Mingle - Emergency Potluck

[pumpkinhollow]

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WELCOME POTLUCK

Greetings, residents! Those more observant sorts among you may have noticed a large influx of very crowded ferries. In order to welcome our new residents en masse, Town Hall is holding a potluck in Town Square. Please bring a dish if you are able and make a new friend!

All of our newest arrivals need only bring themselves. We look forward to welcoming you all into our community, and may your lanterns always be lit.

This event is open to all! In light of our new influx of prospective players following the Great Sail Migration, we've decided to offer a small public event to tide everyone over until the TDM this weekend.

Comments

[maskedstarbunny]

It is the nature of warriors, she thinks, to create this distance when they're hurt. It doesn't deter her. "If so, than I shall accept the consequences of mine actions. But I have already seen too many warriors lost only after the battle was done." Ryja doesn't know, exactly, what he went through. But she became a healer for a nation fresh out of a thousand year war. She knows enough.

"Friends are not the cure, but they certainly help."

[theydrewfirstblood]

John feels like he can't breathe for a second, because she sounds so fucking much like Co in that instant it hurts--the way the lack of human contact used to hurt before he learned to live with it, the way the nightmares used to hurt before he accepted they would never go away.

I shall accept the consequences of mine actions.

Rambo! You not expendable!

"Some battles don't end." he replies, shaking his head. "Some soldiers don't get to rest."

Warriors are something else--guys like Barry, Westmore, Danforth. Men with honor, men with something to live for, men who had a future when the fighting was done.

Warriors are people. Soldier...it's just another word for anything you can find locked up in an armory.

"And friends are just the bodies they leave in their wake."

[maskedstarbunny]

A slow pause. "I saw the end of a thousand years of war. And the effects it had, on those who fought it. On those who kept fighting it. It lives on behind your eyes, and alone you suffer it, so others need not."

The smile she gives is both gentle and telling, of what she herself has seen. "The trouble is of course, you are not alone. Not really. Its immortality is a false mien, pulled tight 'cross your throat. I offer only what I know I can give."

CW: touch starvation, struggling with depersonalization

[theydrewfirstblood]

For a second, John can't breathe around the way each word burrows into his chest and tears at the shoddy stitches he's used to sew himself back together over the last three years. He knows it's a cheap patch job, the way he's holding himself together these days, but it's worked so far. He's been okay.

(Except he's not. He's in constant fucking pain from a lack of human contact, he's barely holding on to the one relationship that's helped him deal with fucking any of it, he keeps watching people he cares for, who care about him, die and he can't take it--)

He swallows, head dropping forward as he tries to breathe around how much it all suddenly hurts, how it burns and aches and breaks.

He's dealt with this. He's accepted this. He can't go back now--it'll kill him if he tries.

John tries three times to answer her, but each time he has to clamp his jaw shut for fear of what will come out. Finally, he just lifts his head and meets her gaze, his own overbright with tears, and nods, trying to offer up a wobbly smile as he does.