Locke was a fan of the marketplace's fountain, even if the city guard wasn't a fan of Locke. When he first...became the cold, blue elf he was deep down inside, one of the ways he tested whether or not his mother's spells were actually useful was on the water in that fountain. He would dip an chilly finger into the water, close his eyes, and freeze it entirely. Then, he would sit on the marble, to wait and see how long it would take the ice to melt. In the summer, when the temperatures were hot, it didn't take long at all. In the winter, though, when it was barely above freezing outside" He could spend an hour or two watching the thaw. And it didn't always thaw completely; sometimes, the end result of Locke's ministrations was a basin full of slush. A fact that would always make him clap giddily, until the boys in blue started waving truncheons at him.

Today was different though. He had heard the news the night before, but somehow, he stubbornly refused to believe it. Bad things happened in RhyDin, sure, but in small bunches. A vampire would pick off prostitutes one by one. A slaver would grab hale and hearty young men who were foolish enough to leave taverns late at night, drunk and alone. Nothing on this large a scale, though. It was like the zombie attack he had just missed. What was happening to RhyDin" This couldn't be real. So he shoved in the back of his mind, with the help of a few whiskeys on the rocks.

As he walked through the marketplace today, he couldn't avoid seeing the signs of the tragedy. City streets that usually hustled and bustled with holiday shoppers this time of year seemed oddly subdued, and the number of shoppers seemed to have decreased. Perhaps people were too afraid to return to the marketplace this soon after the disaster" And sometime between last night and the early afternoon, someone had put up some sort of message board. Of course, Locke was curious and made his way over there. He saw a sobbing elven couple kneel down and place a scruffy-looking stuffed zebra on the ground, then leave, the male barely able to support the female as she leaned against his shoulder.

As Locke's cobalt blue eyes scanned the notes and pictures stapled, thumbtacked, and nailed to the board, he felt himself welling up a bit. He blinked rapidly, pausing for a second. He was ...angry at himself. Why should I cry for these people" I don't know any of them. This is none of my business. This is none of my concern. Weeping won't bring these poor souls back. Even so, Locke had to brush a few frozen tears from his cheeks when he was finally finished examining the monument. Of course, he'd claim that something had gotten in his eye, if anyone had asked.

Les worked for as long as he could, mostly with anything that involved manual labor considering his knowledge of first aid and medical treatment was considerably limited; clinics and others more equipped for that sort of thing seemed to have it covered anyways. In the actual market itself, most everyone else that was able worked on cleaning up the mess and reviving the eastern section to what it once was- though that was probably going to take a while. Even when people had it looking good and repaired, it would probably be a while before people's spirits were lifted again. The events that transpired had wounded so many so very deeply.

Being so much smaller than the other men working, save for the dwarves who still easily outdid him in strength and stamina, Les couldn't work quite as long as they could. Dropping one last load of debris off to the side, he let out a breath of exhaustion as he wiped the back of his arm across his forehead. Even in the chill of the oncoming winter, he and others worked hard enough to sweat, to not even feel the cold. "Oy, Les, ye should probably take a break lad." One of the dwarves who had noticed his fatigue made the suggestion, and even though Les knew it was one he should take, he hated having to rest while others worked. Still, arguments wouldn't do much good, so an amiable smile was offered in response before he moved off.

Slumping into a bench not far from where others worked, Les watched others mill about, mixed emotions held beneath the surface. There was grief, there was sadness; that was rather obvious in some he saw. But there were others working hard, working to rebuild and not give up even in what seemed to be a hopeless situation. Time would tell how it all panned out, but most didn't seem willing to give up, not without a fight. One in particular had also caught Les' attention, a child sitting outside of a building. He was small, and obviously not human- his ears pointy, figure too slight, and messy locks were a mixture of blues and violets. What he was wasn't terribly important though, not to Les at least. He had seen that child before, during the previous day, alone then and alone now. That...was somewhat alarming.

Slow to move to his feet, Les casually moved towards where the child was sitting, giving him a disarming smile when spotted. "Hey." Les felt a little awkward, honestly. He wasn't used to dealing with kids. "Ah, you're not out here all alone are you? Where are your parents?" The child studied Les carefully, silver eyes widening then narrowing as his head canted, confusion writ on his features. Finally when his lips parted, the words of the common tongue didn't flow, instead his words were lyrical, foreign, spoken quickly, and Les didn't understand at all. "You don't speak common do you...?" Of course if he didn't, he'd not understand that either, now would he"

Sighing a bit to himself, Les scratched at his head. It was obvious the kid was lost, or else he'd not have been alone for so long. Where were his parents" Could the blast have killed them' That would have been entirely too cruel, another child being made an orphan so young, forced to be alone, fend for himself....Hazel eyes shifted to meet silver, locking on to them. Even with a difference in language, hopefully Les could make him understand he just wanted to help" Narrowing his eyes a little in concentration, Les tentatively held a hand out towards the child. They studied him carefully, looking surprised almost, before giving a little nod. Slowly moving to his feet, the boy took Les' hand, standing rather close to him as he peered around at other people. Nervous fellow, he was.

Having heard about the memorial at the fountain vaguely, Les figured that'd be a good place to start looking. For what exactly' He wasn't sure. Parents or siblings most likely. Anyone who knew the boy. "I think we should head to the fountain. There's a lot of people there and there's a good chance we can find someone you know there." Les spoke as they walked, even though the child didn't understand. Silence just wouldn't do, and pulling his attention away from the crowd seemed to be a smart thing to do, since when anyone drew close the child cowered closer to Les. "I'm hoping we find your parents, then maybe they can take you home and get you cleaned up and give you a good meal. Being on the streets alone like you were...it's no place for a child."

Les remained by the kid's side as they walked, offering a reassuring squeeze of the hand any time they seemed frightened. "Sometimes I wonder if this is a place for anyone, child or not." A quiet admission from one with waning faith. "I see a lot of bad stuff happen, and even when people try to stop it, it seems like more and more just keeps piling up. It feels like there's more evil at work here than good most of the time." Les sighed a bit as they continued to walk, curious silver eyes upon him as he spoke. "I guess I don't need to tell you that though, there's no telling what you saw when everything happened. And it still surrounds us, so it's not like you can't see it, even now."

He was oddly quiet then, as they continued on, approaching the fountain and memorial. Les looked around, even tried to stand on his tippy toes to see over people's heads. Specifically he was searching out people with more, well, colorful hair. The child's hair was blue, it was natural to assume that at least one of his parents had blue hair, or some sort of vibrant color. Most in the crowd didn't have hair like that though, and the child didn't seem to be recognizing anyone. Les moved closer to the board, trying not to pay the items much mind as he glanced over the assorted pictures and drawings and posters tacked up. No written descriptions were matching, and none of the pictures matched either...

"Nyx!"

Blinking in surprise as the child's hand jerked away from his, Les turned, watching him sprint away as quick as he could, nimbly darting around other people about. Taking a step forward, Les was about to object, but fell silent when he caught sight of a woman kneeling down towards the child, arms spread out. She didn't bear much of a resemblance to him, a touch plump and her hair brown, but the boy leapt into her arms with as much enthusiasm as any child would for their mother. Les was a little confused at first. Was that the mother" Or another family relative" Seeing the smile on their faces though, let him know he was overthinking things entirely too much. His own smile came somewhat slow, since a bit ashamedly, he had to admit he expected the worst.

But...maybe there was some hope for this place after all?

Bleary-eyed and tired, Eva made her way back through the Marketplace towards the fountain, her coat clutched tight over filthy scrubs. She'd heard at the hospital that people were looking for their loved ones, and before she allowed herself to rest, she figured it was her duty to set some minds at ease if she could.

Eva stood in front of the bulletin board for what felt like hours, looking at pictures and reading descriptions. There weren't many she could help with, but for the few she recognized, with a red pen she wrote in bold letters along the bottom AT THE CLINIC.

Once she thought she'd seen them all, she turned to go, but after only a few steps she hesitated and then returned. Seeing an old woman posting a notice, she gently inched towards her.

"Do you have any more paper?"

The woman looked startled by the question, turning red rimmed eyes towards Eva, but nodded and pulled a folded blank page from her pocket. Eva took it from her with a weary smile. "Thank you."

Sitting on the edge of the fountain, Eva wrote out the note in the red pen, and the posted it up before turning and leaving, heading towards home.

To Caerwyn, beloved of Mihala, a young woman with pink hair and green eyes,

I was with her when she died. She wasn't in any pain. She wasn't afraid. She was thinking of you.

Carley's good mood and bounce had simmered down and become appropriately somber when she entered the eastern quarters of the market. Progress was certainly being made, but the reminders of the tragedy from earlier were still visible everywhere she looked, be it some damaged property, or on someone's face. Some have a saying, that everything happens for a reason, that good will come of everything. It's something hard to believe, but some good did come to her in the wake of the explosion, and she hoped others could find something good as well, some peace to carry away from it all.

Moving by not too far from the fountain, bright blues drifted that way, taking note of some gathered around the bulletin board. It wasn't nearly as crowded as it was the last time she was there, either people were finding what it is they wanted, or had lost hope and left. The ones behind still looked hopeful though, in spite of the time that had already passed. It caused her to sigh to herself, knowing how unlikely it'd be for reunions to happen at this point. Carley had turned to move on, but paused at the sight of a small figure in a conical hat moving her way. She blinked in mild surprise, glancing left and right then over her shoulder. Surely he wasn't approaching her"

"'ey." David lifted a hand in greeting as he approached the elf, looking her over, gaze momentarily resting on her casted wrist. "I heard ya got messed up. It's good ta see you're up and about again."

Good" To see her" David of all people said that' Carley blinked a little, then hesitantly offered a smile, cheeky and wide, as she rolled on her feet. "'Course I'm up and about, I wasn't hurt that bad. Just a little sprain." She held up her left hand. "I'm gettin' the cast off in a few days. I won't be liftin' anything heavy for a while, but it should be okay then." She paused, eying David some. He had fallen quiet, and she had fallen quiet. It was an odd sort of silence, but lacked the awkward quality most periods of silence seemed to have. Carley reached up, rubbing at her head, beret lost in the explosion. Picking up a new one just hadn't been a priority yet. "I heard ya helped out a lot of people, that's real....good, of you, David."

The little gnome gave a little shrug, then lifted his cap up momentarily so he could scratch at the bald spot on the head beneath it. "A lot of people pitched in." To that Carley gave a little nod, and after a few moments of thought, she pulled her tote bag closer and opened it up, rummaging around as David looked on curiously. A plain white, thick envelope was held out for the gnome to take, who did so hesitantly. "Wha's this?" He looked a bit wary at the gesture.

Shrugging, Carley waved her one good hand as she tried to strike a flippant pose and speak the same way. "When The Stitch opens up again I'm not gonna have much time for peddlin' on the market, so I don't need my spot anymore. It won't do ya any good now, but when spring hits and it warms up and business picks up again it'll be perfect."

David was about to dig through the envelope, but when Carley spoke he stopped rather abruptly. Had he heard her right' "You're giving me...?" He didn't even have the words for it, not even a thank you in his shock. For so long they had feuded and fought, especially over that one piece of the market. And for her to do this now..." He glanced over the envelope again, before slipping it away into his back pocket, then peered up at the elf. He had come over for a reason after all. "Someone's lookin' fer you." He turned and pointed towards the bulletin board. "I saw something addressed ta ya on the left side, close ta the bottom."

Carley rolled on the balls of her feet once, before stopping and glancing where David had pointed. "Really?" Her thoughts raced as she tried to think of who would be looking for her. Those closest to her already knew she was well. Glenn, Lydia, Erin, Ivy, Mille, Eddie...who else was there" "I should probably check it out." She started stepping that way, pausing to glance back at David. Grinning impishly then. "Ya better make good use of that spot. I'm gonna be mad if ya let it go to waste with yer bad wares." Before David could even respond, she spun back around to march off and onwards towards the bulletin board.

Upon arrival, she was careful to mind those already there, then approached the left side, standing on tip toes to carefully peer over all the posts and notices. Finger to her lips, she tilted left then right, searching and searching still, until finally her own name jumped out at her. With a thoughtful look, she quickly read over the messily scribbled words:

Carley,

I miss you. I miss our friendship. I don't even know if you're alive right now, and it kills me to think of how we left things. Please, please let me know you're alright.

-Heath

Carley had to re-read it, even as brief as it was. Heath' Heath had written this? And he was worried....she frowned at the thought. They hadn't spoken since the incident at The Stitch, and before that their friendship had been strained. But even before that, it was so good, they got along perfectly and he was one of the few people she could sort of open up to, at least when he wasn't drinking. She had to admit to herself that she missed him too. And if he was still unaware she was doing okay, well, that was awful. Cruel too. Rolling on the balls of her feet, she chewed on her lip a little before moving away from the bulletin, and set off in the direction of Dockside.

It was time to make things right.

He realized, somewhat dimly, that he'd been avoiding this spot.

It had been three months since the Marketplace bombings, but the memorial was still here, its pictures and papers and parchments tattered and fading from the winter storms. There were still so many pleas still there, unanswered, visible even beneath the shroud of snow, scribbled in red ink and blue, pencil, chalk, crayon - anything that had come to hand. Three months. The killers had been found - D'Mourir had seen to that, and yeah, he and Raven had played their roles upon the stage. A suspicious man, a hunch, a meeting of minds and a midnight raid....Paladin clenched his fist. There was no memorial for the Guardsmen cut down by fanatics that night, nor was it likely there ever would be. The silver shield had a bad rap in Rhydin City, and the only one who watched the Watchmen fall were their own.

The scars were still on the Market. There were children growing up without parents, parents growing old without children, men and women limping about, crippled, peering through scar-shrouded eyes, trying to go about their lives despite the creeping horror that, at any minute, the world might burst into flame and noise and flying shrapnel...

A gust of wind stirred his coat around him as he stood and stared at the memorial, unshed tears in his eyes - for all the dead, killed on these violent streets, for all the lives shattered and torn apart by the darkness that crept through this city like a poisoned mist. He might have been there ten minutes, he might have been there an hour, but finally he shook his head. He bent down and left a token by the foot of the post; a single bullet, .45 caliber, the brass cartridge glimmering warmly in the glow of the street lamps. Then, hands in his pockets, Paladin turned and walked away.

This wasn't his territory, and there were still many hours left until dawn. Until then....he had a beat to walk.