[P] Catching up on unspoken invitations
p. Eulalie. Bastion. Former emergency Infirmary
#1
ooc [+399]
War was too cruel a teacher to rely on. He never wished such a thing on his own pack. Any pack for that matter. Even so, there were lessons to tap into. And, much as he hated the circumstances, Bellad had learned more of some of the pack-mates who surrounded him. Though he began with recovering his sapped strength and tending to his reunited family, both dire needs that competed for his time and vitality, eventually he would have to consider newly discovered candidates.

The Councilor descended from his quarters into the larger part of the Bastion. It was no longer as busy as it had been before, yet Luperci here and there had much work yet to do. Barricades were being unmade, rooms were being returned to their proper state. But where structures could be rebuilt, floors swept clean and rooms refurnished, the ghosts of the time they’d spent locked in were less easily dismissed.

He tensed visibly when entering the room that used to serve as the infirmary. The scent of blood used to hang in the air steadily. Against his better judgment he still expected to start hearing the sounds of the wounded and dying. A haunting thought came to him that promised he would never again see this place the same way he had before. He struggled to ease his breathing and his troubled expression and made his way further in.

No more cots. No more blood. None staining the room afresh at least. He could still see some caked on the wooden furniture and the bundled up sheets that had not yet been removed yet. No more Circle healers and its sufficiently skilled sympathizers rushing about from body to body. Or rather there were not as many. He still found one of them there and, auspiciously, it was one of the Souls he’d wanted to approach.

The Councilor had thought to address her as Lady Savoy at first, despite her being a Commoner. Perhaps, had he been addressing her family's matriarch it would have been a good fit. Admittedly the Councilor of Lanya too, once standing so high above him in rank, had given him permission to be somewhat less formal. Though they've had no conversation with which to establish where they stood, he hazarded using her first name all the same. “Hail, Eulalie… I wish to talk. Have you the time to spare?”
#2
[380]
• • •
There was.. much to do. The simple sentence managed to sum up everything that lay before them in the weeks since the doors to the Bastion opened and they were freed from their siege in a flurry of fire and blood. There were only so many hours in a day and only so many hands capable of fixing what needed fixing. Plenty were still recovering from their injuries and resources were a lot thinner than ever before. Starting over with very little was difficult but it didn't deter any of them, it seemed.

Eulalie wasn't deterred, at least. She had been young during La Marea's assault but not young enough to be stuck on the sidelines helping afterward. Granted, she had been traumatized with the rest of them and the process had been slow. And the Court disappeared forever in the fires set by her mother once La Marea had been dispersed.

New Caledonia still stood despite the severe damage. They would manage because they had to.

It was just a little grim to think about all that still needed doing.

Eulalie was a creature of habit and memory, drawn to places that had a strong impact on her past. It was hard to make the journey to the Court but if it were closer, she would have been there often like a phantom haunting a once cherished place. With the Tears of Nin so fresh, she chose to frequent the Bastion despite it not being her home or main place of craft. The makeshift infirmary drew her and she wound up there to tidy up or clean or whatever needed doing, even if it really didn't need doing.

Footsteps made her freeze before her name forced her to turn sheepishly to the serene face of the pack's main healer. She gave him a slight smile dampened only by the ghosts of the room she stood in. "Hello, Councilor. I've got plenty of time, just trying to.. keep busy, I guess." She turned to the room and sighed as she reached up to brush a loose strand of hair that had escaped her neat braid. "Is something wrong?" added the Savoy woman, her brows furrowing with worry when she looked back at the man.


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