Tyene keeps her head bent as the priest speaks the blessing. It’s in Latin, by special family request, and you’d never know he learned to say mass in English. He hardly stumbles. She’s between two people she doesn’t know—a cousin, she’s pretty sure, and a woman who might be an ex-girlfriend—and she’s the darkest one there. But she’s saying the words and performing the motions, and so no one is giving her very strong looks. Yet.
She goes up, receives Communion—easy and rote and even somewhat soothing. It should be Obara in her place, she knows. Obara was the one who was fucking him (with various levels of consistency), after all. But Obara doesn’t do churches. Not even for someone who’d been her friend. People before the service had asked her why she was there—with a not entirely subtle undertone of you don’t belong here—and she’d said (demurely and with the appropriate level of sorrow) I knew him. it wasn’t a lie, not really. She had known him, as a face who turned up in Obara’s flat some mornings, as someone who made excellent eggs Benedict and had sworn loudly and at length in Italian when he dropped them once and who’d been able to get her sister to sit on his lap, as a petty criminal who got warned off something too big for him by Obara and, from the current state of things, ignored her advice. Not someone generally considered a close enough relation to attend a funeral mass for. But she’s not here for him, she’s here because it will make Obara feel better.
Soon enough the service is over, and the procession to the graveyard begins. Three long black limousines, specially rented. Tyene ends up with his parents, somehow. They don’t talk, but she watches the mother twisting her handkerchief into knots and wonders if they know why their son was drowned.
The casket is lowered into the earth and the priest reads out the Canticle Benedictus and someone starts to cry, quiet and hitching. And then it’s over. The mother offers Tyene a half-hearted invitation to the reception, but Tyene politely declines—she has no interest in his family, and she has better things to do than stand in an unfamiliar home with unfamiliar people and eat food that’s far too bland. She smooths her skirt and turns—
—and finds herself face to face with the priest. She knows him, of course, in a roundabout sort of way. When your sister is more than a bit of a criminal, you can’t help but know his family. “Father Greyjoy,” she says, nodding once.
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
There is something about Latin he finds calming, perhaps it is the way it flows or that the language is dead, but Aeron never dwells on it. What is dead will never again die, he knows. Only the Lord. Possibly Euron, just to vex and punish this earth.
He is disenchanted with funerals, the procession of them. Crying and praying, never speaking ill of the shit-stained wreckage with names the church would allow in. A priest - a church- never refuses anyone, he’s told. He never does, welcomes the departed and the broken and fraying. Though he never smiles, never assures the family that ‘it’ll get better’. Most souls go to Hell, Aeron, his brother once told him. Including you.
He supposes not, his Lord would be loathe to send a priest to Hell.
He’s heard, in his halls and in the pews - between people who attend out of some sinful fear or innate presence - that churches are built for the damned, by the damned. The words always echo, even in whisper they cascade around the church like rain, and Aeron knows churches were built for the damned. Perhaps by the damned, perhaps run by them. Confessions absolve all, though, and Aeron is excellent at such a thing.
When they step outside, the day is greying. The day for a funeral of a boy - a stupid, petty boy that stuck his nose where it did not belong - eaten alive in London.
Or drowned, rather. But Aeron is not concerned with the boy, whose head he held under the water - dragged to a cold warehouse, held in a tub filled with ice and water and terror. He is not concerned with what he’s done; he pictures Euron each time. Holding his black head under the frozen water (or perhaps it will be scalding, for him), the gaping socket where an eye should rest, filling and burning. His screams rippling the water.
The smile that will play over Aeron Greyjoy’s face. Fuck Victarion, he thinks most days, I should be the one to kill that demon.
Unconcerned with the cries of the mother, the morose looks of the patrons. Aeron is concerned with the bastard girl. Tyene, daughter of a Martell and an nun (truly, Aeron preferred her true name - whore). The sister of Obara, the lover of the dead boy, is present - but the lover is not. He moves toward her, head high and the bible held to his heart. Like a priest, unlike a murderer.
She speaks softly, nodding but her eyes are knowing. She knows, all the Martells and their bastards know. Upper-class families, with the politicians and gossips, they know too.
Aeron smiles what he thinks is friendly, “Ah, Tyene. So nice to see you join the congregation today. Where is your sister, pray tell?”
Father Greyjoy does not approve of her, she knows. Or rather, he does not approves of her parentage, which is only to be expected. A man of faith such as his would naturally dislike the fact her father hadn’t married her mother after convincing her to renounce her novitiate.
Not that it matters to her whether he approves, so long as he doesn’t do something as ill-advised as attempting to drown her or one of her sisters. Or Arianne. No god will be enough to save anyone who so much as tries to harm a hair on her cousin’s head. There are so many ways to make poison look like a heart attack, and she knows them all.
“It is good to see you too, Father.” Her voice is appropriately friendly, her smile curved just right. Let’s play a game where you try to fool me into thinking you hate your sister, her father had said once. She’d won. And made Sarella cry, because they’d both been very young then, but the point was that she had never felt as in control in her whole life. Tyene likes masks, especially when they’re her own face.
“My sister…” Ah. How to put this delicately? Obara had announced she was not going in a matter-of-fact fashion, and made very efficient use of several four-letter words, all of which were not the sort of things you say in front of priests. Obara does not like churches (or any sort of thing having do no with organized religion), she does not like complications, and a funeral mass for her dead friend (not boyfriend, not ever, just the friend she so happened to fall into bed with on a regular basis) presented both of those things.
Not to mention she would have handled any conversation with his parents and especially with Father Greyjoy much less well than Tyene. So perhaps this arrangement was for the best.
“Obara is not religious,” Tyene says finally. “I came in her stead.”
Tyene keeps her head bent as the priest speaks the blessing. It’s in Latin, by special family request, and you’d never know he learned to say mass in English. He hardly stumbles. She’s between two people she doesn’t know—a cousin, she’s pretty sure, and a woman who might be an ex-girlfriend—and she’s the darkest one there. But she’s saying the words and performing the motions, and so no one is giving her very strong looks. Yet.
She goes up, receives Communion—easy and rote and even somewhat soothing. It should be Obara in her place, she knows. Obara was the one who was fucking him (with various levels of consistency), after all. But Obara doesn’t do churches. Not even for someone who’d been her friend. People before the service had asked her why she was there—with a not entirely subtle undertone of you don’t belong here—and she’d said (demurely and with the appropriate level of sorrow) I knew him. it wasn’t a lie, not really. She had known him, as a face who turned up in Obara’s flat some mornings, as someone who made excellent eggs Benedict and had sworn loudly and at length in Italian when he dropped them once and who’d been able to get her sister to sit on his lap, as a petty criminal who got warned off something too big for him by Obara and, from the current state of things, ignored her advice. Not someone generally considered a close enough relation to attend a funeral mass for. But she’s not here for him, she’s here because it will make Obara feel better.
Soon enough the service is over, and the procession to the graveyard begins. Three long black limousines, specially rented. Tyene ends up with his parents, somehow. They don’t talk, but she watches the mother twisting her handkerchief into knots and wonders if they know why their son was drowned.
The casket is lowered into the earth and the priest reads out the Canticle Benedictus and someone starts to cry, quiet and hitching. And then it’s over. The mother offers Tyene a half-hearted invitation to the reception, but Tyene politely declines—she has no interest in his family, and she has better things to do than stand in an unfamiliar home with unfamiliar people and eat food that’s far too bland. She smooths her skirt and turns—
—and finds herself face to face with the priest. She knows him, of course, in a roundabout sort of way. When your sister is more than a bit of a criminal, you can’t help but know his family. “Father Greyjoy,” she says, nodding once.
.“It’s going to take him a bit, the roads over by us are awful,” says Tyene. Uncle Doran should know about that, she thinks belatedly. He loves her father, even if he disagrees with him more often than not. And after what happened with Aunt Elia…well, he is a frail old man, despite his sharp mind, and it will do him no good to believe he’s outlived both his younger siblings.
Tyene relaxes when Arianne says she’s fine—she is, after all, a Martell, and if someone tried to make her say she was fine she’d have found some way to communicate that. Tyene is vaguely worried about what might happen to Rhaenys, because there are rumors about what the Lioness is doing to the people she’s rounded up, but only a little. Arianne matters more.
“We should,” agrees Tyene. That’s a good idea, and it ought to happen soon—Obara’s very nice, but if a plan doesn’t involve hitting something then she has a hard time understanding it. With Arianne she’ll come up with something more efficient. “I’ll try and convince Daddy to head for the hospital. He may very well not want to, though, so unless your father can get you you might have to leave on your own. Or you could simply stay there, it’s as safe as any place can be.”
For some reason, Arianne brightens at the idea of Oberyn coming to her rescue, as it were. She’s always felt like she’s had a number of things in common with him. And, most assuredly, with Oberyn involved, Arianne would not be expected to sit around doing thing.
…But then as Tyene kept speaking, Arianne was forced to acknowledge that she would probably have to get out of the hospital herself. Her cousin was right; it seemed like the safest place to be. But… ever since Elia’s death… Yes, Arianne wasn’t always inclined to trust hospital staff.
“Okay,” she nods, before remembering Tyene can’t see her. “I’ll try to figure a way out of this mess. And then I’ll contact you.”
The thought of Arianne all alone in the dead-choked streets is not a nice one, but Arianne can look after herself well enough (the fact she isn’t yet dead proves that). And besides, a hospital owned by the Lannisters has got to be almost as dangerous (and that isn’t even counting the rumors of what they’re keeping there, which Tyene dislikes as much as she dislikes the Lioness)..
There are so many things she wants to say to Arianne right now and she can’t seem to pick one or even think of the right words for some of them, so instead Tyene says the sensible thing, which is, “If we can’t go to the hospital, then we’ll try to meet you at…” Where should they meet? Not a park, not any of the parks, even Tyene knows those are deathtraps. Not Daddy’s house, he’s said right out it isn’t safe. “Is your house still safe? We can meet there if the hospital doesn’t work. And…stay safe, alright?”
Her house… Arianne thinks of her father alone there, and feels another twinge of guilt. “Yeah, lost time I checked it sounds like things were quiet over there. We’re in one of the safer parts of the city. I’ll definitely try to meet you there.” It’s galling to think that this might be the last time they speak. Life has become so uncertain.
No don’t think like that.
“You stay safe too.”
Uncle Doran is safe, then, that’s good. “Alright,” says Tyene. “I’ll see you there, then.” It’s not just the confirmation it would be under ordinary (hah) circumstances; it’s a promise. She and Obara are going to survive long enough to get there, and so is Arianne, and there is no doubting it. Doubting doesn’t help. It just makes you weak.
“I will,” says Tyene. “Bye for now, love.” She hangs up and takes a deep breath, and wonders how long it’s going to be until they see each other again.
“Oh, that’s good!” The news about Oberyn fills Arianne with a sense of relief; the first time she’s felt that way in hours. I wonder if I should call dad and tell him that Oberyn is still alive? Her father had been a shell of a person after Elia’s death, and losing another sibling would not be good for him.Yes. Confidence. She can do this. I’m a Martell, she thinks, not for the first time. And we’re going to survive this.
“I’m fine. Bored and a bit angry. They separated me from Rhaenys.” She sighs. “If we meet up again, we should plan what to do… But I don’t want to waste my phone battery on all that right now.” Or have the Lannisters hear it all if they’ve tapped my phone.Arianne entertains ideas of actively working against the government, and saving people in more efficient ways. And Tyene was the absolute best when it came to conspiring. But for now Arianne only has half-formed plans. She hopes she’ll know what to do soon.
“It’s going to take him a bit, the roads over by us are awful,” says Tyene. Uncle Doran should know about that, she thinks belatedly. He loves her father, even if he disagrees with him more often than not. And after what happened with Aunt Elia…well, he is a frail old man, despite his sharp mind, and it will do him no good to believe he’s outlived both his younger siblings.
Tyene relaxes when Arianne says she’s fine—she is, after all, a Martell, and if someone tried to make her say she was fine she’d have found some way to communicate that. Tyene is vaguely worried about what might happen to Rhaenys, because there are rumors about what the Lioness is doing to the people she’s rounded up, but only a little. Arianne matters more.
“We should,” agrees Tyene. That’s a good idea, and it ought to happen soon—Obara’s very nice, but if a plan doesn’t involve hitting something then she has a hard time understanding it. With Arianne she’ll come up with something more efficient. “I’ll try and convince Daddy to head for the hospital. He may very well not want to, though, so unless your father can get you you might have to leave on your own. Or you could simply stay there, it’s as safe as any place can be.”
For some reason, Arianne brightens at the idea of Oberyn coming to her rescue, as it were. She’s always felt like she’s had a number of things in common with him. And, most assuredly, with Oberyn involved, Arianne would not be expected to sit around doing thing.
…But then as Tyene kept speaking, Arianne was forced to acknowledge that she would probably have to get out of the hospital herself. Her cousin was right; it seemed like the safest place to be. But… ever since Elia’s death… Yes, Arianne wasn’t always inclined to trust hospital staff.
“Okay,” she nods, before remembering Tyene can’t see her. “I’ll try to figure a way out of this mess. And then I’ll contact you.”
The thought of Arianne all alone in the dead-choked streets is not a nice one, but Arianne can look after herself well enough (the fact she isn’t yet dead proves that). And besides, a hospital owned by the Lannisters has got to be almost as dangerous (and that isn’t even counting the rumors of what they’re keeping there, which Tyene dislikes as much as she dislikes the Lioness)..
There are so many things she wants to say to Arianne right now and she can’t seem to pick one or even think of the right words for some of them, so instead Tyene says the sensible thing, which is, “If we can’t go to the hospital, then we’ll try to meet you at…” Where should they meet? Not a park, not any of the parks, even Tyene knows those are deathtraps. Not Daddy’s house, he’s said right out it isn’t safe. “Is your house still safe? We can meet there if the hospital doesn’t work. And…stay safe, alright?”
Tyene’s first reaction is relief—Arianne is alive and well enough and safe enough to answer the phone and even if if she has been taken in that doesn’t matter right now because it’s enough to know her cousin isn’t dead or infected. Then she processes the tone of Arianne’s voice and feels an irrational surge of anger at the universe in general for hurting her. It’s gone in an instant, and all that’s left is a want to reach through the phone line and hold her cousin (who’s more like her sister) and never let go.
“Thank God,” she says, “I’m fine, Daddy’s coming, I have Obara, don’t worry about me.” I miss you, Tyene thinks, but doesn’t say. She needs to make sure Arianne is really safe before they get sappy. “Listen, where are you? Is it safe? Do you still have Rhaenys with you?”
“Oh, that’s good!” The news about Oberyn fills Arianne with a sense of relief; the first time she’s felt that way in hours. I wonder if I should call dad and tell him that Oberyn is still alive? Her father had been a shell of a person after Elia’s death, and losing another sibling would not be good for him.
Yes. Confidence. She can do this. I’m a Martell, she thinks, not for the first time. And we’re going to survive this.
“I’m fine. Bored and a bit angry. They separated me from Rhaenys.” She sighs. “If we meet up again, we should plan what to do… But I don’t want to waste my phone battery on all that right now.” Or have the Lannisters hear it all if they’ve tapped my phone.Arianne entertains ideas of actively working against the government, and saving people in more efficient ways. And Tyene was the absolute best when it came to conspiring. But for now Arianne only has half-formed plans. She hopes she’ll know what to do soon.
“It’s going to take him a bit, the roads over by us are awful,” says Tyene. Uncle Doran should know about that, she thinks belatedly. He loves her father, even if he disagrees with him more often than not. And after what happened with Aunt Elia…well, he is a frail old man, despite his sharp mind, and it will do him no good to believe he’s outlived both his younger siblings.
Tyene relaxes when Arianne says she’s fine—she is, after all, a Martell, and if someone tried to make her say she was fine she’d have found some way to communicate that. Tyene is vaguely worried about what might happen to Rhaenys, because there are rumors about what the Lioness is doing to the people she’s rounded up, but only a little. Arianne matters more.
“We should,” agrees Tyene. That’s a good idea, and it ought to happen soon—Obara’s very nice, but if a plan doesn’t involve hitting something then she has a hard time understanding it. With Arianne she’ll come up with something more efficient. “I’ll try and convince Daddy to head for the hospital. He may very well not want to, though, so unless your father can get you you might have to leave on your own. Or you could simply stay there, it’s as safe as any place can be.”
This whole princess-in-the-tower thing is beginning to grate on Tyene’s nerves. Or rather, the fact she’s almost completely useless is. She can’t fire a gun with any degree of accuracy, she’s too weak to be reliable for more than five minutes, and she can’t even help by trying to find out what exactly was animating the dead (and oh, she is curious) because she’s stuck in a department store that has never seen a quality microscope in its life. The electricity, at least, was on for several hours yesterday, so her phone has a charge again. She clicks open her text messages for about the millionth time, but there isn’t anything new from Arianne.
This is bad. Well, everything’s bad, it’s the zombie apocalypse. But Arianne has picked up Rhaenys, who was almost certainly at the gala people are calling the Cinderella Massacre. And even if she wasn’t, it’s not exactly like the Lannister Lioness’s security is going to believe her. And since Arianne is with her… Well. Hopefully it will be noticed fairly quickly her cousin wasn’t actually infected and she’ll be let go.
One way to know if that’s already happened. Tyene clicks into her contacts and dials Arianne’s number. She holds her breath as it rings. Once. Twice. Three times— —and it’s picked. Thank god.
“Hello,” she says quickly, not even waiting for Arianne to answer (because it must be Arianne, not some Lannister flunky, Tyene won’t allow herself to think otherwise), “Are you alright?”
Arianne almost cries when she hears Tyene’s voice. (And why is that her knee-jerk reaction to everything in the past few hours.) Somehow she hadn’t believe Tyene was still alive until she’d heard her cousin’s voice. She clings to the phone like it’s a lifeline. With the other hand she grips onto her own wrist. Nymeria’s daggers are still strapped to her arms. Somehow the security forces hadn’t found them. They weigh down her arms, like a physical reminder of what family she comes from. She, too, has the stubbornness and smarts of the rest of the Martells. Someday the world will know it.
“Yeah I’m… I’m okay I guess. I don’t know. I hate this so much.” Arianne is rambling. But if anyone would forgive her for incoherence it would be Tyene. “How are you? Has your dad found you yet?”
I miss you and your sisters so much.
Tyene’s first reaction is relief—Arianne is alive and well enough and safe enough to answer the phone and even if if she has been taken in that doesn’t matter right now because it’s enough to know her cousin isn’t dead or infected. Then she processes the tone of Arianne’s voice and feels an irrational surge of anger at the universe in general for hurting her. It’s gone in an instant, and all that’s left is a want to reach through the phone line and hold her cousin (who’s more like her sister) and never let go.
“Thank God,” she says, “I’m fine, Daddy’s coming, I have Obara, don’t worry about me.” I miss you, Tyene thinks, but doesn’t say. She needs to make sure Arianne is really safe before they get sappy. “Listen, where are you? Is it safe? Do you still have Rhaenys with you?”
((OOC: lalalala some character work. Haven’t RPed Arianne in over a week so I need some practice. Feel free to join in if you want though.))
Arianne wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both. She kind of wanted to laugh, too, over the futility of the situation. All three emotions seemed to course through her veins, imbuing her with an almost painful nervous energy.
Maybe it was naive, expecting to charge in like some hero in order to save her cousin. She had come so close to pulling it off, though. And now here she was, stranded in some hospital ‘safe zone,’ having been separated from Rhaenys and her car for her troubles. She had been in this room with other stragglers for hours, relying on hearsay to know what was going on in the outside world.
There was cell phone service, however.
Some time in the second hour of this nonsense, she bit the bullet and dialed home. She resisted the urge to hang up when she heard her father’s voice.
“Arianne…”
“Oh god, you’re safe,” Arianne said, before she thought about. She hated how young her voice sounded just now. The image of her father stranded at home without the car had been haunting her.
“Yes, our home is still nominally in the safe zone.” Doran was unreadable, as always. “Where are you?”
“The hospital…”
“Arianne?” The hint of fear in her father’s voice had the perverse effect of making Arianne realize he didn’t hate her. Even after everything.
“No no it’s… I’m fine. I went to go pick up Rhaenys. But that didn’t go so well, obviously. Now I’m stranded.”
Her father sighed. “I had a feeling things like this would happen.”
Arianne bristled. “She’s my cousin, dad.” And someone has to watch out for Elia’s kids. “I wasn’t going to abandon her.”
“I know. I don’t doubt you did the right thing, even if it didn’t go as expected. I just want you and your brothers to get through this alive. Perhaps that makes me over cautious, but I don’t really regret it.”
She was holding the phone in a death grip. She wanted to cry again, but probably for different reasons. “I’m sorry, dad.” Her voice was a whisper.
“Just come home safe, Arianne.”
She nodded futilely (it’s not like he could see it!), not trusting herself to speak. And then Arianne ended the call.
This whole princess-in-the-tower thing is beginning to grate on Tyene’s nerves. Or rather, the fact she’s almost completely useless is. She can’t fire a gun with any degree of accuracy, she’s too weak to be reliable for more than five minutes, and she can’t even help by trying to find out what exactly was animating the dead (and oh, she is curious) because she’s stuck in a department store that has never seen a quality microscope in its life. The electricity, at least, was on for several hours yesterday, so her phone has a charge again. She clicks open her text messages for about the millionth time, but there isn’t anything new from Arianne.
This is bad. Well, everything’s bad, it’s the zombie apocalypse. But Arianne has picked up Rhaenys, who was almost certainly at the gala people are calling the Cinderella Massacre. And even if she wasn’t, it’s not exactly like the Lannister Lioness’s security is going to believe her. And since Arianne is with her… Well. Hopefully it will be noticed fairly quickly her cousin wasn’t actually infected and she’ll be let go.
One way to know if that’s already happened. Tyene clicks into her contacts and dials Arianne’s number. She holds her breath as it rings. Once. Twice. Three times— —and it’s picked. Thank god.
“Hello,” she says quickly, not even waiting for Arianne to answer (because it must be Arianne, not some Lannister flunky, Tyene won’t allow herself to think otherwise), “Are you alright?”
Recipient: All Sand Snakes ever
Message: Okay, sound off! What are you up to now? Has Oberyn found you?
Recipient: Arianne
Message: (This is Tyene, disregard the ID.) Obara and I are fine, still where we have been for the last week. Dad is coming for us sometime soon. How are you? Did you get help for Rhaenys?
And I, I Fear For Your Soul: please, please, please don’t shoot me | teyne, obara
Stepping over the shattered glass entry way to the department store, Dacey freezes and winces at the sound. The key to keeping away from these things that used to be people is being quiet, it’s also rather important to not getting shot and/or stabbed by any survivors running…
At the hesitant hello on the other end of the line fills Dacey with a flood of relief, at least she knows that whoever is supposed to be there is still alive. “It’s Dacey Mormont… I’m at the department store. Rather nice place you have here.” Catching a glimpse of herself in a mirrored column, Dacey winces. No wonder people are hesitant to let her near them. Zandra’s blood is all over her once purple coat, dying the fabric a sickening black color. She looks from a distance like one of them, and it’s something she’ll have to change if she wants to get out of this zone and into a safer one.
“Where are you hiding?”
It is Dacey. Good. There’s safety in numbers and if she made it this far on her own she has to be at least better than Tyene, although that isn’t saying much. “Then welcome,” she says, feeling her mouth curve up. Obara’s not one for joking. It’s good their new friend has a sense of humor. “It’s not much, and it’s not home, but it’s the best we can do. I’m on the second floor, kitchen section. It’s up the stairs and left, stop when you see the massive pile of kitchen furniture blocking the way. Tell me when you’re up and I’ll let you in. Be careful on the stairs, by the way, they’re very messy and my sister was nearly eaten yesterday.”
And hadn’t that been nerve-wracking, Obara’s sudden shout and the gunshot and her yelling for Tyene to stay behind the fucking barricade, damn you and the wet thunking noise of her beating in the thing’s head with a detached furniture leg. They’d been incredibly lucky, then, the worst thing that had come out of that was that a wasted bullet—the gun had gone off when the dead man smacked it out of Obara’s hand. Thank any god who still cares—Tyene knows she couldn’t have handled having to shoot Obara. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath and tells herself that that is over, done with, and Obara can look after herself and will be back before dark, and then she leans against the barricade, phone in hand, and waits.
Hanging up, Dacey turns towards the stairs, not even flinching at the decayed corpse. She’s seen to many of them to turn her stomach, and even before this with hunting and class dissections. Stepping carefully to not slip on the blood and gore coating the top most steps, Dacey knocks on barricade.
“Tyene? I’m here.”
It doesn’t take Dacey long to get up the stairs. “Just a minute,” Tyene calls, and puts her things down on the big cardboard box currently serving as a table. There’s a place where you can make a gap if the barricade if you try very hard—well, honestly, that’s any place. It’s not a very good barricade. It’s more useful to say there’s a place in the barricade where you can make a gap without sending things tumbling outwards. She grabs the corner in both hands and tugs it back. It’s heavy, and she’s not as strong as Obara, but it doesn’t take very long and she’s only a little out of breath.
“Come on in,” she says, managing a smile at Dacey. “Quickly, it isn’t safe to leave this open for long.”
