<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/f4/Theodorehowell.png)</div><br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Theodore "Teddy" Howell<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>Friday Christmas eve night, December 24th, 1875<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>not too long after midnight<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Gomorra Volunteer Fire Brigade<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Lady Anne Boyle, closed<br/><br/><hr/>He carried her carefully, noting where bright green slippers stuck out from the snow as he traced her course back.  Well, at least she wasn't completely mad.  He tucked her under one arm – his biceps and shoulders were massive, it seemed, and he stooped while carrying her with one arm.  He collected the first discarded slipper and handed it back to her; snow and ice still clung to it, and a few paces later he stooped to collect the second, offering it as well before sliding his arm back under her knees.  He'd hardly made a protest at the redistribution of her weight, handling her slim body like she was a small child instead of a young woman.<br/><br/>She said she wasn't alright; and that spoke at least for some presence of mind as to the condition he'd found her in.  It was the ones who acted crazy and didn't seem to realize it that truly worried him. His eyes had long shadows – dark shadows that spoke of ghosts in his past, memories he did his best to press beyond.  “Teddy,” he offered, when she stammered out her thanks, her gratitude.  The mention of her dreams, the horror bad enough to wake her and drive her out into the street... and he blew out a breath, smiling down at her.<br/><br/>“Had some bad dreams, myself,” he promised.  “They ain't real, though,” he promised.  He saw the tears well up in her emerald eyes, and he couldn't help but squeeze her just a little closer, his mighty strength gentled and careful.  “We need to get you inside, and warm,” he reassured.  “But the dreams are just dreams,” he promised.  “Just dreams.”  He stroked her arm, doing his best to warm her.  It hadn't taken him long to catch her, and after a moment they stood beneath a sign that read 'Bob's Fix-It Shop,' and Teddy towed open the door with his boot, turning sideways to get her inside without clunking her inelegantly against a door frame.  He set her down, the slippers still in her lap, on a hand carved rocking chair. Taking a moment to loose the duster and wrap it over her legs like a blanket.<br/><br/>Then she'd buried her head against his chest, clinging to him, and rather then fetching firewood, he paused, wrapping his arms around her shaking shoulders.  He heard her speak about reason, and logic, about the inability to banish darkness with her mind alone.  He could see it in the way she quaked, and he pulled back just a moment, sliding his hand beneath his shirt, taking the wood beaded rosary and wrapping it around his thick fingers.  He knelt down next to her, looking up at her, and pressed the object into her hand, clasping her hands in his.<br/><br/>His words were a gentle whisper.  His eyes looked up at hers, those dark shadows still there, but there was courage in his gaze, too.  “<em>Sed et si ambulavero in valle mortis non timebo malum quoniam tu mecum es virga tua et baculus tuus ipsa consolabuntur me.</em>”  His recitation of the Latin was formal, but his inflection was perfect.  He didn't just know the words by rote, he knew the meaning and the inflection behind each.  “<em>Pones coram me mensam ex adverso hostium meorum inpinguasti oleo caput meum calix meus inebrians.</em>”  His hands squeezed hers, tight and reassuring, his words bearing a strange, certain sort of courage.  “<em>Sed et benignitas et misericordia subsequetur me omnibus diebus vitae meae et habitabo in domo Domini in longitudine dierum.</em>”  He closed his eyes at the last, and bowed his head.  “Amen.”<br/><br/>He squeezed her hand once more, than slid his fingers from the rosary and crucifix, letting her hold on to it for a while longer.  The shop around him seemed to be little more than shelves lined with small projects – everything from broken chairs to a music box which had come unsprung, its contents and gears carefully settled on the shelf.  He tugged a small bin of firewood closer, drawing out a log for the pot belly stove, setting it within, and tossed tinder in kindling after, taking a quick moment to arrange it before carefully striking a wooden match and setting it to light.<br/><br/>Only once the fire had begun to cheer the room did he return, dragging a stool close and taking her hand again.  “How you feelin' now, Elisabeth?”<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Translation of Latin</div><div class="spoiler_body"><em>Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.  Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.</em></div></div>