#small hits

We see Lup leaning on Taako’s shoulder and shaking. Neither of their faces are visible, but it seems she’s crying.

Taako: Hey...

We see Taako’s face, impassive, mouth on the straw of a juicebox.

Taako: Why the hell are you doing this, again?

We see the grave-digger. It’s Barry Bluejeans, in lich form.

Barry:

Barry: Self care.

We see Lup’s face. She isn’t crying; she actually seems to be laughing. She holds herself together long enough to look indignant.

Lup: Have some respect for the dead!

a therapist recommends keeping a journal, and taako laughs, and shakes his head, and says, i won’t give the universe one more opportunity to take it all away from me

a shopping list feels wrong in barry’s hands, and he looks at it every five seconds just to make sure he hasn’t misremembered the eggs. he’s too used to all the words and maps on those cave walls fading into a blur as he wakes up in his body

magnus always had trouble with books (thanks dyslexia) but it manifested even stronger when he tried to read about history and relic wars--the letters just never quite came together in the right order. now, when it takes too long to figure out a sentence, he panics a little bit--what if something’s still gone? what if he’ll never know what it is?

davenport forces himself to write things down, because he’s pragmatic and he sure as fuck isn’t going to let himself die out on the sea without leaving a dramatic captain’s log in the sunken wreckage. but it’s still awful, because the last time he wrote about himself, it was for lucretia’s documentation, and she used that when she was getting rid of his life

Taako: What are you doing

Barry: Self care

If you wanna throw shade I'm gonna throw you away, no

1) he'd already gotten involved with necromancy communities in faerun and learned that machine was a thing here, or

Not the last time you saw these faces--you’ve been seeing those for over a year, now, and they’re practically pointless--you remember, rather, the last time you saw the people you spent a century with;

Lucretia, sad and anxious but not nearly so haunted as she is now;

Davenport, that stoic look returning as he realizes you’ve all caused a new war, and it’s on his face more often than it has been in the past few decades;

Merle, coaxing you to join his personal dancing classes--he’s trying to lighten the mood, but you refuse;

Magnus, joining you on some of your searches for Lup, knowing he’s not very handy for your quick sweeps but wanting to help anyway;

This umbrastaff, in her hands, the last time you saw her;

and Barry, smiling as he falls, chest splitting with a wound you inflicted--

--you killed him--

You killed him and he haunted you. And you couldn’t even do the courtesy of recognizing his skull.

And Lup is dead and she haunted you too, the last of her memory casting flames from your umbrella.

You all died there, ten years ago, on that ship. You all died and you’ve been haunting these shells of people, this planet that’s been dust since long before the Hunger’s assault began,

and you point her staff at your killer.