fix me.

[Laurent Nakado]

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What he hated the most, absolutely hated, was the fact that nothing he did could fix Jasper. His sister had been the healer, the one who had followed their Meda and taken her blood. Fatin, the savior, Fatin, the eternal flame. Laurent was a mere prince who served no purpose other than the prodigal son, the strong one who worked with his hands and who was quick to anger and had many faults. Laurent was sick of watching them all, sick of knowing he could do nothing. Jasper rarely talked to him, and when Jasper did talk, it seemed to be of his mother and it filled Laurent with hate. She had left him, abandoned him after all.

He brought his hammer down hard, smashing the nail into place on yet another little hut. This one he had the sense to make a floor for out of plywood, and now it was time to build the frame work. Two small rooms could be seen forming, with one larger room separating the two off from one another. Maybe it could be for storage, or maybe it could be for the sick....it was off farther away from the main packland, and it gave him a chance to work out his frustrations through his hands. A few tools lay across a makeshift lumber pile, a number of stacks of different sizes had been sorted and cleared for the best pieces and the most appropriate strengths. Laurent couldn't do much in the means of helping his pack, but maybe if he just kept working he would take long enough for some miracle to save them all.

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[Ahren de le Poer]

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     It had been nearly a week since Corona had given Ahren her cocktail mix of herbs that had managed to help get him back on his feet. He was mobile, but still relying on others for help. Every so often his head would spin or his legs would lock up, but the pain was coming in smaller, lesser waves. Today was no different. He had taken back his hunting knife, and that was hanging in its worn spot on his belt. The shorts he was in were newer as well, something Poe had found during one her expeditions to the city. They hung past his knees, and suited him just fine.

     He had started smoking again too, and this was what he was doing was he walked. No path was intended, but the noise had drawn him. It was a constant pattern, and familiar. When he came upon the chocolate male working, Ahren recognized him in an instant. As another sharp pain shot through his back, he grimaced slightly, but showed nothing more. He didn’t speak, either. Laurent was involved in his work and the frustration in his body was clear.

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