never let me fall from hopes so high / mj, vf, hr [day 2]
Feb 25, 2024 13:26:26 GMT -5
Post by d8 🐀 setta furey on Feb 25, 2024 13:26:26 GMT -5
Marceline spent most of her first day stretching her legs — to walk off her injury, to clear her head, to get her bearings. Forests are fairyland to her; finding landmarks, and finding them again, is nearly impossible for Marceline. But she’d come across, a ways off, a gaping black maw in the snow. Some kind of entrance. She’d left it at that, and managed to find her way back to her allies, who she told about it. Who knew how expansive it might be down there? It could be the perfect place to hole up.
The mines may be pitch black in every direction, but Marceline still prefers it, with its low ceilings and tight squeezes, to the vast spreads of snowy trees outside. Even the odd sounds that prick up their ears from time to time don’t scare her too bad — most of the time, it sounds like a building settling, or pins scattering across a metal floor, or like rats in a cupboard. Sounds that she knows. There are others she doesn’t; chittering and squeaking that definitely couldn’t be rats, weighty steps that could only belong to a human (or maybe something worse).
But they don’t bother Marceline as much as she thought they would. She gets used to them quickly, finding the drips and drops of whatever hadn’t been turned to ice oddly comforting. Her new friend’s fuzzy little feet curl up on Marceline’s spiky shoulder, camouflaged by her hair. His fistful of warmth is much appreciated.
So is the press of Vali’s gloved hand in Marceline’s, though she’s never admit it. Vali’s the kind of person whose presence Marceline doesn’t think she could describe as comforting, but she’s certainly happy to have her on her side, and knowing she won’t lose her in the dark somehow wraps back around to comforting.
“Hal,” she hisses, uselessly glancing to the back of their little procession. “You okay back there?“ At the same time, Marceline gives Vali’s hand a squeeze, asking the same question.
Walking like this reminds her so much of being home, even more than the dusty, cough inducing mine shafts do. As the youngest of her sisters, Marceline used to always be at the back of their little lines, dragging her feet behind her sisters with their dressage trots, slowing them down. Then, when they started having kids, Marceline was promoted — now it was her job to lead the little ones along. She’d hated it at home, hates it here too, but had still been the one to suggest it. Needs must.
Here, she’s the baby again, but Marceline is the one feeling around for their next steps. Age doesn’t matter here beyond calculating their odds after all.
table credit to napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. !
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