[Its a compromise. She's far too logical about it all; far too accurate, too. Richie's no forensics expert but now that she's pointing it out, the bones do have a bit of weathering on them. They're all boasting that roughed up leather finish, fraying like they've been sandpapered.
Still didn't mean it wasn't sacred to somebody. It might feel like the Catacombs but even with the space of centuries, didn't old bones command some respect? They all belonged to thinking-feeling things. Loving things. Richie fixes her with an uncertain stare.]
Fair enough. [He'll put his pack roll down, but rubs at his eyes. The whole shebang is wearing him down to nubs on all fronts. Part of him wonders if he's overreacting, but another, softer slice of him roars at the thought. It's hard not to wonder how they might have died, these folks. Carelessly strewn about just like the bodies of all them kids. Decapitated, decapitated, legs gone, arm gone. Found by the river, found on the road. Snuffed out. Their grim death superseding their short lives.
That was the real kicker, wasn't it? The wilder the way you went, the less anyone remembered about your life.
As part of their peace treaty, he'll start compiling those scattered limbs. Putting them neatly together against some brush, a haphazard burial mound for gaggles of people. Bone soup, it looked like, but it's better than tossing them like gravel.] You were saying...you can tell they weren't put here for burial. How can you tell?
[It's not a challenge. It's sincere, if sombre, curiousity.] What'd you do before you got here, that you know so much about bones?
[ She's much more careful about the bones as she gathers them up now, not simply kicking them aside or clearing them mindlessly away. She stacks them in her arms, carrying them off to put them along the walls.
Glancing over as he speaks, she pauses to drop her armful of bones, and then picks up one in particular.
It looks like a pelvis, turned backwards in a distinctly birdlike fashion. ]
If it was a burial ground, it's not likely they would throw the bodies in with dead animals. And these bodies aren't whole; they've been broken apart and discarded.
[ This bone she's less gentle with, and she tosses it back with a few others. ]
I was an assassin, until a few months ago.
[ And then she was a Guardian of the Galaxy – something she's far more proud of, but she's learned that some people don't even know what galaxies are here, so that may be less of a helpful designation. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2017-12-20 01:48 am (UTC)Still didn't mean it wasn't sacred to somebody. It might feel like the Catacombs but even with the space of centuries, didn't old bones command some respect? They all belonged to thinking-feeling things. Loving things. Richie fixes her with an uncertain stare.]
Fair enough. [He'll put his pack roll down, but rubs at his eyes. The whole shebang is wearing him down to nubs on all fronts. Part of him wonders if he's overreacting, but another, softer slice of him roars at the thought. It's hard not to wonder how they might have died, these folks. Carelessly strewn about just like the bodies of all them kids. Decapitated, decapitated, legs gone, arm gone. Found by the river, found on the road. Snuffed out. Their grim death superseding their short lives.
That was the real kicker, wasn't it? The wilder the way you went, the less anyone remembered about your life.
As part of their peace treaty, he'll start compiling those scattered limbs. Putting them neatly together against some brush, a haphazard burial mound for gaggles of people. Bone soup, it looked like, but it's better than tossing them like gravel.] You were saying...you can tell they weren't put here for burial. How can you tell?
[It's not a challenge. It's sincere, if sombre, curiousity.] What'd you do before you got here, that you know so much about bones?
no subject
Date: 2017-12-20 04:42 am (UTC)Glancing over as he speaks, she pauses to drop her armful of bones, and then picks up one in particular.
It looks like a pelvis, turned backwards in a distinctly birdlike fashion. ]
If it was a burial ground, it's not likely they would throw the bodies in with dead animals. And these bodies aren't whole; they've been broken apart and discarded.
[ This bone she's less gentle with, and she tosses it back with a few others. ]
I was an assassin, until a few months ago.
[ And then she was a Guardian of the Galaxy – something she's far more proud of, but she's learned that some people don't even know what galaxies are here, so that may be less of a helpful designation. ]