everything is wrong

Alys

In the aftermath of the meteor strike, everything had been chaos. Now, a few days later, through the tireless efforts of their Wardens, some semblance of order had been restored. At the very least, the infirmary had been repaired, efforts were underway to create emergency shelters in the palace, and search and rescue efforts were ongoing. Alys had pushed herself harder than ever before to keep up with her fellow Halovians, to contribute as much as she could to the recovery efforts. She just couldn't help but feel like it wasn't enough.

The joy from atop the Spyglass had long since retreated to hide in the back of her mind. In the hardest moments, the seer clung to its warmth in an effort to remind herself that this would pass, that Halo and its people would heal. Caido had been through worse and survived, and this tragedy, however great, would be no different. One day, she'd be able to go back to that happiness and hope. In the meantime, she held it close, a light in the darkness that had taken over Halo.

It was grating to be away from the recovery efforts, but Alys sat nonetheless in the corner booth of Kraai, having forced herself to take a break to get something to eat. As she kept reminding her fellows, they'd be of no use to anyone if they passed out from exhaustion, dehydration, or lack of food.

While she waited for the stew she'd ordered, the seer pulled out the deck of cards in her pocket, tracing the meaningless designs on their backs with one finger. She'd been trying to read the cards for days with varying levels of success. At first, they had told a tale of only death and destruction. Then, seemingly annoyed with her repetitive questions, they'd started to make no sense at all. She set them aside with a sigh. Some things were beyond even the wisdom of the cards.

sometimes i think all i'm ever doing is
trying to convince myself i'm alive

TW: Suicidal thoughts, idealization of suicide, violence, blood.

MICHAEL

Kid, get off the ground. Spit your blood and bare your teeth.

It was that god damn thing from the sky.

The blast, catastrophic explosions and destruction in many areas. No where was safe ANYWAY, but everything was wrong. Different in ways Michael couldn’t comprehend. Strange creatures, bizarre plants. Crumpled caverns he had once called home, higher levels of desperation and aggression in thieves and desert wanderers had pushed him out of his comfort zone and into more populated areas.

He was only one man, already injured. A coward, sure. Whatever. But, stupid? No. Rarely ever that, a survivalist by any other name. He’d face you if he had no other choice, would take on the entire world if that was what it wanted to do, but he would rather not.

Because, he was tired.

He was hungry and he was tired and he was pissed off and he just wanted it all to stop. Didn’t care, REALLY, how it would stop if it ever did, just wanted it to.

Boots were heavy on the floors as he shoved open the door and strode inside. Slammed it behind him, shoulders shrouded in thick furs and blankets. Boots with patches, pants made from tough material dull black, dusty. Wool for a toque, one that covered his ears. A blanket across his face to protect it, hand-made ‘snow glasses’ to keep the brilliant sun, and even the rays of the moon, from blinding him. Gloves, of course, thick, heavy like the rest of his attire, no openings like rips or tears where the cold might sneak in.

The glasses were pulled free and slipped into a pocket, the blanket drawn back from his face and draped haphazardly SOMEWHERE; he didn’t look to see where it ended up.

Wanted a seat where he could see everything, every exit, every window, every person, every possible space where something could happen. Paranoia like the grit of sand between teeth, a sensation that would always remain long after the sand was spat free. A corner booth chosen, little care about the person who already sat there.

The THUD of the chair as he dropped himself onto it, a toe kicking, pressing into one of the table legs as leverage, another foot lifting to rest on an unused chair. Only then seeming to notice someone else was there, right across from him. Hollow, exhausted blue eyes flicking down toward the cards if only because her hand moved to set them aside.

Michael always paid attention to what people’s hands were doing.

“Great, just what the world needs. A god damn fortune teller.” A mumbled rumble even as his gaze was drawn, shifted toward the kitchen. And the smell of FOOD.

Go down fighting. Go down savage.

Alys

It seemed another age that a grumpy courier had joined Alys at her table in this very establishment, questioned her cards and her abilities, and subsequently become one of her dearest friends. That man was now her partner, and when a figure plopped into a chair across from her, Alys couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness that it was a stranger and not Tal.

Still, she'd been subjected to people who were... skeptical about her gifts before, though few were as grumpy about it as this man seemed to be, so although his countenance was rather rude and intruding, the seer merely put on a neutral face and shrugged. "I prefer 'seer,'" she told him mildly, sweeping her cards off the table and into a silken bag kept for just that purpose. "Telling the future is... a challenge, at best."

Not that the stranger would likely care, not when he seemed more interested in whatever was going on in the kitchens than sharing a table with Alys. She didn't mind, truly; any other day, and she might have simply gathered her belongings and moved to a new table, where she didn't have to interact with someone so seemingly dismissive of her talents. Today, though, she was tired, and moving seemed like more trouble than it was worth, so she resigned herself to simply sharing the table.

Maybe it would work out alright, in the end.

sometimes i think all i'm ever doing is
trying to convince myself i'm alive