Henry "Hotspur" Percy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hotspurred) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel_logs2017-01-25 10:09 am
hotspurred) wrote in hadriel_logs2017-01-25 10:09 am
Entry tags:
well long live all those lies
Who: Henry Percy (hotspurred) & OPEN, + one closed to Maketh Tua (mismanagement)
What: Post-event revival.
Where: Hope's temple, Delight's bar, Guard HQ, and all around Hadriel.
When: 25th for Hope's temple and Delight's bar, 26th for Guard HQ, 27th onwards for the rest.
Warnings: Mentions of death, violence and probably gore, heavy drinking, swearing. I'll match format!
HOPE'S TEMPLE
I ✠ open;
The sensation of coming back to life is eerily similar to waking from an unintended sleep: a sudden, startling rush of consciousness, a powerful momentary disorientation, and finally the painfully clear, indisputable knowledge of what occurred without your will.
He died.
When Henry squeezes his eyes shut, he sees Maketh smile like it was but a handful of seconds ago that she raised her pistol at him and fired.
It leaves him reeling. The foundation beneath his feet is crumbling away leaving only a yawning fissure.
Death, in his mind, had been a battle lost: an unmistakable enemy, a bitter fight, his sword in his hand and his shield on his arm, glory entwined with the despair–
Not the woman he named sister preying upon his trust. Not the nothingness that followed where purgatory should have waited.
Henry sits up, then staggers off of the altar and over to a corner where he sinks to his knees and bows his head. Pressing his gauntleted hands together, he turns to the last resort of a breaking man. In his armour he resembles an effigy immortalised in worship.
As others return to life under Hope's power, he remains kneeling in the temple, his lips moving in silent prayer. It brings him no comfort. Respite eludes him. But prayer is all that he has left with which to try and ground himself.
He knows that there is no choice. He must cope.
O God, but he cannot.
II ✠ closed to Maketh;
What permanently stirs him from his desperate and ineffectual prayers is the next resurrection. He instinctively registers the blonde hair and familiar form, and it makes him flinch. He feels sick as his hands drop and he pulls himself to his feet; he hates himself for watching her like a threat. It hurts deep inside, knowing that something has broken. Yet he ignores the creeping hesitance and walks over to the altar, leans his hip against the far side. He did not know that she died too – of course not, but he still thinks it with a pang of discontent.
Libera nos a malo.
He cannot tell his welcome. For once he does not know where they stand. But that she is family has not changed: he still cares for Maketh as much as he ever has. It would be easier if he merely felt angry. Instead he feels betrayed – lost – as he looks her over with concern.
It does not take long for the distance between them to annoy him, however. Pushing off the stone, he moves closer. Where once he would have just taken her arm, this time he keeps a step back and offers her a hand, tension in the lines of his jaw and shoulders.
I wanted you to see this echoes in his mind.
He leaves the choice of closing the last of that distance in Maketh's hands.
“Welcome back among the living.”
III ✠ DELIGHT'S BAR;
There is something pathetic about drinking alone in his and Maketh's apartment, and so Henry chooses to drown his woes in public at Delight's bar. Apparently it's a popular choice given how busy it is. That's good. The background noise helps him remain alert by keeping a portion of his attention on external matters – another of the many instincts of a martial mind.
Once he begins to make real progress towards drunken oblivion, he looks either side of him at his fellow patrons, then lets out a short, bitter laugh.
With a sharp edge, he wryly remarks, “Who died?”
Though it might as well be who else.
IV ✠ GUARD HEADQUARTERS;
Never mind a hangover, the morning after his revival Henry suspects that he might still be a little bit drunk. Waking late by his standards, he forgoes his usual early morning training and leaves off his armour, instead dressing in some scavenged clothes he does not care about destroying. He arrives at what remains of the Guard headquarters at six, and immediately applies himself to the task of restoring HQ to some semblance of order.
He begins by clearing out the rubble, broken furniture and burnt husks. He sorts what scattered paperwork survives into three piles: ruined, partially intact and wholly intact. He doesn't bother organising them beyond that right now. Once that is done, he gets on with painstakingly scrubbing the walls and floor, cleaning them of dried blood, viscera, soot and ash. Determined to see it done, his focus is unyielding.
The truth is that he does not wish to think. Being a knight is his whole existence, and because of that, he cannot – beyond last night – turn to drink. So he occupies his emotional restlessness with physical exertion. It may not be a cure, but it treats the symptoms.
Whether others come to assist or merely watch him toil, he keeps at his self-appointed task.
V ✠ WILDCARD;
From the 27th, Henry doggedly resumes his usual schedule, beginning with his five a.m. training session. But in addition to his normal Guard duties, lessons and intensive training, he can be found doing yet more: seeking out replacement furniture for headquarters and scavenging bricks to repair the holes in their wall, with or without assistance; cataloguing the damage done to Hadriel by the doubles; going for nightly runs around one a.m. without fail. It appears that in an effort to cope, he's finding ways to be as active as humanly possible. Feel free to bother (or be bothered by) him.
hotspurred) & OPEN, + one closed to Maketh Tua (mismanagement) What: Post-event revival.
Where: Hope's temple, Delight's bar, Guard HQ, and all around Hadriel.
When: 25th for Hope's temple and Delight's bar, 26th for Guard HQ, 27th onwards for the rest.
Warnings: Mentions of death, violence and probably gore, heavy drinking, swearing. I'll match format!
HOPE'S TEMPLE
I ✠ open;
The sensation of coming back to life is eerily similar to waking from an unintended sleep: a sudden, startling rush of consciousness, a powerful momentary disorientation, and finally the painfully clear, indisputable knowledge of what occurred without your will.
He died.
When Henry squeezes his eyes shut, he sees Maketh smile like it was but a handful of seconds ago that she raised her pistol at him and fired.
It leaves him reeling. The foundation beneath his feet is crumbling away leaving only a yawning fissure.
Death, in his mind, had been a battle lost: an unmistakable enemy, a bitter fight, his sword in his hand and his shield on his arm, glory entwined with the despair–
Not the woman he named sister preying upon his trust. Not the nothingness that followed where purgatory should have waited.
Henry sits up, then staggers off of the altar and over to a corner where he sinks to his knees and bows his head. Pressing his gauntleted hands together, he turns to the last resort of a breaking man. In his armour he resembles an effigy immortalised in worship.
As others return to life under Hope's power, he remains kneeling in the temple, his lips moving in silent prayer. It brings him no comfort. Respite eludes him. But prayer is all that he has left with which to try and ground himself.
He knows that there is no choice. He must cope.
O God, but he cannot.
II ✠ closed to Maketh;
What permanently stirs him from his desperate and ineffectual prayers is the next resurrection. He instinctively registers the blonde hair and familiar form, and it makes him flinch. He feels sick as his hands drop and he pulls himself to his feet; he hates himself for watching her like a threat. It hurts deep inside, knowing that something has broken. Yet he ignores the creeping hesitance and walks over to the altar, leans his hip against the far side. He did not know that she died too – of course not, but he still thinks it with a pang of discontent.
Libera nos a malo.
He cannot tell his welcome. For once he does not know where they stand. But that she is family has not changed: he still cares for Maketh as much as he ever has. It would be easier if he merely felt angry. Instead he feels betrayed – lost – as he looks her over with concern.
It does not take long for the distance between them to annoy him, however. Pushing off the stone, he moves closer. Where once he would have just taken her arm, this time he keeps a step back and offers her a hand, tension in the lines of his jaw and shoulders.
I wanted you to see this echoes in his mind.
He leaves the choice of closing the last of that distance in Maketh's hands.
“Welcome back among the living.”
III ✠ DELIGHT'S BAR;
There is something pathetic about drinking alone in his and Maketh's apartment, and so Henry chooses to drown his woes in public at Delight's bar. Apparently it's a popular choice given how busy it is. That's good. The background noise helps him remain alert by keeping a portion of his attention on external matters – another of the many instincts of a martial mind.
Once he begins to make real progress towards drunken oblivion, he looks either side of him at his fellow patrons, then lets out a short, bitter laugh.
With a sharp edge, he wryly remarks, “Who died?”
Though it might as well be who else.
IV ✠ GUARD HEADQUARTERS;
Never mind a hangover, the morning after his revival Henry suspects that he might still be a little bit drunk. Waking late by his standards, he forgoes his usual early morning training and leaves off his armour, instead dressing in some scavenged clothes he does not care about destroying. He arrives at what remains of the Guard headquarters at six, and immediately applies himself to the task of restoring HQ to some semblance of order.
He begins by clearing out the rubble, broken furniture and burnt husks. He sorts what scattered paperwork survives into three piles: ruined, partially intact and wholly intact. He doesn't bother organising them beyond that right now. Once that is done, he gets on with painstakingly scrubbing the walls and floor, cleaning them of dried blood, viscera, soot and ash. Determined to see it done, his focus is unyielding.
The truth is that he does not wish to think. Being a knight is his whole existence, and because of that, he cannot – beyond last night – turn to drink. So he occupies his emotional restlessness with physical exertion. It may not be a cure, but it treats the symptoms.
Whether others come to assist or merely watch him toil, he keeps at his self-appointed task.
V ✠ WILDCARD;
From the 27th, Henry doggedly resumes his usual schedule, beginning with his five a.m. training session. But in addition to his normal Guard duties, lessons and intensive training, he can be found doing yet more: seeking out replacement furniture for headquarters and scavenging bricks to repair the holes in their wall, with or without assistance; cataloguing the damage done to Hadriel by the doubles; going for nightly runs around one a.m. without fail. It appears that in an effort to cope, he's finding ways to be as active as humanly possible. Feel free to bother (or be bothered by) him.
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