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Nataya woke that morning with every bone and muscle sore. She and Torvald had searched for Aveline's body until their own cried out for mercy, without results. She'd bit her lip then, grabbed Torvald by the shoulder and shook her head solemnly once he turned to look at her. "we'll find 'er" she'd promised, "we'll bring 'er 'ome" ... The words rung hollow in her mind now. She'd tried to persuade him to return with her to Ul'dah, but in the end she had stumbled through hq's grand doors alone.
Staring into open space she replayed Aveline's final moments before her minds eye... After a while of that she jerked out of the bunk. and reached over the frame of a broken mirror, to the chest that came with the bunk she used. It wasn't locked.. didn't have to be. She pulled out her personal footlocker.. this one was locked.
Fumbling with the key for but a moment, Nat opened it too. Inside was some broken pieces of mirror-glass a few fat coinpurses and a double-barreled musket of oak and steel, once she could have seen her reflection in that steel, but now it was tarnished from lack of care, locked away as it was. Nat's father had personally used this gun to slay the pirate who'd murdered his wife, before passing away from the exertion of standing upright in spite of a fatal wound... Years later her foster-father made her a gift of it when she left home. Nat caressed the weapon softly, and recalled those fatal moments on the floating island... Only this time she had the musket at her side, this time, Sauvage dropped dead with two of her bullets lodged between his eyes, still clutching the lance in his cold dead hands, and Aveline standing over him, startled, but alive.
She snapped out of it, and looked down on her most cherished possession... "firearms ban be damned! Ne'er again!" she'd have to fashion a new holster, her belt was already full to the brim with potions and hand-to-hand weapons. But never again wouldn't she part with this gun.
Then her eyes fell upon her ring, which her mother had given her in her dying moments, and the bits of mirror in her footlocker, those and the frame on the floor made up was left of the mirror she'd shattered at the Drowning Wench following that love-potion mess. The moonlet on the bedside table... A relic from a simpler, gentler time it seemed to her. Before Garleans and Beastmen, before the pirates...
It struck her then, that most everything she owned, was a keepsake from someone she'd held dear, and lost... or memento from a closed chapter of her life, they told the story of her life as she suffered through it, and thus, they defined who she was, and who she is. Yet she had nothing of Aveline's.. No keepsake to honor her memory and carry it with her always. Somehow that made her even more depressed. "I need a drink... or six"
"Got ta get me a private room fer all that junk" she murmurs as she heads for the concern
Staring into open space she replayed Aveline's final moments before her minds eye... After a while of that she jerked out of the bunk. and reached over the frame of a broken mirror, to the chest that came with the bunk she used. It wasn't locked.. didn't have to be. She pulled out her personal footlocker.. this one was locked.
Fumbling with the key for but a moment, Nat opened it too. Inside was some broken pieces of mirror-glass a few fat coinpurses and a double-barreled musket of oak and steel, once she could have seen her reflection in that steel, but now it was tarnished from lack of care, locked away as it was. Nat's father had personally used this gun to slay the pirate who'd murdered his wife, before passing away from the exertion of standing upright in spite of a fatal wound... Years later her foster-father made her a gift of it when she left home. Nat caressed the weapon softly, and recalled those fatal moments on the floating island... Only this time she had the musket at her side, this time, Sauvage dropped dead with two of her bullets lodged between his eyes, still clutching the lance in his cold dead hands, and Aveline standing over him, startled, but alive.
She snapped out of it, and looked down on her most cherished possession... "firearms ban be damned! Ne'er again!" she'd have to fashion a new holster, her belt was already full to the brim with potions and hand-to-hand weapons. But never again wouldn't she part with this gun.
Then her eyes fell upon her ring, which her mother had given her in her dying moments, and the bits of mirror in her footlocker, those and the frame on the floor made up was left of the mirror she'd shattered at the Drowning Wench following that love-potion mess. The moonlet on the bedside table... A relic from a simpler, gentler time it seemed to her. Before Garleans and Beastmen, before the pirates...
It struck her then, that most everything she owned, was a keepsake from someone she'd held dear, and lost... or memento from a closed chapter of her life, they told the story of her life as she suffered through it, and thus, they defined who she was, and who she is. Yet she had nothing of Aveline's.. No keepsake to honor her memory and carry it with her always. Somehow that made her even more depressed. "I need a drink... or six"
"Got ta get me a private room fer all that junk" she murmurs as she heads for the concern
