closed | failing the weeping bell, know it very well

[assembles]

Who: Steve Rogers & The Doctor
When: January
Where: Libertas
What: Quest; "Condolence Letters"
Warnings: Talk of death, loss, grief, etc.

[ For all that part of being a soldier, particularly a highly-ranked one, involves writing condolence letters informing a family of a subordinate's death, or even personally delivering the news, Steve hasn't had to do much of it. He was the one who was lost for seventy years, encased in ice, and it's not like there had been any family to report to on him anyway.

Then there was Pietro, but all he'd had was Wanda, and she'd been among them when it happened. Then Natasha, who hadn't had any family to report to — her sister already dust at the time, and then Steve himself was gone, though his memories don't even extend that far. And Tony? Well, Pepper was right there, for better or worse.

Still, he's up to the task, grim as it might be. Someone has to do it.

A lot of people died in the pit. This is only one, and Steve didn't even meet him back then. Chances are that he died in one of those pods, not even standing a chance as the plant's digestive acids did their worst.

They have a letter, which won't be much of a consolation, and a few personal effects — a pocketwatch, broken and dirtied, chief among them.

The streets of Libertas feel somber again as he and the Doctor take to this task, and despite all their talk of hope, there isn't much to be felt right now. As they reach the poorer side of the city, there are a lot more notably dilapidated buildings, or even empty lots. Of course this area wouldn't have recovered as well from the Thorne attack all those months ago. ]

... We should be getting close. [ He scrutinizes the marked-up map in his hand one more time, then glances to the Doctor. ] You ready for this?

Comments

[thedreamer]

[ Like Steve thought, it's evident by the way her eyes darken that she's familiar. If not personally affected, more than aware of those around her who were. ]

Ain't me this time. No one to lose. Can't blame me hopin' you mighta had an inheritance to tell me about from a dead relative I never met, though.

[ At least, she doesn't think so. And it's possible she may or may not stop in on the kids to check on them an awful lot, but it's not something she bothers to confirm or deny out loud. It is what it is. No one's coming to help them.

The Doctor is suitably impressed with Steve's countenance through the whole exchange, though. He's kind, respectful, quick to put someone at ease. Just the sort you'd be okay with hearing anything at all from, even if it's terrible. He just wishes it wasn't so terrible now. He chimes in to echo Steve's words. ]

We're grateful, thank you. Can I have your name?

[ She quickly frowns, thrown off guard. To be fair to her, he doesn't frame it perhaps the best way, almost intrusive in his delivery. Her response is to recoil a bit and say, My name? Why? Ain't important. The Doctor seems unconcerned by her reaction and doesn't miss a beat, Your name is who you are and who you are is important, but I don't actually need it, I suppose. I'll remember you anyway. The kind woman in the house with a crooked door who looks after the children two blocks away. Carry on, eh? Please. Do take care.

With that, the Doctor gives a little nod and smile and starts to turn to go, already ten steps away in his mind, if not actually physically that far away. Once they start walking and they're alone, the Doctor speaks out loud, loud enough for Steve to hear, but not actually to Steve, more like a verbal note out loud to himself. ]

Two hundred and thirty steps from the portal. No-Name with a crooked door and no window.

[ He'd been able to see on the other side of her house that her back window was missing, boarded up but not very well. It's a reminder to himself to come back and check on her, fix up the door and the window when he can. Then, as though he hasn't actually said any of it out loud at all, he turns to look and remark to Steve — ]

Everything that happened there in the pit, and here — [ He looks around at the tattered buildings and then back to Steve. ] You lived through all of it.

[assembles]

[ Steve can't help but notice that the Doctor isn't quite as careful with his words as he should be. Maybe it's that he gets too excited, maybe it's that his sense of human empathy is a little off because he isn't actually one of them, but he doesn't seem too put off by the woman's refusal to give her name.

She looks perplexed by the Doctor's odd response, and Steve sends her a sheepish smile and thanks her again with a bow of his head before they head off to continue their task.

When the Doctor speaks up, it's clear that he isn't really addressing Steve so much as making a mental note. Steve glances over at him all the same, about to ask if he plans to do something for her, but then the Doctor beats him to the punch, with a sort of implied question.

He can't help but study the buildings around them too, all of them in various levels of disarray. It always feels like there's more to be done, and never enough free hands. He could make more of an effort, he knows. It's sometimes too easy to forget about the state of things in Libertas when they're all living in Cadens. ]

That, yeah, and also the fire-bombing that hit Libertas even before that. [ The first part of the one-two punch. ] These people have been through so much. There has to be more that can be done for them. [ A consolation letter and some effects from a dead loved one just doesn't feel like enough.

About twenty paces ahead, he sees the dusty yellow drape that's meant to be a door, just as the woman described. He halts to turn toward the Doctor before he can race ahead. ] How are you with kids?

[thedreamer]

[ If the Doctor were aware of Steve's thoughts, he actually wouldn't disagree. He's aware he bungles things up sometimes. At times, he still feels like he's trying to mimic the humans he's so fond of, trying to emulate the best of their behavior, but he still, at times, just comes across wrong. He certainly never blames anyone for being put off by him as a result, of course. He can only keep trying, and keep being kind, and hope he gets it right.

He does intend to return back here and help the woman if he can. Not just her, but others. He likes to keep busy, after all, and helping is what he does. Feeling largely helpless at affecting the world around them (and quite annoyed by that fact, as a result), he can at least do something on a smaller level to make things a bit better here. Perhaps. ]

There's always more that can be done. It never really stops, anywhere at all. We should come back here later, I think. Fix things up a bit.

[ Here, again, he's just a little...off. Simply inviting Steve along as though the other man would naturally want to join in. The Doctor wouldn't mind if he backed out of it, of course, considering he didn't even ask.

Once they arrive, though, the Doctor squares himself a bit. The expression on his face is soft; not a smile, no, it's not the time for it. There's a wistfulness, though, a longing for things long gone, a life he'll never know again (hasn't known for so long), with children and grandchildren. ]

Children? Oh, they're grand. I love them. Always have. Shall I lead the way?

[assembles]

[ Perhaps some people might find it presumptuous the way that the Doctor signs him up for coming back to help without even asking, but Steve doesn't mind at all. To be honest, it's the sort of thing he could see himself doing, because he has the same instinct to help whenever and however he can. ]

We should. To say nothing of pressing the Libertas government to get involved.

[ The government should have more in the way of resources than just the two of them, and it's ultimately far more their responsibility than that of two Summoned.

Though that thought isn't going to stop Steve from helping all the same. Assuming it's someone else's problem is a trap that's all too easy to fall into.

Steve doesn't miss the look on the Doctor's face, and remembers how he hadn't quite been willing to talk much of his granddaughter. Now isn't the time to investigate that, though. ]

Yeah, you take point.

[ While the Doctor had fumbled a bit with the adults, Steve gets the feeling he'll do a lot better with kids. He's just a couple steps behind him as they approach the yellow curtain, though.

When it's swept aside, it's as the woman described, a small room with four walls and little else. There's a pile of blankets in one corner, a rickety wooden table in the center of the room, and two children sit playing a game not unlike jacks, from a first glance.

The slightly older one peers at them, eyes wide with uncertainty and fear.

"W-what do you want?" ]

[thedreamer]

I'm a good presser! That was my nickname, actually, they called me the presser when I was knocking 'round with the Butterfly Coterie on Stellarax Five. They were trying to — actually, it wasn't presser, come to think of it. What was that word? Oh no, it wasn't about me at all, it was — never mind, though things turned out alright for them in the end, if you were worried. Point is, I don't particularly mind pressing anyone in power to do better. When things need doing sometimes though, well, it's hard to ignore it.

You might say I'm not always subtle when people aren't being looked after.

[ It's a level of self-awareness he doesn't always have, nor fully embrace, but he is also always the first to be quite aware of his failings. He is trying his best to abide by some of the rules here, painful as that is for him when he'd far prefer being the loudest in the room and pressuring all of them to come to some sort of sense about all of this.

Steve is saved from more of the Doctor's rambling, though, as they approach the home, in disrepair as it is. His hearts soften more measurably at the sight of the children, and he's quick to (hopefully) mitigate any concern.

There's a soft, gentle smile on his face, more subdued, intended to dispel worry at the sight of two strangers suddenly appearing at their home. ]

Hello there, I'm the Doctor. This is my very good friend, Steve. We were sent here to help a bit if we can. Is your mother about, or might be soon?

[ It sounded as though she might be working quite a lot, based on what that neighbor had shared. ]