#graveawakening

[inthanatica]

They take a day to warm up and mourn. He and Daniil spend most of the day sitting together, close enough that their knees touch, and sharing a drink while they consider the next actions they needed to take. Thanatica was gone and Telman needed to be found.

But. . .but first, they needed to breathe. So, they take a day.

The second day, Anatoly feels. . .alright. There’s none of the creeping of sickness on the back of their trudging through icy waters, so it seems appropriate to ask now. Daniil tells him to go on ahead without him, because Daniil had house calls to make.

That left --

“ Clara? ”

She’s in one of the upper bedrooms of Gurina’s home, teaching tricks to the absolutely rotund rat she brought with her. They’re both utterly charming, and Anatoly would like some company for the day. . .

“ Clara, I’m going out into the city. Would you like to come with me? ”

@graveawakening

[reenactcreation]

@graveawakening.

“ Yes, I’m aware your daughter is unwell, but it’s my opinion as a doctor that fresh air will do better for her than sitting at home all day. ”

It’s the day after the Broken Heart was set ablaze. The burns have been treated and the fire is out and Artemy desperately needs to do something besides medical work. . .which is why he’s trying to convince Saburov to let Clara go with him.

It’s a clear day despite the snow crunching underfoot -- it’s not falling from the sky for the first time, and it isn’t raining either, so he thinks he can convince him.

Saburov is hesitant, of course, but he has his hands full with the death of not only Maria Kaina, but her father and uncle as well, so. . .he relents, which leaves Artemy to rap his knuckles on Clara’s door.

“ Clara? I have an idea and I need your help. ”

[mistresscapella]

She’s pacing in front of the large window in her room. She doesn’t normally pace, even when faced with a dilemma. To be fair, this isn’t her ordinary dilemma though. She stops like she’s going to say something, and then turns away to the window. 

“...this is really bad.”

@graveawakening 

[bonefoundation]

@graveawakening

The Crucible is deathly quiet in the days following the fire. Like strings cut, every single member of the Kain family had dropped like puppets finally freed of their puppeteer -- except for Caspar ‘Khan’ Kain, who was now the sole heir to the entire family.

It’s by Burakh’s request that Khan stays a few days at his home to make sure his eye doesn’t get worse before he’s sent home. (It is by Burakh’s request as well that the home is cleared before Khan arrives, when the news of the Kains falling reaches him.)

Now, the Crucible is quiet. . .to a point. There are people everywhere, Dogheads and Souls scattered on the lawn and in some of the buildings, tracking snow up the stone stairs to ask Khan questions.

Notkin isn’t among them, however, at first. He isn’t among them until close to midnight, when he shoulders open the window to Victor’s old office and slips in mostly unnoticed to find Khan.

“ Hey. I know you aren’t asleep. ”

[halfasoulmore]

@graveawakening.

There’s a noisy, metallic thump as Dandy kicks his foot against the workman’s door of the warehouse. It’s one of the smaller ones tucked into the corner of the Works, separate from the rest of the warehouses. It would have likely held textiles in the past, or perhaps some sort of food storage.

Nowadays, it was a proper rat’s nest of a home, with a bed that was more flags and blankets than mattress and a corner with a pilfered ice box to keep food.

Dandy turns back to Constance, in her high socks and her beanie, and opens his arms wide. “ Ta-da! Home sweet home for the last. . .God, five years? Six? I don’t remember anymore. Since Pops kicked the rusty bucket. ”

He dances back into the hideout, the metal of the warehouse creaking with the cold, and hefts up a chunk of wood to toss into a fire barrel set up near the back, with a break in the building to serve as a chimney.

“ It’s not much, but it’ll hide us out until Gray cools her head and puts her muzzle back on. ”

[forgottengraves]

“Clara!”

Grace comes trotting into view, holding her grey coat close around her shoulders. She looks a little better, as of late, but her expression is worried. 

“I’m glad I found you. I don’t know what to do...”

@graveawakening

[reenactcreation]

It’s about time they all sat and spoke. The only other time Artemy can think of them being in the same place having the same conversation is in the Cathedral for the faithful decision, and none of them had wanted to be there.

The Burakh house and clinic had become just that in the weeks since the outbreak: a house and a clinic, functioning with patients. The kids and teens that had been brought back from the Caravan were resting downstairs under Sticky’s watchful eye, and it means the three of them are gathered in the upstairs sitting room, a low fire lit in the fireplace to warm the entire room.

Artemy has his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, squinting down into it for the moment before he considers Clara and Daniil. 

Daniil was sitting in the old leather chair that creaked when he moved, and Clara had stretched out on the couch, her booted feet hanging off the edge.

He’s taken up a seat at the corner table, currently taken up by mostly-finished records of his father’s hand and half-finished records in his own.

“ So. You’re both leaving? ”

@afoelikedeath / @graveawakening

[reenactcreation]

@graveawakening.

There is something to be said about truces with people you didn’t trust. Better a bad peace than a good war, Lara said once, and Artemy is inclined to agree. 

He paces the Lair until Sticky tells him to go outside, and it’s starting to snow when he does. He almost regrets not grabbing a better coat before he holds his hand out to watch the flakes gather in his palm.

His head is spinning. There’s too much on his mind and -- he needs someone to talk to. Aspity was gone, Daniil had gone, and he didn’t dare bother Stahk or Lara or Grief. . .

His feet carry him towards the Sprawl anyways, and he spots Clara by her hat of all things. She looks like one of the saint statues he saw in the Capital standing among the old buildings and drifting snow, and he shoves his hands into his pockets to keep the chill off his fingers.

“ Enjoying the weather? ” It’s the nicest he can manage, considering the girl still made his skin crawl. The situation at the Crowstones sat too close to home, he thinks. “ You’re far from the Rod. Saburov must be worried.”