Blighted Bars

PHOEBE

She did not move from him as he placed furs around her shoulders. Her whole body trembled and she gasped for air, tears still running down her cheeks. He asked if she wanted his jacket, and she shook her head as she sniffled, holding the furs around her closer. But after a moment, her body seemed to act of its own will and she wrapped her arms around him as tight as she could, crying into his chest. It hurt - everything hurt.

"Please pick me." she whispered, choked out between sobs. "Please, I don't want to be alone anymore. Please, Jata." Even Pim whined, struggling with the weight of her emotions.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

She shakes her head, and he nods, hands stuffing into his pockets as he walks beside her and the dragon. Head lowered, gaze drifting down as he tries to fight against the feelings that battle within him. But before he gets a chance to say anything, to do anything, she flings herself onto him. Arms snaking around his waist and instinctively he wraps his own around her, pulling her in tight, letting her sob and cry, words piercing the crevices of his own darkened heart. A trembling hand reaches up to brush away her hair, sighing deeply.

“You know I can’t.” He tells her quietly, sorrowfully, his accented deep voice hoarse and sad all the same. All he can do is hold her, be soft with her for a time, help her if he can’t do it in other ways. His arms tighten around her, keeping her close, chin resting on the top of her head for a brief moment. “But I can get you home and cleaned up.” He manages between the thundering of his heart. “I can hold you for awhile longer there too.”

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Her fingers curled into his shirt, broken nails catching on the fabric. "That's not true. You can. You just won't." she whispered, releasing his shirt. Her arms fell to her side and she pulled away, staring up at him with black tears still rolling down her cheeks. He didn't understand, or if he did he was too scared to act on it. She was too much. Too emotional. Too soft. Too caring. She reached too close to his soul and held it too gently and every fiber in his being pulled away from the love it desperately wanted. It was fear of the unknown, and that was the most difficult to overcome.

And he wasn't willing to overcome it for her.

"And then what." she said, a breathy hiccup breaking her words. "You leave. You go seek comfort from a woman who can't give it to you. And I'm alone. Always alone." she said, hyperventilating slightly as she sniffled.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

His arms loosen around her when she tells him he won’t choose her, and he inhales somewhat deeply before she releases his shirt and stands before him. His own arms fall to his side, fingers shaking as he looks down to her, his steel gaze full of sorrow and soft. “I can’t.” He says again. The soft part of him wants to pull her in again, to tell her it’ll be okay, but the reality is that it won’t be. And he knows nothing he can say will make it better.

But then she hiccups in her tears, telling him that he’ll go see comfort from Lusea where he won’t end up receiving it, to leave her all alone again, and he shakes his head to her — the edges of the blight peeking out through the veins of his eyes, when he shakes his head again. “I am not going home tonight.” He tells her quietly, not wanting to expose too many to the blighted version of himself. He doesn’t know what will happen, what he would end up doing if he harmed someone else. But Phoebe? To him it was fair. To him she simply could handle it after everything she’s done with the blight.

Tentatively, with a trembling hand, he reaches up to push back a bit of her hair. “Please let me do this.” It’s a near whisper, his accented voice cracking along the words.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Phoebe shook her head, brows furrowing. ”The only thing stopping you is you. It isn’t that you can’t it’s that you won’t.” she said, sniffling pitifully. ”You know what I think? I think you do love me more, deep down, and that scares you because you never thought you could love someone more than her.” she said with a bit of bite in her tone as hints of the blight bubbled up again. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t think it was true.

He insisted he wasn’t going home that night, and begged that she let him help her. She wanted to push back against him, she wanted him to feel the pain of heartache that she felt in his presence. But as he pushed her hair back like he always had, she knew she never would, naught but putty in his hands. ”Okay.” she whispers, taking a few quick breaths in quick succession.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

He wants her to stop talking about it, but he knows she won’t. So instead he lets the barbs hit him, sinking and patching deep. No, he physically and mentally can’t choose. On one hand Lusea has done so much more for him than the reminder that he can be soft and fragile occasionally without repercussions. But when it came down to it, he inhaled deeply to answer. “I love her too, Phoebe. She died because of what she meant to me. You know that.” He whispers back, sorrow lingering in his chest at it all. He has to always choose her. To him, there’s no way to pay it back.

But he lets her tuck the hair behind her ear, and he wonders what else he can get away with on the walk home. He reaches to situate the furs along her shoulders, drawing them in tightly, before he slips out of his jacket and places it on top of the furs to keep the heat in regardless. A simple shirt is all he’s left in, the edges of tattoos peeking from underneath his stretched out collar. “Come on.” He says softly, gently. The clinic shouldn’t be that far from here, he doesn’t think anyway. But he tries to make it as comfortable as possible for her, as his boots hit and snow of the outside and goosebumps rise up his arms.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

”And?” she snapped, more tears welling in her eyes. ”She isn’t dead now. She has a whole new life, just like you. Choosing someone over guilt is asinine.” she said angrily, feeling like everything she said and felt was falling on deaf ears. He didn’t want to accept the truth so he refused to listen or acknowledge – and in the end he wouldn’t suffer for it, only she would. ”I wish she had stayed dead.” she murmured angrily, the statement brought forth by the blight but felt by her soul.

She didn’t acknowledge the coat he put on her shoulders, retracting in on herself. Phoebe merely walked in silence back towards her clinic. She was alone. Truly alone. Even with him there she was on her own. He wouldn’t choose her. Just like Emmett ultimately hadn’t chosen her. The only person that had ever chosen her for anything, that saw her potential and nurtured it was Frey. And Frey oversaw so much – they were busy and beyond her, above her – she could not ask to keep their time for long.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

Does she not understand what that means? He bristles at her response, not knowing if it’s the words she’s saying or if it’s the blight deep down that’s riled up and ready to go. He bites down on his lip briefly until she utters a phase that makes his stomach turn. “Phoebe, how do you even begin to pay something like that back?” He asks her when they reach the snow. It’s not like he doesn’t love her, anyway. Perhaps it would be different if there were no feelings there, but there is — and he’s so horribly confused about it all, he doesn’t know what to do.

She stays quiet for the rest of the walk and his hands find their way into his pockets, unsure of whether he should try to say something. All he wants to do is clean her up, tell her it will be okay, gloss over everything that happened between them with the blight and pretend that none of it had happened. He can’t, though. And the once strong man finds himself crumbling into himself as his steel eyes lift to see the snow tipped edges of the clinic in his view.

He sighs lightly, thinking that if nothing else, having Lusea back has made him open up a little bit more.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

”Who said you have to pay her back? You didn’t kill her your father did.” Phoebe snapped, having little to no empathy for his situation in the moment. ”She chose to be with you, knowing the possible consequences. That she suffered them was something she agreed to face by being with you. It isn’t a debt. It’s just a reality of the situation you were in.” she said, holding the furs closer to her chest.

But the rest of the walk was silent, and the clinic was unlocked upon reaching it. Of course, her blighted self would not have thought to lock it, but fortunately the place had been left in peace. She cast aside furs on one of the couches, moving to start a fire in the main fireplace. She needed to get the clinic warming up before she could think or worry about much else.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

Ah, but he does have to pay her back. With his love, their dreams of what they would do if they ever got away, with the memories and jokes about Korofi, and with his body and touch. He has to. There’s a faint blue mark on his chest that matches one of hers. One and the same. He can’t pretend that it didn’t happen, can’t pretend that he doesn’t want it to. So instead he simply clenches his jaw, walking the rest of the way in silence to the clinic.

She left it unlocked, and he steps in tentatively after her as she immediately goes to start the fire, shedding his furs in the nearby couch. But his eyes drift toward the chair he had placed her in before, when she had bit him hard for the first time, and a trembling hand reaches up to cover the wound with a quiet sigh. He notices the piece of the coffee table he had broken, notices the destruction of the home, and he’s silent until he disappears from the room to reach the bathroom on the bottom floor — setting out a variety of things she needs (soaps, brushes, towels, clothes) and running a hot shower for her. But he lingers at the soap she had made for him, gnawing on his lip before he turns from the shower and heads back toward where she is, leaning against the wall with arms folded. “The shower is ready for you. You need to go clean up.” He can take care of the rest.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Phoebe glanced at him as he spoke, frankly a bit surprised he was still there, the tiniest hints of what would be a roaring fire just beginning to grow amongst the dried logs. He had prepared the shower for her? Why? He felt duty bound to Lusea so why was he trying so hard with her? But she merely nodded, shuffling off to the bathroom. Pim sat himself outside the door, guarding it in a way.

The midwife made short work of removing the rags that covered her frame, much skinnier than it had been. Nothing like Loren’s wasted away appearance, but certainly lacking a healthy weight. Stepping under the stream of hot water she merely stood for a while, letting the water scald her skin and wash away the visible signs of her sins. But she could still feel it, she could still feel the harm she had done. Phoebe grabbed her soap and a scrub brush, lathering it up and scrubbing her skin with all her strength, desperate to be rid of the feel of blood and death and violence she had wreaked upon the world and her friend. It was painful, the bristles and soap and hot water stinging her skin and still she felt awash in shame.

Tears threatened to rise in her eyes but she forced them down, not wanting the black streaks to mar her attempt innocence.

She stayed until the water began to cool, only then daring to step out and dry herself. Glancing in her mirror she saw her skin near glowing in shades of pink and red, scrubbed near raw in places. But it wasn’t enough. Quickly she threw on a dress that now was far too big on her sickly-think form, stepping back out without caring that her now clean hair dripped water down her back.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

She leaves do shower. And he tends to the fire until it’s roaring and warm, warm enough he can shed more outer layers, until he’s left in a tank top of sorts. He slips into the kitchen while she showers, putting a few things together, but he finds he’s not hungry in the slightest, so he simply makes a sandwich of sorts for her, a glass of water. But he pauses near the wine and alcohol briefly, before he pours himself a small glass of it and drinks it swiftly, rinsing the cup out. He grits his teeth against the burn, but it’s a welcome pain in comparison to the alternative.

He returns with the food from the kitchen, setting it on the table before the flame until he settles in the chair across from it. His arms are folded across his chest, his head tilted back and he almost looks like he’s sleeping as the warmth of the fire floods the room, and the alcohol lifts the edge of him.

He only stirs when she appears, dropping water from her long hair and pink skin, with a dress that’s too tight. He can understand, where once muscle had been what was primarily viewed on his arms, there’s not enough of those anymore. But he manages to unfold his arms and sit forward, gesturing to the food he’s prepared and the glass of water in the spot nearest the fire. “Try to eat something, drink some water, warm up… please?” It’s a rumble of a suggestion, but he hopes she goes through it all with it anyway. His elbows resting on his thighs while his hand reaches to brush by his wounds briefly, while his eyes focus on the fire instead of her.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Phoebe’s eyes glanced towards the sandwich sitting near the fire and just looking at it made her stomach lurch. She still craved raw meat, as much as it disgusted her, and to consider eating a sandwich made her want to gag. ”I’m not hungry.” she said quietly, walking over to the plate. She did oblige and drink the cup of water. Pim shuffled forward and sniffed at the sandwich. If Phoebe wasn’t going to eat it, that meant he could eat it, right?

The blonde walked over to the couch, grabbing a few throw blankets on back and wrapping them around herself. She built herself a right cocoon, only her face peering out from the blankets she was burrito wrapped in as she sat. A sigh escaped her lips and her eyes fluttered closed. This was far more comfortable than the floor of her cell in the jail, that was for certain.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

She’s uninterested in the sandwich, and he can’t really blame her. He hasn’t been hungry for a time lately, either. Instead, eyes drift toward Pim with a small nod of encouragement. Someone should eat it, at the very least. But his eyes follow Phoebe as she moves toward the water, and grabbed a few blankets before cocooning herself onto the couch, but he remains leaned forward – arms drifting from the wounds along his neck, the scratches and bites that are edged in black until they appear as though they’re nearly made of black. But there’s stitching there, something to keep it together in the hopes it’ll go away soon. But he knows they’ll scar.

Instead, he runs his hands through his hair, holding his head for a moment as he breathes deeply and lets the burn of the alcohol settle in his stomach. But it’s not enough, not enough to dull the confusion that lingers in his mind and heart and soul. And after a moment, he stands again and moves into the kitchen, taking yet another shot of something hard, pausing after to glance over at her – eyes closed and comfortable beneath the blankets. And he curses himself, when he feels the blight reacting slightly, changing his thoughts. And in a moment of his own weak rebellion, he slips from the kitchen again toward the couch and sits on the other side of her, one leg pulled up beneath him as he faces the fire – letting the glow of the flame reflect in the silver of his eyes.

“I’m sorry about the blight and everything.” He gruffly says, refusing to look at her – his eyes lingering in the flame. “I’m sorry you have to deal with it alone.” It’s perhaps the most sincere thing he’s ever said. But he means every word.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA