Some Things Change
thelightprevails:
Crev is cold, the kind of cold that shocks you into feeling things, the cold hit of the truth, or icy water. She doesnât know if sheâs fallen through a frozen lake or just been towed out, but the grip is real, itâs genuine. She clutches onto the womanâs back, her short dirty fingernails digging into the shirt. Her head finds the crook of her shoulder, and as Crev talks, tears pool in her eyes, running down her face and onto the white linen.Â
She closes her eyes and takes what she says as truth, because she wants to. Because she needs to. She didnât deserve what happened to her. She didnât deserve to be left to die six feet under. Does Vesta know? Toustain just buries her nose into Crevâs shoulder, wishing she could block everything else out. Her friend. Her protector. Youâll be okay, she says, itâll get better, and she keeps having that thought over and over again. I hope so, I hope so, I hope so.Â
She didnât need Crevecoeur to be holy, or blessed. She didnât care if she ever stepped foot in a church, though she wishes, she wishes - her hands tighten for a moment - that sheâd recognize all that Good that burned in her, that Light that she wanted to eclipse. Toast sniffs, realizing her breathing had gone ragged and shallow, and comes back to herself.
âYouâre a graverobber,â she says, some sort of melancholic moan sounding from her, âand Iâve made it awkward for you!â Thereâs a hopeless smile there, some guilt released. Thereâs a laugh that could be a sob, and she presses against her even more.
She canât remember the last time she truly embraced someone, or when someone truly embraced her. Itâs foreign, itâs comforting, and it pings in her mind that she knows why this isnât something sheâs supposed to do. This is how you get false idols. You start wanting this closeness, this comfort, this admission of peace, from this. Just this. Not even a kiss, no, not even the heat of distant lust or the glow of falling into some kind of romance, just this. Just contact. And that cold feeling mellows; she doesnât know if sheâs warming Crevecoeur, or if the woman just wasnât as cold as she had thought at first.
Oh, Light, when was the last time someone gave this poor woman a hug?
Crev decides itâs better not to know as she simply holds Toast a bit closer, resting her cheek on top of her friendâs head. Things would have to be okay, or in the least, what passed for okay around here. Soon enough, the horrors outside would replace what transpired in here, theyâd forget, theyâd move on. Theyâd find new victories to drink to, more losses to drown. Itâd be fine.
âDonât worry about me and grave robbing. That churchyard is my chicken coop, and I daresay this old vixen hasnât quite given up just yet.â She chuckles, giving Toustain one more tight squeeze before letting her go, and smiles warmly. There. Thatâs better. Much better. Crev takes one of Toastâs hands in both of her own, patting it as reassuringly as she can manage before gesturing back to the quiet street theyâd meant to walk. âI meant it, when I said I wanted to catch up. If strange things are happening, I usually make it my business - and the sooner we sort out the past, the sooner we can look to the future. Somethinâ like that, anyway.â She rolls her shoulders, straightens her spine, takes a few more silent steps.
A bit cavalier, but a sense of normalcy is important. Between the crying, her friend being over, and this small... issue, with Vesta, a sense of normalcy was more than needed. So, a roguish archetype she was. itâs not all acting, she is The Grave Robber, but. A little bit of it is, over the more concerned, coddling part. Toast doesnât need coddling.
âSo. Whatâs rocking the Abbeyâs world, at the moment, my friend? Did you catch someone making out in those meditation rooms upstairs?â
Teasing, but you know. It might just surprise her out of worrying any more.













