07.21.3013: The Harpy Returns
Summary: After a decade away from the Red House, Sir Eve Bracken returns with news of her father's death. Old flames reunite, old friends meet again.
Date: 21 July 2013
Related: None
Devon Eve Flint 


Various areas of The Red House - Ignis
See Log
21 July 3013

Flint is sitting not in the Red House's grand mead hall, but rather in one of the more Citizen orientated ones. The former heir loves to walk among everyone else, chat with them, drink with them, and generall just be one of the guys. Which works pretty well in Ignis given Grantham's stance on stuff. So, while he watching two men duke it out in a barfight over who works in the tougher mine, the Ash Knight drinks, lightly making bets with the others in the room. Likely the two brawling with end their fight with laughs and drinks, but that's just the Ignis way. Fighting is just another aspect of life here, one that they totally embrace.

It's been nigh on a decade since Sir Evangeline Bracken has set foot in the Red House. Eve - or The Harpy as she's sometimes called as her middle name is Celaeno - has been away, serving the Ash Legion in the field alongside her father, Sir Cale. She has changed a great deal in that year. She chopped her hair, now bleached lighter from sun and heat, to shoulder length, where it used to be long and wild. Her eyes have the sense of having seen war, and she carries far more weapons than she used to.

She is out of her armor, but no less deadly for that, with a pair of shorts held up by a belt that houses a hand crossbow, and a pair of kukri knives strapped to her thighs. A shoulder harness has two sword hilts peeking over her shoulders, and an unbuttoned brown shirt lies over a white undershirt, with a rust-hued scarf around her neck to pull up when the air is too ashy.

Her face is stern, her eyes intense, and her jaw is clenched so hard it twitches. One hand is closed tightly around something, hidden by her fist. She was told Flint was down here, and she spots him easily enough. She heads his way and stops in front of him, her eyes searching for his.

Flint is too busy watching the fistfight to really notice, holding his mug of mead and cheering for the guy he picked to win the fight every time ge gets in a good blow. So very Grantham, that. There's even heavy classic rock music playing in the background, almost in time with the fight. But eventually, when he turns to go get a refill from one of the large metal barrels at the front, he stops seeing, Eve. "Eve? Holy shit, Eve!" he says moving quickly for her, smiling at the dour-looking woman. "Crone's tits, where have you been, Eve? I haven't seen you in…a long fucking time."

Eve grimaces and she holds out her hand to drop something into Flint's own. That which she'd been clutching hard enough to slice into her palm turns out to be dog tags. Her father's dog tags. "Ambush," she says, through gritted teeth. She doesn't need to say more. He's known her since she was too young to use any knife that wasn't of the butter variety. There are ash smudges on her face. At least that hasn't changed.

So much for happy reunions. The dog tags rattle in Flint's hand, causing him to look at Eve's one word explanation before turning his attention to the name stamped onto them. "Cale…" he murumurs. The barfight and it's better has suddenly been forgotten, and the former heir takes a one step back in shock. His eyes snap up at Eve, hand shooting out to grab up handful of her shirt, pulling her in. "Why." is one word he bites out. "Who the -fuck- let him on the field. He was, what? In his sixties? Who the hell let him out there? He was honored. Respected. Valued. And his wisdom was -always- respected. He didn't have to take the Long Walk." He doesn't seem angry that he's dead, more that someone let an old man into a fight, especially when the burden of wearing heavy armor and swinging a weapon may of been too much for a older man's heart to be able to handle.

Eve is hauled against Flint when he grabs hold of her shirt. Her expression is unwavering. She has not yet shed tears for her father, because the anger is too deep at the moment. She plants two hands to his chest and shoves him back hard, standing her ground again with her feet spaced shoulder-width, ready to fight him if he comes at her again.

"They took a kid. The rest of the company was in the field but he and I stayed behind because I broke some ribs chasing down a Hostile two days ago. We went out together. It was a setup. He took a blow meant for me." Eve's eyes waver, and look wet, but she doesn't shed any tears. Her voice is raspy from years out in the elements. "It should have been me."

As Flint listens, his hands curl into fists, glaring at her for a very long moment. "That dumb old man!" he growls, throwing his mead mug against a nearby wall, causing it dump whatever was left inside it and clang off the wall. They're metal, and likely used to being thrown around. "Old fucking man." he grunts again. Whatever he says, there's no anger in the words, more like regret. "I…I have to let dad know. He should know, Cale was his best friend." He's about to leave, passing by Eve when he sees the look on her face, causing him to stop. "He was an old man, but her was our old man. And he went out on his terms. He always said he never wanted to die in bed. He wanted to die with a weapon in his hands." A hand is set on her shoulder. "The Crone couldn't have a better bodyguard."

It's the gentler hand on her shoulder that makes the fury drain from Eve, leaving her feeling like there is ice water sloshing in her stomach, and fire stinging her eyes. Cale was her only parent. She never knew Rena. Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, covering his hand with hers in a grip like a vice, taking strength from him so her knees don't buckle. "I'll go with you. Lord Zakary should hear it from one who was there, Jacob." She rarely calls him that, not since she was a kid, before he earned his byname.

And yet, Eve is probably one of the two people he's ever been okay with them calling him Jacob that he wasn't blood-related to. They're silent going to the Red House and even quieter when they speak with Lord Zakary. The man had been enjoying his retirment, but the news of his old friend's death shakes him down to his core, in a way that Flint had never seen before. He takes the dogtags and listens to both him and Eve's explanation. Given, the usually boisterous Zakary thanks them both and dismisses them, telling Eve that she will not pay a die of Cale's funeral expenses, but he did tell the woman that Cale was possibly one of the greatest men he had ever had the pleasure of knowing and that she has his condolences, before then looking at his son and telling him that he'll make the arrangements." Nodding, Flint quietly leads Eve back outside, then leading her back to his apartment. "You need a drink." he states simply, opening the door.

"I need a Hostile to kill," Eve spits back as she strides in. "But a drink will do for now." She looks around the room. She hasn't seen his quarters since before her Knighting. She scrubs a hand down her face, smearing the ashes decorating it, then looks for a place to sit.

"You'll give enough of those in time, Eve." Flint remarks. The large wall-sized viewing windows give a great view of the plateaus of Ignis. At least when there isn't an ash storm covering them them up. Two bottle of mead are picked out, one handed over to her. "You got time to relax for a little while. I know it's not much, but your old man wouldn't want you pacing like this. And he's slap the shit out of you if he heard you say that it was 'your fault'. He always picked his own fights, didn't he?"

Eve steps to the viewing window, something she lacks in her own, far simpler quarters as a citizen knight. She watches the ashes rain on the plateaus as she unwinds her scarf, grimacing as it makes her ribs ache. She didn't get medical attention before the incident, or after. She came straight back to the Red House with the news. She wipes the ash streaks off her face with the clean side of the scarf. "He was a stubborn bastard. I told him not to come. As usual, I got a rant about how he was my superior." She looks at him as she takes the offered mead.

"I think it was les about being a superior ranking soldier, and more about wanting to look out for his eldest daughter." Flint suggest gently, opening his bottle. "He was never the type of man to show his love through words. A stong military, good training, quality arms was how he showed his love for you. I could even tell that when I was a squire. He knew you were hurt. It never that he doubted your skills, shit, he trained you, but he wanted to make sure you alright. The greatest gift a father can give his daughter is their own life so they can see the next day. Cale did…exactly what was expected of him as a knight, soldier, and father to the end. Morun him if you want, but I can't help but be proud of him." He takes a long pull from his bottle. "And so should you, Eve."

Eve presses the cold bottle of mead against her throbbing ribs, her scowl never lessening. "I'll be proud of him after I stop being angry at him," she mutters. That's when the tears finally spill over. "That asshole, dying on me like that!"

Flint doesn't say anything intially, he lets her vent and rage, like he would if he were in a similiar situation. Knows her well enough that she doesn't want compassion right away, even if it's just them and there's really never been secrets between them. But after awhile, he moves over to take her bottle and set it down before he pulls her in for a hug. "And a lot of other things, but that's why it made him the best." he offers her quietly.

When Flint pulls her to him in the hug, Eve winces at the pain in her side, but buries her head against his chest, regardless. She breaks down, sobbing, though she even makes the weeping sound really angry. The crescent moon appears on her forehead as her emotional state makes it hard for her awakened abilities not to rear their head. "His body will arrive in three days," she rasps.

Slowly, Flint works her his way to lead her to his couch, so he can hug her that without her legs giving out from under her. "It's alright." he comforts quietly. "Don't worry about that right now, just let it out. Know you been holding it in." A shame that their meet up would go like this, considering their personal past with each other. When her aura flares up, he sits back, but he does attempt to break the ice. "Oh c'mon now, you're going to start giving me flashbacks."

The crescent fades as Eve gathers herself back together, and when her eyes open, they are the blue he knows fondly, rather than the white that he knows a bit more traumatically. She scrubs at her face with a hand, violently. "Oh shut up. It was your fault to begin with," she snorts.

"My fault?" Flint blinks, looking down at her. "Right, it was my fault. Because it wasn't you that grabbed my crotch and told me to take you right then and there in the Chantry, right? Or am I thinking of someone else? I mean, I've fucked a lot of women in my time, but there's one I had the pleasure of defiling a Chantry storeroom." He grins at her. "You should know, I was about to get off too, when you scared the ever-living fuck out of me."

"To this day, people still believe that load of horse shit you shoveled at them about going to pray with me during my Vigil, and finding me unconscious on the floor," Eve points out. "You have a very strange manner of prayer, Jacob," she snorts softly. "Ow." That hurt. "I might need some medical attention, by the way."

"Well, it worked didn't it?" Flint states. "I don't want to think about the trouble I'd get into with my dad over sleeping with someone. And your old man would've -killed- me for deflowering his daughter." Getting up slowly, he makes for his bedroom. "Take your shirt off, I'll take care of that until you can get to a doctor." A glance back at her. "Shut up, it was your favorite form of prayer. And you were praying alright. I heard the repeated 'oh gods' over and over." Then he vanishes into his bedroom for a moment, then coming back with a spare bedsheet and a knife.

"Nice to see you haven't changed one iota, Flint," Eve drawls acidly. She was sent away for three years after that incident. She shrugs carefully out of her overshirt and the tank beneath it, leaving her half naked. It's nothing she's embarrassed of. Not like he hasn't seen it before. She tries not to watch him create the wrappings, staring at that view instead. "How long has it been?" she asks.

"Would you like anything different, Eve?" Flint asks simply, taking the knife, the one her father gave him on the eve of his knighthood, using it to create long strips of cloth. And yeah, he looks. He's male, he can't help it. "I still you're still as hot as ever." he remarks, letting the far-too-sharp knife do it's work. "'It' being?" he asks, following her eyes. "Since we last saw each other? Hell, I don't know. A long damn time, Eve. Too long, if you ask me. I thought you were avoiding me for the longest time. Like I did something wrong."

"Maybe I was avoiding you," Eve admits. There are myriad scars on her back as she leans her forearms on her knees. "It was always fun, Jacob, but it always ended up reminding me that's all it was ever going to be." She grimaces. Citizen. Noble. The same old song and dance of course. "I needed some distance from you, before I started to feel things." She turns her head to smirk at him. "Looks like you did just fine in my absence. I read the papers."

"That's not fair, Eve." Flint states, having enough strips to sit down next to her. "You know I'm not one for marriage or shit like that. And I've told you why and you understood. But that doesn't mean…that I ever stopped caring about you. And I always valued the closeness we had, whatever form that took." He rolls his eyes at the comment about the papers. "You too? Shit, I didn't think I'd have to explain that to you. Bethe and me hooked up. For one night. Because we both hadn't gotten laid in weeks. Lift your arms up." He pauses. "You could've always of come to me if you had a friend. Whatever we've been, you've always been my friend. And I've always respected you."

Eve gingerly lifts her arms, the motion making her bite on her lower lip to keep from crying out in pain. Bone grinds against bone, definitely broken ribs. She's not terribly busty, and that hasn't changed an iota either. "I think it's easier for men," she says through clenched teeth. "You just seem programmed to not attach anything emotional to sex. But I didn't like lying to my father about it, and if I told him, you'd be dead now too."

"Oh, I know I'd be dead. It was…well, I told him, you know that?" Flint admits after a moment. "It was years ago, you had gone off to take your post and we hadn't seen each other in a long time and…well the guilt was just eating at me. I didn't tell him about the Chantry incident, but I told him about the other times. I was, eh, early twenties at the time. Beat the crap out of me. Not because of what happened between us, but more because I didn't tell him right when it happened. Said it was disrespectful and that he 'taught me to be better than that'. I've never lied about my dealings ever since because of that meeting." He starts to the cloth around her ribs. "He knew how to lay the guilt on thick." A frown at her. "Eve, I'm sorry, okay? How many times have I told you that I'm sorry. You know why I'm like that. I've told you why."

Flint and Eve are in Flint's apartment, the latter having returned from a Hostile ambush. Her ribs are broken and Flint is doing his best to wrap them to keep them in place. Oh, and Eve is topless, but well, when has a Grantham or Grantham-sworn been shameful about bodies?

"YOU TOLD HIM!" Eve shrieks, then immediately regrets it as that was not a wise thing to do with broken ribs. "Godsdammit Jacob! You could have at least let me know that. No wonder he insisted we take the shit assignments at the furthest outposts. If I'd known he knew, I could have talked him out of that. She looks to be in considerable pain, both physical and emotional, having just returned to the Red House to let them know her father was killed.

"I tried telling you! -You- weren't returning my calls! And I didn't want to live with the fucking guilt of lying to your father, alright!" Flint snaps back, jerking backward so he doesn't accidentally hurt her further. "Your father didn't hate me for it, he was just pissed I didn't tell him when I should've, okay? So don't even start the blaming process again. I'm sorry, damnit, I'm tired of telling you how sorry I am. I could blame this all on me, and where would it get me? Would it change anything?" Suddenly, he gets quiet. "He did that to protect us both. Because -both- would've known what would've happened all those years ago if we were kept closer together. But it's done, it's been over ten years since that point and we both can't go back."

Devon had been in the garrison's gym, exercising out her frustrations and confusion from her most recent dream on an unsuspecting tension bag when she had been informed of Sir Eve's return and injuries. She abandoned the rest of her training for the day, moving through the Red House toward the habitats and thus Flint's apartmnets. She is dressed in a loose pair of pale grey athletic pants, a white tank top with wide arm holes that show off her a black athletic bra, and a bare of flexible running shoes. Her hair is up in a chaotic, twisted bun that lacks any trace of her normal vibrant colorings. She had stopped off to grab some supplies, now chiming his door patiently.

Eve grimaces and she winces as her ribs are being wrapped. "I didn't return your calls because some part of me knew that we needed to stay away from each other." She lets out a slow breath. "Ten years. I can't believe it's been that long." She looks towards the chiming door. "Is this someone who is going to punch you in the nads if I don't put a shirt on?" she asks, bluntly.

"Depends on who it is. If it's my sister, she's going make some smartass comments and tell me to keep it wrapped. You remember Marah, don't you?" Flint utters, getting up and moving across the living room. Looking at the little screen in his door, he sighs, possibly in relief. "Don't worry, it's Devon. You can trust her." Opening the door, she sees a frustrated looking Flint. "Thanks for coming by, Devon." He does manage a small, relieved smile for her. "I can wrap ribs, but I have no clue if I'm setting them right."

"Flint," Devon returns with a quick smile that just gently touches those glass-colored eyes. Then she looks toward Eve, and she furrows her brow a bit as she rifles through her memories for where the name and face match. She finds it only after a heartbeat, and she brightens just a touch. "Sir Eve… you've been gone from the Red House for a while." She nods to Flint's words as she steps forward, dropping her medical duffle down next to Eve. "You know you both could have gone to the medical center in the garrison, right?" She glances up toward Flint with a smirk, though it is good-natured as she starts to rub her hands together to warm them before she starts to feel around Eve's ribs.

"Kind of hard to forget Marah. If I did, I think she'd choke me out," Eve calls after Flint. She tries to rise when Devon enters, but it's a half motion stalled out by the crunching of something inside her chest. "Lady Devon, by the Six, you were just a wisp of a teen girl when I saw you last," she notes in surprise at the fully grown woman now before her. Then her eyes lower. "I am so sorry for your loss." She hasn't been back to the Red House in a decade, having been far aflung to the furthest outposts on Ignis with her father, Sir Cale, for that time. "I didn't want to go to the medical center. I don't want to be around strangers right now," she whispers. There is a rawness to her words. She has broken a few ribs rather badly. How she trekked all the way back here with that injury is rather a mystery.

"You remember Sir Cale Bracken, right?" Flint offers quietly. "Trained me. Eve's dad. He was killed in a Hostile ambush today." It hasn't been any easier on him either, as much as the man was a second father to him. "We had to tell my dad. He's…well, he's taking like always does. Which is to say he thanked us then told us to get the hell out." He acknowleges Eve then. "Well, you were never the easiest person to ever work with, Eve. But yeah, I figure it'd be easier to call someone here than have her go to a clinic. If that's alright with you. But thanks…for coming by."

"Please, Eve… just Devon," she corrects her gently even as she puts a touch of pressure on one of those broken ribs. She shakes her head a bit at the initial feel. "I can set them, but you really should get some pain relief ointment from the garrison, or you will be useless until they fully heal." She looks up as the woman averts her eyes, speaking her condolences. It causes her to stiffen just a touch, and then she offers a faint nod. "Thank you, Sir." Then she looks up to meet Flint's eyes briefly before she offers him a knowing smile. "I look after the Legion," she replies easily before she nods to her bag. "Get me some of the wrap I have in there, I'll set her ribs, you help me wrap, and we will have to keep you horizontal for a little bit so you don't undo my hard work."

Eve's eyes begin getting that misty look to them again as Flint explains the situation with her father. She bites back the tears by chewing on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. She grunts when the rib is pressed. "As long as I get to hole up somewhere I don't have to see their faces, you know the ones, all covered in sympathy and sorrow on my behalf. Dad would have flipped them off for it and told them to go make themselves useful or something." Her voice catches a little.

Returning with her bag moments later, Flint hands it over. "I can get some ointment after we finish wrapping Eve here up like a mummy, yeah?" he offers. "And your wraps will probably work better than the spare bedsheet I tore up because I wasn't sure how long it'd be till you got here." He looks at Eve then, frowning. "I can understand that. Since…" a glance at Devon, then back at Eve, "…nobody really knows you've returned until today, you can stay here with me. I don't mind someone coach surfing for a couple days till you're healed up. And I wouldn't mind the company. And if I start asking Devon to drop by more often than she has been, she's going to get tired of my ass pretty fucking quick." A low chuckle. "Yeah, your dad would say something like that."

"Take the time you need to grieve," Devon offers, her voice heavy with experience. "If you do not allow yourself the space, it will haunt you until the end of your days." She offers Eve a gentle nod of her chin before she has the woman sit up so she can start worrying over the ribs and wraps. She is quiet now for the most part, focused on her own work. She glances over toward Flint as he also glances her way, and she offers him a faint shrug at his words as if she isn't about to put up a fuss about someone surfing on Flint's couch — or anywhere else for that matter.

"Thank you," Eve says quietly to Flint. She's a terrible patient in most cases, but when the alternative is going to have a pile of doctors poking at her, she behaves for Devon. "The couch will be fine for me. More comfortable than the cots I've been sleeping on at the outposts."

The bottle of mead that Flint had been drinking is suddenly picked while Devon works her medical magic on the fellow Ash Knight. But the one he had given to Eve is handed back to her too, if maybe to kill any possible pain. "The Crone has a way of reminding me of some of my fuckups.." he mutters to himself, looking out his massive picture window. "Nobodies perfect, I guess." A pull from his bottle. "But I can try to make it better, and I need to stop fucking around and act like a man." Looking away from the window, he nods at Eve. "Your family has been a friend to mine since our fathers were teens, knocking heads around when our vassels got out of line with each other. You've always been welcome in my home."

Quietly, Devon finishes wrapping the ribs of the Grantham Knight. She glances over toward Flint at his mutterings, and she does start smiling a bit as she seals the bandages easily enough. Then she straightens up a bit, sitting back to look over her work before she looks back to Eve. "You're all set, Sir Eve… I do recommend using some relief ointment. It will help you sleep easily." Then she looks over toward Flint. "And how are you sleeping?" She says with a doctorly tone.

"Well, if whatever you fucked up while I've been gone comes to bite you in the ass, you know I always have your back, Jacob," Eve notes. "Unless it's me. Then you'll just be on your ass in the ashes when I punch your lights out." Is that an actual smile? It's kind of a twitch of one at least. "Thank you, Devon. It's really good to see you again. We should have lunch sometime or something."

"Back to the nightmares." Flint asides to Devon, as if it's something he just 'deals' with. Save for the one time he didn't have them. "Nothing new, nothing I haven't already told you about." A sigh passes through him. "I could've treated you better, Eve, is what I mean. All those years ago. I like to chaulk it up to us been stupid teenagers and not 'getting' how things are, but I never did do a lot to apologize to you, is what I'm saying. And shit, your one of the best damn knights I've been around in the Legion, but look at who trained you. Just know, that things will be different. We don't need to stay away from each other. And I've never once didn't consider you a friend."

"Of course, Eve… there's a lot of catching up you have to do," Devon offers companionably before she glances over toward Flint once more. The news of his nightmares tightens her jaw a bit, and she nods in agreement. "Zayne came to see me last night again." These words have been spoken at least once before by the Ash Witch. "He said he will not do so again, but it was good seeing him." She then steps aside a bit to let the pair go through whatever reconcilation is needed. She returns to her bag, and from it, she pulls out a clean shirt that she offers to the femme knight.

"Nightmares?" Eve asks, with her brow furrowing in concern. She sips her bottle of mead to help with some of the pain. She looks between Flint and Devon. "What's going on? He's not having Awakened dreams is he? I mean, my Awakening was painful as late as it was, and I was just 18. At his age it might kill him." She accepts the shirt and carefully pulls it on with a few winces and breath sucked through gritted teeth.

"Did he now?" Now it's Flint's turn to have his jaw tighten up a little. "I hope it went better than D-4 Zayne. But…I'm glad you got to see him at least one more time." There's more he wants to say, but it's not coming to him, shaking his head at Eve. "There was this place on Ignis, me, Devon, and some others went to see what happened there. Things…happened. Bad things. Shit that'll fuck with your head. Been having nightmares ever since." Another looks is tossed at Devon, before Eve's remark has him snorting. "Luckly, I haven't been 'blessed' with that ability."

Devon lifts her pale eyes toward Flint at his words, and she nods her head gently. "It did." Then she gives him the space to recount the tale of D-4. She shudders a bit at the quite abbreviated story before she rolls her shoulders a bit beneath the thick sleeves of her tank top. "It can be a blessing," she points out to the male Knight before she shakes her head a bit. "But I'm not sure if there is much that can be done with the nightmares, Flint." Unless she continues to prescribe a sleeping Devon for his bed. He'll even take her fully clothed, apparently. She does close up her bag, releasing a heavy breath.

Eve nods, not understanding everything Flint says about it, but taking him at his word that it was something mind-screwy. Oddly she doesn't seem phased about Devon seeing her dead husband in her dreams. She fully expects to see Cale in hers, if the Crone in any way loves her devoted daughter. "I'll keep an eye and an ear on him while I'm couch surfing," she assures Devon.

"Just been a rough week for me, that's all." Flint shrugs, trying to do just that: shrug it off. But for the two women who have known him longer than anyone else in Grantham has that's not family, it's pretty evident that the wear and tear is starting to show on him. He doesn't sleep well anymore, he's been drinking a bit more than usual for your run-of-the-mill Ash Knight, and then there's that whole situation with Nitrim that he hasn't addressed lately since it just annoys when he thinks about it. The biggest telltale sign is how dark the bags are under his eyes. Suddenly, for a moment, he doesn't look as youthful as he once did. Just a man wearing a fake smile and idea that there's nothing wrong at all. But like Devon, he takes in a deep sigh. "Thanks, mom." he remarks over at Eve. It's said with a humerous but thankful tone.

Devon nods in agreement to the roughness of the week, and she finally breathes out a heavy and slightly deflating sigh. "I should let you both sleep. I have to finish up at the gym, and then Marah is expecting me for a nightcap." She looks over toward Flint as she offers him a bit of a smile before she rolls her shoulders back and settles her bag off her shoulder. "If he starts to fit, just smack him with something," she offers with a touch of earnest good-naturedness, though she does step toward Flint to offer his forearm a soft squeeze. She even arches up onto the balls of her feet to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. She murmurs something against his ear before she drops back onto her feet, starting to step away. "Eve, come see me tomorrow if you still hurt, okay?"

"I'll come see you either way," Eve promises. She'd slug Flint for the mom comment if she wasn't in pain. "My father's remains will be here in three days," she adds quietly.

Flint is still looking at the window, hand rubbing at his forehead, looking like he's trying to sort some mental shit out. When Devon steps up to him, he takes the touch to his arm and kiss to the cheek with a small smile, nodding. Losing his mentor, it's been hard, but he had to strong for his friend. She can see the pain in his expression. It's just all adding up. "Trying, Devon. But thanks." So there's at least that, anyways. "Yeah, you two should get together, but I'm not sure if this is a 'boobies only' meeting. I might. I might go to the Chantry tomorrow…I dunno, sort my head out." The mention of her father's body just makes his eyes narrow. "We'll see him off the Crone properly, Eve. And I'm going to statue a petition that have a statue made for his contributions to Grantham." Snort. "Well, if dad hasn't done so already."

"I suspect your dad is way ahead of you on that, Jacob," Eve agrees. "And it's definitely boobies only. I can't expect her to tell me all your deep dark embarrassing secrets if you're right there."

Devon laughs toward Eve in a soft note, and she shakes her head a bit. "His secrets aren't all that deep and dark, Eve," she says honestly before she nods her head gently toward the elder Grantham. "You should go to the Chantry… see if the Priests there can give you guidance." Which they are good at. Then she starts to step toward the door. "May sleep find you safely," she says to both of them as she prepares to step out.

Eve looks over at Flint as Devon is leaving. "I want the nicest pillow for the couch," she declares, imperiously considering she's a citizen. "You owe me for that time you convinced me we really needed to go for a ride in that mine cart," she threatens with a waggle of her finger. Ah the adventurous days, when Hostiles were just a vague thing on the horizon.

"Got it. Boobies only, and mine probably don't make the cut." Flint allows some of his dry humor to escape his downed state. "Night Devon. Sleep good whenever you get there." Watching her leave, he looks back at Eve. "You'll be happy to know that this couch fold out into a bed. Just…I don't think it's ever been used. Not since I had to look after one of Marah's youngest kid. I know have I a couple of pillows and a spare bedsheet I haven't torn up yet around here somewhere. Hey, the minecart was fun. Even if we almost died." Beat. "Twice."

Eve rises from the couch with a wince so he can pull it out for her. She looks at him solemnly. "Nightmares, hm? Not something I ever expecting Flint to have. You were always so tough like that." She puts a hand on his arm, looking him in the eyes. "We can talk about it sometime, if you need to. Or not talk, just let me see," she says, gesturing to her forehead with that mark of hers appears when she powers up. She looks at the door. "You and her fooling around?" she asks. Same old blunt Evangeline. No wonder they bynamed her the Harpy.

"I didn't expect to walk into the Devil's bedroom either, but that's what we walked into at D-4." Flint eye's narrow at the thought of that place. "It was hell itself. What happened to those people. Eve, sometimes I don't think it's the Hostiles that are the monsters. We have enough of them in our own backyard. What we saw…no human should have to experience." Granted, he's tough enough that he hasn't let it effect him until up to this week with all this stuff flying at him at once. "I feel like I've aged five years in one week, Eve, that's all." Then a headshake. "I pulled her out of mourning over Zayne's death, we've been close ever since, but nothing sexual. We just care. And I know she worries about me." He looks at her out of the corner of his vision. "I missed you." It's the first real emotional thing he's said to her all night. "I thought you hated me. It hurt."

"I did hate you," Eve admits, rubbing her hands up and down her opposite arms like she's taken a chill. "And I hated my father. And I hated myself. Mostly myself, for running away from you before it got deeper than we could climb back out of. I was young and emotional, Jacob. I wanted the fairytale, even though I knew I couldn't have it. But I don't have those delusions any more. I know I won't survive this war. You won't either. So why worry about tomorrow? Just sorry it took ten years and dad's death to bring me back here."

Hearing that seems to hurt him, but it was something he came to terms with a long time ago. Still, hearing that from her personally doesn't feel all too good. "I deserved that." he nods after a moment. "So was I, Eve. We both were. I thought I knew better, thought I could control my feelings. Guess I couldn't, and it was because of that is why I've ended up where I am. No marriages. No love. There's only the fight and the war ahead for me. Probably because the only shot at happiness I had was lost even before I started." Another sigh. "I cared about you so much…you were the only person I could talk to. The only one who ever really 'got' me." He doesn't say what he was thinking, because it might end up destroying them both. "For whatever it's worth, I'm glad you're back." And this time, he hugs her, but not to console her, but mostly because he's missed her.

"Don't say it," she begs him, before he censors himself. Eve couldn't take hearing it from him, even as she slides into his arms and rests her cheek against his. Her grip tightens on the back of his shirt as she whispers, "I missed you too." She wants to cry again, because she feels like she's lost everything she loved in the last ten years. But she holds it in. "I'm not going to leave you again, until the Crone comes for me. I've got you, Jacob." His back, his hand when needed, her shoulder and ear for him to use as he needs it.

Somehow, Flint finds himself leaning his forehead against her's. It's so close she can feel his breath against her. "Don't leave me again, Eve. I can't do another ten years like that. And I'm with you until the end." As much as it seems like he wants to kiss her, he can't. There's too much crap going on in his head. And his life. There's a long moment, when he just hugs her again. "You can borrow some of my old clothes to sleep in. I'll find you that pillow and sheets." He doesn't want to break away, and it's pretty obvious, but eventually he does. He kills his bottle of mead, the he looks at her, eyes sad, yet likely saying his voice can't.

"I'm here til the end, Jacob," Eve swears, her own eyes red rimmed and speaking volumes. She turns then, so he can't see her face, and works on readying for a night on the couch.

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