abraxaslogs | WELCOME TO NOTT!

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WELCOME TO NOTT!

WELCOME TO NOTT!

Welcome to Nott! A blend of old world Thorne and new world industrialism, densely packed wooden buildings surround a section of ancient stone architecture at the lake’s edge. The city rises up against the horizon and is easily seen from a distance, lacking any farmland or outposts around it to distract the eye.

The city gates are wide open. Whatever may be happening back at the Thornean capitol, there’s no obvious hint of it here. Busy citizens are going about their day, guards in local uniform patrol the streets with little urgency, and no alarm bells or horns are sounding. It appears,at least on the surface, as though no one is concerned about escaped prisoners here.

But it certainly is a bustling place! Sounds and smells assault the senses right from the gate. The streets are filled with vendors and panhandlers and criers shouting out deals and directions and soliciting money, hawking food and services and shops. There seems to be a tavern or a public house on almost every corner. A cool wind comes off the lake and the scent of the fish market carries through the city. People are everywhere and no one seems to notice or care that much about strangers - aside from wanting their coin.

It’s the perfect place to hide out from Thorne while staying within Thorne’s borders.

Within a few hours of arrival a city guard will approach each escapee from Thorne - regardless of what their standing was back at the castle - to politely inform them that Lord of Representatives Lyle Vela would be happy to receive them at the House of the Lords at any time today. Each character will be given a handwritten invitation marked with an official seal that gives directions to the House of the Lords, a sprawling Old Nott building on the lake that overlooks the city. The invitation is of course optional and there are no repercussions for declining.

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Susan's smile has, perhaps, a hint of shadow behind it - but it's genuine, nonetheless. She didn't walk away from Roland for nothing, after all. It's nice to be reminded of that, when she's in the doldrums over it.

"Ye do look quite the lady in it." It's a lie, but a kindly-meant one. Eponine doesn't look like a lady; she looks like a poor girl in a fine dress, having the time of her life. It seems to Susan that there are plenty worse things to look like. "Ye'll have to let me brush your hair out and braid it up proper, one of these days, and see if there's anyone in the world dares call 'ee ugly then."

Her smile fades, though, and she looks out over the lake, tucking one knee up under her chin. She reaches over to take the pie she's offered, oddly glad of the way it burns her fingers. "Thankee, 'Ponine." Then, sheepishly, as her stomach growls: "Guess I forgot lunch."

"I do, don't I?" Eponine stares at her reflection in the gently rippling water. She fancies she looks like a princess, and she smooths the too big dress down over her sides.
"I shall have to take a sash or a wide ribbon or so to pull it in, I think, until I get meat on my bones." It doesn't truly bother her though. In her mind's eye, she sees herself plumper, healthier, her scraggly, matted hair curling to her shoulders, her bruised face blemish free. Perhaps she's pretty in the dress? Perhaps someone will find her pretty and fall in love and - and - She sighs, content.

She nibbles at the pie, careful not to spill crumbs, grease or fillings on the silk.
"If you can get a brush through my hair." The illusion's shattered, and Eponine wrinkles her nose.
"I fear it is knotted so badly. Truly, I haven't had a brush since I were a child. There is string and all sorts knotted into it..."

She looks pensively at her reflection, seeing herself properly. "I look silly, no? You ought to wear this, not me. Me, I think Nero were trying to laugh at me in it, as 'Parnasse used to. If he saw me now, he'd say, ''Ponine, you little slut, dressed like a dog's dinner in sommat so grand as that. You look like a cheap whore dressed as a mistress and ain't no one buying it even with their eyes closed.'"

She grins ruefully and chuckles. "P'raps I'm cut more for a ragged skirt where I can run from the police. Pretty girls like you should wear the pretty dress."

Susan lets out a low huff of frustration, and turns her eyes from the water back to the other girl, her lips pressed into a hard line. It's not Eponine she's angry at, of course; just as it has been before, it's everyone who's brought the poor girl to such a place. She has a nasty feeling that the dress might have been a cruel joke, and if that's true, then isn't that a disgusting thing? Isn't it a terrible thing, to know there are people in the world who'd take it that way? She's always known it, of course, just as she's sure Eponine has - but that doesn't mean it doesn't bring a sick fury to the pit of her stomach.

One which she quickly does her best to wipe from her face, because she really doesn't want Eponine to think it is aimed at her. Still, she can't help being brisker than she entirely means.

"Don't be stupid. Ye're cut out to wear whatever the fuck it is ye want to. And that..." It's not a style that suits Eponine, truthfully. But that look of content, even for a moment? That had suited her. And this suits her a lot better than prison rags. "The colour's nice on 'ee. Brings out your eyes. Ye've got real pretty eyes, 'Ponine, much more than mine."

Hesitating a moment, she reaches over with one hand, the warmth from the pie still lingering on her fingers, to squeeze her friend's hand. "And if anyone laughs at 'ee, I'll break his jaw. Just see if I don't."

It honestly hadn't occurred to Eponine that Nero was laughing at her. She was just so glad, so excited, to have a dress - finally, a dress - that she hadn't really questioned an ulterior motive. She looks at her half eaten pie; her stomach's twisting in knots. And now Susan's cross.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I'm sorry. You look so sad, Susan, and here I complain about a dress."

She can never do anything right.

Eponine swallows. There's a lump in her throat that makes her gulp it and she coughs too.

"I'll swap with you. You are better in it and I shall blend in with the other street girls here wearing your things. No one will remember me among the others picking pockets and that. Come, Susan. Look -"

She reaches back to her messy ponytail and extracts the ribbon Susan had give her when they first met. It's frayed and dirty and darkened with blood from Julie's assault. Eponine holds it out. "I'll do your hair and make it pretty for you."

Susan looks down at the ribbon, and then up at the other girl's face, and she bites her tongue hard enough to hurt. Just a moment ago, Eponine had been smiling; had looked content, more so than Susan had thought was possible from her. Now she looks like she might be about to cry, and it isn't fair. It isn't fair that Susan's stuck her foot in it again, when she was trying to help. It isn't fair that she gave up Solvunn for this.

Life's not fair, Sue. But you made your choice.

She shakes her head, and sighs, setting the uneaten pie down on her lap. It will leave a grease-stain on her pants, but she'll worry about that later. (Gods, though, what she'd give for a decent pair of bluejeans, where she didn't need to worry over such things!) Her hands come up to cover Eponine's, to close the other girl's fingers more properly over the ribbon.

"Don't," she says, quietly. "I mean, it ain't... Ye can do my hair if it's summat ye'd like, but I don't want your dress, 'Ponine, and I sure as shit don't want 'ee to give it up. You look pretty in it. Truly, you do." Then, with a crooked smile: "Anyroad, I mean to get work at a stable if I can, and I can't think ye'd want that fate for such a gown."

She squeezes Eponine's hand, clearing her throat. "Just... don't be sorry. Not for a moment. I'm sorry. Ye were happy, and I brought 'ee down."

"It's only truth." Eponine smiles sadly. "I live in a dream sometimes. It's... it's good to know the true world."

She blinks hard and shakes her head, forcing a laugh.

"Come on. Let's not be sad. We are free. And we are together, no?"
She takes another bite of her pie. "It could be worse. I were going to whore myself to Nero completely for this, the horrid imp. Now if only he cannot get to the Horizon, or I never go back and I shan't have to see him."

She strokes the silk skirts. "I might sell it, you know? It'd get us enough for a room if we all sleep in the same one for ages and ages."

"We're together," Susan repeats, and nods firmly. It is a good reassurance, an important thing to be reminded of. It does, in fact, make some of her sadness withdraw, even if that next part makes her anger more present than ever.

I'll kill him, she thinks, with a coldness that shocks her. If I meet the man, I'll put a bullet through his fucking head myself, for God and the Man Jesus know he'd deserve it more than poor Dave. The weight of the revolver concealed under her clothes is suddenly warm and present, a reminder that she could. She's killed before, and now she knows how to hold the gun properly, now she'd not panic and set spark to her own serape. A man like that wouldn't deserve better.

(It does occur to her that she only has one side of the story, and that Eponine hasn't exactly proven herself the most honest - or the most well-balanced - of people. It also occurs to her that, since this Nero isn't here, she doesn't have to care about that in the moment.)

"Don't sell it, not 'till we got no choice." She looses Eponine's hand, finally picks up her own pie and takes a bite. "I'll get work in a day or two, just 'ee watch. And between us all, it'll be plenty for rent and board. And pies." She manages a more genuine smile. "...We used to have these at the fairs in Seafront. Just the same. Eel pies and water from a pitcher. How'd ye know?"

"You did?" Eponine smiles a genuine smile again. "I didn't know. Just, I always wanted to try one in Paris. Always. They smelled so salty and buttery and good, but it were pennies - sous, we called 'em - that I didn't have, and there, street sellers would rather throw their old ones to dogs than beggars, so I never got one. It is every bit what I imagined though, and more besides." She licks her lips appreciatively.

"Don't tell the others, will you? I'm going to give them some money I earned, but the rest is for us. Me and you, Susan. We shall make sure we have enough to eat first, and a place to lay our heads when we like, or if that Julie starts again. You'll be like Azelma, won't you? We are together in it, no matter what?"

For a minute, she says nothing, but with a sigh, she sticks one leg out from under her skirts and pulls off the oversized boot she'd nicked. From it, she pulls out a slightly soft chocolate bar done in paper.

"I were gonna keep it, but if we are together, I suppose..."

She looks at it doubtfully. "The shop lady said it was chocolate, but I dunno. I ain't never had chocolate before, but I always wanted a piece. She took a gold coin for it but I don't care. I feel rich today, and we celebrate escaping the prison, yes?"

"No matter what." Again, Susan echoes her, and again, her smile is a little surer. I promised, she reminds herself. I promised, and she needs me, and it's worth it. She takes another bite of pie, watching Eponine curiously as the other girl sticks out her leg like she's got an itch.

Not an itch. A sweetmeat. Susan blinks, and then, to her own surprise, she laughs. There's just something... not even comical, but charming, about hiding food in your shoes. Fill your boots, she thinks, and has to stifle another giggle, because she'd never actually thought of it in that way.

She wipes gravy off her chin, still smiling, and tilts her head curiously. "It don't look like chucklit," she says, after a moment. Her only real experience of chocolate has, after all, been in the cakes and desserts at the castle. If she's ever seen a bar of it before, she hasn't known it as such. "Looks more like..." And she trails off, because honestly, what does it look like? Nothing she's eaten, certainly. "Ye're sure you want to share?"

"That's what we do, isn't it? Me and you. It's what me and 'Zelma did in Paris. If we got an apple, half each. If we found a sous, we spend together. 'Course, sometimes when she were at home and my Pa'd chucked me out for the week or so, I didn't share with her. Or if she'd cried and made him whip harder or so? P'raps it was cruel, but I made her stand by once whilst I ate the apple, and the core and all, and listen to her stomach growl. She'd howled, but then, I had when Pa lost his rag because she lost her stupid letter and begged me take the blame. She deserved it. But you - you wouldn't do that, I know. So we share."

It's all very black and white. Help one another and reap joint rewards. Let one suffer and you deserve to cry too.

Eponine snaps a square of the chocolate bar off and holds it out to Susan. Then she snaps another bit for herself.

"I'm scared it'll be horrid. All those nights dreaming, and imagine it is horrible?"

Susan finishes off her pie, licking her fingers, before she takes the chocolate from the other girl. It feels almost like clay, sticky and soft, and she can feel her finger and thumb sinking in, leaving imprints in the surface. She tries not to let her doubt show on her face, just shakes her head.

"It ain't gonna be horrible," she says, firmly. It occurs to her that she's not just talking about the chocolate, when she makes that pronouncement - that command, really, because it's less of a prediction than it is a threat to the world to be goddamned fair for once. None of this is going to be horrible. She won't let it. She's thrown her lot in with this girl, with this city, and they're going to make it work. On her father's face, she promises it. "It'll be just like ye dreamed it. And if it ain't, somehow, I guess we'll just go find another dream."

Eponine nods, pressing her fingers into her square of chocolate.
"It has that smell, don't it? Sweet and rich and that altogether. Like it should taste of - of cream or butter but sweeter."

Her fingers tremble as she lifts the chocolate to her nose to smell it. She's spent that long dreaming about this day that she can barely believe it's true. Even being able to go into the shop, with money in her pocket and a fine dress on her body had felt beyond amazing. She'd had to wait outside the shop just to still her heart, and once inside, she had, for once in her life, been so overwhelmed that she couldn't even ask for what she wanted. Instead, she'd nodded dumbly when the shopkeeper had pointed to his wares and had counted out her coins in that same stupor to pay for it.

" I almost don't want -"

But she does, suddenly and all at once. She crams the piece of chocolate into her mouth before she can change her mind.

And promptly, she bursts into tears.

It's not a comfortable thing, or a particularly kind one, that Susan's first, instinctive reaction is Oh, for fuck's sake. She has to clamp down on that uncharitable impulse, that sense that it's just so unbelievably stupid to cry over something like that. She didn't cry when Nadine gave her chucklit that first time, after all, although it had been the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted and a kindness she'd sorely needed. So why should Eponine?

Because she's dreamed of it this long, Sue, and she's never had a thing of her own. The thought sounds achingly like her father's voice. So cut her some slack, won't you?

She sighs, and leans over to, a bit clumsily, put her arms around the smaller girl, patting her shoulder. "Hey. Hey, 'Ponine, don't cry. Hold up, I've got a kerchief somewhere, just wait..."

"No. God, no. No, I'm -"

She wipes her eyes furiously. Even through the tears, she can sense Susan's annoyance. Truth be told, she's half mad at herself too. How ridiculous to cry over chocolate. But it's so much more than chocolate. It's - it's freedom. It's that she's succeeded. It's that her life isn't in the gutter any more and she's sat in a beautiful gown sharing chocolate that she's paid for herself with a friend who seems to like her despite how worthless she is. It's that she's got a mother figure again, that she's been accepted by a group.

And it's that she's tasted chocolate.

Eponine takes a breath to calm herself and shakes her head.
"I'm sorry. That was stupid."
The chocolate's melting in her cheek. She sits silently, passively refusing any proffered handkerchiefs or sleeves, though she doesn't refuse Susan's hug. Having the freedom to unashamedly cry too is a new sensation, one that she won't give up.

"It's not how I thought it." That's stupid to say. Now Susan will think she's crying over the taste. She never says the right thing.

"

"It ain't stupid." It's a little bit stupid. But... well, shit, shouldn't they be allowed to be a little bit stupid, once in a while? Isn't she being stupid herself, right now, moping around over a choice she made freely? She shifts a little, pulling Eponine in closer, and rests her chin on the top of the other girl's head, her hand rubbing Eponine's shoulder gently. "It ain't stupid, it's..."

She sighs, closing her eyes. Her own eyes are stinging a little, and she couldn't quite say why.

"It's too much, sometimes. Good and bad. I kennit."

"Everything is so much. Too much. Freedom feels -"
She thinks of her wrists, bruised from the manacles the guards had clamped on her. She thinks of that tiny little cell where, altogether, she's been shut away for a month by herself. She thinks of Paris, of being tethered to the gang, of the prison, of the ditch she favoured to sleep in.

"No one's ever hugged me before," she murmurs.

It's strange, Susan muses, this way Eponine has. Every time she thinks she's got a handle on the other girl, she says something like that, and Susan's heart breaks for her all over again. Doesn't matter if she's irritated, doesn't matter that she's still doubting her choices, doesn't matter that she's gods only know how many miles from Roland's side, where she no doubt ought to be: Eponine says that, and she knows she's got to stay. How can she not, in the face of something so simple and so easy to address, something that's so absolutely unbearable?

"Well, I'm hugging 'ee now," she says briskly, after a moment, and hugs a little tighter. Eponine's so thin, she thinks. Bones like a bird's, shifting under her hand. Ye're soft, Sue, her aunt's voice sneers in her mind, but she can't bring herself to mind it. Soft's better than bitter. "And I ain't goin' anywhere, so if it's too much, just... just come to me, alright? I came here for 'ee. Might as well make use of it."

“Wait -“

Eponine struggles out of the hug so she can properly look at Susan.

“You came for me? I know we said it in prison, but it weren’t a true thing. If you had a better offer, why should you choose me? That’s a stupid thing to do, you know?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t tell me on it, please. Don’t say it’s so, Susan, for when you hate me for coming here, I shan’t be able to bear it. Please say it was for Nadine or Flagg. When I do it bad please don’t be mad.”

There it is again, that dull twisting ache in her chest. There's doubt, too: maybe 'Ponine's right. Maybe it's stupid to have come all this way for someone who doesn't want her to, who didn't think she meant what she said.

Only that's why you did, ain't it? Because you knew she'd never had anyone play her honest before. You knew this is what she'd say, Sue, you always did. She's soft, mayhap, but she's not blind; and she'd made that promise for the same reason, for how Eponine had pushed her away when she'd first come down to the cells as a 'guest'. Anyone who's so keen not to be loved seems, to Susan, all the more in need of it.

So she shakes her own head in turn, her jaw set. "Sai Nadine's kind and all, but she'd be as well off without me as with me. And I don't ken sai Flagg but a bit." She knows more about him than she wants to, now, but she can't say that. "But you look at me, 'Ponine. I ain't going to hate 'ee for it. If I shouldn't've come, then what? I made the choice. Ye didn't. I came to be with 'ee, because we're friends, and it was a true thing for me, what I said. I meant it. I wanted to come with 'ee. So what'd I ever have to hate 'ee for?"

“Because everyone always does in the end.”
It’s not self pitying. It’s resignation to her unpopularity.

“And truly Susan, I don’t want it to be you. But it will be, because that’s how it is. I’ll send you mad or angry and you’ll wish you’d chosen someone else. Someone better than me”

Roland, she thinks at once, of course. I'll wish I'd chosen Roland.

And then she rebels against that thought, with a fury that overwhelms doubt. Fuck that. She isn't buying into this. She won't let Eponine sell herself so cheap, not like this. She grabs the other girl's bony shoulders, holding her eyes, and there's a sharp intensity in her look.

"Ye listen to me, Eponine. That ain't how this goes. I don't care how many times it's gone that way for 'ee before, that ain't how it goes now. I won't hate 'ee, no matter how angry I get. I don't hate easy." And that's true, she realises; it's why it comes so deep and so all-encompassing when she does hate someone. She gets angry, sure, gets to dislike folk, but hate? Hate's a strong thing, and one she's only ever saved for those who killed what she loved. "So ye quit that talk, alright? I'm your friend whether ye want it or no, and ye're stuck with me, so ye are. Aught else, we'll just... we'll take as it comes."

Eponine's never had a friend. Never had someone that is never going to hate her, no matter how horrible she is. Well, perhaps Azelma, but she is so stupid, she hardly counts.
Now that she's got one though, in Susan, she doesn't know what to do or what to say.

How are you a friend?

So Eponine just nods. She doesn't know what else to do

Susan holds eye contact a moment longer, scanning Eponine's face, and then sighs and lets her hands drop back into her lap. "Aye," she says, almost to herself. "Guess that'll have to do it, for now." Then, because she can't quite help it: "Anyroad, I did choose 'ee, and we're here now. Ye give me that dress a while tonight, I'll put some tucks in it for 'ee. I got pretty good at tailorin', fixin' up my Fair-Day dress year on year. Might as well get some use from it."

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WELCOME TO NOTT!

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