Blighted Bars

PHOEBE

It was a blur of sensations, her eyes squeezing shut as she clung to him. It was too much and not enough all at once. Her nails raked against his back and shoulders, one hand reaching up to curl into his hair, coaxing the bites and kisses. Her own lips found his neck and peppered him with her own, the stitched up wounds she had left before now joined by little marks she left in her haste, her actions emboldened by the blight still coursing through her veins.

As he picked up pace, a guttural moan escaped her lips, primal and needy, her hips rocking in time with his. Already she could feel the tension building, her body eager for release in the wake of the stress and anger experienced in the previous days and weeks.

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

Its different than it’s been before, the pace is set quicker and while his lips find her jaw and neck and shoulder, she finds his own, leaving better marks than she had before. And he hums with her, practically vibrates as the sounds leave his own person, while he indulges in her and she rocks against him. It’s a steady rhythm, and he lets his hand leave her hair to drift along her face, thumb stroking her jaw with a tenderness unlike him, different too compared to the emboldened person the blight has made her.

But he can feel her pressure building and it only sparks his own as he continues to rock with her, vibrating and thrumming with everything in his system. His breath picks up faster, hums of pleasure leaving his lips. But he does his best to wait for her, wait for the shattering of her before he breaks with her.

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

She had no control over the sounds that passed through her lips, nor the way her hips rocked to meet his, her legs using all their strength to pull him closer, deeper - each nerve wanton for the rough and ready pace that had been set. But even as she moved with him and clung to him, her mind was not swayed in the slightest by his tender movements and touches. They were meaningless, empty, a farce intended to lull her into a false sense of security. But she didn't need his security, she had her own, knowing for the first time that she would take whatever pleasure she could from him, then leave his heart of lies and deception on the mat for the rats where it belonged.

And knowing this allowed her to to focus on herself, not terribly caring if he enjoyed himself or not, her climax rising quickly and crashing over her with a suddenness that had her crying out in surprised ecstasy as her body jerked and clung to him for support.

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 gives into her, obliging her demands and wants, lost in the confusion of his mind and the intoxication of her, and so he gives her what she wants, unable and unwilling to stop himself. But soon, when the alcohol and the tonic wear off, he’ll realize what he’s done. He’ll realize it, and there’ll be plenty to pay for it. For the moment, however, he’s living in the moment, everything of his past gone from his mind, only her and the sounds she makes, her touch, the marks she leaves. And he hones into them like they’re a beacon, rocking with her until she shatters, trembling and sudden, and he almost gasps in response to it.

But he’s not far behind, and without thinking or caring, he holds her tighter to him while she clings to him. His own end meeting him with a sharp bite and a groan, a small amount of sweat sheen along his tattooed shoulders from the heat of them and the fire in the fireplace. He melts with her, lips finding the bite along her neck and kissing gently, then to her lips, steel eyes seeking out honey brown. And with it, a slow realization, slow and muddy beneath the layers of that affecting him. The blight, the tonic she had given him, the alcohol. It all begins to wear slowly, whether through sweat or the fact he’d given in, he’s unsure. But he’s pretty sure he knows one thing, he’s fucked up.

And with it, he pulls himself away from her – heart still racing and breath still hot and panting.

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

For the first time in weeks she felt blissful, peaceful; the world around her naught but a hazy cloud in which she floated. And even as Jata began to realize his mistake, she continued to enjoy the moments following her release - for she had made no mistake. She had no hell to pay - not really anyways. Sure Lusea might come and yell at her but...what then? It wouldn't change anything in her life. It would all remain the same, untainted by wanton acts but released from the chains of a love that never was.

He pulled away suddenly and she opened her eyes to gaze up at him. The truth of what he had done was beginning to play out on his face and in his eyes, and she surprised herself with how little it bothered her. Phoebe sat up and grabbed her dress and stood, evidence of his lack of caring for consequences running down her legs. "You've two options. Fess up or pretend it never happened. Either way you can use the bathroom to clean up." she said, going to a cabinet to grab a towel and and herbal solution to cleanse herself with.

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

It’s a slow realization, but it comes to him quickly as she begins to move away from him. A hand reaches for his face, for the throbbing headache that’s begun in his temple. And he doesn’t know, for the moment, what to do. The realization sets in, quietly, a stone that becomes a boulder as he focuses on her retreating form, taking her words as they are. Hah, as if he didn’t already realize his options. But he doesn’t think she thinks he’ll tell Lusea. He thinks that he’ll try to keep it a secret — but there’s one thing about the girl from Korofi, and that’s nothing gets past her.

And so he nods, quietly, to no one in particular, calming his breath as he cleans up in the bathroom, redressing in just a shirt, mostly sleeveless and his pants, the sweat and heat of his body too much in addition to the frustration at himself and lack of his own control. He doesn’t see her when he re-emerges, but he can’t leave yet. A hand runs through his hair to try and give it some form of semblance of normalcy, as he reaches into a jacket pocket for a cigarette and his matches, drifting out the door onto the porch.

The chill welcomes him, and goosebumps rise up tattooed arms as he leans against the awning, lighting up and taking a drag before rubbing at his face with his other hand again, his figure easily seen through the window. The light part of him hopes she comes out to find him, hopes she doesn’t simply leave him be after that, despite her cold words. But he doesn’t know.

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Phoebe didn't much pay attention to Jata's whereabouts as she washed herself and redressed. Where she had thought she would feel dirty or guilty, she suddenly felt empowered. Here was a man, whom she had once held great affection for, who she had placed on a pedestal (as she did with most men she cared for but we aren't going to delve too deeply in the ingrained patriarchal attitudes of her psyche) and now she was part of his well deserved ruin. How so? By having a very lovely time for herself, that's how! The power of men was clearly about as fragile as their egos.

She fixed herself a cup of coffee with cream and whiskey then, before deciding to go out to the porch to see what damage she might've done to the yard. Instead she found Jata. "Oh. You're still here."

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, here she comes. He remains leaning forward on the awning of the porch, hands shaking while he holds the cigarette between his first two fingers, eyes following the ash as it drifts like the snow outside. Her voice rings out to him, flat and somewhat surprised to see that he remains, but he doesn’t turn to look at her yet. Instead, he takes a moment to take another deep drag of the smoke before he turns to look at her.

“Can’t exactly go home right now.” He offers wearily. Because for one he doesn’t have his normal earthy, smoky scent. Second, he’s not sure what he’ll do the moment he gets there. Whether he’ll hold Lusea, avoid her, tell her, remain silent. He doesn’t know, and his head still throbs.

“What was in the tonic?” He asks after a moment, wondering what exactly it was that had loosened him up mixed with the alcohol and blight.

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

"You keep saying the word can't and I don't think you know what it means." she said dryly as she took a sip of her spiked coffee. Can't and won't - while they sounded the same - were not and yet he regularly substituted one for the other so as to abdicate himself of guilt.

But then he asked what was in the tonic. Oh. No. He. Didn't.

If looks could kill, he would have been a pile of ash. "Oh no. You will not be blaming this on the tonic." she said in a low, dangerous tone. "There is nothing in that tonic that will influence your ability to decide. It calms and clears the mind. That's it. Your decision to cheat on Lusea because you don't care what she thinks is on you." she snapped, glaring daggers at him. "For how much you claim to love her you were quick to stay. That is your fault."

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

At her initial comment, he wants to roll his eyes, but he refrains just enough to stare at her with a flat, unimpressed look. “I know what it means.” He replies gruffly, until she pins him with a look of fire and daggers, and the blight within him relishes with it. He turns to face her a bit more fully, leaning back against the awning and lifting a boot against the porch wood, taking another drag from the cigarette as she snaps to him.

And the smile he gives her after is something cold as he lifts his head up and looks down to her. “I never said anything about blaming. Are you happy about this?” He manages, rather calmly, but his eyes are still sharp as he watches her. The blight courses and rears its head a bit harder than it had before, with the waning alcohol and waning tonic. “In all of my years, I’ve been loyal until this place. Until you, the blight, the alcohol, the tonic. All of it.” He hisses. “You said it yourself, it makes you say and do things you do and don’t mean. The blame is entirely on me, but if I was normal – like I was in Korofi, like I was before all of this, it would have never happened. You left me, after all.” It’s a rushed explanation, full of sharp words and a thickening accent.

And he steps a bit closer to her, flicking the ash from the cigarette while he does so and looks down to her. “So. I’ll ask again. What was in it?” A gravel, rough bite to his voice. “Because what I told you in there I have only told a select few.”

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

”Then start using it correctly.”Phoebe snipped, sipping her drink again. It warmed her belly and helped stave off the cold that cut through the sweater she had donned over her dress, pieces of her wet hair already frozen solid. But as he rounded on her, casting excuses and explanations, as if they would somehow forgive his sins, for the first time – of her own volition, without the blight spurring her words or any guise of maintaining a peace, she stood her ground. ”First of all, in all your years, the only thing or person you have ever been fully loyal to is yourself, case and point, what just happened in there AND if you actually loved Lusea and not just what she could do for you, you would have left her to protect her from your father’s wrath which you knew was bound to come back to bite you – and by you I mean her. Second of all, you are normal. Coming here doesn’t make you a different person so stop whining about everything as if you’re the only person who has had to learn to adjust. You aren’t special. And third of all you left me the second Lusea walked through that door.” Phoebe said through grit teeth, glaring at him with all she had.

”If I tell you what is in it, its not like you’ll recognize it.” Phoebe said to him with a huff. ”Valerian root, cannabis oil, chamomile, hops oil, lemon balm, and St. John’s wort.” she said, listing off the ingredients in no particular order. Her eyes narrowed at him though, at the implications of what he said. ”Don’t you dare threaten me. I might not be much, but my friends are much more powerful than you will ever be.”

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 snaps again, and this time he does roll his eyes. But he doesn’t comment on it, knowing the difference. But she doesn’t understand his reasoning. To her they’re excuses, but to him it’s an entirely different game. Had she always misunderstood? Had he just simply gone with it to avoid the frustrations of where this conversation was leading.

He turns to her, offering a cruel smile while he edges nearer to her as she spits out her vision of the story to him — not excuses, on his end, but surprise and demanding some form of explanation. She tells him he’s been loyal to himself and even that's not true. The amount of times he’s considered drowning in the flood waters, jumping from the highest rooftop, all of it proves he’s not as loyal as he would likely have been to himself.

But he had been loyal to Lusea. He hadn’t even shared a bed with someone else until a year after she’d died. “It’s way more complicated than you’re making it out to be.” He hisses. “What was I supposed to do? I was already compromised by joining the resistance and fighting for them. And if I had left, then all of them would’ve died. Not just her.” He snaps back to her. “And for me? I would’ve still had to go back and pretend that everything was fucking okay? That I didn’t get hundreds of people killed?”

But she tells him he’s normal and he laughs, because the only time he’s ever felt normal was back before everything happened. Before he’d been made to be a murderer. But he has no time to comment on that when she adds a final barb and he approaches her further, in her space with cold steel eyes that look down to her own. “You didn’t even give me a chance. I looked to you after, and you were gone before appearing and saying she could have me and left for the infirmary. You left me.” He reiterates, teeth clacking with the blighted fire that’s started in his gut.

But she tells him what was in it, feigning he wouldn’t know, and while he doesn’t he knows people who do. That’s all he needs. But she claims that if he threatens her that she has powerful friends, and he laughs once more — cold, dark, stormy. “Threatening you?” He questions with a tilt to his head, decidedly a small amount predatory. “I don’t think you know what that means.” He quips back to her, a reiteration of her own words. Then, his eyes drift to her neck and he spots the marks he’s left before he shakes his head and looks away from her, still in her space.

“So, what? Is this some form of revenge for what I did to you? What you did to me?” His voice is softer now, the blight drifting back down. “Do you enjoy being my weakness?”

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Every word he said began to grate on every frayed nerve he had just soothed, every hiss and bite another reason for her assisting in is reckoning. Her hands trembled more, blight running hot with emotion - but this was controlled by her, not the blight. He struck at nerves she buried under smiles and lemon bars and optimism - nerves she doubted any but Frey and Pim knew existed; and them only because of the unique properties of their beings.

"ENOUGH!" she screamed at him, blackened tears rolling down her reddened cheeks, trembling from head to toe with more emotion than one small, weak human body could handle. "How dare you stand on my doorstep and pin this all on me, as if I am too stupid to have not realized what was going on?! You're right, I was gone when you looked back, but that was long after I saw you slip through my fingers and into her hands. You left me while I was standing there, Jata! And I will not stand for you pegging this on me because I was sane enough to try and protect myself from the heartache of watching another man walk out my door because I wasn't enough!" she said, screaming by the end, her black tears stark against her face, reddened as it was from cold and emotion.

"Sure you were there physically but you were gone emotionally. You were gone before your glass hit the damn floor." she said, a sob breaking through her lips. "So don't you dare call me a weakness. I am not a weakness and I am stronger than you will ever be."

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 watches his words land, watches while she shifts and changes, and there’s some small form of surprise that cascades over him at the results of it all. Sure, he had been harsh, but life was harsh, and things just simply were and weren’t. He wonders, silently to himself, what a future with only her would have been like, if this was any indication of an argument. At least she’s grown a backbone, he can take some pride in himself for that. And when she shrieks to him, he manages to crack a small smile at that, stepping away enough to take another drag off the cigarette, regarding her and her words as he breaths it out through his nose.

“It’s not all on you.” He interjects, deep, rumbling, cracked. But he does raise a brow when she says he was right, not having expected to hear that from all the blame she’s placed on him. But it slides back into the same thing, of him not caring for her reaction, for her response to it. But what else can he say? The blame is on him, and he knows it. But for this? For what’s happened tonight? After he’s admitted to having feelings for her still and her going through with it in his weakest moment?

But ah, unfortunately for Phoebe, where once it had been a perk for him to remain during arguments, he wonders if she still appreciates him not just walking out. No, he finishes the fights, the arguments, regardless of who wins. He lets the moment settle, silence despite the resounding reverb of her scream while he drags from the cigarette, surprisingly calm despite the tremble to his hands and the flush to his face. “The thing is, Phoebe, I didn’t have much of a choice. Did I?” His voice remains that eerie calm. “You were, are, always have been enough.” Steel eyes skate back toward her. “That’s exactly why you’re my weakness.” He shrugs, stepping away from her to turn away for a moment, reaching for another cigarette because gods this wasn’t enough.

“You’re not weak yourself, no. You’ve learned a lot, become a lot. Done a lot.” He finally manages to light that one before it hangs from his lips as he looks back over to her. “You’re my weakness. I’m not the same around you, everything is different and it scares me.” He pulls the cigarette from his lips as he turns more fully toward her. “And I can’t pick you because of that. I know what the word means. But choosing you scares me Phoebe, and I haven’t been this scared since I was seventeen.” An admittance, a softness, the smaller part of him rising up to take control again despite his trembling attempts to swallow him whole.

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

SUNJATA