After Gisa had rewrapped the body and presumably carried the body, Max had followed along. Closely, because even if she was confident in her various abilities, she wasn't completely reckless. The mortal had no desire to get lost or Lost in this place. As she wanders with the golem, her bright blue eyes flit about this way and that. Even though she is glancing around, she does keep her friend in the corner of her eye at the very least. "Well, this place looks nice. I could totally imagine setting up a tent or something here," she says, trying to keep things light for a moment. That is until she asks, "So, uh, what are we doing with the body anyways?"
"Be sure to bring the other shroud," Gisa cautions, and won't be leaving unless Max picks it up and brings it with. "That will be important. Nana was able to get some information from talking to the shroud itself." The golem moves slowly enough for the Enchanted Mortal to keep up, but quickly enough to get her into the Hollow ASAP. "We are going to prepare the body for burial. She was probably not Jewish, but our ways of preparing the body for burial are such that it is the most respect I can show. There should be water in the pond, please get buckets of it."
As fate would have it, Nana is already present. Only she's dressed the way she dresses when in the hedge, covered in technotribal raiment, and riding in her large gunmetal gray ball that she calls WEELS. Which no doubt stands for something. She's not sitting idle, either. She's swung a high magnification lens around from her strange, many gadgeted helmet, and is scrutinizing a piece of cast off garbage. Or apparently garbage, anyway. It can't possibly be of any use to anyone. Which probably means the Goblins are allll about it. She's muttering quietly, perhaps to her little dog that's in her purse. Perhaps to the contraption she's riding in, which is slowly locomoting into a better source of light, amid many whirrings and springing noises.
Max is fine with carrying the other shroud, because at least it's not the body. Once they arrive, she offers a smile over to Nana in spite of the situation. The gray ball is eyed over curiously but then she's setting the shroud down near the older woman. Folded somewhat neatly and set where it could be easily reached. Then she's searching for a bucket before making her way over toward the pond. "How do you get answers from a sheet?" she wonders, calling out over her shoulder while she's waiting for the bucket to fill up with water. "I've heard of some other psychics being able to touch something and see the history of it," she says.
"... Nana?" Gisa seems slightly puzzled by the appearance of the elder Autumn, but not totally shocked to see her there. "... did you know that we needed you?" she asks, while carefully setting down the body and arranging it on a flat, open bit of rock. She kneels next to it, and unwraps the corpse, then lifts it as easily as she would a sleeping child, and sets it back on the rock. "Ask Nana, she is the one who talks to objects," she advises Max, while the golem digs in her bag, coming out with a small black case which, when opened, has a number of portable tools in it, including a pair of scissors, a heavy needle and a large spool of sturdy black thread. Likely she usually repairs her coat with this, not stitches up bodies.
"Hello, dears," Nana calls cheerfully, still scrutinizing the little item in her hands. Her walker turns about crisply to face the pair and begins crab walking its way towards them at a steady clip, stopping once she's near enough to be conversational. The legs sort of curl back in to the sides for the most part, lowering her to their eye level. "Did I know? Now that's an interesting question, dear. I know that trouble tends to find me. And I know people need my help now and then. So in a way, I'm sure I did know, even if my presence here seemed to me to be a happenstance. It isn't, of course. Nothing ever is. But we can pretend sometimes, and that's nice enough." Nana swings her magnifying glass back to the side of her head, such that everyone isn't being treated to a really good look at what's in her wrinkles. "Now. What do you need my help with? Or am I supposed to guess? I'm very bad at that game, I forget what I already guessed so easily these days."
"I was asking her!" Max replies to ensure that she was heard, chuckling a bit. Once the bucket is filled, she stands up and makes her way back over toward the others. The bucket is set down near Gisa, unsure of what the golem wants with it. "I think Gisa here wanted you to read that shroud or something? And I was wondering how you did that and whatnot," she tells her, repeating her curiosity. A hand reaches up to brush some of her hair from her face as she gives the old Lost a curious look. "You don't believe in coincidences at all?" she asks of Nana with a raised brow. "You think that every little thing happens for a reason?"
"So you were," agrees Gisa, and she takes out her scissors, the thread, the needle. A ratty washcloth. Gisa carries an odd assortment of things, but she can make a funeral out of them, or at least a funerary preparation. It's probably not the second, or third, or fourth time the golem has been called upon to be the one-person committee who carries out the duties of ten. First, she wets the washcloth, and starts wiping down Annabeth's body, beginning with her face. Once the body has been wiped off, she threads the needle and begins sewing closed all of the body's wounds. That might take a while, and while she does it, Gisa begins to pray. Of course she does.
Nana's exceptionally patient, as these things go, but it is hard to have a conversation with another person with someone /praying/ right there next you. She gives Gisa a prolonged look, too inscrutable to be disapproval or reproach. Then she's sidling away from the Golem, well off to the side. She takes the shroud with her, and waves Max along with one of her gnarled hands. "I don't believe in coincidences, I believe fate. Serendipity is real. So is bad luck. Curses are absolutely something to worry about! Our world is filled up with the unexplainable. Which is a long, round-about way of assuring you that the last thing I'm going to do, dearie, is fill your precious little human head with all the secrets of Fairy." She leans in a bit closer to Max, which might be menacing if it were some other person doing it. "Turn over enough rocks, little girl, and you'll find an adder sometime soon. Best to accept that I do it with eldritch powers beyond your ken, and be happy you get to know that much." She straightens back up again, wets her lips, and shakes out the shroud a bit. "Alright, you. What do you know?"
There's a long look at Nana before Max simply shrugs at the old woman. With both of the Lost busy now, the mortal wanders off just a little bit. Remaining in both of their lines of sight but far enough to give them each their privacy with what they're doing. Finding a log or rock to sit on near the water, she stretches her legs out in front of her and peers up at the sky with a bit of a thoughtful expression.
Staying out of Nana's conversation with Max, Gisa finishes the first sets of stitching, then looks up at the youngest of the trio here once she finishes her prayer, or at least the first iteration of it. If she's bothered by people giving her the stink eye for praying, well, the golem doesn't show it. It won't be the first time, and it won't be the last. "Max, can you sew?" Gisa pauses. "Not the body. We need to make a shroud out of this sheet, for her. Just a basic... cut a hole for her neck, sew sleeves." She continues sewing, adding, "If you want to be taught how to clean a body, to prepare it, I will. But this is my faith, I do not say you should see it as such."
Nana's mantle doesn't 'flare'. It moulders. Her little corner seems to grow damp and cold, seems to sag a little at the edges. There's frost on the wind, and pumpkins to harvest. That's the sense one gets of Nana's rather purposeful mantle. She's the long nights of autumn, the ones where the smart children steer clear of the shadows. When all of her dark dealings are done, she concludes her muttering to the cloth and wheels her way back over towards Gisa and the corpse. The old shrowd is folded up and set down next to the body, at which point Nana begins fishing around underneath the control panel of her chair. She comes away with a clean vial and a waxen cork, which she sets down on her control panel, careful to make certain they don't go anywhere. A short while later, she's pulling out a pair of salad tongs. Yep. With these, she reaches down her own throat and wiggles it about a bit before drawing out a smokey, viscous substance. It curls and whips little tendrils of smoke about, now that it's caught! She's quick to stuff it down into the vial she's holding, stoppering it up with that waxen cork before it can try to jump back out again. She proceeds to shake the vial until the viscous fluid turns more smokey than gooey, then holds it up to the light with a squint. "Probably should have told you all what I saw before I bottled it, huh. I always forget something before I forget something."
Hearing her name called, Max turns her attention over toward Gisa. Easily she hops off of the object she was sitting on and makes her way back over to the golem. "I can sew decently enough," she answers. "I don't know when I'll ever need to clean a body. And it'd be kind of sad if the only human contact I have is touching dead people. But, I'm interested in watching you do your thing. I'm not religious and it might be a bit weird to learn something... religious," she states, knowing that she sounded a bit redundant for a moment.
"Thank you so much, Nana. Ashe has another piece of cloth, you might think to contact her, because perhaps the cloth is from the person who dumped the body, we think. I appreciate your help, as always." Gisa turns back to stitching the body. "There is another needle and a white spool of thread in the case," and she nods toward the small case of tools that she carries in her bag. "If you would be so kind, Max, as long as it is a basic kittel -- a white tunic -- it will do. Just a neckhole and arms and the like." She sniffs slightly. "I have not spoken with Rorschach about the memory you gave him, Nana. Did he speak to you again about it?" She goes on stitching up every cut and laceraton on Annabeth's naked body, until they're all done. There are a lot of them, but the golem works fairly quickly and neatly. Her fingers are more nimble than perhaps she often lets on, and she can move more quickly than she usually does.
"I am supposed to have him over for dinner this week to chat about that," Nana assures Gisa, "you're welcome to come by. You could let me do the cooking on Friday evening, if you like. The more the merrier, really." Nana tucks the newly bottled memory away in the safety of her purse, then tucks her purse back into the safety of her fae mount. She then brushes off her hands and slouches back into her seat. "I imagine that's it for me being useful, then. I'm so sorry to hear about the passing of another one of our local children. It always happens to the quiet ones, doesn't it? So sad. I do hope the Harvestmen catch the killer soon. Before he undoubtedly kills again and again and again. It's just not safe to be alone anymore. Is it, dear?" Nana turns her chair about and begins plodding it towards the exit, "Safety in numbers!"
Picking out a white spool and a needle, Max starts to sew what Gisa has requested of her. With her attention on the work in her hands, the mortal falls quiet for a few moments. Even if the golem doesn't expect perfection from her, she doesn't want to mess anything up. She glances briefly over to Nana as the older woman starts to make her way out. Since her hands are busy there's no wave, but she does offer a "Take care," before returning her attention to her task.
"I would be very honored if you would cook on Friday night. I will bring the candles, the kiddush and motzi." These seem to be three separate items. "No, it isn't, Bubbe. Thank you very much for reminding us of this important truth." Gisa doesn't seem to be sarcastic about this one bit, either: Autumns are Autumns, after all, and Autumns gonna Autumn. Her shin on her forehead glimmers briefly brither. "I hope so. We shall speak with him tomorrow, and the Harvestmen should hopefully move on this soon." Her clay lips press together. "Take care, Bubbe." And then Gisa goes back to her sewing, stitching up horrible torturous cut after awful laceration, her jaw set firmly.
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