The snow had been falling steadily all day, but by lunchtime the people flying into the Brotherhood’s Sanctuary seemed filled with more fear than faith, and Maeva didn’t need the aether to sense it. Her slow exploration of the grand space they called the Hall of Stars had suddenly become an impromptu observation of all the people who’d inexplicably found themselves refugees from the weather. The atmosphere shifted abruptly from the solemn haven of an infant religion to a frisson of burgeoning chaos. She watched as the robed men and women attending the hall glided into action with a surprisingly coordinated sense of aplomb – welcoming the unexpected influx, and sorting wet outer garments and shoes. If they were rattled themselves, remarkably few of them showed it.
Mae blinked towards the doors. Though she realised quickly that it meant something was very wrong out there, for the spark of a moment she was more curious to see with her own eyes what had changed outside than to worry what it all actually meant. But when she tried to peek at the world beyond she found it…gone.
There was no sign of Theron despite the unfolding crisis. People were crying, shivering, consoling themselves with safety. Some were pacing, trying to reach loved ones on soggy wallets. Even an exhausted ambulance crew sought shelter with a charge in tow, which Mae watched unfold with wide eyes until they disappeared elsewhere in the Sanctuary's halls. The monument was enormous, and she didn’t entirely discount slipping away to look for her brother properly. But an absence now must mean he was not even here. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. Relieved? Disappointed? Whatever it was, she tidied it neatly away to examine later.
A slender young man was the one to finally push the doors closed against the onslaught, sliding across heavy locks to keep it that way. By then Mae had already given her coat over to someone shivering and wet. Underneath she wore a fair isle sweater in soft greys and creams, little snowflakes knitted into the pattern of the weave. It was probably a faux pas to be wearing a Christmas sweater in January, but it was warm, and in any case she liked it dearly. Her hair had dried in loose curls about her ears, tousled from the bobble hat she had slipped from her head some time ago.
He spent a long time watching the doors after he’d shut them. A burden of responsibility if ever she saw one.
She obediently found somewhere to sit to pass the time. Most of her belongings were at the hotel, but she found some sweets in her pocket which she shared with those around her along with polite conversation. Boredom wove with the uncertainty as panic turned to waiting. At some moment she hadn’t witnessed the young man had returned to stand like a sentinel, carefully standing apart from everyone else, his hands clasped behind his back as he did little more than survey. A blonde woman in different Brotherhood robes spoke with him briefly, and touched his arm in a familiar way, before returning to her duties. Right now that seemed to include sitting on her knees whilst she sang and orchestrated games with a small group of children clustered around her like lambs. Her voice was sweet and musical, and nicer than the competing sounds of so many people jammed in together. The repetitive beeps and jingles of a video game. The mindless scroll of social media. Someone close by was watching what sounded like a corny dating show.
When she got up she told herself it was simply to stretch her legs. But when she picked her way through the clusters of people, her feet took her to the Brother with the dark hair and tight look to his eyes. She wondered if Theron had dispensed the responsibility of command upon him, or if he had simply stepped in. He looked incredibly young, despite also seeming old before his time.
“Hello,” she said, to catch his attention, and offered her palm to shake.
Mae blinked towards the doors. Though she realised quickly that it meant something was very wrong out there, for the spark of a moment she was more curious to see with her own eyes what had changed outside than to worry what it all actually meant. But when she tried to peek at the world beyond she found it…gone.
There was no sign of Theron despite the unfolding crisis. People were crying, shivering, consoling themselves with safety. Some were pacing, trying to reach loved ones on soggy wallets. Even an exhausted ambulance crew sought shelter with a charge in tow, which Mae watched unfold with wide eyes until they disappeared elsewhere in the Sanctuary's halls. The monument was enormous, and she didn’t entirely discount slipping away to look for her brother properly. But an absence now must mean he was not even here. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. Relieved? Disappointed? Whatever it was, she tidied it neatly away to examine later.
A slender young man was the one to finally push the doors closed against the onslaught, sliding across heavy locks to keep it that way. By then Mae had already given her coat over to someone shivering and wet. Underneath she wore a fair isle sweater in soft greys and creams, little snowflakes knitted into the pattern of the weave. It was probably a faux pas to be wearing a Christmas sweater in January, but it was warm, and in any case she liked it dearly. Her hair had dried in loose curls about her ears, tousled from the bobble hat she had slipped from her head some time ago.
He spent a long time watching the doors after he’d shut them. A burden of responsibility if ever she saw one.
She obediently found somewhere to sit to pass the time. Most of her belongings were at the hotel, but she found some sweets in her pocket which she shared with those around her along with polite conversation. Boredom wove with the uncertainty as panic turned to waiting. At some moment she hadn’t witnessed the young man had returned to stand like a sentinel, carefully standing apart from everyone else, his hands clasped behind his back as he did little more than survey. A blonde woman in different Brotherhood robes spoke with him briefly, and touched his arm in a familiar way, before returning to her duties. Right now that seemed to include sitting on her knees whilst she sang and orchestrated games with a small group of children clustered around her like lambs. Her voice was sweet and musical, and nicer than the competing sounds of so many people jammed in together. The repetitive beeps and jingles of a video game. The mindless scroll of social media. Someone close by was watching what sounded like a corny dating show.
When she got up she told herself it was simply to stretch her legs. But when she picked her way through the clusters of people, her feet took her to the Brother with the dark hair and tight look to his eyes. She wondered if Theron had dispensed the responsibility of command upon him, or if he had simply stepped in. He looked incredibly young, despite also seeming old before his time.
“Hello,” she said, to catch his attention, and offered her palm to shake.