Amy + Raoul Details in the Fabric

Westfall still calls to her; she longs for the warmth and the sun and the sharp dried grass beneath her bare feet. The apple scent coming from the trees in the orchard had helped her pretend when her eyes were closed that maybe none of the bad things had happened and she’d awaken to her mama making breakfast and her grandpa already up and about. Deathwing had never came and they were still alive. But there were treasures amongst the ashes and if that were true she wouldn’t be wearing the ring on her finger or have given her heart to such a kind young man. If such losses hadn’t happened she couldn’t have what she does now. Amavia curls beneath his bedspread, the intricate pretty cover smooth against her bare legs. There’s a book in her satchel and a box of sweets for later, for when he has to go to class. She wishes now she hadn’t dropped her set schedule so she could throw herself into lessons and learning rather than trying to keep the painful thoughts at bay while he is away for the day. The sheets smell like him though and she nuzzles her cheek against them while she watches him dress and ready for class. Such a handsome man. Her handsome man. He’s promised to always be there and she believes him. They know where they’ve been and they know what they’ve been through; two broken winged birds trying to relearn how to fly together. “I love you, handsome. I hope class is fun today and challenging. When it’s too easy it’s boring.” She smiles and leans her elbow on the bed, propping her hand against the side of her head as she hides in the comfort of his bed in nothing more than her nightgown she brought from the Westbrook Orchard.

Raoul finishes fixing his tie. He walks over and kisses her forehead like the precious thing she is to him. There's a pile of mail on his desk, but he doesn't have time to go through it. He's so rushed, so frantic in his mind and it's start to show through the cracks just a little bit. His facade can't hold forever. "I love you apple blossom. I'll visit between each class, okay?"

"Okay! I'll be here. I'll uh, make myself useful. Straighten up, sort your mail, throw out your letters from admiring fans." Amavia winks playfully, teasing him. Though it could be a concern she knows he respects her and will be faithful. It's more amusing to think of a pile of perfume scented lovenotes from secret admirers going to flames in her hands. Light help her she would throttle their pretty necks. "I love you, sunshine. Try and take it as easy as you can."

Raoul laughs at the ludicrous notion before he grabs his coat and left. It isn't even slipped on all the way, just folded over his arms. He certainly doesn't expect there's anything in that mail for her to be jealous of. When he's gone, the only thing keeping her company is the enchanted broom, his stuff, and his mail. It's not even organized neatly on the desk, just haphazard papers thrown together where some housekeeping put them. They're mostly violet envelopes from the University, some billing information. There's medical documents, and one curious white envelope marked 'Urgent'.

Amavia is giggling too as he slips out the door. She’s not a jealous girl by nature but sometimes with how he oozes charm it does get under her skin when girls flirt back. But that’s something for another day. There’s enough annoyance in her head, enough agitation, from other things. Things more pressing than comely girls batting their lashes at him and Raoul batting his back. He is a good man, a faithful man and she trusts him. Covers slip from her legs and she moves to the desk. May as well straighten up as she said. Such mundane tasks can steal her focus and she does love to organize things. The desktop is first and she begins to align things in their proper stations. Stray inkpens would go into their holder or the drawer itself. Loose papers into drawers and everything righted. Mail is next. The university letters get their own pile and the medical documents distract her. She skims them while her fingertips drum on the ‘Urgent’ letter and she hums to herself. It’s that lullaby her mama used to sing and she doesn’t even realize it till she’s done learning from paper what her eyes have seen on his body. Later she can make notes or memorize every detail in ink that she doesn’t know in flesh. But on to the last letter! Would it be snooping to open it? It does say urgent but Raoul will be back soon. Classes aren’t that long. ‘Urgent’ isn’t a word you write on a letter that you want an answer too though nor is a something you label junkmail. What if someone is in trouble? What if he’s in trouble? Fingers are opening it before she can balk at her own actions and amber eyes dart over the words on the page. Lips form into a small shocked ‘o’ and she reads it twice more to make sure she isn’t hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s read something no one else can see.

"My name is Llewellyn C. Wheaton. Professor Lantirn, I believe you know him, has assured me that I am your father. I'd like to see you and talk to you. My wife and I would like to come to Dalaran and see you. I hope that's okay. You can send any missives to Stormwind if you wish, care of The Tidecutter, in Stormwind Harbor. I hope you are well. - L.W."

She stands there a moment and stares in shock. Mr. Wheaton is a fellow known to her, a nice man she holds fondly in her thoughts. To think she’s engaged to his son, to think of the things she -does- with his son make her blush. The letter is folded and put back in its envelope. Of course Mr. Wheaton works for Idle Hands. The whole of her world seems to revolve around those thugs. Amavia shakes her head and whispers the name outloud, “Raoul Wheaton”. At least he wouldn’t have to stop using any monogrammed hankies or such. Silver linings. Sighing she reaches for the medical documents to read them in earnest now. If she’s already snooped and learned his paternity before him, and such a shocking revelation it is, she may as well go all the way and read his medical files too. Easier to ask forgiveness...

There are three envelopes, though they all seem to be concerning the same thing. Really it seems they just couldn't contain the results in -just- one envelope. That's never a good sign. Half of the documents are mind boggling spreadsheets and charts with arcane graphs and urgent reminders to keep all the appointments for exams that he has missed lately. Some of the pages are easier to understand than others, especially the illustrated ones that have been animated with magic to show the growth of organs and how some are reacting strangely. The diagrams show what should and should not be, and frankly, there's a disturbing number of 'should not be's concerning his insides. Nevermind that he is missing a kidney and other organs have been subjected to rearrangement or experimented on- no, there actually seems to be DUPLICATES of some organs, and in the case of his liver, there's even a tiny, shriveled third one growing. Once all of the medical jargon is deciphered, it states rather plainly that his body doesn't have room for all the things that are trying to grow and that he'll need surgery at least in the next few months just to make sure nothing important ruptures.

Her expressions are every changing as she reads the documents; first confusion as to what they all say, with comprehension comes understanding and anger at -who- did this to him, and then annoyance that he would ignore this. He could -die-. How could he promise her always when he can’t take care of himself? Her hand trembles as she sets them on the bed and disappears in a quick flash. Back to her own apartment and into something she can wear to go out if the need arises. A plain white shirt and a black pair of pants and boots are thrown on, hair is tied back after it’s brushed, and she washes her face to erase any signs of the tears that have plagued her. Her jaw is set as she moves into the room she is still arranging as a study or an office and she tears off the next two months from her desk calendar. The spaces are large enough to fill in appointments and details for the dates and she barely remembers to snatch up the little tin of tacks before she teleports to the same spot she stood not long ago. She tacks the calendar up over his desk, anything in the way she relocates to other places. These appointments they want him to make are written in the squares of their corresponding dates and she circles two days that are open with his school schedule and writes “Surgery?” in both. That done, Amavia scowls and throws herself into organizing his room as it should be. Even the shoes if they are out of line in the closet are fixed. In her anger there is a fury she only takes out with this frenzied cleaning and she curses softly to herself the entire time. One day she is going to kill Valerie Starlet and burn her wretched body while watching with a smile.

It's at least three hours before Raoul comes back, and when he does he looks rundown. Enchantment is never a fun time to begin with for him, let alone when he's been working and burying the dead rather than studying. He's said more apologies to Professor Aurelis today than he ever intended to in his entire life. Because, for once, Raoul admits this is his fault. He didn't make his classes a priority. He slumps through the door once it's opened and leans on the frame dramatically. "Apple blossom?”

"My sunshine." She smiles and brushes her hair back behind her ears. Small strands have escaped the braid and she sits on his neatly made bed with her book in her lap. Everything is neat. So neat it almost looks like a model room to show prospective students. "I missed you. Come sit and we can talk." She isn't going to yell at him. She isn't going to raise her voice or shout. Half of the problems at hand aren't his fault and screaming won't do anything. Besides, he looks beat and her first instinct is to rush to him, to cover him in kisses and rub his sore shoulders that have carried such burdens for her lately.

"I would looooove that." He drags the word out dramatically and collapses on the bed beside her as soon as he's finished shuffling across the floor. Until he's lying on his back and his head cranes up, it doesn't look like he noticed how clean things are. But now, not he definitely sees, and he looks around suspiciously at first, then nervously, then he looks at her like she's crazy. "Are you alright?"

"I am fine! I just...your room needed a nice cleaning and I was here." She leans over to snuggle against him as she closes her book. The medical documents are under the pillows but they can snuggle a moment. They can have a few to themselves. “Are you sore? I know my lovely princess has been working hard. Roll onto your back and I’ll rub it and your shoulders.” Kisses work along his jaw and she plays with the end of his tie, wrapping it around her finger before letting go. “We can talk while I do that.”

"A clean room and now a massage? Light, I don't know if I'm in heaven or if you're getting ready to send me there." He drags his finger across his throat in a jest that she's just being so sweet to kill him. He unbuttons his shirt and slips it off before rolling over. White and silver pinstriped cloth falls away with a violet-grey tie on to the floor where it's discarded. He has at least three hours before his next class, so he's not worried about peeling off his clothes. "I love you, Amy." He whispers in a muffle against the nice Sin'dorei fashion blanket.

"I love you too, Raoul." She straddles his hips after he's on his stomach and leans down to kiss the nape of his neck. It's a sweet gesture and though this is something that could fast become sensual and sexual she has no designs for such. Fingers work over his back and shoulders and though they're delicate in appearance there is some strength to them. Enough to rub away the knots and soothe areas that feel tense and tight. "How was class?" She watches her hands move over his sides and pouts to think of the damage that lurks beneath his smooth skin. Someone pretended to love you once, sweetheart, but I'll make you feel truly so. I won't hurt you. It's a promise her hands make as she tries to please him.

"It was awful." Raoul exhales softly with a release of some of the tension and his bright eyes close. Amavia does things for him no one has ever cared to before. She is so special to him. "I wish Professor Aurelis would just get it over with and kill me. This slow death is the worst. I think sometimes he likes to watch me fail." There are scars up and down his skin that can't really be seen except for their raised texture. The coloring is even, but they're too easy to feel. He's been cut open and sliced up, and just under the skin she massages now are rogue organs swelling and leeching off his actual system. They're growing plump like fruit for the harvest or swine for the slaughter.

"Well why don't we work together on at least getting you to a place were he just watches you. Like a hungry predator that can't leap the fence." She smiles and kisses the back of his neck again. Lips brush down his spine in a loving kiss and then her hands are back to work. These things are going to have to be delicately approached. "Oh! I put a calendar up too for you. To better keep track of dates."

"Apple blossom, I don't know if I'll have -time- for dates." He awkward reaches back for her hand, grasping to pet any part of her in a reassuring caress. "We'll think of something though."

"Oh sunshine. We have several coming up. I copied them into my day planner so I can attend each and every one with you. The infirmary has a lot of appointments that are really vital for you to make and I want to be there for you for every one of them." She squeezes his hand back before trying to ease it onto the bed and keep working away the tension.

"Wait, what?

Her hands keep moving and she sighs. "The infirmary was very explicit in their requests. The potential for fatality due to what Valerie did to your organs is high. I don’t want to lose you Raoul...I cross-referenced your class schedule and the event calendar for any university or agency things we’d be required to attend and selected two potential dates for the surgery. I refuse to lose you when you’re all I have left. And when I love you so much.”

He pulls himself out from underneath her now, gently pushing her off his back if he has to. There's a great deal of suspicion and a little bit of irritation in his eyes now. Pride. "You did what? How- none of that's even your business, Amy. I'm just fine. Do I look like I have a potentially high fatality?" He gestures to himself, spouting babbles that he already knows he's going to regret. Of course it's her business, even if he's very hurt she somehow found out behind his back.

She settles on her knees and pulls out the medical documents from the pillows. One of those fingers that had moments ago been caressing him points to the magically animated diagrams. “You could die. It says so. The doctors aren’t lying and as they’ve been given no reason as to why you have three livers they’re likely salivating at examining you. I would appreciate you telling them the true reason but I understand, I think, why you don’t wish to. I hope you aren’t protecting her anymore, Light, I pray otherwise.” Her hand trembles on the papers and she frowns at the sheets. “It is my business. You are my business. How are we to get married and have children, I’d like five you know, if you die? This is really serious stuff, Raoul. Super serious. If you’re allowed to fret over cuts and such I sustain I’m allowed to freak out over this.”

Raoul tries to take the papers from her. Immature tug-o-war? Hell yes he'll do it if he has to. "It's not really any of their business either. If something feels wrong I'll do something about it, but right now everything's fine. I can do my job and complete my classes, so there's no need to panic. And why would you think I'm protecting Val? I let them drag her off to the Hold. I really don't think that's 'protecting' her." Tug.

The papers are let go after the first few tugs and Amavia sighs. “Please Raoul. They are medical professionals. If you don’t love yourself enough to get it taken care of please do it because you love me? This is serious. Really really serious and we can’t -pretend- otherwise. This isn’t something that can be pushed away and forgotten about. I know you don’t like doctors, Light does anyone?, but this needs to happen. Please, sweetheart? You said always. Don’t break your promise.” Lower lip quivers and she wipes her hand across the back of her eyes. “Please don’t be a jerk. Just because it doesn’t -feel- icky and hurting doesn’t mean there isn’t something amiss. I felt fine but you still made me go get looked at. Why do I have to listen to you but you won’t respect my worries enough to listen to me? Don’t you want to live a nice, healthy long life with me? Please don’t neglect this out of pride. I don’t want to be alone.”

Raoul's shoulders slump and he sits back. In his hands, the stolen papers feel like a hollow victory. "You were having terrible nightmares! You were losing it. I'm- I'm not losing it." His pride struggles to make a last stand, a bastion against all assaults of reasons. But the implication of tears unravels him immediately, in a way her tears have never seem to have affected anyone else. For some reason, they always work with him. His head bows and he furrows his brow as he stares disapprovingly at some stitching on the blanket.

"Yep. And I even slotted study time to make sure you get enough. I marked time we could work together on our weaker subjects. I want to help you be the best at everything. Because you are in my mind." Her words are still quiet and though she's not sniffling she could burst into tears any moment. Her nerves feel raw and worn, at the surface and so easy to hurt right now. Thick skin will grow back, and soon she hopes, but the wounds are all still raw. "Thank you, Raoul. I love you so much. Always." Her hand shyly reaches out and tries to rest on his thigh.

As soon as her hand touches the fabric of his pants, he drops the papers and launched towards her with a desperate, squeezing hug. "I love you too, Amavia." His voice sounds wobbly on its own. It's been a hard year on everyone.

And it's sadly about to get harder. Her arms wrap around him and she kisses his cheek softly. Can she tell him while she's in the sanctuary of his arms that his father is the friendly one-eyed man that she gave a whole pie to at the faire? That funny man that seemed to hover near their booth in concern. "You got another important letter but I think this was really good news. I think it's super shocking but super good."

"I don't care about it right now, Amy-" He sounds like he's going to say something more, but his jaw tightens and he shuts his eyes tightly while his face buries into her hair. He holds her like his life depends on it. Perhaps not quite as dramatic, in truth, it's just his resolve that depends on this embrace. Keeping secrets is hard. Having secrets spilled anyway is harder. The hardest thing of all is that he can't bring himself to confess to her what he's been through and what he's afraid of. He's not strong enough to risk looking weak.

"It's okay, lover. It's okay. We have each other. I'm not going anywhere ever." She snuggles in and tries to move him so she can hold him, so his head can pillow on her breasts. "It's from your daddy. I know him and he seems like a nice man."

"What?" Raoul falls to pieces in her arms, like he's been threatening to do since he hugged her. "What are you talking about?" He clings to her, fingers clawing into her clothes and shoulders trembling. They don't heave with sobs, he's not quite that far gone, but this is all a little much for one week.

"You remember Mr. Wheaton?" Fingers stroke his hair and she winds as close as she can to him. Her own heart is worn ragged and she wants to curl beneath the blankets and not get out for at least a week. Just lay there and snuggle while the world moves on around them. "I know, sweetheart, it's crazy and all but it could be a good thing in the end. I love you so much. So very much. If you don't want to meet up like he asked I'll write him and tell him to piss off."

How? How do you know this? I don't even know him."

"He wrote you. The letter was marked urgent and I didn't know if someone was dying or in dire need of aid. He said some Professor Lantern or Lantirn I dunno, treated you and told him. I can do our own test to make sure. He and his wife work for Idle Hands too so it kind of worries me." She wets her lips and then kisses his temple again, pulling him as close as she can. "I don't mean to imply he's a bad man. I just don't believe in chance."

Raoul pulls himself away from her. He's not going to cry over this silliness. There's too many questions, too much disbelief. He gathers himself off the bed and snatches up his shirt from the floor. The sleeves are pulled on but he doesn't bother buttoning it. Every movement is with purpose and aggression. This is unbelievable. "What letter?" He growls, mostly to himself, as he completely undoes her neat organization in blind searching for the letter until he finds it.

Amavia cringes like he's showing her the same unkind treatment as his desk. At least the calendar is tacked up and spared his wrath. At least. "It's the plain looking one from Professor Lantern and Idle Hands. I had put it on the corner of your desk."

Raoul glares at the results first, as if he could possibly decipher them let alone disprove them. Then he reads the letter and shouts loudly, "I HOPE YOU'RE WELL?!" as he clutches the letter.

Amavia wets her lips and slips off the bed. Unsteady hands rest on his hips and she hugs him from behind. "Yea that was a stupid line."

He crumples it up in his fists, clasping one hand over the other as if he could crush it into literally nothing. His knuckles go white but eventually the outrage subsides. It's mostly Amavia's embrace that brings him back down, that reminds him of possibilities. This could be good. It could be as bad as he thinks it is, but it could be a good thing too. He doesn't know how he became an orphan. This could be everything he's ever dreamed of. It's enough to dare to hope. But knowing Llew Wheaton is with the company that killed Svafa Hawkins is enough to fear, too. This could be a trap to get to Amy, as if they need him for that. It's a lot of things. In the end, boyish hope wins out over adult cynicism and Raoul smooths out the letter he had crumpled. Dad.

Hearing the paper smooth out gives Amavia a spark of hope. Though she’s thought the same things and had worries in her hours of cleaning she isn’t going to rain on his parade. She isn’t going to bring him down because she’s afraid. Mr. Wheaton was a nice man to her before the problems with her mama. Mr. Wheaton is a nice man. Her thin arms squeeze him a little tighter and she kisses the back of his neck through the collar of his shirt. “He seems real nice. I worked at his wedding. Real sweet and real playful. Like a certain young man I love. I hope that it’s true. I hope the two of you get on real well. And if he is an ass I will kick him so hard in the groin he won’t ever be able to have another. Because lover you’re irreplaceable.” Amavia grins and that flare of envy - Light, if only her daddy was alive - is buried under hope and prayers for her beloved.

"I'm sorry for 'being a jerk' earlier, apple blossom." Raoul bows his chin to his chest and closes his eyes. This is a profound moment that he isn't sure how to deal with. How is he going to get through class now?

"You were just scared. It's okay to tell me when you're scared. I'll always be here for you, happy days and bad days. I love you." Her hands move to rub his shoulders again and she presses kisses to his back, over his heart.

I was not scared." Raoul forces a smile as he relishes in her affections. "I was just... just being a jerk." Rather a jerk than a coward, always!

"Scared. And that's okay. You're allowed to be scared with your apple blossom. She loves you always." Amavia tries to coax him back to his bed, to lie down and let the news wash over him. It's been a trying year, an intense week, and a really bad day. But she isn't one for dwelling on the grim and dark things. To make him really smile or laugh is her challenge before his next class.

He lets her guide him away, but he doesn't let go of the letter. And why should he? It's the only news of his birth family, even a possible one, that he's -ever- received. His eyes are rimmed with tears that just aren't going to fall.

Amavia wipes her fingers beneath his pretty blue eyes and smiles. A kiss meets his cheek and she snuggles him fiercely. "What are you going to write back? Do you want me to come with you? I know it's pretty personal but I'd like to be there - for you."

"I want you to be there too, just in case..." He catches his breath and lays the letter down on his bare chest over his heart. "Just in case things go bad." He exhales finally. "I don't know what I'll say. What should I say?"

"I hope they go awesome. How can he not love you? You're amazing." She rests her chin on his shoulder and looks up at him, smiling. "I'd start with a "Hello" and a good place for them to meet us. We could have dinner at my apartment if you'd like. Or somewhere public like the Ledgermain in case they're secretly weirdos." A giggle leaves her and she lofts a brow. They could be weirdos, what do either of them really know about the Wheatons? She's exchanged letters with the man but they weren't really personal.

"The Legerdemains kind of fancy... I- they didn't really look like fancy people. So his wife's my mom? Or no... you served at their wedding... but I guess they could've been together a long time before they got married... no, he probably would've just said she was my mom if she was, unless she didn't want anything to do with me and he does. I don't know, he didn't say. They didn't say." Raoul swallows and closes his eyes again.

"They said something about years keeping them apart. I'd put her at pushing thirty and he's got to be at leeeeast mid fourties. Real, ah, earthy people. Her wedding dress...man, Raoul. I hope she wears more clothes to this." Amavia giggles and runs a hand through his hair. She's trying to keep the mood light. "He's old so maybe, if she isn't your mama, he was with her before." It's a quiet encouragement and she hugs to his side again. "Maybe in the Beer Garden?"

"The Beer Garden sounds nice... a bit empty these days. Probably don't want people around anyway. What if he doesn't like me? He doesn't sound like he really likes me."

"Maybe he didn't know what to write, sweetheart. If they had these tests done it sounds like he was unaware he was a proud daddy. I bet it would be real strange to find out one day you have a seventeen year old son. He's probably worried you're going to be pissed and fry his ass. I'd probably fry him. You have a lot more patience than me." She smiles and kisses his cheek in a loving way as her hand strokes his side softly.

Raoul opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. "Do you think... Do you think he would've been there if he knew?" It's not exactly something he's sure he'll ever ask Llew himself. Even now, the words barely come out of his mouth.

"Yes. I would bet more money than I have that he would. Mr. Wheaton seems like a real good man. Really kind-hearted. We exchanged some letters like a month back and he's really nice. He doesn't seem like the kind of man that would shirk fatherly duties." Though she barely knows the man she can't help but think these things. He doesn't seem like a bad man or a selfish man. He was real sweet in his letters to her. Worried and concerned when she didn't seem happy. It's hard to imagine a man like that, treating a girl he barely knew, would knowingly ignore his own flesh and blood.

"I don't want to call him Mr. Wheaton in the letter." Raoul curls his fingers in to his palms, then swallows and goes back to patting the letter.

"Call him Llew. He told me to call him that but I can't call your daddy something so informal. But as he's your father, I think Llew works. Light lover, call him father or dad or daddy if you want. If he didn't want to be your father now he wouldn't write you. I bet he's really excited!" Amavia beamed and rested her hand atop his on the letter, kissing his cheek. "I'm super excited for you! I bet everything will go wonderful!"

"You don't think calling him Dad would be too bold? He might just means he wants something or that he wants me to know that he knows. I don't know." His uncertainty is almost palpable.

"Aw, sunshine, I don't think he'd write you if he didn't want to be your daddy." It's a quiet response and she tries to lace her fingers with his over the wrinkled parchment. "Mr. Wheaton doesn't seem like that kind of guy. I bet he'd smile so wide we'd hear his jaw crack from here to get a 'Dear Dad' letter."

"Think so?" He doesn't sound convinced.

"I bet so. Honest, my love. Honest." She nuzzles her nose against the tip of his and smiles even wider, trying to encourage him.

(( And then Raoul and Amy cuddled and he wrote Llew back. ))

Amy + Raoul Can't Go Home

The summer air in the kitchen was thick with the Westfall heat. Strands of auburn hair escape her braid and clung to the side of Amavia’s neck and temple as she ran the wet rag over her mother’s face and collarbone. Svafa had been changed out of her work attire, the dirty clothing she’d died in had been burned, and the red sundress looked much more comfort. But the dead did not care for such things; this outfit was for the peace of the living. The idea of her mother being buried in those same clothes she’d died in hadn’t sat well with the girl nor did the idea of her hair messed or her skin dirtied. She wipes droplets of water from her mother’s clavicle, pausing as her hand brushes Svafa’s cold cheek. Shoulders twitch and her own sundress, light blue and bright against the tan of her skin, felt stiffling. The very walls with their sweet photographs of cherished memories were threatening to topple in and Amavia’s hands tremble as she braids the red ribbon in her mother’s clean hair she’d brushed earlier. Svafa Hawkins doesn’t look like a dead woman on the kitchen table anymore. She looks a woman resting, her hands are folded on her stomach and hold a light blue handkerchief against the cheerful red fabric with its tiny white embroidered flowers. “Mama...” Words, so easy to speak for the girl, are hard to form and instead of trying to stutter out anything she leans to kiss her mother’s cheek. Svafa Hawkins looks pretty. Like a simple Westfall farmer. She looks like the woman Amavia wishes she had been rather than the Defias loyalist who had died for their cause. Done with the preparations, Amavia sits next to her mother’s body and takes a deep, shaky breath. Anger isn’t going to do her any good. Vengeance wouldn’t bring Svafa back. She isn’t going to become Jeffrey with this loss. It has to be accepted, it has to be understood, she has to move on. Lips are wetted once more with her tongue, chapped from how often she’s been doing it in agitation. She just wants to get this over with.

Outside, Raoul and Pidge are digging. They're both drenched in sweat from the unforgiving heat of the sun, but the workers have their own jobs to do on the orchard and for some reason, Raoul feels obligated. Pidge obviously feels obligated too, but he's broken down and cried a few times to himself. He isn't a hero, though he valiantly tried to be. Not even for a woman that loved him back. It's about as far from a fairytale as it can get. Raoul wipes his brow with his sleeve.

Amavia bites her lip, trying not to cry despite the heat of the tears in her eyes and the stinging in her chest. The air is hard to breathe in here, thick as molasses. Thick as the blood that had drown her mother to her death. Sandal clad feet are running and the simple wooden chair clatters to the floor as she escapes the kitchen and the house. One hand presses firmly to the wall of the house as she stands on the porch and takes deep breaths through her nose and mouth. There had been little physical toil and dressing her mama but she acts now as winded as the two men digging the grave. Amber eyes are molten gold in the bright midday sun and she shades her eyes with her freehand to look at Raoul and Pidge. Her White Knight, always doing his best to protect her. Digging her mama’s grave despite what they both know she did. The wrongs committed against them both. A lesser man would have left Svafa Hawkins to rot in a shallow grave or on the table she was dumped upon. But Raoul wasn’t a lesser man. A smile finds it way to her lips and she rights her posture, swallowing the lump in her throat as she does. “Ya’ll about done, sunshine?” It’s a holler and she tries to color it as kindly as she can. There is no implication that they are lazy or slow, just a girl asking a question.

Pidge has taken to sitting on the edge of the grave, wiping his eyes with a dirty arm. The sun is in Raoul's eyes so he narrows them to get a good look at Amavia. He doesn't say how his back aches or that he's sore because physical work really isn't something he's used to. But he's fit and strong, so he keeps it to himself. "We're done. The carpenter should be about done with the casket. Are we holding out for Hackett?" He only asks because they both know there's a chance the Defias killed him. Hackett is taking a risk to tell the others, and this is no fairytale. The repetition of that thought crushes him and he looks at the ground instead of at her.

"I'd like to, yea. But if he ain't here shortly after the casket we should probably get started. But we can wait a spell." Her straw sandals brush against the steps as she moves down them, heading towards the grave. "Thank you for doing this." Though she doesn't specifically name Raoul her eyes are on him and she even chances a smile. Weak as it is, it’s better than the teary looks she’s almost worn nonstop since her mother’s death was made known to them. “Ya need any help with anything? Want a glass of lemonade?” It would take her back in the kitchen but to ease him just a little it would be worth it.

"Yes, please." Raoul climbs out of the grave, wanting a shower more than anything. He knows he'll have to bathe before the ceremony and Light, he cannot wait for it. In a way, he looks like he belongs out here. The dirt and the sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his body don't make him look like a transient so much as a farmer, but in his eyes it's clear to see he doesn't want this life. Manual labor is not his destiny.

"Come on inside then, both of ya. Or wait on the porch." She tries to slip her hand into Raoul's, desperate for some sort of contact, some sort of comfort. He looks like a boy she imagined being stuck marrying one day. A farmhand or a laborer. Does he feel stuck now? Does she look like the kind of girl he assumed he'd one day get saddled with? These aren't thoughts anymore comforting than those she had in the house and that slight smile is gone in a flash.

He is hesitant to wrap his arms around her because of the filth, and it shows. But it's not out of want to not be with her. "Help me wash up, love? I think Pidge can handle himself." Raoul glances over his shoulder to Pidge, who's still sitting on the edge of the grave as if he didn't even know Amavia was talking. The young transient mutters something to himself about a music box, but Raoul only cringes and heads inside.

Amavia blinks and her keen mind files that away for later. There is no such thing as coincidence and she’s learned that lesson well. “I’ll try not to get you dirty again.” The playful remark has little spice to it and she instead meekly returns to the house. Screen door is held open for Raoul and she ushers him to the washroom once he’s inside. To help him wipe away dirt and grime - much the way she washed her mother’s dead, lifeless face so shortly ago - will be easy. Touching him is always welcome. It’s addictive and soothing and comforting and everything she ever longed for in a partner. Her true love.

Raoul peels his shirt off as soon as they're away from prying eyes. He can't help himself when they're alone like this and he pulls her close. It's not exactly excitement, Light help a man that can only think of sex during a funeral, but he wants to be close to her again. He wants to hold her and let her know he meant everything from yesterday, that it wasn't a knee-jerk reaction to her outburst of emotion. "I love you, apple blossom." Kisses go to her hair and dirt-caked fingers dig into her sundress without shame.

Needy hands cling to him just as tightly, arms wrapping around him to press herself close. Clothing can be changed, dirt cleaned off, but these exchanges are precious."I love you too, sweetheart. I love you so much." In the sanctuary of his arms she's free to be herself without fear and she nuzzles her face to his shoulder. "I need you so much. Thank you so much for being here." Kisses are pressed to the sweat dampened skin there. Sex is on the edge of her mind but she can't bear to pull her little dress up her thighs and welcome him to such right now. She's drained emotionally and the only anchor is here in his arms.

"I'll always be here." He tugs at her dress to pull it up, but not in a lustful way. It's careful and tender. "Let's get cleaned up, okay? Hackett might get back any minute now." Or never. He might never come back. Either way, the young couple has a figurehead to lay to rest.

She slips out of her little dress, the ruffled hem tickling against her flat stomach as she peels it up over her head. "I hope Hackett didn't die. He had a really nice cat he used to bring by - King Mouser was his name and he had a mushy uglycute face - and I think he was a little in love with my mama." Amavia swallows that lump that keeps returning to her throat. Every Westfall man was a little in love with Svafa Hawkins. "I really like cats. I always wanted one but we didn't really have enough of anything for us, just barely. So no kitties." She's rambling, trying to fill the silence to keep her mind off that burial.

Raoul runs his nearly blackened hands down the sides of her body, rubbing her hips in a soothing way. "I'm sorry, Amy. I'm sure he's okay. I think he knows the Defias a little better than we do." He smells like the earth and dust. Natural.

She busies herself with the buckle of his pants and nods. "If he's alive I'm going to try and get him to work for me too. He can work in Dalaran. I'd hate for the Defias to kill him if he stayed here. I just want people to stop dying." That filter is gone, held in place so firmly by her fears and hang ups it's lost in the wash of grief. "I will always be here too, Raoul. I love you so much."

"We'll have to leave behind some defenses at the Orchard, so that the Defias don't try and claim it." His eyes wander her, lingering over her heart. "I'll talk to Master Twizzlewand. Maybe I can do something to buy the golems off him. Something we can post around the perimeters for when we're not here." His mind is reeling. He doesn't know how long he can maintain the stress of actually operating the orchard. That was a conversation he hadn't had with Svafa yet. A conversation he'll never have now.

"Harvest reapers are cheaper. Lots of farmers used to use them but there aren't a lot of farms left. I bet we could get them dirt cheap just so they get them off property. Some of them might need to be tuned up though. I don't really understand how they work." Amavia reaches for a clean washcloth and a bar of soap before trying to herd him into the shower. "I want you wet and naked now, please." There's a little bit of playfulness to her tone and she winks as she fusses with the activation of the shower. "I could ward the perimeter. Just alarms and nothing too heavy as I'm not overly experienced with that. But I can try." As the water hits her flesh she sighs and eyes lid shut. The cloth is dragged over her breasts, leaving a wake of soap bubbles in its passing.

"I can fix up the harvesters. I've never seen one in person but I've read a lot of articles on how they work. It's pretty fascinating what can happen when you overload them. I bet if we work together, we could make some pretty effective wards, too. We could work from the runestone format. I studied that and I think I know it pretty well." He shivers as he steps in with her. Streaks of dirt immediately start running down his body and he rubs his arms to help the process. Drenched bangs fall in his eyes but he doesn't seem to notice.

Her eyes open, bright and excited with the distraction of magical talk. Magic is one of the few things that can interest her no matter what else is going on. "That's..." She trails off, that lump in her throat not stealing her words but rather this sight of his plastered bangs and dripping wet body. "That's a great idea, lover." She takes a step back and crooks a finger, beckoning him to follow her as her back presses against the tiled wall.

Follow her he does, like an obedient manservant. He braces one hand on the wall just off to the side of her head and leans down to kiss her. This is more exciting than he'd like to admit to himself. /I have another idea./ Raoul wants to say, but he swallows it. Now's not the time.

Lips work against his as her hands soap his chest. Fingertips run through the lather and she brushes them along an area far more sensitive than his chest and stomach. Amavia says nothing but as she breaks away from his kiss the look she gives him is full of enough want to cover any pleading she may have made. Tongue trails up his neck to his ear in a primal way as the girl nibbles the lobe and practically purrs against his skin.

A breath escapes him and he pushes up against her. "I'm sorry, Amy. I'll stop." But he doesn't stop. For one reason or another, his hands go to her shoulders before running down her back. He feels the ridges of her spine like they're diamonds just beneath the skin. To him, they're far more precious.

"Don't. Don't ever stop. I always want you." She smiles and the little bar of soap and washcloth drop to the floor of the shower. Hands wander his body, teasing him as she had yesterday morning. Her love. Her true love. Beneath his hands she longs to never leave her, she shivers. This is where she’s meant to be. With him. Her hands move to brush his bangs out of his face and she stands on tiptoe to nibble his lower lip before claiming his mouth in a kiss.

Raoul dips even lower as they kiss. His hands tightly squeeze her hips before hooking around her thighs. She's so light to him and even with the strain on his muscles, he barely cares. She's drawn up the wall until she can hook her legs around his waist. He loves carrying her like this, holding her. Protecting her. He wishes he could protect her from the pain right now. "I want you too. So bad." His body pins her to the wall so neither of them slip with the running water.

“Then fulfill-,” Amavia giggles as she presses herself against him, “our wants, lover.” Here with her arms wrapped around his shoulders and legs around his hips, his body supporting hers she feels so safe. Nothing exists but the comfort of his arms and he is protecting her now. From her own thoughts, from what will come later. He truly is her white knight and she wishes in this moment to be a princess worthy of his rescuing. “I love you. Make love to me, Raoul?”

"Ah' course, ma'am." He smirks, the first optimistic thing he's done all day.
/e stallion
((Oh bby. ))

Breath is a little unsteady and Amavia feels wobbly on her feet as she towels off the water on her skin. But Light, it was worth it. She could practically still see stars from their lovemaking and she giggles as she wraps the fluffy white towel around herself. Long lashes bat at Raoul and she leans over to steal another kiss. Lips are almost numb from the press of his during their passionate exchange but that doesn’t stop her. It’s easy to forget in the moment why they’re still here rather than at home in Dalaran and leaving the bathroom to get dressed will remind her why again. Seeing her mother’s body isn’t something she wants. Seeing more of his certainly is.

Raoul smiles and gives her a firm pat in a rather inappropriate place as soon as her towel is fixed. "I love you." He reminds her before he slips his own towel off the hook and dries himself. She's perfect for him and some days he can't even believe that. But here in the washroom it's a haven, a fantasy really, and it's time to wake up again. It's time to be somber and go back out into the real world. His smile falls behind the towel as he dries his face.

A gasp leaves her as he pats her and she winks. "I love you too. Despite how amazing you are I can't say I love a part more than the rest." Giggling, Amavia scoops up her discarded dress and sandals. "I'll be in the bedroom getting some clean clothes on." Smiles are gone as she leaves the sanctuary that gave them peace for a few stolen minutes (and what a blood pumping peace it was) and pointedly looks anywhere but at her mother’s body in those few seconds she can see it on the way to the bedroom. Another sundress, how she favors the things when she is home, is removed from one of the many chest of drawers in here. Light yellow with apple blossoms patterned on it, it feels right for the day.

Raoul follows after, resisting the urge to whistle after his passionate conquest. Thankfully, the quiet state of the ranch house is enough to sober his pride. The towel is wrapped around his waist as he walks in the room behind her. There's a blush in his cheeks as he brushes the bangs out of his eyes, as if he's suddenly embarrassed that he 'took advantage' of her. His only comfort is knowing she clearly enjoyed it as much as he did.

Still shameless, the towel drops to a puddle at her ankles as she pulls the dress over her head. With the way the top is sewn and how tight the fabric is she doesn't require anything up top and she finds a suitable pair of panties in another drawer. Auburn hair is mussed and she finger combs it, already the ends are dry from the heat of Westfall. Raoul must hate it here. Everyone that wasn't born here hates it. The girl plops onto the bed, bare feet kicked up as she lays on her stomach and watches him dress with a hungry eye. "Light, you're sexy. Did you know that? I could spend all day doing what we did. Maybe a vacation day sometime soon?" Hope colors her words as she checks him out without a lick of embarrassment in her features.

"You look like you could use a vacation, lover." He tries to smile as he opens a drawer and pulls out the clothes he'll need. Boxers, pants, and a shirt. It's not as flashy as he clearly wishes to dress, but it's what's appropriate. "Was there anything your mother liked, Amy? We can make it for dinner maybe."

Amavia smiles and blows a few kisses her fiance's way, that fancy ring sparkling on her thin finger. Delicate wrists, a caster's hands. The silver links of her charm bracelet rattle as she does so and quiet her a moment, prodding her into thought. "Westfall Stew. Have you ever had it?"

"No, but I will make it if you want, lover." He's very giving. Very.

"Can I help? I'm not the best cook but it's fun. Some recipes call for murloc eyes," Amavia pulls a face, wrinkling her nose as she swings her legs still, "but we'll just go with boar meat and okra." That lump is working in her throat again and she sits up slowly, wetting her lips. "Do you...do you think the fellow brought the casket round yet?"

"Probably. We were busy for... a long time." Raoul blushes again as he adjusts the buckle on his belt and slips his arms through the sleeves of his white shirt. He turns to her as he's starting to button up from the bottom. "It's going to be okay, my love."

"I think so. I have you. As long as I have you it will be okay.” She tried not to think of another young man who had called her his love. To not think of him or his funeral she had elected not to go to. Very few in attendance would have known her as more than his downfall. Tears were building again; how many people could she lose? Was Raoul going to leave her as soon as he could? Her lower lip quivers and she sits on the edge of the bed now, hands folded in her lap. “I like being...busy. I treasure every time.” For when you leave me too. At least those memories will stay.

He walks over with a soft smile. To be at eye level with her, he crouches down and kisses her deeply. "I like being busy too, apple blossom. I think we're going to be 'busy' for a long, long time."

Fingers wind in his hair and she kisses him back, reluctant to stop once he pulls back. Promises are something they swore not to make but she's not quite herself these past two days. "Forever?" Her hands cup his cheek as her eyes, such a pretty color everyone tells her, meet his.

"Well, I can go for a long time, but forever... Well, I'm willing to try." He kisses her quickly again, before trying to roll her over and climb on the bed atop her.

Amavia giggles, always willing to move how he desires and clings to him once he's over her. "You mean the world to me, Raoul. I know we said no promises but you're all I want. You don't have to want me too but please don't leave me?" Her look is serious as she cups his cheek and wraps her legs in a tangle with his. She's feeling so lost and broken and he's the only thing that she knows can be constant. Can be true.

"Shut up, Amy." He says it with a soft smile and kisses her lips in a gentle brush afterwards. "You're talking crazy and just need to be quiet. You know I want you too. I'm not going anywhere." If he wasn't spent, he probably would ravage her right there. But he just wants to comfort her now.

After the kiss she sticks out her tongue as she lightly tugs on the ends of his hair. Lips move in words but no sound came out and after she smiled. Stay quiet he said. Shut up he said. Certainly. ‘Make me’ had been what she mouths at him.

He kisses her again deeply, trying to catch her tongue with his own. He loves the taste of it and never misses an opportunity for them to entwine. But things must go on. With reluctance, he gathers himself up on his knees over her and continues buttoning his shirt while she's trapped beneath him.

With the absence of his lips and the way their tongues dance together for just a moment, she whines. Still though she refuses to speak as she rubs her hands up and down his thighs. Playful is her expression and she fusses till she's in just the right position to give him a peek down her dress. The cut and style do her assets well and she smiles up at him now.

"You are a devil woman, you know that?" He laughs and scrambles away from her. The last thing he needs is to be half pitching a tent at her mother's burial. Clear off the bed and halfway across the room, maybe now he can dare to feel safe from her seductions.

Amavia giggles and rolls onto her side, eyeing him. "You're a devil man. Will you go stargazing with me tonight in the orchard? We can reverse that position." She sits on the edge of the bed, reaching for her hairbrush and lightly dragging it through her hair. It’s much longer now than when she’d fled Westfall and the little wave to it as she lets the heat dry it pleases her.

"Sure. There's a nice little spot where the trees kind of slope down with the hill. I was thinking of putting a swing there... but I like your idea better." He winks before reaching for a tie on the dresser. Light, he's handsome.

"A swing would be nice too. But tonight I only want to sit in your lap." The wooden handled brush is set down on the nightstand once more, clinking against the top lightly. Amavia grins, biting her lower lip and eyeing him again. "One day I'm going to use your tie to lash you to the headboard. Be warned." Standing, she slips her small feet into her sandals and blows him a kiss. She isn't formal looking and not a spot of black is on her. It seems out of place now and she frowns. There's a hat that she brought here and a black dress in the closet. That hat and its matching veil were one of her mother’s last gifts to her. Today is the best day for both. Swiftly she moves around him and slips out of the clothing she just put on minutes ago and dresses in the more proper funeral attire.

He turns away from her as he clears his throat, feeling a dull phantom pain in his side. But he struggles to salvage their sexy conversation. This happiness she desperately wants. But she also wants honesty, and in the moments he's deciding what to say, he just says nothing. When he finally speaks, she's already changed but he barely realizes it. "Amy, I'm not sure if that'd really be as sexy as you think. It's not- well, I can just think of better things we'll both like." He grins and picks up his voice at the end in a chipper way, but it falls again when he sees her new attire and remembers once more what they're doing. "Come on, let's see if everyone's ready."

"You can pin me down instead. It's on my "To Do Raoul" list." Amavia winks as she pulls the veil down and steps into the shoes that are so much more formal than her little straw sandals. The black dress is light and airy in material but the color and cut is very much for a funeral. She'd bought it not for her mother's but for Jeffrey's before she decided not to go. It matches the hat well and the veil. Something she never desired to wear. "Let's see." She tries to slip her hand into his as they leave the peace of their bedroom to face what they've both desperately been trying to avoid.

"I love you, Amavia." He squeezes her hand, really wanting to carry her again. But she's not the delicate flower in his fantasies. She's a woman that needs to bury her mother, and she needs to do it with dignity.

"I love you too, Raoul. Thank you for being my White Knight always." She isn't a princess or a delicate flower but she needs him still and as they leave the bedroom her steps are small, slow and sluggish. If she wouldn't scuff the floor she'd be dragging her feet. Finally the door is reached and she pauses, fingers on it. "I appreciate you being here. Light, I love you so much."

Raoul sighs, trying to open the door for her. "Apple blossom, there's no way in fel I wouldn't be here for you right now. We'll get through this and in the end, your mom and dad will be at rest right next to each other. She can finally be by him and you and the Brotherhood doesn't need her anymore. I think she'd like that." He rubs her shoulder, then brushes her cheek, just to catch some tears if they fall.

Fall they do. Just a few that catch along his fingers and are wiped away gently. Gone before they can even leave tracks on her cheeks. “I think she’d like that too.” Amavia pauses in the doorway and lifts the veil to kiss his cheek. Under a different circumstance, years from now, he will lift another veil and kiss her for the first time as man and wife. But Svafa Hawkins won’t be there to see that. A day so many mothers dream of for their daughters but Svafa Hawkins dreams were for the Brotherhood. Amavia swallows that lump that plagues her in her throat and steps onto the porch. This is her home, always. And now her mother will always be here when she returns to it.

Pidge has already said his goodbyes, or at least he's almost done with them. Beside the freshly dug grave, a long table has been set out and a dark wood casket is set there. His hand is resting inside the casket, no doubt caressing Svafa Hawkins in the last moment he'll ever get with her. Even then, it's not a private moment. There's a band of men and women here. Some on horses, but most on foot. It is a true gathering of friends, perhaps more than anyone would expect for a bandit's funeral. But to the Brotherhood, Svafa Hawkins was more than a tactical leader and cutthroat. She was a mother and sister, occasionally a lover. They knew her as Amavia did, so is it any true wonder that they have come to mourn her passing? On one of the horses, Hackett is still sitting, his hat held to his heart and his eyes closed in respect behind thin, mangled spectacles. Raoul feels more than a twinge of fear, to see at least twenty or thirty outcasts here. There is little question that most, if not all, of them are Defias, and he squeezes Amavia's hand tightly. But this is no raid. It is a funeral and they seem to understand that. They don't have special attire as Amavia does, but it's not for lack of caring. In relative silence, they stand in reflection.

Amavia squeezes back, giving Raoul a reassuring smile. These people aren't going to do anything unlawful today. Tomorrow they might be at odds but in wake of Svafa Hawkins' death any grudges could be put aside. Knowing they were playing nice with Hackett too soothes her and as she steps down the porch and onto the grass a little confidence builds. "Hiya folks." A nod is given and she approaches the coffin. That summer sundress lying in a pile by her closet calls for her. This formal attire is out of place, out of sorts. Not anything she would willing or want to wear. A steady hand pats Pidge's back and she tries to politely guide him away in case anyone else wishes to pay respects in such a manner.

Pidge is reluctant to let go of, but he doesn't put up a fight. He steps back and no one else moves forward. Already bowed heads are dipped even further in nods as Amavia passes, but no one really says anything. They're quiet and waiting for someone to say something official.

That steady hand trembles slightly now and she folds it with her other in front of her. There is no priest here, no one steeped in the Light like her mother deserves. These are simple people at the heart of it and these were her people in a way. Faces of the gathered were mildly familiar; these people had came and went but as a child she hadn't any idea what they all did. It's strange that her heart doesn't sting now and her zealotry for the Law doesn't rise up clamoring for Justice. "Thank you all for coming. I know my mama would appreciate it. I appreciate it." Her head dips now and she tries to meet all of their eyes in turn.

Raoul is the only who really looks her in the eye, and he nods shortly to give her strength. There are faint murmurs of acknowledgement, but understandably they remain respectfully quiet.

Hardly a public speaker, Amavia is nervous. Fingertips dig into the opposite hands and she takes a slow and steady breath. "I don't know what I can say about my mama that you all don't know. She was a Westfall woman to the core. A mother, a friend, a Sister." Amber eyes flicker to the men and women here and she nods. "She was dedicated to the end to a Cause that a lot of folks can't see the purpose of. Her faith in her purpose and her Brothers and Sisters never faltered. Tenacious and loyal, Svafa Hawkins was a loving woman. She always had a kind word to give or a helping hand to offer. I didn't always listen to her and I regret not taking her advice sometimes. I knew better, I knew everything. But I never knew how much this would hurt." Voice wavers and Amavia smooths her skirts, the veil of her hat dips. "There's nothing you can do or say to yourself to prepare for this. No matter how much I've told myself one day my mother would die for the Brotherhood I didn't think it would be so soon. But this is a death she wouldn't frown at. She died working for a cause she believed in and I can respect that." The veil dips again and Amavia turns to look at the woman in the coffin. "I love you, mama. I'll miss you, I think we'll all miss you and your pretty smile, but I hope you find joy and peace in the Light. May it guide you to a happiness you didn't have completely in life."

The dead can't really hear, and Svafa doesn't stir at these emotional words. A few of the Defias do though and there are scattered sounds of weeping, prayers, confessions. Raoul squeezes Amavia's hand one last time before he lets go as Hackett dismounts from the horse. A nameless woman comes forward out of the crowd and the three of them seal the lid on the casket. Hackett nails it shut with the same arm that has pounded red-hot slivers of metal under fingernails and broken countless spirits. Now, he lays one to rest. Raoul and the woman with raven black hair steady the lid, and when the final nail is hammered into the coffin, they work together to lift it. Hackett climbs down into the grave and serves as a third support, helping them lay her down without dropping it. The thin man murmurs something and Raoul claps his shoulder gently, but the words are lost under someone's sobs in the back of the crowd. The nameless woman is the last to climb out of the grave, Raoul helping her like the gentleman he is. Before her name can be asked or given, she pushes her way through the gathering and around the house until she's out of sight. The others move closer as Hackett and Raoul begin shoveling black, upturned dirt back into the hole. Is there anymore honest work than burying the dead?

Amavia scoops a hand of dirt up, the earth sticking to her sweaty palm as she tosses it in. "Bye mama." Tears run freely down the girl's cheeks and her throat is tight as she speaks those two words. "I'll...I'll be making some lemonade in the house if any of ya'll want any. Mr. Hackett, please don't go when you're done." Thank you. Thank you for doing what I don't have the strength to finish. Only through sheer force of will does Amavia prevent herself from running into the house and disappearing into her bed. Mama wouldn't want her to melt. Mama never thought tears were practical and she certainly isn't going to disrespect her so. Not today of all days.

Raoul feels like he's on the verge of tears himself. Not out of heartache for Svafa's loss, but for the sight of Amavia as she is. "I love you, apple blossom. She's with the Light now." Raoul whispers as he wraps his arms around her from behind. Hackett finishes the burial itself, concentrating deeply on his work. It was a selfless love he had for Svafa, and at least in her refusal to return its passionate, he knows what affection she did give was completely genuine. It carries him through this hardship now. When the hole is half full, a few begin leaving. They cannot stay for the entire thing, and they accept this. Svafa, Garrote, would not have wanted them to shirk their duties to the Brotherhood for her funeral. She would not want them to miss suppers with their family, or ritual drinking by the sunset. As the crowd thins, it becomes more noticeable that some children are here as well. One little girl tosses a half-wilted flower into the piling dirt before her father takes her by the hand and leads her away. The faded petals of white are soon blocked bit by bit by black earth. Raoul kisses her neck again, and the sun slips towards the horizon. Orange and, of course, reds splash across the sky and paint the bellies of the sparse clouds. Her White Knight hugs her tightly.

His apple blossom snuggles in close and the hat tips off and tumbles to the ground. Auburn hair is wavy like her mother's when dried in the hot air and it shines in the sunset. The orange and red reflect in her hair as it obstructs and shadows her features from the people that filter away slowly. "I want to go in and make dinner, Raoul. Mr. Hackett, will you stay?" Her voice is soft and it holds a hopeful note. Please don't leave yet. Eyes dart to Pidge too in an invitation to him too.

"I reckon I oughtta go eat with the workers, if I'm onna 'em." Pidge remarks quietly, before shuffling away with the crowd. Hackett doesn't answer at first except to grunt with effort as he finishes putting the last piles of dirt on the grave. There's no marker of any sort, but Raoul has already assured his love that he'll get a marker set up. For now, Hackett pins Svafa's bloodied bandanna to the grave with a black-hilted dagger. It flaps in the breeze for a second like a banner on a field of war.

A steady swallow of that lump that doesn't seem to want to fade steals Amavia's breath a moment. She merely nods at Pidge and watches Hackett finish. No marker is needed yet; the rise of upturned earth is a clear sign to inquiring minds of the freshly buried dead. "You going to be safe, Mr. Hackett? I know you had a falling out..." Amavia can't even form the word and instead waves her hand at the bandana.

"I will be fine, Amy." Hackett doesn't look at her when he's finished. The lenses of his spectacles are clouded by dust so it's impossible to see the pain in his eyes. But his smile is weak. "I imagine the further I am from this orchard though, the less pressured the Brotherhood will feel to raid here."

hough she appreciates Raoul's arms more than she can say right now she slips from them and tries to hug the older man gently. Who cares if she gets dirty? It's just a dress and clothes can be washed. Or bought anew. "I know someplace real far away. And I was wondering if you'd come there. Please?" She's helped one, she's helped Pidge start a different life, can she help this man too?

His arms are hesitant to wrap all the way around her, but he's had dreams about being her father and getting hugs like these. He hugs her tight as Raoul did, but in a different way. Hackett hugs her in the way of someone who knows just how much pain she is in, someone who's hurting that way too. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to try, Amy. Where?"

Amavia's hug becomes a little more fierce now as she's encouraged by his acceptance. Lian was the closet thing to a father she knew but he is dead and truth be told he blundered and faltered so much at the end that it's hard to view him in that same magical little girl way anymore. "In Dalaran. A noble lady should have a staff right? I don't want a servant but I could always use a friend. I have a stupid amount of money and I want to use it with people I care about." She peers up at him and smiles, a sweet little look. A look she used when trying to convince mama to let her stay up later or have another apple. "Dalaran is a real pretty place. Far away from troubles like here."

"That doesn't really seem far enough." Raoul says from behind her, and Hackett nods in agreement. "The Defias have agents across Azeroth. I was thinking beyond the Dark Portal, perhaps in Shattrath? I've heard it called that, I'm not sure." Hackett pats her when the hug is released.

Amavia pouts now and slips her hand into Hackett's if he allows and offers the other to Raoul. "I could put you up in Shattrath if you'd like. But only if I'm allowed to come visit." Light damn she wants that lemonade and she's trying to bring them towards the house to get it.

((And then they all ate dinner and drank lemonade and Hackett slept over before being taken to Shatt to open a clinic :D ))