Flawed Guilt
22/11/2008
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RW Abbey: Bell Tower
A magnificent sandstone structure stands tall here in the middle of the Redwall Abbey open ground. The red rock towers high upwards in a spiral pattern around the tapered cylinder of the building, and at the top there is a canopy, as well as a roof made out of shingles fashioned from some grey sedimentary rock, held up by four vertical and three horizontal oak wooden beams. If viewed at the right angle, the brass shine of two large bells can be seen hanging from the inside of the tower, forming the defining piece of the Bell Tower of Redwall.
Exits: [O]pen [G]round
- THIS ROOM IS BROADCASTING **
The events of the previous day have left a hopeful, yet sombre atmosphere all around the abbey. Concern for the injured, yet hope at the slowly spreading rumours of the wounding of the owl. Accounts vary, but all Gwennythe knows is that she has heard no mention of the owl's death. The Bell Tower might actually exude a more sinister, dark atmosphere, weighted in it's own history, yet it is here the bat seeks solace. The glint of a kitchen blade, dull in the wintery ambience, spirited away with nobeast to witness, occupies the little bat's attention.
Madison does know that Gwennythe frequents the tower, but it seems doubtful, at least to outside eyes that this is the reason the squirrel approaches the tower. Though she is mostly - /mostly/ - without pain, the cold has forced the squirrel to once again rely on her cane, a seething, constant burden and reminder, an obstacle that makes it oh so easy for her to give in and turn her back on her thoughts of redemption and reform. Madison leaves a steady trail through the snow, the sound of her cane ringing out as it transfers from snow to stone.
Long ears swivel back, focusing on the noise. The knife is lowered, a half hearted attempt at hiding it. The bat is stood on the ground, in the shadowy, chilly tower. She doesn't turn to face the squirrel, her ears are already doing that, but addresses her with a greeting, somewhat subdued. "Ben vespre, m'dam Madison..." She knows very few other squirrel shapes with canes, after all.
Madison, too, knows why one would know it is her without turning one's eyes to see. For the past few months she'd been able to walk almost as good as... the squirrel notices the bat's odd, quiet demeanor. Quiet in a bad way. "Gwennythe." it's half acknowledgment, half questioning as she enters the bell tower.
The questioning part of that simple word causes those ears to droop somewhat. The bat turns, perhaps not wanting to seem rude, careful wing placement attempting to block the knife from view. She dips her head, taking on a worried smile. "Um, how are you, today? Are you sure you should be out here? It's very cold..."
Madison is very tempted to let that line of conversation sweep her away. Gwennythe is the only one whom she can spill her problems out to without fear of stern reprimands, or orders to pull her life together. But no, the squirrel has noticed the bat's demeanor, and tilts her head. It's not so much the physical concealment of the knife that is successful, more the fact that Madison would never suspect that Gwennythe would do such a thing. "I'm fine with the cold." she can't summon up some witty quip to follow up, "...What about you? And I don't just mean the cold."
Gwennythe lowers her head. Such a thought, and such a plan, certainly go against the little bat's nature. The warring aspects of her own logic and her true wishes and feelings are new to her in such intensity. She attempts to fidget, but the object makes it differently. "I... I am fine, m'dam Madison..." It's utterly unconvincing.
Madison manages a half-hearted smirk. "Sure. And I'm a ballet-dancing goodwill ambassador." she steps closer, close enough to catch the knife if less concealed, "I think I have an idea of what's going on... but I won't pretend; I don't go around collecting news. I'm no good at conversations, you know that. But I can listen, if you just want to talk." it sounds so /odd/ coming from Madison, and indeed even when talking to Gwennythe, she still finds such things difficult to say.
Gwennythe sighs. Not just her ears droop, her whole body decides to follow suit. She unfurls her wings a little, into a more relaxed, and comfortable position, which brings the knife properly into view. "Some beasts, went after him yesterday... I hear so much, and there are so many rumours. M'dam... Sivaine was hurt. I... I already made up my mind yesterday, but..." Almost a lie, she still hasn't, but perhaps thinks she has. "I took this, while Senher Sharpclaw was making tea..."
Madison has so many replies. So many lines which the abbeybeasts would write off as being 'just Madison'. How stealing from under the nose of a blind creature is the actions of a beast after her own heart, and such. Her eyes widen, but she remains calm. "Made up your mind." another half-question. "You want to finish this yourself."
"Um... I-I should, m'dam Madison..." Her reasoning may not be sound, but her voice gets a bit calmer, restrained, after a slight lick of her muzzle and a couple of swallows. "I found out who he was and made everything worse by doing nothing but fleeing... And then telling everyone... Now they've all been going after him... Getting hurt and.. and worse..." The wings come together, holding the knife between them. It's a fair sized knife, for someone of the bat's size, but it would be pitiful compared to the intended target...
Madison's expression has returned to her usual one; the heavy, self-pitying visage, head tilted slightly downwards. Her response, however, is simple. "You know... you can't do it." she steps a little closer.
The little bat is turning the knife over in her wings, watching it. Her drooping posture remains, a little air of defeat around her, though she doesn't want to admit to the squirrel being right about such a thing. "I-I have to do something, M'dam Madison... I need to do it..."
Madison shakes her head, retaining that expression. "Not this. You can't do this. You /can't/ do this." she sounds like she's almost trying to convince herself as well as the bat. "It's not... It's not heroic, or sensible, or rational. But more importantly, there is no way it can end well. No way."
Gwennythe quirks a terrible, sad little half smile. At the last bit anyway. "I've, um, I've left some instructions... And sketches, m'dam Madison. Somebeast will need to get them from the attic." A slightly more accessible place than her ledge. "They... they have a pattern for the things I was supposed to make. And there are a couple of, um, letters..." Hastily written, and not to the neatest of her ability, but Gwennythe has, or at least, thinks anyway, that she's made up her mind. She hasn't mentioned about coming back though, not even considering a possibility. There's a reluctance through all of this.
Madison's eyes widen again. Leaving instructions and letters? This time she reaches out for the 'wrist' of the wing holding the knife - not to disarm her, but simply for emphasis. "No. You can't do this. I won't let you." Her cane clatters to the floor as she lets go of it, not violently, but simply so she can take that wing. "I will not let you go out there. If you go out there, he'll kill you. Or worse: you'll kill him."
The bat is a little stunned, at the wing grab. But doesn't... really protest. She just sort of... stares at the squirrel's paw. "But... Perdon... M'dam. That is... is my intention..." She knows, somewhere in her mind, what the squirrel means... And she's probably, somewhere in the same region in there, desperate to be talked out of her terrible, and ill-thought plan.
Madison shakes her head. "No it isn't. You don't fight. You don't /kill/. What would you do, /you/, if you did so?" she sighs. "Look at me. If you were to do that, then I might as well be your reflection in a season or two. You know that. You were there." Madison hadn't killed back then, of course, but what had happened was just as bad. She's living proof.
Gwennythe looks back at the knife. The squirrel, of course, makes sense. Though, under different circumstances, Gwennythe would be attempting, like she does, to insist that ending up like Madison wouldn't be all terrible. There's almost a bubble of that trying to escape, though it doesn't make it all the way. "Wh... What can I do, m'dam? I've caused hurt... And I can do," There's a sniffle coming "Do nothing to make up for it."
Madison bids the bat sit, right there on the floor, the squirrel outwardly unaffected by the cold stone floor. "Tell me." she tries, "Tell me everything. Everything that has led you to this decision." she's making a huge effort, and isn't about to let it slip away.
Gwennythe does indeed sit. After a few moments, that knife finds its way to the floor, no long held by the wing of the bat. The little one is aware that this is an effort for the squirrel, and the sitting is without hesitation. The bat, out of habit of always trying to help, finds the squirrel's can upon the floor and pushes it towards her, so that it's close to paw. "Drakon. He was my friend... When I was still mostly hiding away, up in the roof beams, and knew hardly anybeast, Drakon was nice... I... I went to him, thinking he'd help, when I first heard about a murderer and an owl... I thought he could help catch the bad owl... But all I did was warn him that beasts were looking out for an owl... Tot es mut..."
Madison grasps her cane as its pushed toward her. It's a wretched symbol of her own wretched self, though for the last few seasons it had seemed like her only friend, in a way. How pathetic. She looks to the bat, and speaks. "I fail to see how you've caused harm."
"I warned him... I... didn't know it, but, I should have. An owl... He was the only owl I'd ever seen in the abbey, m'dam... I made him harder to catch. And then, I tried to make up for that... I told upon his identity. I sent him and his pursuers on a course for eachother... Now... There is so much hurt..." On both sides. The owl, she's sure, has suffered, and though some might argue he deserves that, he was the bat's friend once...
Madison nods, "There has been a lot of hurt." she agrees. Turmal's death - and moreso the reactions of those around him at the time - haunts her. "But that's not your fault. He was attacking before you said anything. He would have continued."
Gwennythe looks down. "He was... was attacking... But not so frequently, m'dam Madison... Not with such ferocity... Perhaps, perhaps there would have been less hurt, if I hadn't been quick enough that day... I know... Know that I'm not strong enough to use that," She extends a wing towards the discarded knife "But, there is nothing else I can do..."
Madison moves to take the bat's wing again, gentler this time. "None of this is your fault." she insists, telling the bat the truth - the things the squirrel once needed to hear, though never would have believed either. "You did the right thing at the time, and you had no way of knowing what was running through his mind. You had the best intentions, but it was he that deceived." a pause. She's running out of this newfound articulation. "Don't let yourself become a casualty." Normally she might leave the knife, let the creature make their own choice, but she cares too darn much for Gwen, and moves to take it.
Gwennythe doesn't make any objections, nor move to stop the squirrel as she takes the knife. It's definitely for the best that she won't get a chance to use it, and on some level, the bat is very relieved that the choice is removed from her. Her large ears flitter, ever so slightly, and the bat sits, contemplating those words. "M'dam Madison..?" The bat, after a while, utters softly. "Merces." Thank you, of course. The bat seems content to remain, though, sat upon the floor for the time being, and shall probably be there for a while. The Bell Tower has become her sanctuary, her place to think, after all...
