Open RP post for Maggie Garcia

[talesuntold]

Because we chose to tell the truth
(The cool of age, the rage of youth)
And stand against the lies of old
(The whispers soft, the tales untold)
We find ourselves the walking dead
(The loves unkept, the words unsaid)
And in the crypt of all we've known
(The broken blade, the breaking stone)
We know that we were in the right
(The coming dawn, the ending night).
So here is where we stop the lies.
The time is come. We have to Rise.

—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, August 7, 2041.

Bring me your plots, or send a message to tricia868 if you want to talk things out first!

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After Raylan leaves the Barge

[talesuntold]

[The first package Maggie sends Raylan after he leaves contains a handful of polished stones in rich blues and greens, a delicately carved wooden goose in flight with its wings outstretched, a packet of tea, half a dozen gold-dusted chocolate truffles, a little gold key without any corresponding lock... and a video file, which will explain the seemingly random assortment.]

This month's flood is absolute fairy tale nonsense. Saying nice things summons up nice things, and vice versa. Like those stories where jewels and pearls or snakes and bugs would pop into existence. Since I'm not feeling particularly spiteful, I'm having a great time.

It's also been good for some over-the-top romance, and I didn't think you should miss out just because you're not here. I know we don't really do poetry together in this life, but I was thinking of Mason and his Mags. So I figured I'd try this and see what turns up. For old time's sake. And for future.

[She'll give him a crooked smile before she raises a book and reads the same poem Mags read Mason that first night she took him home, right before they kissed: Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver. Every once in awhile she has to reach out and catch something as she speaks.]

I'm good at carving out exactly the sort of place I want for myself, but I could be happy in lots of places. You're the place I'm choosing. I can't wait to see what that looks like, darling.

[tinstar]

[It had been just barely since he'd left the Barge and while he had taken a day off work to sort the most fundamental parts of him out, back to the reality he knew he belonged in, he was finding the shift back into his paces hard. It wasn't the work - he jumped back into that as much as he could, but it was the difference in the quiet moments. It chewed at him differently, heart and chest all wrapped up in fears he hadn't spent his life learning how to manage.

The package came early. Raylan was still up, another night of him being unwilling to lay down into heartbreak and nightmares that waited for him between the sheets, and had several hours before he had to be responsible.

It gave him plenty of time to go through the contents, to load the video file and watch it as many times as he could, analyzing every gorgeous angle of her face for every sense of how well she was doing.

He couldn't send anything back. It hurt like hell.

15 hours later, Raylan sits back down at the small table in his motel room with his legal pad. He couldn't send anything back, but he could save it for when she came. It would take him almost two hours to get through writing it, bolstered by Maggie's chocolate and whiskey, but he got it done.]

Darling Maggie,

Feels weird, writing you a letter that you're not going to see for however long it takes for you to finish, but I figure it's better than nothing. Thank you for reading that poem. Having it in your voice is good. Good for me. I miss you more than I can articulate, though I imagine that inside ten letters, I might find some of the right ones to write down.

Maybe some poetry to be found yet.

[He goes on to write out what he's been up to - back to work, a garden he saw that made him think of her, how she's sweetly ruined any bakery that he could find, but that it was nice to be able to drive again. He looked forward to driving her, especially up California 1, by the Pacific Ocean. They'd rent a convertible, stay in a high end hotel.]

You've got me on a stake out for you, darling. Got a porch light on and everything.

Stay safe.

[talesuntold]

The letters come much quicker on his end than hers, months of time condensed down to days or weeks.

She tells him about her death in a spree of murder traps from Collins; how in the aftermath, she couldn't feel anything but relief that all her precautions had worked - she didn't amplify or hurt anyone. About Shaun's graduation. About somehow managing to wind up with a whole bunch of family while she was a talking badger, of all things, in a breach. About John Doe leaving a bit of warm affection in the back of his mind for her to reach for whenever she needed reprieves during a nightmare event; how John is an absolute godsend of warm reassurance. About Red's first coma, and her weak moments of worry that she'd failed him because it started right after he asked her for a favor, and continued through the second anniversary of their pairing.

She tells him she misses him, and she loves him, and she's coming home to him. She tells him the things she'd like to cook for him, and the ways she'd like to fuck him, and how she dreams about falling asleep beside him. She writes him poetry.

Then one day, there's a knock at his door, and it isn't a letter. It's Maggie, flesh and blood and there.

"Hey, darling."