Who: @heroic-ignus Where: Stumble Inn When: Directly after the Mystery Box event, just as soon as she could get home.
The events of the Mystery Box had been draining, even for Juneau who often held sorrow in the palms of her hands as if it were something to protect, as if it were her closest friend. Sorrow was something she found reliable–no matter how those around her abandoned her or disappeared sorrow was always there like a soft, deep blue landing space. Sorrow permeated her so deeply at times she thought it ought to be considered one of her personality traits, though she knew since her mortal death and abyssal rebirth this sorrow manifested as resentment and anger more often than not. The sadness that entered her tended to be repurposed as cruelty and cynicism, but watching the others suffer at her side inside of the–well, wherever they had been–didn’t inspire much spiteful behavior. It just made her open herself up to more misery.
The openness might have been her salvation. The option to leave Juneau behind to a fate of death or entrapment had presented itself to them more than once, and she wasn’t sure if she would have blamed them for leaving her. Especially Elokian toward the end, who knew how she had suffered but had still been at the receiving end of her critical comments. Her trial had been illuminating, forcing her eyes to gaze upon the reality of what she was and the circumstances that had led her here. And then–the time alone, underground… those long days, mostly spent in total, eclipsing darkness. Things as small as the dripping condensation and the slightest tremors underfoot had caused her extreme agitation. Her terror-filled dreams had become indistinguishable from the waking nightmares of her hallucinations, and she had no idea how often she had actually slept. She didn’t know how long she had been down there either–just that it had been long. And when the rest of the group found her, their whispers landed with the volume of screams, their eager gentle embraces and soft touches were so overly stimulating after the isolation that it burned when they touched her. They had passed her between a few people, she thought she remembered, murmuring their relief to have found her in voices that she only half recognized–did they know that during those first few minutes, even the light of the moon and stars overhead was enough that it blinded her? But as raucous as it was to her after such a long period of disuse of many of her senses, it was as soothing to be with them as it was overwhelming.
But now, it seemed her fate would be to go home–or whatever approximation of home she had. In this case, that would be Alder. Another person, rather than a place. A person who had known the truth of Ivar’s actions and had tried to explain to Juneau the truth of the matter that she now had no choice but to accept. Once, when Juneau had been helping Ivar smuggle a faiman philosopher to the Lysaran border the faiman had spoken with her about their current fixation, the concept that “hell is other people”. Juneau felt this now–she felt proof of this could be found in how the deepest traumas she had witnessed of the others were brought forth by the hands of those that, in most cases, she loved the most. Ivar was proof positive of this, in his cruel indifference to his death that sealed the fate of her descent and damnation. And so, too, was Alder in this moment–he was the only person she could conceivably think to look to for comfort at the present moment, but that comfort would come with the necessary acknowledgment that he had been right all along. It wasn’t that Juneau expected he would rub her nose in it or hold it against her, but she would carry the guilt of how she had lashed out against him when he tried to move her to see reason.
Juneau wished now that she would have been more forthright with Alder about where she was disappearing off to for a few days. She had told him that she would be staying with Jamie on the other side of Eterna, as she often did a few days of the week knowing he likely wouldn’t question it as it was a cemented part of her listless routine. Now, knowing she couldn’t say much about the Mystery Box, she regret that prior choice. How was she supposed to seek his guidance when she couldn’t express to him what it was that disturbed her? She was still skittish and affected by her time under the mountain so it took her longer than it normally would to lift her hand to knock on the door to the room at the inn. The hesitation likely didn’t amount to much consequence, she was certain he would know she was there by now, the way she could sense him when he was close enough or Lor and her pack when they were nearby in the forest.
Whether Alder opened the door because she had an opportunity to finally get around to knocking or because he could intuit he was there, she didn’t offer him much else in the way of greeting other than her signature, kicked-puppy half-moon eyes lifted to meet his and an expression that told him, like most days, she was going through it. But in this case, it looked like what weighed on her mind was a bit worse than normal.