able to help him even if they did stop. Roy knelt, his focus narrowing in so sharply. He took the guy's hand, and stayed there. He didn't say anything, because what would he say? He just was going to be there as he died, while he shut out everything else. He looked around, though, seeing a girl nearby who he deemed saveable. He spotted another man within earshot. "Hey--You. She needs to be brought somewhere where she isn't going to be trampled."
.
The two of them had been sharing a mindset, or close to one. For Harry it had heralded strong memories of bombs falling, but from a perspective he'd never been at for the impact. He'd always been thousands of feet above and away, watching only the fires that came after impact. This, though, this was flesh crumpling under falling metal, and the dark sprays of blood were less seen, and more smelled.
The coppery scent was immediately familiar, already knotting up Harry's stomach when Roy spoke up and kept him from freezing under pressure. Looking from Roy to the woman in his sights, Harry was reflexively tugging off his jacket as he spotted the long tear a falling pipe had ripped in the woman's hip and side. "Got it!" he called, rushing for her even as the dull impacts kept happening around them. Fighting off a panicked flail of arms, Harry tried as fast as he could to start guiding the woman clear even as she bled profusely. Time was against them right now.
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The man was already gone, something that happened when you got a length of pipe shoved through your torso, and he moved then to rush to another fallen person who was still writhing, someone who looked too young to even be in highschool. Not quite a child but not quite a teenager. He pulled the pipe out from where it had lodged through the kid's arm, and he then picked them up, to start heading in the direction the man he'd given direction to was going. The statue was an immobile object, something that would provide a natural light cover--people would have to run around it. If they climbed up onto the base of it, they should be able to put people there where they weren't going to get trampled at least. He stumbled and nearly fell when one of the projectiles clipped his shoulder, and a stinging sort of pain ripped through his arm. Not unlike getting shot, even if the pipe had only glanced him, not actually shot clear through him or anything. Still, he might be missing a chunk of skin now, something that he was only dimly aware of. He was in a different frame of mind right now. Very, very different. "The statue." he called to Harry.
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Harry had been heading that way without even considering the statue or the basin of its' fountain until he heard Roy's voice over the screams of panic. It was a good sound, even if it was just two words; it worked to wrench Harry out of his wartime memories, and away from the part of his mind that was picking up the rhythm and timing of the iron rain falling all around them. Still, based on the rate between impacts he could hear and the sound that had carried before? Harry might've had guesses about what was happening, if he wasn't in a crisis right now.
Lowering the woman over the fountain's edge and down into the bone-dry basin, Harry yanked a kerchief from his coat pocket, thrusting it into her hands as she clutched for him. "Keep pressure on your hip!" he demanded, turning back in Roy's direction. Fewer pipes were falling, but that only meant Harry could take in more of the scene; the wounded, the dead, and the only other guy to react quickly was now clearly bleeding down one arm as he staggered Harry's way with another victim. "Quick!" Harry called, rushing to meet Roy halfway and ensure that he made it.
.
Roy took the steadying help, making it to the fountain with the kid himself and he set them down by the woman Harry had helped over. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it tight around the wound, wincing slightly at the scream the motion illicited. Then he stood, hand already clamped over the bleeding wound on his own arm. But he was looking at the carnage. He could see that the pipes range fell just short of the fountain, which was something. "We need to get the wounded out of there." he said, and while he was talking to Harry, it was also sort of a statement for his own ears.
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Harry was just staring, timing out the growing gaps in both spacing and timing of the barrage. He could run this, get to that woman not thirty feet off. "I'll move first, hold until I'm headed back in case I need a hand making it. When you go, head left. The last four pipes fell that way," he said with a nod to the moving bodies back and to the left of Roy. Harry couldn't help it, he just remembered those sorts of details. "Less likely to get more there too soon." Tugging off his coat, Harry tossed it back towards the fountain, looking over his shoulder at the woman he'd pulled clear and the boy Roy had saved. "Keep pressure just past his shoulder, slow the bleeding. Help's got to be coming..." he said, trailing just a bit before he turned and started running serpentine.
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Roy nodded to Harry, agreeing with that plan of action. He watched the guy go, but only for a moment before he was concentrating far more on everything else. Everyone else. He waved people who were helping each other towards the fountain, shouting to them to head there. He could see a few people who were gonners but not gone yet farther up the field. There were the clearly dead, and then there were the stragglers. The ones who had taken a hit but they'd make it if they didn't bleed out. Those were the ones he was interested in. Those were the ones who needed aid. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he felt a sharp pain in there but it was dull--something that he didn't quite acknowledge or feel properly as the adrenaline pumped through his system.
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To his credit, Harry was holding up well for the first couple of minutes now. From the initial onslaught to the recovery of their first survivors, he'd been fine. And sprinting towards his next rescue was going as well as he could hope, given the circumstances, until Harry got them on their feet. It wasn't pretty, the way a length of iron pipe was jutting from the hip, but he'd seen enough injuries to know it could be survived if help got here fast enough. The problem was when he slung their arm over his shoulders, taking weight to help them move, and felt fire race up his spine.
He'd avoided aggravating the old war injury for a long time now, so long that he'd forgotten how bad it hurt, but not so long that it had ever gotten better. It was never going to, there wasn't enough time in the world, and here and now that meant that it bent Harry sharply under the pressure and pain, creasing his face in agony even as he started moving the survivor forward. It was slow, but still faster than they would've moved on their own.
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After it registered that Harry was taking slightly longer than expected, Roy looked up and over, spotting the man. And he could see he wasn't moving as quickly as he had been a moment ago, so he moved before thinking it through, going forward to help the both of them, trying to get it done faster. Time was always a factor in these types of situations. You got things done or you failed.
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Selfish as it was, Harry didn't stop Roy when he reached them. The limits imposed by his injuries tended to domino, going from the pains in his back and arms immediately to shortness of breath, and he could already feel his lungs fluttering when Roy came over. Without help, he'd drop this survivor and fall right with them.
Still, he only took the assistance until they were within ten paces of the fountain, straightening with a sharp groan and waving Roy back. "Go!" he said sharply, "I'll get him from here, just keep going!" Harry forced faster steps, keeping his companion upright until they hit the edge of the fountain, and before he even eased the guy he'd saved to the edge he was turning to bellow into the park. "Survivors here!" Harry yelled harshly. "Bring the wounded here!"
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Roy dashed back out among the carnage, moving quickly around the pipes embedded into the ground and the dead. He started systematically running back and forth from the field to the fountain, adding to those out of the line of fire should there be a second shot. It was a mission he could handle, something that was really more suited towards him than damn near anything he'd been doing since he got back to the city. And he kept it up. Back and forth, back and forth, adding to those safely in the fountain bed.
(For Madeline)
Having spent the entire day at church, Janey's knees were certainly aching. It hadn't been her plan, but when Father had announced the special mass and the vigil after that morning's service, she knew she had to stay. She'd been acting so selfishly in the past week, focusing on her relationship with Danny and her own well-being instead of spending the time she should have helping out at the soup kitchen or in prayer at the cathedral. The tragedy hit her hard--it was as though it were meant to wake her up, to remind her that her prayers and her faith were desperately needed. Maybe if she'd been praying, things wouldn't have been so bad. So she'd stayed after service and on into the evening until the second mass.
When the noise came, Janey was standing with her eyes closed, head bowed over the flame. Her first thought was thunder, but it sounded too artificial. And before she could process it any further, there was a scream. As she opened her eyes, the crowd exploded into chaos. Something whizzed past her ear, and her candle slipped from her hand as she leapt aside. The sound that followed thrust her briefly into a memory, the sound of an axe biting into the flesh of a young sapling. But what she saw was a ghastly contrast to that. The woman beside her crumpled, blood seeping from where a pipe protruded from her neck.
Janey tried to cry for help, but all that came out was a choked groan. She dropped to her knees beside the woman and grabbed her face, turning it towards the light of the flames that were dancing in the grass. When she saw the face, eyes gazing to nothing, mouth oozing blood, she knew there was nothing she could do. Vaguely, her mind seemed to be telling her to get up and run, somewhere else, anywhere but here, as more bodies fell and missiles continued to fall, but the message to move wasn't reaching her limbs.
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Madeline hadn't even come to pray, which was maybe heartless of her but the draw of a crowd illuminated by candlelight and a setting sun was too much for the painter to ignore. She had been sitting on a bench on the outskirts and had been finishing up when the strange sound cracked through the quieting city. She looked up along with a few of the other curious people and she was slow to understand what was going on when the screaming happened. People were running from an area ahead and Madeline slowly started walking in that direction, curiosity getting the best of her when something fell from the sky and smashed the head of the man in front of her. He took the woman beside him down and there was screaming. She couldn't be sure if it was hers or the woman's but sketchbook forgotten, Madeline ran for dear life, pushing through the crowd knowing that she needed to get the hell out of there.
She was making good work of it too. The area of the gathering she was in wasn't crushed but she stumbled and ran into someone and hit the ground, scraping her palms on the worn patch of grass. She looked to see what she had tripped over. It was a redheaded woman who was crouched over a body and Maddy was going to say something when she saw the blood and the pipe and then she started screaming.
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The sound of another voice so close to her ear jolted Janey to action. She took in the situation. The crush of people moving out of the park was chaos. Bodies continued to fall, and a few valiant men were trying to drag the wounded to safety. Even Janey wasn't in the mindset to risk that. It would only slow her down, and she was worrying about her own safety. Her survival instinct had kicked in. Scanning her surroundings, she spotted a little grove of trees about one hundred feet away. She knew that part of the park--that was where she and Danny used to have their alone time. If they could get there, the band shell was just on the other side of the trees, and then they'd have something solid to protect them.
She sprung to her feet, grabbing the young blonde woman who'd crouched beside her by the shoulders and wrenching her upwards. "Come on!" she yelled, her voice hoarse over the shrieks of the crowd that surrounded her.
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Madeline was looking at the carnage in horror, her screaming descending into a hysterical sobbing, although she wasn't sure if she was crying or not. There were dead people around them. Oh god, they were dead. She felt herself being pulled up and she looked at who pulled her up. It was the woman she'd tripped over. She was just shocked, unable to understand what was going on. Another crack of thunder and more screams not far from them.
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Janey forced herself into the girl's line of vision, trying to block the sights of the horror around them. She herself was struggling to keep her roiling stomach in check, but adrenaline was keeping her from breaking down completely.
"We have to go, okay?" She put her hands firmly on either side of the girl's face and turned it towards her. "Come on." She pushed the girl ahead of her, steering her through the crowd, keeping her eyes squinting above their heads watching for danger.
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Madeline stopped making noises when the woman got in her face but didn't have time to respond before she was being pushed forward through the crowed. They had to go. Right. She knew this park like the back of her hand and the landmarks in their area registered. "This way," she said, and it was her turn to grab the woman's hand and dragged her left past a destroyed fountain, ignoring the bloody pipes and body sprawled against the stone. She was pulling her away from the Cathedral side of the park, where they'd been gathered, and towards Sixth street, the gaps in the fence that the street kids had used for as long as she could remember. Not many people would be going that way.
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When the girl seemed to wake up and take charge, Janey panicked momentarily. She was leading them deeper into the park, not out of it. But then again, Janey realized, why had she thought out of the park would be safer? There was no telling whether this was happening all over the city. Her heart leapt to her mouth at that thought, as her eyes caught sight of a severed body, and Danny's face glowed in her mind, but it disappeared in a burst of sparks as pain shot up her arm. A pipe whistling to the ground had grazed her wrist, leaving a shallow wound, and embedding itself in the ground between the two women.
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Madeline was not cut out for this. Sure, she'd seen stuff growing up but nothing, absolutely nothing like this. And her brain was just scrambling and those holes in the fence were what screamed safety. But then there was pain and the other woman let out a sound and the whizzing of a pipe and thud as it embedded itself in the ground between them. They separated immediately and Madeline looked up at the sky and held her hand. Looking back at the woman, she saw a wound on her own hand. God, that pipe almost took their hands off. She heard some yells not too far away as another pipe landed, but it wasn't the shower that they were just moments ago. "Are you okay?" She asked, stumbling as some people ran past her.
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Looking at the blood dripping off her wrist, Janey had the sudden realization that she was already spattered in blood. Not her own, but blood nonetheless. She opened her mouth gasping for air like a caught fish. She was not okay, this was not okay, and the rush of adrenaline that had been propelling her toward safety seemed to have seeped out of her veins with the blood. She imagined herself collapsing right there among the bodies--no one would even know she was alive. They would take her for just another corpse--just as she had done for every fallen victim she'd scrambled past. What kind of monster am I becoming? she thought. And then she was running again, alone.
nathaniel and arienne
It was odd. Arienne was standing there, part of the vigil, candle held in her hand. One minute she was there, with her mother who had decided it would be good press to be seen at the place, an idea that had only occurred when Arienne announced she was going. One heartbeat she was there, a part of a crowd, and the next she was standing there with blood splashed across her chest and clothes. There were screams, and the sound of the projectiles hitting the earth and bodies around them sort of registered slightly late to her. Just a little, just a fraction of a second, but that fraction seemed like it took forever. Like it seemed like it took forever for her to make sense of what she was seeing as she looked down at her mother.
There she was, laying on the ground, and there was a pipe sticking out of her head where her lower jaw was meant to be. It was all crushed inwards, twisted and contorted, her eyes staring upwards blankly--she was already dead. There was just that pipe there where it wasn't meant to be there. She stumbled a little bit as someone knocked hard into her, and she dropped her candle, only dimly aware at the moment of everything around her.
Nate had gone to the candlelight vigil for what probably amounted to very different reasons to everybody else, and those reasons were varied. One the one hand, he wanted to see what kind of people would turn up for some kind of service for people they had never met, and would never have met, even if they hadn't all been slaughtered. And he wanted to watch their faces as they stood, strangers mourning for strangers. Something about the idea fascinated him.
That, and he thought Arienne would be there. It seemed to be the kind of event she would decide that she should turn up to. Which, he supposed, that given his new position in the school, he could say that was why he was here as well. In any event, it worked on all counts. He found her standing with a woman he recognised as her mother, and he positioned himself a little to one side and behind her. His attention was, however, more on the other people in the crowd. She would be acting - they may not be.
And they certainly weren't acting when the blood started flying. As the first projectiles hit, taking down a man to Nate's left, Nate had ducked, his first instinct of self-preservation kicking in. And then his attention was caught firmly by the carnage of it all, not taking in details at first as much as the wider picture. The screams, the smells, the blood of it all, in the gloom, the candles being snubbed out by people who were just as quickly dying around him.
It wasn't that she was upset, though later that would be what people assumed was happening with Ari. She didn't feel anything about it, seeing the dead woman there, hearing the screams, feeling the people rushing around her and she was knocked off balance, unable to catch herself. So she was then down on the ground, people still screaming and running in all directions, though she still just stared at her mother, seeing broken teeth. She winced as someone stepped on her hand, and she became more aware of her surroundings, even if she was still in a state of oddly suspended shock, even if it wasn't emotionally triggered.
Nate held himself still and took a few deep breaths as the world around him began to panic, running to get away. For him, he needed to not react in very different ways - he wanted to stay, wanted to experience it all. Aside from that instinct immediately to duck, once that was over, the fact his life may be at risk from staying meant nothing. He looked around, seeing Arienne, then focusing on the fact that her mother was lying on the floor. And that there was blood - too much blood. And nobody's face should be shaped like that. The angle was difficult though, he couldn't quite see. He stood, weaving through the people, past bodies, until he reached her side and looked down at the body. It was clearly a body now. Fascinating. He didn't take his eyes off the DiGiovanni matriarch as he put his hand on Arienne's shoulder.
She hadn't noted Nathaniel's approach, still spotting all the little details of her mother's smashed face. Like how her eyes were just fine, but her nose was a little off now, the underlying architecture splintered. Looking up, she followed the hand up to see Nathaniel. And it was a little like the rest of the world ceased at that point, or it did for her. She'd never quite experienced anything like she was now, even when things had been happening overseas at school. "Nathaniel." she said, though it was a soft sort of expression, not one that carried far, especially not over the still screaming people in the near vicinity.
Nate's eyes didn't leave the body until she said his name, then he looked at her. The fact they weren't meant to be speaking in public seemed irrelevant right at that moment, though it occurred in the back of his mind that if anyone did say anything, he could claim that all differences could be put aside in the wake of a disaster such as this. "She's dead," he pointed out, he looked back at the body. Truly fascinating.
Her eyes didn't leave his, and she was on the same page. If anyone even picked them out of the crowd together, it was in the middle of a huge disaster. No one was going to blame them. "I noticed." she said. "I've got blood on me." she added, since she did. It was there, on her clothes, splashed across her chest. Some was on the simple silver pendant she wore around her neck. She was coming back to herself, Nathaniel very much grounding her and letting the shock factors drop away to leave just her there.
Her eyes didn't leave his, and she was on the same page. If anyone even picked them out of the crowd together, it was in the middle of a huge disaster. No one was going to blame them. "I noticed." she said. "I've got blood on me." she added, since she did. It was there, on her clothes, splashed across her chest. Some was on the simple silver pendant she wore around her neck. She was coming back to herself, Nathaniel very much grounding her and letting the shock factors drop away to leave just her there.
"You have," he said, as she caught his attention once again. "Not yours?" he didn't know. Maybe she was hurt. Other people who were hurt around them were crying, screaming. Sobbing. But he didn't put her in the same category as anyone else. Still, the way it had splattered - it was more likely to be her mother's blood. The spray from the impact. It would be cooling now, but at first, it would have been warm.
She nearly got run over again, and she reached up, pulling at his arm so he'd come down there with her. He might want a closer look. "Not mine." she said. She hadn't been hit at all. Her hand was aching from where it had been stamped on, but she wasn't even thinking about that in the slightest right now. Not even a little bit. Not being in the middle of a bloody field of death, with Nathaniel right there. It was a moment she'd never get to repeat, she didn't want to be distracted.
Nate went down on one knee, and he immediately felt what he assumed was a mixture of blood and dirt start to seep through his trousers. He'd have to check that out later, to make sure. "Your mothers then?" he asked, as he reached across and wiped a thumb across a spray of blood, smearing it across her skin, yet not actually wiping it entirely away. Yes, cool now. But still wet. Still fresh.
"Yes." she answered, keeping her attention on his eyes. They usually kept their hands to themselves, but it seemed like a special occasion and all. She didn't draw back whatsoever, anyway. She also kept hold of his hand, altering her grip just a little, up onto his forearm slightly. She watched him looking at the blood. "How does it look?" she asked, voice still soft, light. Something that was wholly inappropriate for the occasion if she was anyone else in the world.
A word occurred to Nate, but he didn't vocalise it immediately, his eyes still on the smear of blood. It was a moment or two before he raised his eyes to hers and he knew that if he said anything, there would be no going back. He'd never hidden anything from her, but this was blood from the sudden and untimely death of her mother. He knew that should mean something, and if it did, if he was honest with her right now, she could very well react badly. Yet, at the same time, what they shared between them, special as it was, was based on honesty. And so he told her the truth. "Beautiful," he told her, in answer to her question.
Arienne didn't react badly. And the smile that the single word brought forth was one that could have happened under a starlit sky, where they were entirely alone, just them and a soft glow on their skin from the moon light. In fact, it was the same sort of smile that any normal girl would have given him for the same sentiment--it just happened to be one of the more twisted scenarios ever conceived. She leaned closer to him, closer than she ever normally would. "I was hoping you'd say that." she told him, voice a soft little murmur.
A shiver ran through him at her words, and beneath her hand, his skin broke out into goosebumps that had nothing to do with the air temperature. It was all he could do not to lean in and kiss her. He wanted to more than he ever had done before, and right now, it felt... right. But, right now, he really couldn't.
Ari was feeling the same way. That right now, was where something else happened. And she couldn't resist the small move she did make, something hidden by the curtain of her hair as it fell to obscure her features and where she was in near to him. She exhaled against the skin of his neck just beneath his ear, and she brushed her lips against that very spot as well. She wanted him to brush his thumb through the blood on her chest again. She'd loved that. She was trembling a little bit, and it would look like for a much different reason, of course. It would look like she was leaning on him for support, like she was clinging to his arm to keep herself upright, like she was shaking from the force of her grief. But she wasn't. She was just in the thrall of the moment, for an entirely different reason.
It took him a moment, but he pulled back, enough that he could look at her. “You’ll need to stay here,” he said, though there was that hint of a question to it. They both knew the answers though. “It wouldn’t do for you not to be here - you need your family not to worry.” Not with her plans. Despite what he wanted right now, they’d talked about they future, and she needed to be a rock, she needed to always be there, if she wanted that to come about.
She gave a bare nod. She did know already that her timetable was going to have to change. She was going to have to do things a little differently, even if she still wanted the same outcome. "Do you think there's a way for you to take that without being noticed?" she asked, eyes ticking to the pipe that had killed her mother just for a heartbeat.
Nobody was watching them, everybody was too busy running, panicking. The rods were still raining down intermittent death, though more slowly now, and part of Nate was aware that, really, they had been very lucky not to be killed, just sitting where they were. Maybe it was true - the saying that lightning never struck in the same place twice. Except this wasn't lightning. This was murder - on a grand scale. The murder of innocents who had been mourning the murder of innocents. It was almost poetic. He'd need to come back here, tomorrow, maybe at dawn. Really see the remains of the carnage. But, for now, he reached across and pulled at the pipe lodged in Arienne's mother's head. Suction gave it resistance and Nate had to twist and wrench to remove it. He never questioned that she wanted to keep the instrument of death. It would be significant. He understood that.
She smiled at him again, that soft little expression that didn't fit their surroundings at all. But it fit for them. "Thank you." she said. "I'll see you soon. We'll meet. You should go. There might be another barrage." But she did need to stay there, risk it, because she needed to be 'mourning'. She needed to be sobbing at her mother's side, something she'd get to. But it would have more effect either way when things were slightly quieter. Right now, no one was going to notice anything, and it was a performance piece that needed an audience.
"Tomorrow," he told her as he pulled off his jacket and carefully wrapped the rod up in it so as not to disturb the blood and matter too much. "Anyway, we'll need to put something together for the school," he added. That, at least, would give them an excuse to meet. "You know I'll have to offer to temporarily take over our role - if all this has been too much for you," he warned her. It would only make sense, though he doubted she would allow that. She would have other plans, of course.
"Tomorrow." she agreed. "And of course. We'll see how I'm feeling." Really it would depend heavily on the outcome of things, what happened within her family and how the school was reacting in general to both the incident and her own situation. It might be a good thing to hand the reigns over to Nathaniel for a time, to instill in people the idea that he was someone to be trusted in times of crisis. "Have a good night, Nathaniel." she told him, her tone bordering sweet. "It was so good to see you."
"And under such circumstances as well," he said, returning the smile as he stood. "I'm sorry for your loss," he added, sounding sincere with the formal statement, though they both knew the truth of it. He didn't wait for an answer before he disappeared into the night.
She watched him go, the chaos swallowing him as people were still running, screaming, the world was rushing back in. And with it, she looked back down at her mother, and added her own screams to the mix. It was just about time to draw attention, so she was going to play her part.
roy and madeline
Madeline had long since been separated from the woman, both of them getting caught up in the flow of people and now that things had settled down, she wasn't quite sure what to do. Her right hand and wrist throbbed but didn't seem broken. Bleeding from the wound and she'd wrapped her handkerchief around the thing in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. She'd long since stopped screaming hysterically and was sitting on a bench with tears on her face trying to take in everything that had just happened. She was shaking a little bit, her breathing a bit fast and she was unable to figure out exactly what had just happened here. Pipes. Falling from the sky. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.
Grady had been helping hold the wounded together as much as possible before medics arrived, and he kept up helping as long as he could. He'd done a lot of runs into the field, getting more of the wounded back to the fountain, where the bottom looked like it was filling with blood, but he didn't know if that was his imagination or not. It was possible his head had merely interpreted it that way. He was ushered aside when people needed to deal with the seriously wounded, however, and he started to walk through the park without any actual destination in mind--not even as far as 'leave the park' had occurred. He did look up and see blonde hair, however, and he recognized her. That had him rushing over. "Maddy...are you okay?" he asked, reaching out, though his arm protested from the wound high up on his shoulder. So he sat down next to her instead. "Are you hurt?"
She didn't look up immediately. Madeline felt like she was processing things a little slower but she finally nodded. "Pipe hit my hand... I don't think it's broken though. Just hurts." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly and looked up to look at the person who sat next to her. It took her a second to register. For some reason, seeing someone you recognized at something like this didn't seem plausible. "You?" she asked, looking at his face then down to his shoulder, where she caught the sight of blood and she lifted her uninjured hand as if to do something about it. What, she had no idea, but the gesture was automatic. "How bad is it?" Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears. She wasn't quite with it.
He reached out to take her hand, to see what she meant--as far as he knew most of the pipes that had contacted people had gone clear through. The one that had glanced his shoulder had taken out a large chunk of skin, that was for certain, and possibly a little muscle beneath that. He didn't know yet. "You're lucky it wasn't taken off." he told her, thinking of all the limbs people were going to be losing when they got to the hospital. Like one woman he'd helped to the fountain who had a pipe right through her lower leg--both of those bones were shattered beyond recognition, it had barely been held on by the muscle. He gave her a little smile. "I'm okay." he told her. "I've had worse." Which happened to be true, even.
"I didn't really look at it. Just knew there was blood and I had to stop it," she explained as he took her hand. Her and Janey had been holding hands and from what she could recall, the pipe seemed to have grazed across the back of Janey's hand, but had taken a nice chunk of skin off the side of her hand. And the handkerchief was sticking to it. "For a minute there I thought I lost my hand. I couldn't even imagine how I didn't." She didn't return the smile but her look was soft and grateful. "You sure? We should find something to put on it." He was in the war. She was sure he'd had worse, especially if he was saying that, but she was still worried for him and this time that did show in her voice. Talking was helping.
He took the handkerchief and pulled it back gently, to see what the damage looked like. "I'm sure we can find something in a little while. For right now, I want to make sure you're not bleeding anymore, okay?" he told her. "Can't have you hurting your hand. Who's artwork would I come by to admire?" he asked, to get her mind off of everything entirely, to shift her focus somewhere else.
She let out a long hiss of pain when he pulled the cloth back. Oh, that hurt. That really hurt. She didn't want to look and while more tears pricked her eyes, she focused on his face instead, waiting for the throb of pain to pass. It had to pass, right? The wound was still bleeding a little, albeit sluggishly now but it was ugly and definitely needed more attention than just a handkerchief and pressure. "You don't come by to admire my artwork," she pointed out, forcing a little smile on her face as she tried to count to ten. Oh fuck, why did air make things hurt ten times worse? Ow ow ow.
He rearranged the cloth, and put it back on, just with a better level of skill than had been done the first time. "Sure I do." he said. "I come by, I see all sorts of things. I come by to see you, and Shanna, and anything you girls put together. I just keep waiting for you to tell me to quit hovering and find someplace else to be." he said with that light little smile, watching her eyes for signs of any neurological damage, but her pupils seemed to be the same size.
"We have an opening tomorrow," she said and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment but closing them meant that the carnage around them was burning into her mind and she opened them again. "Is it bad?" Madeline hadn't looked at her hand, she was too scared to do so and now it was covered up again. She was shaking a little bit and reached up to wipe her eyes on the back of her sleeve.
"It'll be okay." He assured her, putting his arm around her and he hugged her close for a moment, keeping her hand lightly cradled in his free one. "You'll heal. We'll need to let someone look at you and get proper bandages on it and all, but it'll be alright. Nothing permanent." he promised, voice light and soft. Quiet, and he hoped soothing. "Do you have art in the show tomorrow?"
The hug was what she needed and Madeline was quiet for a little bit as she rested her head on his good shoulder shoulder and listened to him talk. His voice was soothing, telling her everything was going to be alright and so maybe it was a little childish but she liked hearing that and it gave her those few moments to try get her head back on straight. "No. Two artists. One of them decided at the last minute she had five more paintings she wanted to feature so I had to commission someone to put up more wallspace. So now we have this wall we can put up if we want to change up the design of the room. I was working on the set up last night so Shannah wouldn't have to worry about it."
"She mentioned that. But you won't have anything? Nothing at all? I was thinking of buying something. Tell you what. You show me your stuff next time I'm in, and I'll buy something of yours." he promised. It wasn't like he didn't have the money. He gave her a little light kiss on the temple. "There are paramedics over by the fountain. Do you think you're ready to take the walk over there? If you aren't, we can wait here longer." he promised.
Madeline looked up at him then over at the fountain, then back at him. The kiss was not something she expected from him but the gesture was appreciated. "Yeah, I can walk. Legs work." She'd been walking all over the damn park once the pipes stopped falling. "It's not my show, so no, none of my artwork." Getting up, she looked around the area, ignoring the sights she didn't want to see and looking to see if by some miracle, her sketchbook was somewhere. "But I'd like that. If you came by. You don't need to buy anything though, Roy," she told him. "And we've got to get you bandaged too." Despite the ridiculous pain throbbing through her hand, she smiled at him. A tired expression, but sweet all the same. "And don't tell me you've had worse. Infections don't care about worse."