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[MERRY CHRISTMAS ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wayitcomes! Set in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
of_thelowlands. Everyone mentioned in here is a member of that verse.]
When you are stuck somewhere without a clock or calendar, it makes it a little hard to figure out how long you’ve been there. The days blend together, weeks blend into months, and you’re not entirely sure how long it’s been since you were home. You just know that it feels like it’s been forever and you’re not entirely sure how much more you can take of this. The days don’t change—it’s the same thing, one after the other, and eventually the monotony gets to you.
The village gets bigger every day. That’s the only thing that changes. There are new people every day, and they have to tell them all the same story—that they have no answers. They are never going to have the answers they’re looking for. It’s depressing, but at the same time, there is only so much they can do. Eventually the village is going to have to expand and they’re going to have to start fending for themselves a little more. But for now, they just need to try and find the way to count the days.
She knows Alaric does. She’s seen the line of tiny marks on the wall of his bedroom—well, now his and Buffy’s bedroom—small rows of seven across, four down, ever since he arrived in the village. Now there are six blocks of twenty eight lines—not quite an accurate calendar, but a calendar nonetheless. She doesn’t know what brings her to the bedroom that day—probably to put something away, but something draws her to stop and look at it. Six blocks. Six months.
God, had it been six months already?
( *** )
1023 words
wayitcomes! Set in of_thelowlands. Everyone mentioned in here is a member of that verse.]When you are stuck somewhere without a clock or calendar, it makes it a little hard to figure out how long you’ve been there. The days blend together, weeks blend into months, and you’re not entirely sure how long it’s been since you were home. You just know that it feels like it’s been forever and you’re not entirely sure how much more you can take of this. The days don’t change—it’s the same thing, one after the other, and eventually the monotony gets to you.
The village gets bigger every day. That’s the only thing that changes. There are new people every day, and they have to tell them all the same story—that they have no answers. They are never going to have the answers they’re looking for. It’s depressing, but at the same time, there is only so much they can do. Eventually the village is going to have to expand and they’re going to have to start fending for themselves a little more. But for now, they just need to try and find the way to count the days.
She knows Alaric does. She’s seen the line of tiny marks on the wall of his bedroom—well, now his and Buffy’s bedroom—small rows of seven across, four down, ever since he arrived in the village. Now there are six blocks of twenty eight lines—not quite an accurate calendar, but a calendar nonetheless. She doesn’t know what brings her to the bedroom that day—probably to put something away, but something draws her to stop and look at it. Six blocks. Six months.
God, had it been six months already?
( *** )
1023 words
