we_bring_hell | (no subject)

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You would need an advanced degree in Nonagesamics to realize that Harrowhark is ecstatically happy this morning, but even the layman can tell that her usual spikes are retracted somewhat. Not the spikes on her boots--Gideon liked these boots, and she has no intention of wearing anything else for a while. But the metaphorical spikes.

Aside from her boots she is back in her standard habit--black trousers, black long-sleeve shirt with the high collar. No gloves. Her hair is freshly cropped back to her scalp. Her face is painted with exceptional care, in what Harrow considers the sexiest pattern, because Harrowhark has opinions about things like that. This one is called The Chain and has considerable, immodest flourishes. She has edged the perimeter of the painted skull with midnight purples and deep blood reds, an even greater departure from propriety.

She is writing in her journal, and since she writes in code there is no way anyone can tell she has doodled One Flesh One End approximately one hundred times. She has been eating oatmeal, and by God she even ate the raisins.

Things are good. For now, for once, things are good.

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Harrowhark is self aware enough to know that saying 'it's like a snug little coffin' will not be received in the manner it is meant.

"It is something of a last resort, yes."

Actually, Ingress would absolutely get that in the sense Harrow meant it. If she wasn’t dying of embarrassment, that is, which is taking up all of her brain’s processing power at the moment as she desperately casts about for Something Normal to Say in order to Not Further Ruin Things.

She’s not having much luck and the silence that falls makes her even more nervous.

“So you’ve known Gideon since you were small? Did you two grow up together in your house nursery?”

That was probably not the one.

"No," she says quietly. "There was--not. A House nursery."

"When Gideon was very small--before I was born--there was a tragedy that struck the Ninth House creche. Gideon was the only survivor of our generation."

"I was raised by my parents; she was a foundling, and was raised, largely, by our Captain of the Guard. But we did see much of each other." Mostly for beating each other up!

Ingress orders a scotch from Bar because you know what? Today needs whiskey!

“So what are you up to today?”

"It depends in part on who I can find," she says. "But there are studies I wish to pursue on a number of subjects. What about yourself?"

“Same thing with me. I had a break, and I thought I’d slip in, since time on the other side of my door stops. I have nothing in mind.”

"If Gideon were awake, perhaps you could spar," Harrow says, selflessly and with no mental images running through her head.

"But she is exhausted. We have both come from a particularly fraught point in time, but I have had more time here to recover." She ponders. "Instead, will you assist me in something closer to her specialty and yours than mine?"

“Yes, absolutely,” she says, brightening. “I’d be happy to.”

"Let us pay a visit to the forge, then," she says.

As they walk, she explains: "Gideon was raised to the two-handed sword. She learned the rapier and offhand as befits a cavalier at my order. Along with a vow of silence, our ritual paint, and her impressive physique, it has gone a long way in cementing her validity as a cavalier in the eyes of our peers, considering she was elevated only weeks before we departed. She looks as she should, and so they see only what should be there."

"But the situation has changed."

Edited 2020-10-20 19:55 (UTC)

Ingress nods as Harrow speaks. “Changed? In what way?”

"I no longer care what they think," she says bluntly. "They are largely irrelevant, and those who are not will not care. And we are being hunted by a bone construct of great size and weight. A rapier is not the appropriate weapon for such a thing."

She opens the door to the forge. "I want to live through this. And that means a cavalier who is functioning at her peak capability, not behind what she calls a 'metal toothpick.'"

“So you need weapons!”

Harrow has, indeed, chosen an appropriate consultant!

"A sword," says Harrow. "She uses two hands, and it is taller than I am. Beyond that, consider me as ignorant as it is possible for a woman to be."

Yessss!!! She feels useful again for the first time since her foot decided to live in her mouth.

“The balance will be key,” she says, eyeing the swords that are out on display. “But I believe our arms have about the same reach, even if she’s a bit taller, so I should be able to find one that will work for her.”

She picks up a sword, swings it, wrinkles her nose and puts it back.

“Tell me more about what you’re fighting. If she’s going against it alone, I may have ideas.”

In the meantime Ingress will keep trying swords.

"I have not seen it," she says. "But Gideon spoke of it. It's quite large, with multiple thick support limbs and spear-like forelimbs. It is made of regenerating bone, so it can stab with these and leave them behind, or hurl them. It also generates chains and tentacles of bone."

"I don't think a piercing weapon would have much impact at all." She has a lot of experience with skeletons.

Edited 2020-10-20 22:04 (UTC)

Ingress nods. “So not just a long sword but something with heft that can bludgeon. Does she have armor? Leather armor should be enough to shield her from anything while not weighing her down. Unless you use bones which would do, too.”

There are a few giant swords towards the back. Heavy steel, bulbous pommels at the ends of their two-handed hilts that can be used to bash an opponent.

She hefts up one to try, but the center of balance is still not quite right. The second one, shining silver blade with a plain hilt, is perfect. It will take great strength to wield but Gideon has that.

“Arm bracers - does she have them? Stiff leather bands that lace down to her wrist?”

She shakes her head. "She was trained with a Cohort breastplate, but did not--was not permitted to--bring it. If our enemy is a necromancer, leather might not be a good idea, however."

She looks at the sword Ingress has taken down, eyes widening. "Yes--that looks like the right sort of thing. Drearburh iron doesn't have that kind of shine, but the quality is... I actually have no idea how to gauge the quality. I don't know anything about these things."

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing when it comes to weapons.”

She tries the blade in her left hand, testing the balance to make sure, then with both hands on the hilt, she raises it up and brings it down hard, as if to crush something beneath her. She’s breathing harder by the time she’s done from the effort.

“This one. I’ll go back to Haven and raid our armory myself if we don’t find bracers and leather armor here, though.”

They will. And the leather will be black, because Milliways knows what its patrons want.

"I thank you," she says. "Your assistance is invaluable."

"I'd like to take it to her this morning. I don't think I have ever given her a gift." She knows she's never given her a gift; she's not sure anyone has ever given Gideon a gift.

Oooh, then they will need bows and ribbons. Tasteful ones! Maybe in navy blue.

She lifts the sword and then chuckles. "Uh. Harrow? Can you even lift this to get it upstairs?"

Ingress hands it over for Harrow to try.

Edited 2020-10-21 00:02 (UTC)

Harrow reaches to her ear and drops a phalange, which bounces twice on the wooden floor and then bursts into an unfolding scaffold of bone. The skeleton takes the blade, creaking with the weight.

"It appears that I can," Harrow says serenely.

Edited 2020-10-21 00:15 (UTC)

Ingress is duly impressed.

"Very nice, Harrow. Very nice. Come on, let's go get some bows from Bar, so you can get this gift to her."

Harrow manages to make the word "Bows?" sound like "Genital herpes?" at the suggestion, but follows dutifully, with her skeleton in tow.

-----------------

The door to room 99 unlocks and Harrow enters with her skeleton.

"Griddle, wake up,"

Edited 2020-10-21 00:57 (UTC)

Harrow was correct: Gideon is exhausted in body and soul and she slept like the dead all through the night, curled next to and around her necromancer. She startles awake at Harrow's voice, and sits up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"...What? What? Something wrong?"

She blinks blearily in the general direction of the door. Harrow is up and dressed, which isn't unusual, and her face is painted, which, same, but there's something different about her this morning. Gideon squints.

"...is that a new skull?"

"It's The Chain, you've seen it before," Harrow says dismissively, but not without a darkening of her ears and a little flutter that would disgust her if she could see herself.

Your eyes aren't fooling you, Gideon. Those are colors, penciled into the edges.

"I have something for you, wake up." The skeleton groans under the weight of a oblong something wrapped in black. There are, despite Harrow's best attempts to resist, bows.