Night Comes To Tallahassee

[we_bring_hell]

The Bar does her best to mother the underage patrons of the Bar, nudging them gently towards self-care and withholding harmful things, but she is not omniscient. She couldn't have known not to give Harrowhark Nonagesimus pushpins and index cards and colorful string.

Harrow has secured a small sideroom in the library, the equivalent of a grad student cubicle, and something awful is taking shape there; the crazy conspiracist murder board equivalent of the bone construct lurking in the depths of Canaan House. There is color-coding. There are crossreferences. There are Tarot cards mixed in. There's a map of Canaan House. There are accidental yarn pentagrams that have somehow not yet summoned the soul of Pepe Silvia.

Harrowhark is dressed way down, and yet somehow at her most feral and goblin-like, sockfooted and gloveless in soft pants and black hoodie, as she shifts the cards around and examines new configurations. Ever so often she refers to her journal. She is humming something under her breath.

Comments

[lightamidchaos]

"Mn," he says, and leaves it at that. He has not met Gideon Nav. Harrow is the one who knows her best. He can, however, appreciate the difficulty of Harrow's situation - especially if Gideon does not care for her in the way that she would want.

(He knows that feeling all too well, and spares an instant to be amazed and grateful for how things have now changed.)

There is something she has said, however, that surprises him.

"Ingress was your cavalier?"

[we_bring_hell]

"By no means," she says, coloring under her paint. "To be a true cavalier is not something that can be for a night. But she played the role--she was the sword to my adept, she protected me and made sure I got home safely when I, ah, overextended myself."

"Gideon might justly consider that - her job was encroached on. But the kiss would no doubt be the occasion for jokes."

[lightamidchaos]

"Ah."

For some reason, he shows a complete lack of surprise at the idea that an adept - and especially a necromancer - might overextend and need assistance.

"I am glad you were protected, in any case."

A beat of silence.

"Have you seen Ingress since?"

[we_bring_hell]

See, this guy gets it. Totally normal.

She shakes her head. "Not once she brought me back. It has been only a day."

"I am being foolish to worry about it at all, under the circumstances," she chided herself.

[lightamidchaos]

Very simply:

"I do not think you are a foolish person."

[we_bring_hell]

There is a long pause that cannot be called a staring contest because there's no eye contact.




"It is just that I can't remember ever being kissed before," she says quietly.

A muscular swordswoman. A dank crypt. Sweating blood. Is this how Harrow imagined her first kiss?


Well, yes, obviously.

[lightamidchaos]

"Then it matters."

His tone is as quiet as hers.

[we_bring_hell]

She exhales slowly.

"I shall remember her kindness."

They spoke before of distinguishing pity from kindness, of course.

[lightamidchaos]

Indeed.

"If you wish to know," he starts, cautiously. "Why. I do not think it would go amiss to ask. Not with her."

"And if you do not wish to know, that is different."

[we_bring_hell]

Her throat tightens at the thought. "Perhaps," she says quietly.

"These matters," she says, slowly, carefully. "Trouble me. I am... I aspire to control. Of both mind and body."

[lightamidchaos]

"I understand."

Very low, and very, very certain.

"But sometimes-- sometimes there is someone. Who changes everything."

He touches his headband.

"This symbolizes both things, in fact. Control and self-regulation -- and the ability to relax both when with the right person."

[we_bring_hell]

At his revelation about the headband, Harrow touches her cheek; the paint; and nods.

"When I lose control I do hateful things," she says quietly. "Gideon makes me lose control like no one else can, and she has--suffered for it."

You may hate me all you wish; I still don’t even remember about you half the time.

[lightamidchaos]

"That can change. You can change it," he assures her.

"When I first met Wei Ying, we fought. Later - I was responsible for overseeing discipline among the disciples, and he--"

He shakes his head, remembering days upon days in the library.

"Things changed, or I did. Perhaps both."

[we_bring_hell]

"The Mountain Goats," she says in a low voice, "have a whole album about two people who are destroying each other but can't tear themselves away from one another."

She quotes, rather than sings: "'I am drowning; there is no sign of land. You are coming down with me. Hand in unlovable hand.'"

[lightamidchaos]

"Prayer and battle cry, you said before," Lan Wangji reminds her.

"If you are drowning, learn to swim together."

[we_bring_hell]

The key, she thinks, is the word unloveable. But her throat is completely locked now, the occlusion complete. She feels cold, wet arms around her; cold, icy hands wrapped around her bare wrists. There is a presence behind her, and it overwhelms her and embraces.

She closes her eyes, and takes a shuddering breath.

[lightamidchaos]

He takes a step away from the wall, toward her.

"Harrow?"

[we_bring_hell]

I love you, the Body whispers in her ear, her dead icy breath. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Her voice changes with every repetition. She sounds like Harrow's mother and like Moiraine Sedai and like Crux and like Lady Ingress and like Griddle and like Lan Wangji, and that confuses her; she looks around wildly.

"Did you speak?" she says, eyes wide.

[lightamidchaos]

"I called your name."

There is not much space in this room, but his concern drives him forward all the same. He takes another careful step, then stops, watching her.

[we_bring_hell]

Her hands rise to her head, slowly; weighted down by the dead hands of the body. She presses her fingertips to the bristling edge of her scalp.

Madness, this is madness. God's victory and death does not love her; no one loves Harrowhark Nonagesimus, although the anchorites of Drearburh love the Reverend Daughter. She's going mad.

"Lan Wangji," she gulps. "She is here."

[lightamidchaos]

She is not always with me ... but if the moment comes--

He is very, very grateful that he has had a few hours to rest, because he will need every bit of it now.

Lan Wangji summons his guqin, placing it on top of the small desk and taking position in front of it. He strikes the first notes of Inquiry, swift and clear, putting as much spiritual energy into it as he has to give.

The notes sound in the ancient musical language, filling the room with melody that carries a question.

You are welcome here. Will you speak with us?

[we_bring_hell]

Harrow sinks into the cleared chair and stares at the guqin, trembling.

And the strings play a strumming quiet beginning.

[lightamidchaos]

"She is here," he confirms. He had not chosen that response, after all; it is not music he knows, not the usual language, although the tenor of the melody is familiar. Therefore--

"She is willing to communicate. Tell me what you want to ask, and I will play the question for her in the ancient language, then pause for her to respond."

[we_bring_hell]

"Do you mean it?" she whispers. "What you said? Was that real?"

From the housetops to the gutters
From the ocean to the shore
The warning signs have all been bright and garish
Far too great in number to ignore

From the cities to the swamplands
From the highways to the hills
Our love has never had a leg to stand on
From the aspirins to the cross-tops to the Elavils

But I will walk down to the end with you
If you will come all the way down with me

[lightamidchaos]

He plays her question faithfully, letting the energy flow through him and into the strings.

The melody that returns is again not one he knows, and the lyrics are not relayed in the ancient language -- but the feeling comes through clearly, the meaning flowing through the music and into his mind.

"She says that you may be unlovable monsters," Lan Wangji repeats, "but you are not alone, and that she will love you if you love her."