Curse the damned old man, Ansgar considered bitterly, seeing Fritz, the one that had held this orphanage together as long as he had, barely clinging to life. The masked orphan, both hands resting on the cane that never left his person, had sequestered himself to the rear ranks of gathered children. To be honest, he had almost missed this little gathering, busy as he was tending to the latest needlework that he had been busy with. To be even more blunt, if it hadn't been Old Man Fritz, well, he would have seriously considered not showing at all. Yet, this was a man that, for better or worse, had been raising Ansgar for as long as he could readily remember. Despite disagreements, mostly on his side and not Fritz's side, the increasingly weathered, aged old man had done his best to keep up, tasking Mary with keeping up when the old man no longer could. Poor girl, Ansgar considered in hind sight, having to put up with his shenanigans. Usually, she had to try and drag him off from some project or another, which he responded to about as well as a common cat would to being dunked in water. In other words, rather poorly indeed.
Maybe that was why Ansgar was cursing Fritz on his death bed, he considered, going and dying, leaving so many lost and without their father, in every way that mattered. Places like this Orphanage were not commonplace, as far as Ansgar had been able to puzzle out, so it was an oddity that was passing away. His grip tightening on the head of his cane a bit more, the sound lost to the sounds of his fellow orphans, facing the fact they were going to be orphaned again. Was that why he cursed at Fritz, an old man about to die, for abandoning the lot of them? He wasn't sure, that tightness in his gut being a strange thing, something he was not used to as of late. Blinding himself with his busy work, ignoring the facts of what was coming. Out of everyone present, Ansgar had probably spent the least amount of time with Fritz in his final weeks. That thought was sobering and, more so than that, haunting, a man who had given everything to take care of him, left to swing in the breeze. Yet his words came forth none the less, despite his inner turmoil, bringing his attention to the pained, struggling words.
“Children…My time has come. I know that even without me saying, you rea-You realize that soon things will become very difficult for you. I tried to make some foundation for your future, but in this world nothing is certain.”Nothing in this world was certain...Not quite accurate, but close enough to a truth that it wasn't worth quibbling over. Debating details with a dying man wasn't worth their breath. The idea though, was dubious at best. A group that's only tie together now being a common plight, and common loss, were not terribly binding things. His gaze, hidden though it was, found itself locked onto Fritz as he spoke, unable or unwilling to turn away despite himself.
“That is why I wanted to tell you, as my last lesson, to remain united. You are all young, and although there is a lot of potential among you, none of you is strong enough yet to face the challenges of this world alone. So remain together, cooperate, compensate for each other’s weaknesses and you will be able to survive and even thrive in this city.”Young and full of potential, yet Ansgar could reckon that the only thing holding every single one of them together had been, at times, old man Fritz, so frail on his bed of death. Was it a nice ideal, something that could be striven for and, in better hands, accomplished? Certainly, but a group of soon to be reorphaned orphans that had some interesting, to put it mildly, interactions with one another was not such a group. He didn't expect the group to be able to hold it together, let alone so soon after Fritz's impending passing. He had this gut feeling, nothing solid, but something was lurking out there, waiting for the old man to pass so it could move in for itself. Yet, having grown up in a place he had kept wandering from, trying to figure out where he had come from before his memory started, he always found himself back here, despite overt claims and threats, even, of not coming back next time. Certainly, he could have made true on those things, yet here he was by a dying old man's death bed. Surrounded by borderline sobbing and crying children. Not that he had much room to talk, granted, but he wasn't being vocal about it.
That tightness, however, became a wrenching turn of a barbed knife as Ansgar watched the final breath pass from Fritz, a rattling final request, prompting screaming and sobbing from Mary, whilst the majority of the Orphans present also began sobbing and crying. Spirits, it was too much noise to bear. He could feel the dampness on his face, despite himself, yet his mask was impassive as ever, betraying nothing as he turned and quietly excused himself. He could not be grieving with this much noise, nor that openly. He could not afford himself that luxury, not with the times that were yet to come. If his gut was right, at any rate, and it hadn't led him astray yet. Well, besides staying here, but perhaps that was just his own prejudices coloring his outlook? Perhaps, perhaps not, what was fact was he was not going to subject himself to the overt wails of the majority. He would grieve later, locking down on his emotions yet again, well, thats what he told himself at any rate. But that rending feeling in his gut and his heart, like something terribly broken, lingered, refusing to pass, coupled with a haunting return of a thought.
"Spurned the old man as much as you ran off, now he is dead and gone. So much for apologies, hm?" Harsh, and bitter? Certainly, but dishonest? No, no it wasn't, Ansgar's face turning into a snarl, a strange visage under the mask what with the tears that were dampening his face, forcing those thoughts down. He would beat himself up later, with everyone grieving and sobbing, someone had to go about business as usual, right? The idea of leadership hadn't even come to mind yet, Ansgar was no leader, he sure wasn't much of a good follower either, yet that was what they were going to have to try and figure out in the coming days. Between the mourning, trying to move forward, contesting whatever came of Old Man Fritz's death as word spread, and whatever he couldn't see coming yet. He was no future reader, he would not want to be one either frankly, so all he could do was react as the punches came.
Yet, as the echoing raps of his cane no doubt alerted, Ansgar found he was not the only one to have excused themselves from the crying and sobbing room. One of the older girls, what was her name.... Svenna? Lenna? No, no.... Senna! That was it, probably, a name he barely had a face for. Maybe it was the rather emotional situation or his own preoccupation with keeping himself busy and working, but he tended to forget names as readily as not. He had half a mind to simply just keep walking, but, if the old man wanted them to stick together, just continuing to walk wouldn't have accomplished overly much, now would it? Ansgar's voice was, as always, muffled slightly by his mask, just enough to mask the emotion under the surface. Once again, finding himself thankful for that impassive facade, the words he spoke were, well, not the most tactful, yet spoken they were.
"If I didn't know better, I would suggest the amount of wailing and sobbing would be loud enough to wake the dead in there."
