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resurrection tastes like iron - Lusea - 08-22-2019
I am in the room with his father, the stone beneath my knees, my flayed back bleeding with fresh wounds, tears falling from my face-
-I am on the floor looking up at him, and he is furious, screaming, but I cannot hear it because my ears are ringing from the blow to my head-
-I am watching him and he is reaching for me and I want to tell him to stop, to tell him it's pointless, that the more he loves me the more they'll hurt us both, and I want to reach back, to press myself against his chest, but my arms are bound and I cannot move-
-I am listening to the boom of his father's voice. It sounds like thunder during the floods, dangerous and closer, and I wonder how soon the dam will break, almost wish for it-
-I am looking at him, and he is looking at me, and I can see what is about to happen in his eyes, so I smile, smile, through my tears, and mouth the final words I will ever say, declare them in defiance as the blade slips across my neck-
-I love you, Sunny, I love you, I love you-
-The blood on my neck is hot and acrid, and I can feel it leave me, feel my body grow cold, feel the light as it escapes my eyes, but it's okay because the last thing I see is him-
-I am dying---
-I am---
-I-----
------
---
--
-I am alive.
I gasp as my knees hit the cold ground, inhaling one sharp breath and then another, my hands around my throat to stop the bleeding. The bleeding - the bleeding - I was bleeding, I was dying, and I couldn't breathe, but now? Now I am gulping down air, swallowing it like a starving thing, and it tastes so sweet I could positively die, except that I'm already dead.
So is this the afterlife?
Slowly, carefully, I take one hand off my throat, waiting for the feeling of rushing blood to return. When it doesn't I remove the other, looking at them both with wonder because they're clean, free of the red I know should coat them, free of any sanguine stains. Trembling I push myself off the ground, staggering a little as I stand, my body weak and uncertain after so many weeks of being bound. The pain on my back is there, but faded, more dull ache than stinging burn; so too for my wrists, once bound and torn by shackles, now simply scarred. I rub my hands over them uncertainty, exhaling, breath visible in the cold.
..the cold...
Why is it cold in the afterlife? Why am I alive? Nothing makes sense, and I'm so cold, clothed in nothing but a light shift, the same thing I wore in prison. Wrapping my arms around myself in an attempt to keep warm, I raise my head, looking for any sign of life in this apparently dead world. [say]"Hallo? Is enige iemand daar?"[/say]
Hallo? Is enige iemand daar? - Hello? Is anyone there?
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Phoebe - 08-22-2019
It was late, much later than she had anticipated. Jata was probably getting antsy waiting on her. She had said she was going out to the woods to forage some late Leafchange berries, and per his request Pim was dutifully at her side. But the sun had set by the time she made it back to the Settlement, and she cut across the field that surrounded the Spire to make better time.
That was when she heard the voice, and Phoebe looked to see a young woman, barely dressed, looking as though she had been beaten. [say]”Oh my goodness!”[/say] she breathed before hurrying over to her, basket of berries and the few medical supplies she had brought tucked in the crook of her arm. [say]”Are you okay? Were you attacked?”[/say] she called out, rushing to the woman’s side. [say]”Please, let me help you. I’m a midwife and healer.”[/say] she said gently, holding her hands out as if to touch her, but waiting for permission.
Pim scurried along beside her, sniffing at the woman from where the large dog sized pink dragonling stood at his companion’s side.
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Lusea - 08-22-2019
Through the fog, a voice-
I stumble toward it even though I scarcely understand the words she says, foreign and faintly recognized things penetrating through the haze. The content doesn't matter, though- it is the sound that resonates within me, ringing like bells through my ears, calling me on and on.
Is it an angel? She looks as I have heard angels described, fair skinned and flaxen haired with soft skin and large eyes. Next to her I am a mess, barely clothed, battered and scars, with dried tears smudging the dirt on my cheeks. Maybe this is another trick, a new form of torture to make me think I am safe, and the rug will be pulled out from under me if I dare to question or make a move.
But I have to know. [Say]"Waar is ek?"[/say] I ask her urgently, reaching up to grasp her hands, searching for answers in her kind face. A cough pulls through me; my throat is still raw and wounded, despite the miraculous healing, despite being dead. There is fear in my expression, but hope, too, and this time I speak slower, trying to form the proper words. [Say]"Am I... Dead? I felt the knife. So cold..."[/say]
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Phoebe - 08-22-2019
Her brows furrowed slightly as the woman spoke again. Those words…she didn’t know them but they sounded oddly familiar, as though she had heard something like it before. But is hardly a concern. It isn’t as cold as the coming months will be but she is still hardly dressed for the evening chill. [say]”Here, put this on, you’ll freeze.”[/say] Phoebe said, her tone soft and motherly as she began taking off her own cloak to drape around the woman’s shoulders. She had multiple layers on herself, so it wasn’t particularly bothersome to her.
”Am I…Dead?”
Ah, she must have just arrived. It was not uncommon for new Outlanders to think this the afterlife in some manner. Phoebe’s expression melted into a soft smile and she shook her head. [say]”No, no you’re not dead. You’re very much alive.”[/say] she assured her. [say]”But you aren’t in the place you were before. This place is called the Hollowed Grounds, in a realm known as Caido.”[/say] she said slowly. [say]”My name is Phoebe and this here is my friend Pim. Why don’t we get you somewhere warm and I can get you cleaned up?”[/say]
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Lusea - 08-22-2019
Oh, to be warm! The cloak is not enough to fully press out all the chill, but it is a start, and ah does it feel lovely to be to be wrapped in something other than thin cloth. [say]"Dankie,"[/say] I murmur to her gratefully, pulling the fabric tight around myself like armor against this strange place. It doesn't hide all the wounds, but some of them at least, and I feel a little more human already by virtue of wearing clothes.
The angel is speaking again, and I try to concentrate, to make sense of all she has to say. I am not dead, that much is confirmed- and really, that much is unbelievable, an incredible relief that makes me laugh, the sound involuntary and real. Is that my voice? When is the last time I laughed?
That night-
-I laugh again, and again, and again, until the laughs fade into sobs, until there are tears falling from my eyes and my knees are on the floor and my chest is heaving and my throat is raw. I'm not dead. I'm not dead! Which means that Sunny...
[say]"Did you see anyone else nearby? A man?"[/say]
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Phoebe - 08-22-2019
”Dankie”
Phoebe didn’t recognize it as another language, more as a childish thank you. It was cute in a way, and the blonde midwife smiled at her warmly. [say]”You’re very welcome.”[/say] she said. Of course, she wanted to take her somewhere inside, somewhere warm and safe but she wouldn’t get the chance. The young woman started to laugh, first quietly, building to hysterical laughter that gives cause for concern. Pim trilled with concern, not understanding what was going on.
As the woman collapsed, Phoebe collapsed with her, quickly wrapping her arms around her as she cried, rocking her slowly and cooing gently into her ear. [say]”It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe. Everything is fine, you’re going to be fine.”[/say] she soothed, mustering up her energy to comfort as best she knew how. Phoebe really should have had a special checkmark for comforting alone – it was often required in her profession, one filled with as many happy tears as those of despair.
Finally the woman speaks again, and asks after a man. Phoebe shook her head, gently pushing her hair back out of her face. [say]”No I didn’t. Not everyone from your world will have come here. In fact, most will not have.”[/say] she said as gently as she could. [say]”Do you think you can stand? I can take you to my clinic and you can get warm and comfortable and we will make sense of it all, okay?”[/say]
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Lusea - 08-23-2019
Hysterics. Yup. That's what's happening right now. In the eye of a hurricane that is my rapidly dissolving sanity I am somehow able to stop and look at myself, as though I were a ghost observing my own death. Hysterics. Huh. That's... new.
I take a steadying breath at last, choking back the last of the sobs and raising my head to look at her again. No, I didn't. She did not see anyone else. She did not see Sunjata.
So that's it, then. I'm alone, except for a strange girl and a small pink dragon.
I've never really been one for hysterics, but I guess not quite dying changes a person. Maybe I'm a hysterical person now. There are tears on my cheeks and snot on my face - god, I must look like a mess, but whatever. The friendly stranger (Phoebe, she said her name was?) doesn't seem to care, and honestly, it's nice to be able to emote without fear of immediate retribution. For weeks I've had to keep my terror under wraps, to try and avoid inspiring more punishment, giving my captors the satisfaction of seeing me tremble and break.
But now? Now I can be shattered, and the only person here to see it is a friendly angel I will probably never see again.
Nodding silently at her question, I push myself up to my feet, careful to support my own weight. If I am to be alone I will be alone thoroughly: I can't afford to lean on anyone, not after the disaster that is last time, not after losing him. Wrapping the coat tightly around myself I dip my head again, agreeing with her invitation, my eyes down on my still bare legs. [say]"That would be nice. Thank you."[/say]
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Phoebe - 08-23-2019
Phoebe certainly did not mind tears and snot - she encountered much more questionable substances in her work after all. But she quickly grabbed a handkerchief and gently wiped the mess off her face, a soft smile on her face. [say]"There we go. That has to feel better. Sometimes you need a good cry like that."[/say] she said gently, tucking the little rag away for now.
But the young woman stood, and so did she, picking up her basket. [say]"I have extra beds as well. You're welcome to stay as long as you wish, get yourself sorted and back on your feet and all."[/say] she said with a smile. The clinic wasn't that far either, and it would be a pretty quick walk. [say]"I've got some extra clothes you can wear and a shower you can clean up in - nothing like a hot shower to make you feel more human. Then I can assess your wounds."[/say] she said as she pulled out her keys.
Phoebe was quick to open the door, and Pim scurried in, seeking out Sunjata. [say]"Jata, I'm sorry I'm late but we have a guest for a little while."[/say] she called, wherever Jata was, as she set her keys and basket aside.
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Sunjata - 08-23-2019
The door opens, and Pim is seeking him out, while he stands in the kitchen with a glass that he fills with water. He hadn’t done much while Phoebe was away, maybe tidied a few things here and there, until she returned, having nothing better to do. He hears her chipper voice, glancing to Pim in greeting as he pulls the glass away and goes to stand in the door way to greet whomever this mysterious guest is, a playful smile on his lips as he begins to speak before he rounds the corner. “[say]Ah, I’m glad I cleaned up then.[/say]” He announces, eyes flashing from Phoebe to Lusea where he stops short, a hand braced against the door frame.
He feels like he’s been punched to the gut, the air leaving his lungs, smile falling, eyes widening in shock. And the glass within his hand drops, falling and shattering to the ground.
And he does nothing about it as he steps over it toward her, forgetting momentarily that Phoebe is there, his eyes are only on Lusea, steel eyes meeting hers, no longer tear stained, no blood, but beneath the coat she wears the clothes are the same. Immediately, he can’t help but to slip into his language. “[say]My gode… Is dit ‘n illusie?[/say]” The sound that leaves him is unlike anything Phoebe’s ever heard from him, a mix between breathless and somewhat a sob.
He doesn’t stop until he’s there – hands reaching up to touch Lusea, palms meeting her cheeks and roaming through her dark hair until they reach the back of her neck, as his eyes swim with a million different emotions. “[say]Lusea…?[/say]” His accent is the thickest it’s ever been, and he says her name like it's a prayer. He pulls back enough to scan her then, lifting her head to see the scar on her neck, the tear in the shift, and his gut churns further. “[say]My liefde? Jy is lewendig...[/say]”
The last time had had seen her, he had been fury and flame and rage. Both pressed against the stone floor, guards holding them both, and he had rampaged against his own to get to her, her last words like a prayer on his tongue. He had pressed and pushed against the guards that, too, held a knife to his throat... But Jata in Korofi had always been more important than someone like Lusea, and it killed him when the blade didn't strike him down too. He had wanted it to, that day, the minute he heard her say the only thing he ever wanted to hear from her. The last thing she'd ever said to him. Before his father slipped that blade along the scar on her throat, and he had watched her die.
Jata has never been one to cry, all rage and fury and flame. But today it changes, as the tears swim in his eyes.
My gode… Is dit ‘n illusie? - my gods... is this an illusion?
My liefde? Jy is lewendig... - my love? You are alive...
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Lusea - 08-23-2019
Clothes? And a shower? And a real bed? Gods above, I can barely remember the last time I saw any of those. I manage a weak and shaky grin, raising my head enough to let a matted lock of hair fall across my face. Ugh, I must smell horrible and look worse. A shower will be miraculous. [say]"I really am in heaven,"[/say] I say, laughing hoarsely. [say]"And you is 'n engel."[/say]
The cold has permeated through the cloak by the time we reach the hearth of her clinic, and the warmth and light that radiates from within may be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. As Phoebe fiddles with the key I close my eyes a moment, lingering back away from the door, steeling against the possibility that I am, quite literally, walking into the light. Worse, what if this is a trap? And if not even that, well, there is still danger that someone is looking for me, that he is looking. I have to be careful.
I have to be smart.
Vaguely I can hear her calling out to someone, though the words still sound like they're coming through water. Ah, fuck, I need to pay more attention. Checking to make sure I'm at least vaguely presentable, I follow Phoebe into the clinic, looking up to see...
...to see...
...him.
I am looking at him, and he is looking at me, and the space between us has never felt so distant, so impossible to close. He drops a glass, and I know it shatters, but all I can hear is my thundering heartbeat, all I can see are his eyes, his eyes, as grey as the floodwaters, as familiar as my own, the last thing I saw before-
-he steps toward me, a ghost, a reaper, a hallucination, because there is no way I can truly see him, because there is no way he is here, wherever this is, because it definitely isn't Korofi, isn't anywhere, it's hell and I am-
-silent as his voice meets me, the only thing I've ever heard, the only thing I know, my own language on his tongue, his tongue, and my knees are shaking, and my face is pale, but I don't move, I can't move, because I feel like if I do I'll shatter, because I feel-
-hands on my face, on my cheeks, in my hair, rough and calloused despite his noble birth. I remember kissing them when they were bloody, laughing as he moped after a loss, feeling them on every part of me, symphonic, harmonic, electricity I did not know could be incited. I remember holding them as we turned to leap off the roof, to escape it all together. I remember-
-where I am. I am not dead. I am not in heaven. I am in a clinic in a world on a planet in a galaxy in a universe that is not mine, but somehow, somehow, Sunjata is also here. And so maybe I am home.
[say]"Sunny,"[/say] I whisper, searching his face, finding tears in his eyes (when did you get so soft?). My own expression feels strained, flat and calm, disbelieving. Slowly, carefully, I raise my arm-
-and slap him, hard, across the face.
[say]"Oh. So you are real."[/say]
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Phoebe - 08-23-2019
Phoebe glanced at Lusea as she spoke, smiling a little with a light laugh. It wasn’t all in a language she understood but enough of it was intelligible. [say]”And angel? Me? You’re too kind.”[/say] she said. [say]”I just like to help. In a world where you can do anything, why not love and spread kindness?”[/say] she said. It was true, she thought. She wasn’t perfect at it but it was her ultimate goal. Life could be hard, and there was no reason to make it any more difficult than it already was. If they could all just get along or at least tolerate each other, things would be so much better.
But soon enough her illusion of peace and calm and stability was shattered. She entered the house and called to Jata. She set down her things but before she could see him there was a loud shattering of glass, Pim hissed and she jumped, looking over at him wide eyed where he stood almost stock still. [say]”Jata?”[/say] she said softly, glancing over at the woman, who seemed equally in a trance. What in the name of Frey was going on. Brown eyes shifted between the two, then Jata started forward and she quickly stepped out of the way, since he seemed unable to see her.
”Lusea, My leifde…”
The world briefly stopped and spun around her. Lusea. Leifde. Leife was what he called her. And…Lusea was dead! Wasn’t she? The expression on her face – not that any paid her any mind – was clearly distraught. She supposed, if the power of the Voice, anything was possible though. Roana had come from a slightly different time. Maybe…maybe Lusea had too.
Her heart dropped to her stomach with an all too familiar ache.
Phoebe turned quickly and headed to the kitchen, feeling her breath coming short but forcing herself not to panic. She had promised this woman clothes and a shower and a bed and she would be damned if something as silly as heartbreak over a man she had never truly had would stop her. The slap was lost on her as she quickly set to preparing a meal, prepping the shower room with everything Lusea could possibly want, finding clothes she thought might fit her from her extra stash in a cupboard and prepping one of her rooms for her. She focused on concocting healing remedies for her – things she might need. Calming and sleeping teas, poultices for her bruises and cuts, herbal tonics to boost her health and vitality.
If she sat idle, she would drown, and she refused to drown now that she knew how to tread water.
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Sunjata - 08-23-2019
His name falls from Phoebe’s lips, but it’s muddled beneath the rollercoaster of emotions he’s going through. He moves to her, the language of home rough and foreign to most but beautiful when it falls from his lips, when his hands reach her cheeks and her neck, proving she’s real — and he realizes he can finally hold her again, to feel her breath as it rakes across his skin, no longer covered in blood and bruising and pain.
And he finds he can’t believe it, despite the hands that are very clearly holding onto her. His fingers nearly tremble at the nickname, the way she whispers it — so opposite from the last time it had fallen from her lips (a sound of proclamation, of knowing what’s coming, of saying goodbye). And he finds his eyes swimming, unable to fall with the relief that floods through him, not understanding how it had happened, how such a miraculous thing could have happened.
He nearly holds his breath as her hand lifts, waiting for it to touch his cheek, his collarbone, his jaw — all of her favorite places —
— SMACK
He had forgotten how hard she could hit, having watched her do it to dozens of men beneath the bar. It’s enough to jar him, to hear her words as he slips back an inch from her, a tear falling with the hit that he quickly wipes away from a cheek that stings and burns bright red. “[say]I am real.[/say]” He horsley tells her, not realizing Phoebe has left. He hadn’t cared, the darkest part of his soul burning and gleaming the moment the spark of her flint eyes had met him. And he knew, somewhere in that good part of him, that it was an awful thing to do.
But he can’t help himself, she is here and he is here, and no longer does the threat of wars raging around them, blades looming at their throats. It is a safety he never knew how much he needed it. But he can’t move from her, the way she captivates him. He has grown soft, soft because of her and because of Phoebe, of not needing to be the strong face he always had been, full of jokes and rule breaking. He wasn’t certain he even had broken any laws since arriving.
Yet, it’s been so long, and she stands before him like a ghost and he can’t move from her. Hands slip from her face and shoulders to brace along the wall, head lowering just enough to place along her forehead, silver eyes shuttering despite the red tinge to his cheek. “[say]I lost you, Luci.[/say]” He rumbles, feeling the pain of that day rush back the closer he is to her, almost like he can feel the slickness of her blood on his hands. “[say]How are you here?[/say]” His voice shakes, muscle feathering in his jaw. ‘I held you, I cried for you, and I watched you die.’ Sits just on the tip of his tongue.
He realizes then that Phoebe had been the one to bring her back to him, and a small amount of guilt begins to burn in his chest.
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Lusea - 08-26-2019
The girl - Phoebe - vanishes off somewhere, but quite frankly I barely notice or care. I should, but I don't- how can I, when he is there, when my hand tingles with the imprint of his face, hurting like it's real, hurting like the most beautiful thing I have ever felt.
Is he real? The pain in my hand says so, and he affirms it, his voice exactly the way I remember, a low hoarse growl that sets me on fire. But I died, I remember dying, and he was there, and now we're here, and it makes no fucking sense. How have we traversed worlds and lifetimes, in the minutes between my life and death? I saw you, I saw you, I saw you a I died. is he a ghost?
Am I?
Ugh, he even smells the same, a mix of sweat and bad decisions that always managed to get me in trouble, no matter how hard I tried to resist (and let's be real, it wasn't that hard). His hands leave my face and I take a step back, pinned between him and a wall, his hands on either side of my head, his breath too hot on my skin. I close my eyes and tilt my head up, nose ghosting along the bridge of his own, almost close enough but not because it feels too dangerous to close the space
I lost you. I have half a mind to slap him again, and half a mind to laugh. [Say]"Ek was joune totdat ek gesterf het."[/say] I remember it too, as if it was yesterday, except not because to me it was only an hour ago. How long has it been for him? How long did it take him to move on, to make a new home and find a new purpose? Does he have a new kingdom, a new career, a new-
-wait-
-oh. The girl.
It all makes sense now, except it doesn't because again, I literally just died for him and apparently he's already shacked up with some pretty little blonde. I push back against him suddenly, forcing away that intoxicating smell, a sudden storm on my wounded face. [Say]"Did you forget about me, Sunny?"[/say] Have you replaced me so easily?
RE: resurrection tastes like iron - Phoebe - 08-26-2019
There was only so much prepping that Phoebe could do before she needed Lusea to go any further. She hesitated, hiding in the kitchen before coming back out. It hurt, seeing him there, hovering above her like he hovered above her, heart stinging with the slap of reality that she wasn't special. Of course, she had known she wasn't. She had known that he would treat her just as he treated any other woman. But to see was something different.
She startled a bit as Lusea shoved back against Jata, her words accusatory but easy to deduce the reason. [say]"Lusea..."[/say] Phoebe interjected gently. [say]"It's been a few years since you died but Jata has never stopped loving you or blaming himself for what happened. So...well just consider me not part of the picture."[/say] she said with a small smile. She wasn't going to fight the inevitable. She wasn't going to try to keep Jata from the woman he so clearly loved. Instead she took a real step back, conceding to Lusea graciously.
[say]"If I may though, I still would like to tend to your wounds. Ive already prepped some medicines, clothes, the shower, and a bed for you, and I have some dinner already cooking. I'm sure you're hungry."[/say]