𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖔𝖛 ☼ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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abraxaslogs2021-12-01 08:44 pm
solmate) wrote in abraxaslogs2021-12-01 08:44 pm
Entry tags:
003
Who: Alina, Mage Jolene, Mal, Ciri, Sam Wilson
What: Alina crosses a desert as cargo with a disreputable carpet salesman. It goes better than expected.
Where: Castle Thorne, Horizon
When: Early December
Warnings: None yet
Other: PM me or shoot me a private plurk![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
hellbender if you'd like a custom start!
What: Alina crosses a desert as cargo with a disreputable carpet salesman. It goes better than expected.
Where: Castle Thorne, Horizon
When: Early December
Warnings: None yet
Other: PM me or shoot me a private plurk
sam
It's fine. But then it's only fine until it's not. She's there, only until she's not. Creeping out in the dead of night, coins stolen and shoved into her purse. Parchment waits for Sam on the table, folded neatly with his name written in script on the front. There is something inscrutable here. Written and crossed out, sloppy with blobs of ink before it starts again. It's only with careful examination that he might see an admission, I didn't want to leave. A week or two later, he'll find a small crystal statue left in his domain. A falcon, and it's undoubtedly made from the same material that towers in her odd, sunny domain.
no subject
Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have been paying more attention. But Alina's always been somewhat cagey with him, and with Geralt's disappearance, Sam just. Hadn't thought to check in. It's also why he doesn't think to look, when he wakes up - pushing through the still present urge for coffee, and trying to decide if he wants to bother starting a fire in the hearth or if he should just grab something on the way. If he should bother making breakfast - maybe Alina would actually eat? And it's somewhere in that thought, as he turns to her bedroom door, that he catches the note on the table. The pile of maps. The scrawl he'd just started to recognize, himself.
He collapses into one of the chairs as he reads the words - over and over. It's not that he's shocked, really, but there is a pit that grows in his chest. Grows and grows until he can't quite keep his feet under him.
It's not until later that he responds. Not until later that he finds the empty coinpurse, the echoes of someone who had been packing, taking with her whatever remnants of her that had been left in the apartment, and then some. It's later that night, maybe early the next morning, that the words will come across her vision - Sam's tight script, not all that different from the notes he would sometimes leave her if he had to leave early, or would be back late.