themerryarchitect:

“Just something warm to drink
 would be fine. The supplies are
 holding up, but thin. We fighters
 take less so the children have
 enough. I worry about if there
 is any prolonged sickness, though.
 That could decimate us.”

She is biting down on
something, but it’s mainly
herself. Ariadne knows
that there isn’t room for
personality, for internal
problems or emotional
outbursts. She’s tired &
so cold, but there isn’t
time for her to be either.

So she fights. It’s all any
of them can do anymore.

:: { ℑ⋅ℇ } ─ ─ ─ ::

          He gestures her to follow, intent on
        letting her some privacy as they talk.
        The catacombs are home to not just
        the resistance but the refugees too–
        Enjolras can tell you better than most
        how stifling it can be. 

                                      It’s not a big room, just a converted
                                   alcove, and even then, shoddily built,
                                   but there is a small thermos under the
                                   table covered in loose sheets of paper.
                                   He offers it to her, listening intently.

          ”Medicine is hard to procure. We’ve
         been trying but the supply trucks are
         heavily guarded. Our expert believes
         rather than attacking en route, we wait
         till they make it to the hospital.“

                                          ”We’re hearing chatter of one such
                                       supply scheduled for next week.“