|Somthing to Believe In|
|Summary:||Are these bonds of friendship in the making?|
|Related Logs:||Bandit Cave Stuff|
|Bandit Cave, Bat Country|
|Dark and dirty.|
|Sun Jun 03, 289|
A faint glow at the mouth of the cave was not enough to determine whether it was day or night. The activity beyond their prison may sound no different: some laughter, typical male communication displayed by barbaric sounds of grunting and hollering, along with the occasional clink of metal against metal. Whatever words were spoken was incomprehensible, babble compared to the sounds of slumbering, crying, wimpering and groaning body tucked against body. Cherise was kneeling before the small pool, a sparse stream of water dripped from above. With hands cupped outward she waited until half full before drinking from it. "She could have made it." She murmured before slurping from her hands.
Lucienne has jostled her way over to a place beside Cherise, patiently waiting for her turn to drink. Her lips are dry almost to the point of cracking, and her tongue darts out to relieve them. "She should have made it," the Terrick girl corrects quietly, but not unkindly. She sounds a little defeated, truth be told, her shoulders hunched over and her face a dirty mess.
It became increasingly difficult to remember propriety and simple acts of kindness. Cherise drank until she had her fill, chapped lips can wait as the side of her face ached something fierce. "Had any of us, had all of us created a large enough— " No matter, the Charlton woman splashes water onto her face before shifting aside. Done for now, let the next one take whatever relief they may. Maneauvering onto her rear the woman tucked both knees against her chest, coiling against the aching hunger pains. "She should not have tried it alone."
Lucienne doesn't begrudge Cherise her selfishness, kneeling diagonally opposite the other woman with the utmost patience as she drinks, and washes. She even has a small, apologetic smile to offer as they trade places. "She could have tried overnight," Luci suggests, eagerly sticking cupped hands against the rock wall to catch a palmful of water. "You're right, though. With some more thought, and a little more planning, we might all have come up with something successful." Her hands are full of the sweet fresh water, and she pauses to drink as deeply as she can. "We'll still get out of here, though."
There were endless plenty-ofs after the initial failure. Lucienne's small smile was given an equally small frown as her rear sank into the wet earth and finding support against her back against the walled rock. She took a small comfort in knowing that at least winter was distant in their futures. The blonde tipped her head back, chin up and eyes staring at that same jagged ceiling she's stared at before. "Rescued, dead or sold." The corner of her dried lips, curved upward. "They are desperate men and our future is strangeld deep in chance's hands."
Whatever disapproval Cherise offers initially, the cool, calming wetness of water against her lips, running over her tongue provides the perfect balm for Lucienne. She drinks, and drinks some more, and then again for good measure until her stomach is bursting and her throat is uncomfortable. "You should trust in your husband, my lady," says Luci over her shoulder, staying put for the moment seeing as nobody is waiting to take her place in the mud. "They will rescue us."
Cherise pulls her head upright, stating firmly, "I do not doubt my husband." Hunger pains had sharpened her tongue. She exhaled as if breath had the capability of taking away that ache. Softer this time, "I have the utmost faith in my husband, however I should not forget there are other possibilities, Seven forbid the men may fall." Though bandits she was no expert in waging their skill of sword and bow. She swallowed back a dry spell in her mouth. Drawing from an absent thought in the back of her mind she tells the Terrick woman, "My condolences." She pauses. "Words meant to be said a very long time ago in proper form." Not here, not when death was still a possibility.
Lucienne accepts the weary barbs gracefully, bowing her head to Cherise. "And my apologies, my lady," she returns in a gentle whisper. "I never meant —" She cuts herself off, shaking her head to dismiss it. They're all tired and hungry, after all. "I'm sure they'll bring many more men than these fools cared to muster." She wraps her arms about herself, not entirely confident. Those last words draw a sad expression to Lucienne's features, and she bows her head some more in acknowledgment. When she looks up, it with another of her tiny, sincere smiles. "And my congratulations, my lady. We in the Riverlands tend to be so insular, with no need. You must miss your son terribly so."
The combined efforts from all the houses simply represented in this room was enough to raise one's spirits ten fold. Cherise took an absent glance through her surroundings, the curled up bodies with those sleeping and awake. "There's no need for that Lady Lucienne." Apologies and whatnot, she should not allow misery to cloud senses. "I do not mean to be harsh." None of them did, hopefully and still Cherise's head returns leaned against the rock at her back. "Thank you and a little. I am used to it quite honestly. Guests were not that often had at the Crag." A side smile there. "I do. The very thought of having him in my arms again keeps me from becoming uncivlized."
Lucienne's smile grows a little, as the two ladies seem to find an easier balance to their conversation. "Nor do I mean any insult to you and your husband, my lady. The hunger, it clouds our thoughts, does it not? Makes it hard to think straight, to talk straight." A slender hand sneaks down, one finger pointing idly into the mud, tracing a little circle over and over. "I am certain he is doing well, but he should be so glad to see you again. This wasn't the first time you left him?"
Cherise nods a few times, accepting while being able to speak on subject far more heart warming. "Septa Enya is wonderful with him. Mistress Darra as well." She motions with a head movement a few bodies to her left where her handmaiden was huddled up, curled into a ball on the floor. "He's a good boy. Though they tell me that may change after his first or second namesday." She laughed slightly, hearing of the horror stories that came with raising sons. It was brief though, the feeling of being seperated from her young had weighed that smile. "Third. The first two times were the most difficult. It is a dreadful thought each time I do." Cherise pulls her head upright, lowering her eyes onto the shape Lucienne was drawing in the mud. "We have very little that is truly our own blessed by the Gods Lady Lucienne."
Luci flicks a quick glance amongst the assembled to Darra, noting the woman's appearance. You never know when these things will come in handy. "I couldn't say if it were truth, but my mother always used to tell me the boys were terrifically difficult to keep track of after they could walk." There's something of a warmth to her smile as it grows, the fond recollection almost keeping her from the obliged: "Seven rest her." The Terrick girl dips her chin again, watching that circle she's tracing repeatedly in the mud. "You're very right, Lady Cherise. We should treasure every gift they give us."
She smirks, allowing her eyes to close due to wariness. "With three boys I am sure the Lady Evangeline had quite her hands full." Chasing after three energetic tots, the thought of watching Darra scamper after a newly walking Aerick had broadened her smile. The little prayer for the departed received a nod, a few mumured words to agree. The thought that being trapped here with so many of her peers was also a gift had been swiftly pushed out of her mind. "The Four Eagles," She guides the conversation along before either may dwell on unchanged sorrows. "How does it fare since the Nayland's arrived foodstores?"
Lucienne takes a deep breath, measuring it out slowly and silently as Cherise replies. She tilts her head one way, and then the other, as if weighing her own response. "Better than before," is what she eventually comes up with, though it's not at all optimistic. "Still tight. But we'll find a way. How does House Charlton fair, my lady? Is it true, you've had occasion to speak with the Lady Danae?"
Pulling herself forward, Cherise tucks both feed under her rear and dares to expand on Lucienne's circular drawing in the mud. While drawing she responds sympathetically, "I can empathize." Coming from a barely holding it together house. "Accepting scraps, trading honors for favors is something I am familiar with." She laughs for a beat. "Yes. My maiden house was very concerned how events had transpired."
Together, they make patterns in the mud, then. One dark haired, one light, one Riverlander, one Westerman… entirely different, but somehow similar. "You're cousins, am I correct? Is she well, my lady? I remember the Lady Danae fondly." That last is whispered as quiet as quiet can be, Lucienne all too aware of some other, less heartwarming opinions from those named Terrick in the same cave.
Cherise nods at first, seeming not to mind the caked layers of mud sticking to her fingers. Every so often she'll easily swipe it against the lower edges of her shift and continues the patterns with a partner. "That is relative." Her shoulders shrug some, thankfully Roslyn was no where extremely close by. Just one of the many ears this conversation should not reach. "She is strong. Always has been since we were children." The woman states in a hushed whisper while leaning closer to Lucienne. "Where ever her future lies, she'll walk it proudly."
It's definitely hard to discuss such sensitive topics within the confines of capture with such a mixed bag, and Lucienne lifts an arm to drape around Cherise, attempting to pull the other woman into an overfamiliar hug under the guise of providing comfort. "If you see her," whispers one lady to another when they're close, right into the curls that surround Cherise's ears, "Tell her she has more friends than she might realise." Just like that, the embrace is done, and they're back to tracing patterns in the mud together.
Not denying some form of comfort Cherise fell into the embrace easily only to hear the unexpected whispered in her ear. Acknowledging the blonde crown nods against Lucienne's head before the illusion of comfort is broken and the lady resumes her crude drawing in the ground. "If I may, Lady Lucienne." Regaining a little of propriety back. "They say vultures only circle dying. Some would counter and say the birds bid their time, waiting until their prey is no longer a threat before devouring it." Cherise lifts a finger, tilting her head sidelong to survey the artwork they created thus far. "You have an interest in marriage do you not?" The words should not be all too surprising out of thin and crowded air.
Lucienne contemplates those words spoken on vultures, carefully adding to the tapestry in the mud. A circle here, a different one there - some wave to join them. She looks up again, replying lightly, "Of course, my lady. My attention should surely be turned to a husband in the coming years, once a suitable match is found." Only the slight wrinkle on her brow conveys the question behind her words - is there something more to that question?
She's satisfied with the drawing, even after Lucienne made additions of her own. There was more to her inquiry as she pulled her legs up, shifting along the mud to return to her place against the cave's rocky wall. "I'll pray that your expectations in a suitable husband remain high and would be met. For you should be never forced to make concessions." Given the needy stance of the Four Eagles. "You have a lot of worth, that is never to be forgotten."
"You are most kind, Lady Cherise. May the Gods smile upon you and yours," replies Lucienne, a gracious smile playing across her lips. She, too, returns to her stolen Vance handmaiden further up the wall, lapsing into quiet for the next little while.