what once was -open-

[Nyssa Brey]

There was a lot of damage done all over the place, people pointed the finger of blame here and there but it didn't bring back what once was. The damage could not be fixed in the blink of an eye, nor time reversed, despite the hopes of some. Like this pile of rubble now in a heap, a memory of what had once been there but was there no longer. It didn't look anywhere near like the grand building it had once been, instead it was lying broken and forgotten. A silent victim crying out in protest, not wanting to be the broken remnant it now was left to being.

Standing at the edges of the rubble was one figure that didn't continue on, but instead looked over what was left of the once grand building now lost. Her dark hair flowed freely, strands caught and swirling in the breeze, eyes perhaps a brighter blue than even that of the sky above. Given the chill of the breeze even under the sun's warmth Nyssa wore a navy blue trench coat, buttoned up and keeping the warmth within. Her pants were just long and black, plain. It was her black leather boots that brought the most statement anyway, from the buckles that ran up them to where they nearly hit her knees.

Flicking one of her strands of hair away from her face she put her hand in the pocket of her coat and pulled out a picture. On the picture stood a building, looking old but proud of its survival. Her eyes flickered to the rubble now in front of her. A before shot and a personal view of what came after. Even this building had perished in these catastrophic events when it had boasted itself for surviving so much prior. Lowering the picture to her side she studied the rubble for a moment before looking down at her feet. Unable to help the impulse she used the tip of her boot to nudge at a small piece of the rubble which obediently rolled away to rest against a larger piece.

[Tristan Mallard]

The sky was somewhat gloomy, the sun playing hide and seek shinning on the rubble below. The castle had once been the backdrop for so many different things. It was the place of knights and damsels in distress. Of Lords and Ladies…a place of magic, romance, and heartbreak. Now it was just batch of rumble, the remembrance of what was, of a better life…of a life before the war.

Tristan stood back from the small touring group he had joined on a whim. He had been living here in Dublin for a while, but it was kind of fun now and again to join up in the whole tourist crave and join the babbling Americans in discorvering the past. It was a bit on the chilly side, a sharp breeze causing the most of them to hurry along, chattering about Irish curses. Tristan couldn’t help but shake his head, as he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt on.

A figure caught his attention, drawing his eyes to one of the girls who had been in the group. She wasn’t a true tourist, she didn’t have the store bought shirts that just screamed tourist. He took in her dark hair and stature. She was a lean thing, could use a bit more on her bones for his liking, but then with all that was going on, there weren’t really that many overweight people out there. He took in her long blue coat and her boots. A small smile crossed his face as he took them in, before shaking his head as he moved toward her.

He watched as she took out a picture. From what he could see, it was a picture of what was. Of a building that once stood tall and proud. Now it lay in rubble, a fallen warrior of itself. He couldn’t help but smirk as he watched her kick a pebble. “Got to wonder what it was like when this place was busting with life?” he threw out, as he came up beside her. “Back when this place was full of glory and honor.”

[Nyssa Brey]

How people interacted was the same and yet also changed from the old days. Before they had to really wonder if the person beside them was Human or not. Yet still there were those willing to find a strand of conversation in the midst of everything and engage so with a stranger. Nyssa flicked her blue eyes towards the voice that spoke to her, pulling her out of her own observations. Those eyes proceeded to look the young boy up and down. So young and such an innocent in these dark times. Then again the young in Humanity had a habit of proving themselves faster.

"It does make one wonder," Nyssa found herself in agreement to his words as she cast her gaze over the rubble once more. "It also makes one think of the future, when it will be nothing more than a picture and a distant memory before that too is gone. It clung together far longer than many others, yet it still fell." There was symbolism in that, speaking that all things eventually crumbled. The Fae might live far longer than any Human could dream of but eventually even that could crumble away and become nothing more than a memory. They could also be forgotten before they had faded.

Casting her gaze briefly towards the sky she wondered as that piece of home that had destroyed this building. Then with a small sigh she turned a little, this time angling her whole body to show that the boy had her attention. "Are you actually a tourist or a local?" It seemed a common enough thing for both to be the truth, though tourists were a little more weary these days of traveling. Going far from home was not a majorly accepted thing given the state of affairs currently in the world. That seemed to indicate he was from this area, undoubtedly more familiar with the area than she was.

[Tristan Mallard]

Tristan watched as the tour group kept going on, stopping to take poised pictures here and there. They keep clattering on about this and that, really not paying much attention to the history they were walking through. Oh to have lived here when it was new, to be a part of a world not in constint turmoil with the Fae. There were wars, civil and war, but that was different. Here there really didn’t seem to have a fighting chance.

Tristan shot a glance back at the girl. Tristan couldn’t help but sigh at her words. A mere memory of what was. “History will be forever lost,” he replied softly. “Only to live in books and pictures.” He moved closer, making sure his footwork was careful on the shaky rubble. “It’s a shame really. Our kids will never really know where they came from. They’ll only know what we’ll tell them, and who’s to say that it won’t be the right history either.”

A camera flash caught his attention to see an elderly woman try to get her grandson to stand still long enough for a picture. They had shirts that read “Born Lucky” which got him to cringe. He caught the image off of the boy, saying that this place blows. It was people like that who made Tristan really hate tourists. They really only came out here to see the pretty. Not to learn the history or anything. To just get the t-shirt at the gift shop and have the ability to say that I was there.

“God no,” Tristan barked, only to chuckle. “Sorry, but there is no way in heck I would consider myself a tourist. I may not have grown up here, but I do tend to call this place my home. So I guess you could call me a local.” He shot her a look, taking in her bright blue eyes, that mirrored that of the sky. “What about you?”