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 ))
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