Odette's reaction to the destruction of the Bazaar was one delayed; the recent influx of refugees that had packed the Gatehouse and lined the streets of the Hive holding her attention on the day of the attack and that following. After all, despite the desolation of trade hub and the many able bodied that moved to aid, there yet remained the same cycle by cycle issues that went overlooked in forgotten slums. This did not change. When Bleaker finally emerged from the almshouse of the asylum, bronze features weary and silver hair awry, it was then that her work continued. Whilst the former mercenary did her part in shifting debris, it was to the victims she was drawn; aiding to soother the suffer of loss (both material and familial) and endorse acceptance of what had occurred. Grief counselling and a warm meal for victims and workers is offered on behalf of the Bleak Cabal.
Continuing the work of cycles previous, what precious time that can be spared from tending those passing though asylum's gates, is spent in the Bazaar. It is here that many a hungry worker, or shaken victim, might soothe the rumble in his stomach and sate a needy thirst in tented alcove. Basic staples of heated soup and bread are given in moderation, similar to what one might find in the alms wing of the Gatehouse, and portions are given freely to any in need regardless of faction, rank, status or race (even those pikin' Signers). Each wooden bowl is big enough to meet the minimum requirements for fullness, and husks of bread are sized at standard fist.
In addition to this, Odette continues to tend the wounds of body and mind where able. Tears, anger, grief, detachment - none of which was uncommon, were spoken through with compassion. Scrapes, cuts and bruises are tended to with a combination of Gatehouse supplies and the woman's own knowledge of practical herbalism. It is in this manner, bleaker and Cabal lend their time and aid; jink withheld and better spent tending the round-turn needy, rather than wasted on the embellishment of trade hub. After all, such destruction was an inevitable folly and whilst planeswalkers each worked to do their bit and make their mark, it lessened not the trammel of any other cycle before or beyond. There was a need, however, real in it's manifestation, that required tending all the same; offered to those who sought to step forward and expressed themselves as they saw fit.
If and when one might ask the point of such an endeavor, or how such aid was comparable to the superfluous parting of coin, bleaker would respond with a lift of slender shoulders in a shrug. âTha point? There ain't one. Tha reason for it? Well, I can only share with ya me own. For or against, everyone's got one, Cutter.âž explained silver-haired femme, taking a moment to pause her task for explanation and the weave of gloved digits through straying locks in single sweep.
âYa see, in my eyes, identifying ones mental state as tha prime factor in overcomin' loss dunnae deny that our basic physical needs for food, clothing an' shelter must be met. But once these basic needs are met, tha message is clear: we donÂ’t need more money, we donÂ’t need greater success or fame, we donÂ’t need tha perfect body or even tha perfect mate - right now, at this very moment, we have a mind, which is all tha basic equipment we, you, she, he, they need ta survive. More than what a lot of sods have, let me tell ya.âž Turning back to her work - be it the spoon of bowl, the pestal's grind of herbal salve or the return to softly spoken conversation - Odette would shake her head with utterance.
âI'm just doin' my part ta share tha burden. Make it a little less blek, if only for one cycle at a time.âž
Over the course of a several cycles, drifting in the lull between peak and anti-peak wherein alms kiosk sees it's least amount of traffic and is tended to by unfamiliar faces of the Cabal, Odette ventures into the Hive on request. Gloved fingers hovering within close proximity of blade, faction badge on display in distinction from skilter, Bleaker was no stranger to the slums she had come to call home.
Tensions were high in the bazaar, the Free League high on it's own self-importance with the flow of jink and the beautiful lie of a brighter tomorrow. Yet, it was to silver-haired femme task had fallen in extend of gloved hand to the impoverished with offer; jink for jobs. Truly, the bleaker expected it to be a fruitless endeavor despite the merit of suggestion. The destruction of trade hub was only temporary - devastating - but a shadow to which no candle could be held in comparison to the daily life of many a Hiver. Just another pair of hands. Cheap labor. After all, what had been done for them to expect that anything could, or should, be given back?
And yet... there might well be those among them whom would scurry forth at the promise of coin with grateful need. Perhaps it would ensure evening's meal or fresh clothes long overdue. Or, it may well be frittered away on the next hit of choice. Much like the public services of the Bleak Cabal, the opportunity could only be offered; what came of it was up to the individual.
So it was that Odette attempted to gather a group of willing sods at the behest of promised payment, collecting the names of any willing participants looking to make a few extra jink in exchange for assisted labor. The wealth passing hands might as well go somewhere useful, right?