#inspiringtune

[vengefulfinale]

Flames were high, rising smoke was even higher. Flares, weak against the amassing damnable light giving away where exactly the howling murderous army are within the Hamlet. They haven’t broke through just yet, and with some luck and some divine intervention, and wit they won’t.

The Abbey was held up, protected by the residential Bishop and Vaux, while Reynauld stood in the far front, waiting. However, the fool’s eyes were searching for another, his fellow Jester. Flagging her down was a lot easier since there so many of her running about.

“--Quincey! I have an idea. Do you know where that blasted cannon is?”

@inspiringtune

[vengefulfinale]

inspiringtune replied to your post: " cool haul from the cove. " quincey picked up the...

“ ooooh, an empress? fancy stuff. ” she tosses the headdress back onto the bed in lieu of taking up the battered captain’s hat. “ fish costume? are you putting on a show for the fish folk? ”

“You’re a fancy lady.”

He laughs a little, putting the spear down.

“Oh god no. I will put on a performance and act as their leader. And make them give me all of their cool shit.”

[reynauld]

QUINCEY  replied to your post: uses thaumaturgy to chirp at him from the common...

the way she chirps in response isn’t quite right, there’s no resonance in her chest behind it – but it’s damn close. she responds again before she pops her head around to look up the staircase. “ hey, big guy. whatcha doing? ”

He tapped the next nail into place, his own chirrups cut short and screeching to a sudden stop. He scratched at the back of his covered neck, sheepish and caught.

“Good morn, Quincey. I am repairing the second floor case. ‘Tis nearly done.”

[reynauld]

uses thaumaturgy to chirp at him from the common room under where he is working on the stairs.

It seems he’s been found out, from the chirping just under the stairs. It’s not Dismas, no. Not Dismas. Dismas, with all his shame in his transformed body, was a quiet creature. Reynauld pauses in the beat of the hammer. He had made it halfway up the stairs so far, the new steps clean and well crafted. 

He  trilled back, and the gland in his throat swelled to carry the sound. He chirped back, loud and clear, while he set the next nail in the construction.

[vengefulfinale]

" cool haul from the cove. " quincey picked up the headdress and set it on her head, into the red waves of her hair, before she laughs. " how d' i look? like a princess? "

“More like an Empress if you ask me.”

He hums as polishes the spear casually. His blood and a mix of whatever the weapon has pierced over the decades. Chester scratched his chest idly at the memory.

“The staff matches the whole look... I’m thinkin’ ‘bout a fish costume.”

@inspiringtune

[vengefulfinale]

" hey -- hey. if we survive this, we're gonna make a great puppet show about this. " there's a tooth missing in her smile and her breath rattles when she breathes. it hurts. it hurts. it all hurts. chester has his hands on her though, her best, sweetest, fondest friend. " we gotta survive this so we -- we can make it. "

She was in his arms for one moment, and he was shoved against the stone alley wall the next. 

Then Vvulf appeared. A hulking mass of hate and muscle and death. The stench of gunpowder and ash stinging the Jester’s nose as he moved. 

It was quick, so fucking quick and she was down.

Enraged and inhuman grunts followed and metal crashing against her once and twice. Chester moved then, a spell already falling from his lips as he gathered the heap of his friend into his arms and the sink into the ground. Lost between space for only a few seconds, all he could offer was a few drops of healing on the other side, in the town square. 

Brigands hadn’t made it this far, just the smallest bit of relief as he carried her toward to the Sanitarium. He looked down at her as she spoke, a weary and crooked smile on his face as brought her through the barricade. 

“What’s with this ‘if’ nonsense? I expect your half of it in a week.”

[vengefulfinale]

she almost literally lays on his outstretched legs as he plays music. her mask is set aside for the moment, showing the way her brows pinch with worry. it's not a common look on her face. " everyone's really on edge. i'm worried. "

He seemed to handle stress a lot better-- at least lately. Perhaps its because he’s given himself less time to really feel it and simply focused on being a de-stressor. That was easier than messing up perfectly sharpened blades on cuts of wood. The trees are happier at the very least.

He didn’t look up from his thrumming, his eyes closed behind the mask.

“Do you know what’s going on? Has anyone told you yet?” He asked instead, curious to how close she keeps her ear to the grapevines. There’s so much chitter chatter every day that he catches, so much he sees when he’s quiet for a few days.

“The Hamlet’s gonna burn again, but you shouldn’t worry too much.”