Blighted Bars

PHOEBE

Frankly, the last thing she had been expecting was for him to relent and give her real answers after her laying into him like that – though the smirking did make her irritation flare (she was pissed off, don’t smirk at it, respect it!). His admissions made her look away, sipping at her coffee spiked with whiskey, and allowing it to burn her throat if only to focus on something else for a moment. With a small sniffle as she shoved down her tears, she wiped at the black streaks on her cheeks, trying to make sense of his words, what it all meant, and what it meant to her specifically.

”Part of life is doing things that scare you so you can grow and become a better person. And if you can’t tell the difference between the fear of death and the fear of love, you could use some growing.” she said, her voice already a little hoarse from the screaming she had just done. ”And if you never choose to do the things that scare you, you’ll always be that scared, seventeen year old boy who is consumed with learning to cope with a harsh world.” she said, looking back over at him, a look of almost disappointment in her eyes. ”So unless you’re ready to grow, and become a man after nearly a decade, you’d best not choose me.”

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 does nothing when Phoebe sniffles and wipes at her cheeks. He remains drifted from her, eyes away from her while he continues to take drags from the cigarette through trembling fingers. For a moment, he’s afraid to look at her, to see how she responds to his words, his fears, his honesty. But her voice perks up and he’s incapable of keeping his straying gaze as the steel flits back to her honey brown eyes, swimming in the veined inky black like his own. She tells him he needs to grow and for whatever reason it causes a quiet laugh to leave him, breathless with a puff of the smoke.

But loving Phoebe has brought out that seventeen year old in him. And with Lusea, he’s grown and changed and adapted — he is a survivor through some of the worst things he can imagine, that even the youngest version of himself couldn’t ever imagine.

He finds himself pushing away from the awning to approach her again, the cigarette in his left hand when he raises his right hand to brush away a black tear from her cheek and tuck the blond, frozen hair behind her ear, a softness to his steel eyes. “You make me that seventeen year old.” He tells her, a tilt to his head as his thumb lingers on her skin. “And that seventeen year old made some pretty fucked up decisions. Killed a lot of people. Holed himself up in his room for months.” Perhaps a bit more honesty while he’s feeling weak.

“Tried to drown himself in the bath, once. While everyone else pretended that everything was okay and fine. But it wasn’t.” His hand drifts from her to take another drag from the cigarette, eyes remaining on her face. “So that seventeen year old adapted — planned the downfall of his father and his home because of what they made him do. And they had no idea. It took a few more years of course, of training and boring class work before they set me out into the city.” His eyes grow a bit distant.

“And eventually, one night after months of seeing my face posted on the walls of the slums, on the screens up above, of how proud people were of me… that’s when I noticed the underground boxing ring while my fellow enforcers were sleeping. And I had two choices. I could turn them in, or I could finally work on that plan I’d spent years on and work with them.” His eyebrow lifts in a silent question as if to ask her which he’d chosen.

“They called me the Flood. The Deluge. In our language it was die vloed.” He pauses, eyes drifting back to her face and along her neck before he steps away from her, unsure if he wants to tell her more or break again and kiss her — a drug, a temptress, the feeling of comfort and being young and fragile again. “And I reigned hell on everyone… But you, Phoebe, you make me feel like that fragile child again. And I have done so much growing since then… Probably not for the best, but I grew into this person that people looked up to, rather than forward to. I gave people hope. While that seventeen year old me only gave people a puppet to hold, to teach.” His eyes are shadowed as he steps back.

“I don’t want to be that way. I prefer what I’ve become, what she’s made me become. You make me vulnerable, and I’m afraid of growing into the person you think I can be, because maybe it’s not what either of us want.” A heavy sigh. “You deserve someone with far less baggage than I have.”

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Suddenly he was talking, and talking, and talking. Apparently she had triggered some sort of chatterbox within him, releasing all of the emotions and memories and experience from his past - things she had asked him to delve into months before, so she could better understand him and what he needed. But now? As he stood before her, trying to explain why it was alright for him to sleep with her behind his girlfriend's back - which was somehow her fault? - and yet he could not fathom being with her either? She didn't want it. She didn't need it. He had fulfilled her need for touch and release and his sob-story of redemption and ill-conceived logic was unnecessary.

"You are such a fucking idiot it's painful." she said with sudden irritation. "You never stopped being that seventeen year old. Who you are is built on that. You just haven't allowed yourself to be that vulnerable with anyone because no one gave you the option to be before me." she snapped at him, eyes narrowing a bit. "You don't stop being who you were before or being vulnerable just because you go through difficult things in your life. You grow and adapt to the situation. And if that is really what you are getting at, that you really don't think you can be both of those things, that they aren't linked to each other, that some how by some miracle you are the only human who has ever developed the inability to be vulnerable with another person because you needed to grow tougher to survive, then you are missing the entire point of existing." she snapped at him, glaring ever so slightly. "I don't make you vulnerable. You are vulnerable because you are human. Stop blaming others for things you don't like that are part of yourself, and stop disliking aspects of you that define your humanity. It's asinine and you will never be able to be content or happy if you deny what you are - which is human."

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 finds himself almost laughing at her frustration, her irritation, so clearly written on her face. Well, she had wanted the information, right? And he had told her before that he didn’t think he was a good enough person for her. Does she realize that now? Now that he’s standing before her, blighted, still slightly drunk, with loose lips and secrets that only four people knew – only two in this world if you include her.

And he wonders if she’ll tell his secrets – wonders if the moment they shared would be punishment for him enough, or if she’d take it a step further and let it all slip.

Instead, she continues on her rampage, while he remains with silence extending from his side, steel eyes remaining on her as the smoke drifts around him, clinging to his hair, to his clothes as he pulls another drag off of it and exhales through his nose in a heavy sigh. “Yes, Phoebe. Because being vulnerable got you killed.” He pauses, trying to unpack everything else she says with his sluggish mind, slow to figure out what the fuck she’s exactly saying.

He reaches for a moment, then, to rub at the tattoo along his neck, the compass, with enough pressure to warp it slightly with the movement as he exhales again. “The point is that I don’t want them linked. I don’t want that reminder. I don’t want to deal with the child within me that would run at the first sign of danger.” He manages to grit out, focusing on her as his hand drops from his neck. “That is not who I want to be.”

There’s another pause as he shakes his head, a smile crossing his face in surprise and exasperation. “I am human, yes. But I can certainly hate the parts of me that that are unneeded, unhelpful, dangerous.” Of course, not dangerous in the sense she’d likely think. Dangerous in the sense that in his vulnerability, his first instinct is to disappear rather than fight. And he much prefers to fight, if he had the gut instinct to do so.

With Lusea, he did, because she could hold her own – and he didn’t need to worry about keeping someone else safe. She could do it herself, and he could either run and hide, or fight alongside her. If she died, he’d die too. That was the plan, until his father destroyed that one too. It was also that vulnerable instinct within him that had him grabbing the fiery woman’s hand, the two of them prepared to jump from the building rather than be captured. Which, obviously didn’t work out.

He supposes both have their perks, but gods it pisses him off. And he grits his teeth, the muscle feathering in his jaw as he sighs once more and reaches for his temple to rub at it. “The blame is on myself, for the hundredth time, by the way. But I do give you the blame for making me that way, because it feels like I have to protect you. Because I want to protect you. That’s what brings it out, to run and focus on the things that should matter to someone like that. Running to protect life, a family, children, everything. But I never wanted that. I never thought I’d make it past twenty-three with the way I lived. I had no plans for any of it. And when I did, for the first fleeting moment, it was taken from me.” Another admission, shadowed eyes sharp and piercing as they look back to Phoebe. “Taken as quickly as a knife to a throat and a girl bleeding out.”

“And I found myself here, with so much that’s different, that there are things I wish I could change. And for a moment, as much as I denied it, I thought about it. A family with you.” Perhaps it’s a bit snarky, but the look he pines her with is referencing to their earlier conversations through this argument. “But I can’t change it.” There’s a pause. “And I fucked up, I admit that. But you didn’t have to help me with it. Lusea is here, alive, and I'm still this broken mess that can't get over it, over the possibilities we had. But it was easy with you, it was always easy with you.”

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Still her words fell on deaf ears. Still he fought to deny his whole self. And it was exhausting. The midwife reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezing shut. "I don't know what you want me to say to you Jata. You're arguing in circles with me." she said tiredly, bringing the spiked coffee to her lips, focusing on the slight burn in her throat for a moment's reprieve.

"This isn't Korofi. Being vulnerable with someone you love and trust does not get you killed. It brings you closer to the person and creates intimacy. And it's natural to do so. It strengthens you to have someone like that." she said with a sigh, looking up at him. "And now you're standing here, telling me it was easy with me. And you have said you love me, that you don't care what Lusea thinks about all of this, and yet you can't choose me because she is familiar and I'm everything you never thought you could have or wanted. But I've been standing here the whole time. I tried to give you what you wanted because she was all you ever talked about and you're still not happy."

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 he even know what he’s saying anymore? He grits his teeth and shakes his head, looking away from her to drag off the cigarette again before he sighs heavily. A hand reaches up to rub at the scruff of a beard on his jawline before he looks away from her. “I don’t know.” He admits, some small amount of defeat as his lips form a tight line. “I think I’m still drunk, so nothing is really making sense.” Turning from her slightly, he can feel the goosebumps on his skin from the snow and the chill in the air, as he looks over the yard he had planted the rose at.

But he manages to listen to her words, an almost sad smile crossing his face at that. “Are you sure?” He asks, turning his gaze over to her with a raised brow. “The blight. Longnight approaching. The monsters that live and thrive here… It might be different but, still dangerous.” It’s a sad statement but he shrugs his tattooed shoulders with it, breaking his gaze from her as the blight settles deep within him.

“I do care. I wouldn’t be so upset if I didn’t.” He manages with a loud sigh. “And she was my everything, Phoebe, but I don’t know who this version of her is. She doesn’t know who this version of me is. We’re not the kids who were the faces of the revolution anymore. We’re just ourselves and hopelessly aimless without anywhere to go, anything to do.” His shadowed haze slides over to her as he flicks the ash from his smoke. “And I thought maybe, in there with the blight and the alcohol, that I could just pretend our pieces fit together like the used to. But they don’t, anymore. It doesn’t fit with Lusea either, not like it used to.”

Truth is, maybe he’ll never be happy. Maybe that’s the price he pays for everything he’s done.

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

”Then stop trying to force it, Jata.” Phoebe said with a huff. ”Just because things were great doesn’t mean they are now. But if you truly love her then man up and go find a way to make it work, or man up and walk away and find someone who does fit who you are now.” she said bluntly. Part of her was beginning to understand Frey’s proclivity to put mini-curses on people who were idiots because she truly wanted to curse Jata right now.

”And just because this place is dangerous, doesn’t mean it is the same as Korofi. Frankly, until you learn to find strength in sharing your vulnerabilities with another person, you’re always going to be weak. No one can survive everything on their own for very long.” she said, shrugging a bit. If he couldn’t do that with someone he loved, he certainly couldn’t do that with a friend. He could either grow or stay stuck in this purgatory his own mind was placing him in. Phoebe knew what that was like, but she had chosen to walk the path of growth. What Jata chose was up to him.

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

“What if nobody does?” He responds briefly. What if he’s meant to walk that line alone, constantly, like he had in those three years since leaving Korofi and coming to Caido? And when it came to it, Lusea had been the only one he’d ever shared anything with. Not his family, no one in his dash to Dorobo. Sure, his sister had come, but it wasn’t the same. She didn’t understand — because he didn’t understand it himself. So he had closed himself off to everyone, kept himself hidden away and removed, detached in case he grew attachments again to watch them be ripped away.

His lips tilt in a sort of half smile as he shakes his head to her and rubs at his cheek again, huffing a quiet sigh. “I suppose this —” He pauses to gesture to himself. “— is the product of keeping it to yourself.” The joke falls flat as his shoulders shrug again and he shakes his head, inhaling deeply and exhausted.

“I’m sorry, for all the heartache and shit I caused you.” His eyes drift over toward her.

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

What if nobody does? ”I ask myself that question just about every day. I don’t have an answer for you.” she said softly, looking into her coffee. ”You keep saying I deserve better than you, and if that were so, would I not have found it yet? I am young and fit and attractive enough to at least not be considered ugly. I am eager to please and cook and clean and do pretty much anything my partner would like me to do and yet here I am, alone. Unloved, unwanted, without a fit.” she said, shrugging a bit as she frowned at her drink. ”You haven’t really tried looking for your fit like I have. You’ve no reason to think you will fail. The baggage you carry doesn’t decide if you will or won’t succeed, clearly.”

She didn’t respond to his joke, not finding it funny in the least. And his apology? It also fell flat. ”If you were truly sorry, you would stop playing with my heart.”

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

Of course, she doesn’t have a response. It makes sense to him, sensing the frustration and distrust — would she even tell him if she did? He inhales deeply, biting the inside of his cheek quietly as she continues on. A frown forms his lips into a tight line. “Maybe they just haven’t come in yet.” He tells her with a quiet sigh, a rumbled accent, tired, still somewhat drunk, cold, and decidedly far less upset than he had been before.

“You’re beautiful, Phoebe. Everything anyone could want and more.” He hums thoughtfully, though he keeps his gaze from her, unsure of what he’ll do with the words he says if he looks at her with them. “You aren’t unloved.” Because he can feel it deep within him, that draw to her — that connection, as much as he wants it gone. He wants her to find someone, to forget about him so maybe he can do the same. Even with Lusea, it’s tough. And given what’s happened tonight, he doesn’t know if he’ll even remain with her.

He’s dug himself a pretty deep hole.

“I’ve never intentionally sought it out.” He hadn’t. With Lusea, he had passed out from a brawl and woke up to her stitching his wounds. With Phoebe, he had been swimming in the Oasis and invited her in. There was no pining, no seeking, just… happening.

But he inhales deeply at her comment after, eyes shutting tight for a moment before he looks to her. “I’m not trying to hurt you. None of this is intentional.” His voice is rough, dropping the cigarette to extinguish it with a boot before he focuses on her again. “I will keep my distance as much as I can, if it helps you.”

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

She shrugged a bit at his words. Maybe. Maybe they would never come. "Beautiful. Everything anyone could want and more...and it's still not enough to be worth fighting for. You won't. Emmett didn't. I appreciate the flattery but I'm a bit too jaded at this point to fall for it." she said quietly, glaring down at her nearly empty cup. "I'm not unloved entirely, no. But I am not loved. I am not someone's everything. Their one and only." she said quietly, finishing the last of her coffee, which was mostly whiskey.

"Then you're being stupid if you think this doesn't hurt me." she said sharply, crossing her arms around her far too narrow waist. "It would help." she said, voice shaking slightly.

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

“No.” He admits softly, running a hand through his dark hair with a light sigh. He won’t fight for her. Because even if he does, even if he’s successful with it, he’s certain he’ll go and fuck it up some other way later. Regardless of how difficult it is, he knows it in his bones that she, herself, is too good for the darkness that sits within him. And she could try all she might to clean the stain left behind, but it would always remain.

“Most people don’t need a one and only.” He tells her, because despite having the one and only he thought he did, he’s here with the midwife rather than the one. So what did that say about the truth to that statement? There would always be difficulties, always be struggles. And with him, his blight and alcohol, the changes to his person, he’s not sure he’ll ever recover.

But she snaps at him and a dark brow raises in the surprising quiet environment they find themselves in. “So why let me, then? If it hurts too much. You aren’t the only one.” A rough admittance while he tears his gaze from her again. He wonders if he should tell her more, but the thought drifts from his mind, trying to figure out where he can go to clear his mind, where there’s warmth as opposed to the snow outside. And without saying anything to her, he brushes past her just enough to step inside and start gathering his things — tugging the shirt on first over the soon to be scars from her and the ones from Korofi.

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

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

She is silent as he responds, saying things she knows. Saying things she didn't but isn't surprised to hear. He is more or less predictable to her. Brown eyes follow him as he brushes past her, entering the clinic to gather his things. In silence she follows, watching, not jumping to help like she used to. She doted on her man, and he was not her man. He had made that much clear. "You're the one that showed up at my cell. I didn't go looking for you." she reminded.

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

Her reminder is somewhat unnecessary, but he understands her need to say it as much as he dislikes it. And he tugs the shirt over his torso, running a hand through his hair as he grabs the jacket and furs, covering scratches and wounds. And when he’s finally ready, he pauses by the doorway of the clinic, glancing over toward her while his lips form a tight line. It certainly makes it a bit awkward, living in the same place to be able to avoid the other completely. But he’ll try, if only to prevent more of this, whatever this is.

“Good luck.” He tells her, though it’s unclear whether he means for what the future holds, or what kind of plans Phoebe may have in regards to Lusea. Either way, he focuses briefly before moving past her again, down the porch steps with the loud thud of boots, lighting yet another cigarette before he’s off the edge of the midwife’s clinic and moving off into the night.

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

SUNJATA