hadriel | one ❀ voice

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one ❀ voice

[There's no video, because it's too dark in the coffin to show anything anyway. Adam's voice is carefully steady, as if he's keeping himself under control through sheer power of will.]

I saw that Fear said our air supply will be refreshed. I don't know if that's true - I don't know if we can trust him - but I thought people ought to know anyway.

[Not that he necessarily believes anything any of the gods say, but - well. Who knows.]

Talking is a little less impersonal than text. It might help to hear a familiar voice, if any of your friends are buried. There also isn't much to do down here but panic, so if anyone wants to talk - I wouldn't mind.

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[He's tempted to respond via text, but there's that whole bit about voices being more familiar than something just written down. So he exhales, pulls his phone up, and replies in a quiet, but determined voice.]

I'm going to find you.

[ Arya's response comes an hour later after Adam's transmission, after worrying about if talking to him will get them both in more trouble.

This is divine punishment, after all, and Arya blames herself for inciting it. ]

Do you want to hear a story?

[ Her voice is a whisper, small and raspy and far away. She wants to apologize, desperately, but she knows it's too late for that now. All she can do is try to make Adam's death comfortable. She owes him that much. ]

Edited 2016-01-17 02:53 (UTC)

[They were fighting, but it doesn't matter. Hearing Ronan's voice is more of a comfort than Adam could ever say.]

If you can't - it's okay.

[It's hard to really pay attention to the passage of time down there in the coffin. It's dark, there's nothing to mark how the hours pass, so he doesn't care much how long it takes for anyone to respond. Arya in particular - well, he's not happy to know she's buried, too, but at least they can talk to each other.]

Yes. Please tell me a story.

[His voice is quiet too, not quite defeated but not particularly hopeful, either.]

Ronan and I are looking for you.

Fuck that.

[Sharply, and with a little vitriol.]

It's not okay. Don't tell yourself that it is.

Edited 2016-01-17 04:37 (UTC)

Thank you. It's okay if you can't find me.

It's out of your hands. If you can't find me, it's not your fault, so - it's okay.

[His voice is shaky, barely keeping control.]

Our friends will find us. The half that's not buried is showing remarkable organization to get the rest of us out.

[Rainier is a bit better about keeping his voice calm. Then again, he's much older.]

I'm certain I've lived through worse than this but no specific incident is coming to mind, personally.

Hey, Mr. Congeniality, right?

[he remembers adam's name just fine, but it's an easy way to identify himself, too.]

Talking beats the hell out of lying in the dark. Or listening, too, I guess. Also beats the hell out of digging in silence. You like stories? I got a million.

I was not the first to call myself Nymeria.

[ She's admitted to the lie already, why not tell him the truth of that name? ]

Nymeria ruled in Ny Sar, where she had a palace. Then the Valyrians came, with their dragons, and Nymeria and her people had to flee to Abulu, in the Summer Islands. They lived there for a time, but it was not enough. There was little food, little to provide for a strong people.

So she trained her women for conquest. Nymeria became queen of a host of women-warriors, stronger than any man. They slicked themselves with oil and gold and grew their hair long, but their spears were longer. They prepared for battle under the hot sun and harsh rock, and Nymeria trained with them. She was their mother, their queen, their general.

[ She pauses. There's a couple of hitched breaths, as if she's about to cry. She reminds herself that Nymeria would not cry. Arya has to be brave. She has to tell the story. ]

No it isn't. We need you, and you need us, and we're all we've got right now. We'll find you.

I hope so.

[He regrets saying that, a moment later. Of course he wants to get out, but he doesn't want anyone to feel like they've failed him if they don't manage it. He changes the subject then.]

It would be hard to beat being buried alive.

Adam.

[He recognizes the name and the voice, and corrects Peter more or less gently. There's an edge of terror in his voice, but of course there would be.]

I don't have much to do but listen. I can't dig my way out of here. A story would be nice.

Parrish, yeah. I remember.

[peter sounds calm enough, but there's an odd cadence to his voice, words that are slightly more forced. it gives his voice a strange rhythm, and in the background there's the even sound of something metal scraping into dirt, the pattering of soil on soil. somewhere, he's digging.]

You can tell stories, too, y'know. We can trade. It's fine if yours are short. I'll go first, though. You ever seen a faerie?

I'm not going to let you die. You hear me?

[He grits it out between his teeth, determined, even if he recognizes the hopelessness that Adam feels. They don't have time for that, and he forces it away with anger and harshly-spoken words.]

I don't care what it takes. You're going to be okay.

[He listens, listens to the story and to her voice, and he doesn't comment on the breathing, or how clear it is she's barely hanging on too. They're both in the same position, and Adam wouldn't want it to be commented on. Doesn't want it to be.]

It's a fitting name, then.

[He doesn't want to interrupt the story. He only wants to give her time to catch her breath, to hold on to herself. It's never easy, especially not right now.]

Did they find another land to conquer?

I want you to. [His voice is tight, quiet.] But if it doesn't happen, I don't - I don't want you to blame yourselves.

I don't have a lot of stories, but I'll try.

[He can hear that, and he's not surprised. There are so many of them, all over, and he doesn't know if Peter has friends here but at least someone's digging. At least he'll find someone, and there will be one less of them stuck down here in the dark.]

I've never seen a faerie, I don't know if they exist. Not where I'm from.

Okay.

[He doesn't know what to do but agree with Ronan. He wants so badly for that to be true, but he doesn't think it will be. But he also doesn't want to argue, not when he needs to hope for something, not when he's barely holding back panic.

He's already broken once or twice, his hands sore where he hammered against the lid of the coffin, even knowing it would do nothing.]

Just come find me. I'm not - I'm not going anywhere.

I'll bet you can come up with something.

Bet you they do. You've probably seen one, just thought it was a firefly or something. They're tiny little things.

[the shovel scrapes into the dirt again, heaves out its burden onto the ground.]

Anyway, Nicolae--that's my grandfather--he found a faerie once, buzzing around our insect zapper. Not the smartest things, sometimes, they get suckered in just like moths and flies. Anyway, he saw her before she could get zapped, and got her into a bottle somehow. One of those big mason jars, for whole pickles, y'know? She bit the hell out of him first--don't get the idea that faeries are all sweetness and light, they're mean little buggers. I was maybe six. It was the craziest thing, this perfect little naked lady, wings like a dragonfly, glowing in this bottle. We kept her for a few days, gave her grass to make a bed and fed her flies. I think she would cuss a blue streak every time i tapped on the glass, but I didn't know any better and all you can hear is a tiny squeak anyway.

They did.

[ Arya collects herself, because this is her favorite part of the story, and she doesn't want to ruin it. ]

They built ten thousand ships over ten years, under the watch of the gods of the sun. And on the tenth moon of the tenth year, Nymeria and her women-warriors set sail in an armada that the world had never seen before, and never would again.

They crossed the Narrow Sea to Dorne, the southernmost tip of the Sunset Lands. It was a sight to behold, and when the Dornish King saw Nymeria emerge from the head of the fleet, he bent the knee, for her beauty and power was more than any man could surpass.

And so Nymeria, her betrothal, and her army conquered the sands of Dorne, beating back the Rhoynars. And when they were finished, Nymeria and her warriors set fire to the Rhoynar fleet. The fires were so large, the flames touched the sky, and sparks still remain today, as stars.

[ Arya imagines the stars, the sky. It hadn't bothered her before that she couldn't see them in this cave, but now, she'd give anything to see the traces of the flames of Nymeria's warrior-women. ]

No shit.

[He can hear the tension in Adam's voice, even if Adam is trying to be reassuring. Ronan takes a deep breath and resumes digging the hole that he'd been working on. He doesn't think that any sort of God is listening, can listen to him, one lone sinner, two universes away, but he sends up a short prayer anyway.

Please let this one be him.]

Hey- you know what'll make you feel better? [If anything can. Ronan clears his throat and shovels some more dirt aside before he breaks out into a low song that he's sure Adam knows by heart now.]

Squash one, squash two-

Edited 2016-01-17 20:21 (UTC)

Is that your way of saing you need some company?

[She manages to keep the worry out of her voice, for his sake. If he trusts her at all after that whole 'adventure' with the yetis, then she's not going to break that.]

And what do we talk about? [ Sharon just wants voices, anything to get her mind off the situation. She's spent the last few hours singing every song she can remember, from the best to fucking Barney. ]

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