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+---- Thread: i guess time is my enemy (/showthread.php?tid=3085)
i guess time is my enemy - Sunjata - 04-03-2020
He read the note pinned to the Notice Board, dealt with a very unsuccessful attempt at seeking Delphia out to hear what Maea might have said to him, helped the people of Haulani in Torchline avoid getting trapped and harmed by the volcano, and yet… And yet, it doesn’t quite seal any of the awkwardness in his heart over the news, unable to properly distract himself from the rules he’s stumbled within, the ritual required – wondering if it’s worth it, worth getting over Lusea to hear the last hurrah from Maea.
So he chooses to seek out what little things he can. Her things, what little of them there were.
Initially, however, he makes a stop at the Kraai – unsure if Weaver knew of the fate of her friend, his lover. Still, the air around him is heavy, Haai is at his heels guiding the way through the cold and despite how much Sunjata doesn’t want to think about it, he can’t help but to embrace the biting cold in the littler layers he wears. He enters the bar, slipping the jacket and furs off, remaining in a sleeveless shirt to reveal the one sleeve done as well as the other tattoos he’d bore before arriving in Caido. A quick look around before he utters for her – hoping she’s here this time. “[say]Weaver?[/say]” Another call out, certainly not in the mood to meet face to face with her brother this time around.
It’s time for a chat, and quite a few drinks.
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Weaver - 04-04-2020
She is here, in the back, and so the fire is not roaring. She does not need it, honestly, and even though her brother thinks her wasteful, she is conservative on certain occasions. Sometimes she suspects he just doesn’t always look, that he simply sees the parts of her that he wants to see. Lately, that seems to be the bad parts of her, and she finds herself growing a little tired of it.
There’s the sound of a door, followed by her name. She recognizes the voice by now, and she puts down the glasses she was washing (she’d had some specially made by a local glassblower, and they were stunning) and makes her way to the front. Her sleeves are rolled up and she wears only a white blouse and pants, unbothered by the chill in the place.
Still, at the sight of Sunjata, she throws some magic to the hearth (which always had wood in it, even if not a fire itself), and the wood catches easily. It would take some time to warm the place, but he doesn’t seem to care. Weaver nods to the new sleeve of tattoo along his one arm. [say]”That’s new. Did you like the artist?”[/say] she asks, recalling how he’d asked for the artist who did her tattoos. He was the best.
Making her way behind the bar, Weaver grabs two glasses and begins to pour. The book of recipes Maea had given her rests on the bottom shelf with the booze, displayed, because it feels right somehow. She’d been working with some of the cider recipes already, and though there are still crates to unpack, she’s got enough setup to make a decent drink now. She begins to pour; cider she’s been trying to get right (it’s close, not perfect, but good enough to drink) mulled with spices, mixed with some whiskey. It is the sort of drink that warms you through.
Weaver takes both glasses and comes back around the bar, handing one to Sunjata. [say]”I heard about Maea. Gods, I’m so sorry. But I found something I think she wanted you to have,”[/say] she says. Fishing in her pocket, Weaver pulls out the letter with his name on it and the feather she’d found. The letter is a bit crumpled because she’d been keeping it with her, waiting till she saw him again. She hands both over. [say]”I’m less sure about the feather, but the letter is clearly for you.”[/say]
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Sunjata - 04-04-2020
The hearth’s flame picks up, and he briefly glances to it before turning around toward the bar – face full of exhaustion, bags beneath his eyes, a bit more scruff to his beard. He spots her as she nods toward the arm, and he almost mechanically extends his arm out to peer at the whirls and what not, a small hum leaving his throat in agreement. “[say]I did.[/say]” He agrees quietly, shuffling over toward the bar to sit and rest his arms along the top of the bar, folding them before him as she comes to offer a drink.
It smells wonderful, and he inhales deeply as he takes the glass – silver gaze focusing on the glass as she speaks, gaze flickering up toward her when she mentions she has something that she thinks Maea wants him to have. “[say]Oh?[/say]” A quiet response, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a deep sip. As he sets the glass down, he spots the feather and the letter – the penmanship that he recognizes intimately, a churning of his gut as he moves to pick up the feather first, lifting it in the space between him and Weaver – steel flickering up toward her with some dark amusement. “[say]This is mine.[/say]” He says quietly, extending the rather bare arm – free of ink for the time being and letting the navy feathers separate the space of his bronze hued arm.
But he goes to pick up the letter, tapping the edge of it on the top of the glass, lips forming into a slight frown, exhaling quietly as he regards it. “[say]This, however, is something at least.[/say]” A quiet sigh. “[say]I went to Delphia to try and see if I could get the last words from her that everyone else got. Evidently I’m not ready. Because I’m not over Lusea yet. So she won’t tell me until I magically do.[/say]” His gaze remains on the letter, staring at it with a slight frown.
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Weaver - 04-04-2020
Weaver slides onto the barstool next to him, turning herself sideways so she is facing him. One elbow is propped against the bar while the other hand holds her drink. She takes a sip, considering the taste, finding that she’s nearly there with the recipe. She didn’t want to simply pour things out of bottles, but she wanted to make the sort of creations you longed to come back for. The Kraai was meant to be an experience, not simply a bar.
She chuckles as his arm shifts into the feather she thought she’d recognized. [say]”I thought it might be. She’d been using it as a bookmark, but the letter was tucked right beneath. It was very purposeful.”[/say] The bar itself is dimly lit, excluding the warm light of the fire. The red of the walls glows, and though it’s still cluttered with stuff needing a home, it feels almost done and certainly cozy.
He continues, and she puts her drink down for a moment as he talks of the seer. [say]”Leave it to a seer to think emotions are so simple. That, coming from me.”[/say] Which was a little ironic, given that she still didn’t get quite the concept of a break. Either you were or you were not. But that didn’t necessarily mean your feelings sat along quite the same tidy lines. [say]”I didn’t read it, even though it’s not sealed. So I can’t say for sure that those are her last words, or perhaps there is something else Delphia can tell you. But I don’t think she left without making sure that you, of all people, had her thoughts. There were no other letters in her room that I saw.”[/say]
She pauses for a moment before reaching out a hand to rest on his. Her amber eyes find his, and she is unusually serious. [say]”She loved you. A whole fucking lot, and I got that from one conversation. I don’t say that to make you feel bad, but rather so you do not doubt it for one second.”[/say]
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Sunjata - 04-04-2020
“[say]Mmm, well. Of course she was.[/say]” He rumbles but there’s a curve of his lip in a small amount of amusement, shifting in the seat a bit to better look at her as she comes to sit beside him. The letter, however; he doesn’t know whether to read it now or not. Prolonging the inevitable until he’s drunk enough to not care anymore. So he focuses on talk of Delphia instead to replace the sinking feeling in his stomach.
And well, a huff of a sigh leaves his nose in response, free hand raising to run through the dark waves of his hair. He wants to say something to that, that at least this letter was something from her other than the gaping abyss left behind of her departure and his complete lack of knowing anything she had to say or think about. And he missed it, so incredibly much, the thoughts and way she’d bounce ideas off of him late in the morning when he’d kept her from her rigorous training schedule just to spend more time with her.
So he nods instead, still making no move to open the letter yet. He lifts the glass to his lips again, trying to drown out the hollow pit in his stomach with a burning familiar ache. But her hand covers his and his gaze flickers toward it and back to her when she speaks, the hollow pit in his stomach yawning wider and wider as he nods, muscles feather and tensing within his jaw. “[say]The last time I saw her we talked about what happened. At least I don’t have to feel guilty about leaving on bad terms... Told her that I loved her too, regardless of what happened.[/say]” There’s something in his voice that sounds strained beneath the rumble of his accent. “[say]And yet, what if it was my fault she went and did it? If I didn’t get so fucking antsy when people got too close because they always fucking leave… Maybe.[/say]” He trails off with some exasperation. “[say]Maybe she’d still be here.[/say]”
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Weaver - 04-04-2020
She chuckles at that. [say]”She seemed like the kind of girl who made sure all her i’s were dotted. Well, the i’s she cared about, at any rate.”[/say] Not that she knew Maea well, and yet, even from beyond the grave she’d managed to get them all messages. Including Sunjata, even if Delphia was holding it hostage, though Weaver suspects the letter may help make up for it. It just seemed like the type of thing Maea would have done for him. After all, she’d made sure Weaver got the notebook of recipes, despite the fact they’d only ever talked about it once. Every i, dotted.
An eyebrow raises at this last statement, and she gives him a skeptical look. [say]”You are giving yourself a lot of credit there, Sunjata. She was her own woman.”[/say] Weaver’s voice is a little wry, a little amused, recalling her last conversation with Maea. [say]”It would be just as easy for me to say it was my fault. Last time we spoke, she told me she’d been feeling restless, like there was an itch in her blood. I told her to do what she needed to do, as long as she wasn’t an idiot. I am sure she wasn’t an idiot, and that she did what she needed to do.”[/say] She pauses. Perhaps Weaver had given Maea the permission she had needed, or perhaps Maea hadn’t been looking for permission at all. Perhaps she would have done it, no matter what.
[say]”I don’t know if I could have said anything that would have made a difference. I don’t know if different actions on your part would have changed her mind. Maybe, or maybe not. But in the end, she made her own choice and it is no one’s fault.”[/say] She removes her hand, leaning back and picking up a drink to take a sip of it. [say]”Everyone leaves, but tell me, isn’t it better to have gotten the chance to love them rather than to never have known them at all?”[/say] Luesa. Erebor. Maea. She’d take what time she could have.
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Sunjata - 04-04-2020
A hum of a laugh leaves his throat in agreement with her. Maea certainly did seem that way – and Sunjata had nothing else to add to it to prolong that specific section of their conversation. Maea usually tended to keep tabs on things, that was her Loreseeker life seeping out in everything she did. Even if she wasn’t directly a part of the guild anymore, it would always be in her.
So instead he focuses on her next set of words, gaze flickering to the glass and spinning it around on the table in front of him if only to not directly have to look at Weaver and give her the benefit of the doubt of the emotions that cross over his face, the mask he wants to wear so desperately. But Weaver’s comment makes sense, and he nods his head quietly, silently, knowing it’s ridiculous to think somehow that it was his fault, but his mind always had a way of drifting back there. “[say]That’s true.[/say]” Is all he can really say.
Still, he can’t open the letter just yet – still not drunk enough to read the words in her penmanship. So he fiddles with the feather instead, with the glass of alcohol to try and bandaid it as long as he can. Her hand leaves his other one and it gives him a moment to finish the rest of the contents in his glass in a slight attempt to get there quicker.
The comment of loving and them leaving being better than not having done it at all sparks something he recalls telling Maea as well. Still, it fucking hurts time and time again. And with it, he levels his gaze with Weaver as he focuses on her. “[say]I’d say the same, except for the fact this is how it always goes.[/say]” A muscle feathers in his jaw. “[say]A few people? Sure. Basically everyone? There comes a point where perhaps it is better to not get attached. Easier that way.[/say]” A huff of a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "[say]I've lost so many people Weaver. I'm done, I don't know how much more I can.[/say]"
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Weaver - 04-04-2020
She gives him the space he needs as he downs his glass. Though she has not finished her own, she does not try to keep up with him. Perhaps she could, but their size difference alone suggests that she’d be a fool to find out. Instead she takes another drink of her own, leaving only a few sips left for now, and nods to his glass. [say]”Another? I have been playing with some of the recipes Maea left me for cider, along with some ideas we had been spitballing around. What you had was only one of them.”[/say] If only Maea were here to help her. She suspects they would have a whole list of ciders and cocktails already done, but Weaver found the going a bit slower without a friend to do it with. She could ask Korbin, but had decided against it. He was only helping because of her, and she didn’t want to push him any farther.
Weaver’s already sliding off the barstool as she talks though, heading around the bar, suspecting the answer to her question was going to be yes. [say]”What are you in the mood for?”[/say] she asks, though she has some ideas. Perhaps today simply called for something strong and quick and to the point.
As he responds though, she stops, turning to focus on him. [say]”You are not the only one who has lost nearly everyone. I’m not unfamiliar with the feeling. I watched my father die in a bed covered in his own piss, vomit and blood. My mother left one morning and simply never came back. My brother bleed out in the damn snow next to me saving my life.”[/say] There is something almost hard about her voice, though it is not unkind and it does not lack understanding. She leans across the bar, one arm resting on the bar and holding her up, closing some of the distance between them. [say]”It fucking hurts. But to sit at home and become a hermit? Tell me, would that really make you happy? Because I am willing to bet that everyone you have ever lost would only want you to live. So you live with the pain. It becomes a part of you. I want to say it stops hurting, but it doesn’t. It just becomes something different.”[/say]
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Sunjata - 04-04-2020
“[say]Please.[/say]” He says softly at her offering, able to tell that the cider is similar to the one he’d grown used to. Similar recipes yielded similar results, after all. And instead, he listens to her as she abandons the barstool and moves to slip around it, the question of what he’s in the mood for causing him to think for a brief second before a snort leaves his nose. “[say]Something strong.[/say]” Something to forget.
She stops in whatever it is she’s aiming for to turn to him. A muscle feathers in his jaw as he lifts his gaze from the letter still tucked in the envelope to look toward her when she speaks, mulling over everything she tells him. And while part of him wants to complain further, he’s not in the mood for it. He lets her explain further, closing the distance between them, letting his steel gaze linger on her and the way she leans across the bar.
There’s a huff of a sigh that leaves him as he reaches up to run a hand through his hair again. “[say]I never said anything about a hermit.[/say]” A shrug, but he understands what she means. There’s a small, almost groan, that leaves his throat as he gives into her and what she says, eyes dropping to the letter. He can’t help the way that he reaches for it in such a reluctant way.
“[say]I don’t know, Weaver.[/say]” He admits, quiet, hollow, the discomfort streaming from him as he lifts the back of the envelope and pulls it out, fingers tracing over the edge of the parchment with her penmanship that’s directed toward him. He inhales deeply, setting it on the table before pulling out a cigarette and the lighter Libbs had made him because gods knew he was going to need it to calm the nerves.
He lights up, smoke curling around his lips, leaving the cigarette in his lips as he begins to read. Fingers begin to tremble as he focuses on the words she says, a letter written before her venture to Torchline to the Ghost Whales. And with it, how awkward it almost feels – like she’d known. Unless, of course, there were multiples she’d written and gotten rid of before something disastrous happened.
She tells him that she was the happiest of her life when she was with him, spending time with him, and it fucking hurts. She tells him not to let it break him and he can’t make any guarantees, he can feel the fractures, the spidering of the pain within him, and he reads the rest of it quickly – to decipher it further when he’s all alone, setting the letter down on the table to pull the cigarette from his lips and run his hands along his face.
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Weaver - 04-06-2020
She is not surprised by his response, but for the moment, she does not move to pour the drink. Instead she chuckles slightly, giving him a small smile at the mention of hermit. [say]”You kind of did,”[/say] she says, head cocked and eyebrows raised. You do not live without growing close to people, unless you simply avoid them. No matter how hard you tried to harden your heart or build up walls, someone usually managed to worm their way in.
As he lights the cigarette and finally goes to open the letter, Weaver turns, busying herself with pouring their next round. The letter is not for her, and she gives him space to read without her staring him down. She takes a deliberately long time, pretending to find the perfect glass, measuring slower than she needs to. The smell of smoke fills the bar, and she revels in it, enjoying how the Kraai is finally starting to feel lived in.
As he finishes, she turns to him with a small glass in hand. The drink is nearly clear, with a tint of apricot in both color and flavor. It is a relatively bitter drink, citrus in nature, with a hit of caramelized sweetness. More importantly, it’s made of the strongest booze she has. She places that in front of him, and then grabs two shot glasses. She pours a double into both, this time using some of the good vodka Sunjata had brought.
Weaver grabs one shot and hands the other to him with a slight incline of her head. [say]”To Maea. May she burn brightly.”[/say] She waits a moment to give Sunjata space to add anything and then downs the shot in one swig, placing the glass back down with a bit too much force. She reaches out a hand toward the cigarette in his mouth, the gesture clearly asking if he’ll share.
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Sunjata - 04-07-2020
It’s the little things Weaver does that makes him appreciate her all the more. She can read the room, understand that he might need a few more moments of quiet and by himself to read the letter that Maea had left for him – to fiddle around with making a drink that didn’t nearly take as long to make as she made it out to be. And he tries to make it quick, to keep from shattering and breaking further out here in the public eye, out here where everyone can see.
But she returns, with the drink in hand, something light and clear and smelling somewhat citrusy with an almost licorice hint, and his gaze is immediately drawn to it as he peels his hands from his face. He inspects it, trying to distract himself and the shimmering webs within his soul that begin to spiderweb further and further out, trying to stop it before it’s too late. His gaze then focuses to the two shot glasses she pulls out, watching her pour some of the vodka he’d brought – another one of his favorites both in strength and ability to fuck you up.
He drags from the cigarette as he watches, remaining silent and unsure of what to say around the tightness of his throat, exhaling a plume of smoke as she hands it to him. “[say]To Maea.[/say]” He manages, though it almost sounds choked out, tipping back the glass to swallow the liquor hard and fast. And when the glass reaches the table again, he spots the hand she offers out. He knew he liked her for a reason.
Easily, he hands it over, picking up the mixed drink now and sighing against the burn in his throat, the warmth spreading in his stomach. “[say]You know…[/say]” He begins with a heavy sigh. “[say]She was so excited about this place. I hope she can see the work you put into it, and the drinks.[/say]” He manages, trying to distract but keep on course – a delicate balancing act.
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Weaver - 04-07-2020
She has spent a lot of her life in a bar. First with her mother when she took all her children and taught them to understand people. Second after their mother’s disappearance, when Weaver could not stop the old habits. Learning to read people had been her childhood, and now it was second nature to read a room. Not that she always got it right, but she usually could sense these sorts of things. It would make her good at her job at the Kraai, even if her brother thought she would be terrible. And the truth was, from the looks of it, she might appear pretty terrible at it. That was sort of the point. You aren’t supposed to realize exactly what she’s up to.
Currently though, she is not up to anything. If she’d wanted to read the letter, she would have. She’d had the opportunity, unsealed as it was, and Sunjata would never have needed to know. No, right now, she is simply giving him space. He would tell her what he wanted her to know when he was ready.
Weaver takes the offered cigarette, taking a long drag and closing her eyes at the enjoyment of it. She rarely manages to get a pack around here, and so they are a luxury she gets to enjoy only occasionally. Exhaling the smoke up toward the ceiling with a slow and deliberate pleasure, she hands the cigarette back. [say]”We were talking about that, last I saw her. I was telling her about my brother, and how I wonder if he can see us here. What it’s like in the other realm. She thought that perhaps Mort frees the dead from sorrow and pain, but lets them watch over us remembering all the good parts. I hope she was right.”[/say] Maea had also suggested that Delphia could tell them how it works, but Weaver isn’t about to bring that up. Besides, maybe it’s better if they don’t know. Maybe it’s better to imagine all the good stuff and not ruin the dream.
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Sunjata - 04-08-2020
Honestly? He wouldn’t mind if she read it. It explained a lot about what happened – what kind of relationship they’d had despite the amount of things said about one another during their break. But it was perhaps a bit bittersweet – to be a letter right before disaster, when everything seemed like perfect and complete bliss when it was anything but. So he focuses on Weaver as she takes the cigarette, a long drag, before handing it back to him.
And he reciprocates, taking a deep sip of the mixed drink before him as his stomach grows warm, followed by another drag of the cigarette – offering it to her again. He listens when she speaks, of what Maea had believed – something sweet and serene about the idea of it. But then again… A part of him internally shrivels at the idea of it, deciding whether or not Lusea was watching from above. Secretly hoping she wasn’t, to witness the variety of mistakes he’s made. So he nods, a quiet hum of agreement in response – not sure what to add to it other than the simple fact that he agreed.
“[say]You know, if you want some of these I can send them over from Torchline.[/say]” There’s a tilt of his head as he nods to the cigarette then, trying to distract himself even further.
RE: i guess time is my enemy - Weaver - 04-08-2020
Weaver takes the cigarette back, taking another drag. Smokes fills the area around them, heady and pleasant. She hands it back, taking her glass up and draining the remains of her first drink. She makes another, sticking to the cider concoction she’d started out with. It was quickly becoming a favorite of hers, and though she was sure to get sick of it eventually, she’s not there yet. Besides, one of them needed to be at least vaguely functional, probably.
She turns back around, leaning across the bar with her elbows propping her up, drink cupped between her hands. She rolls it around slightly. [say]”Please,”[/say] she says at his offer. He is quickly becoming her supplier for all things delicious and illicit. [say]”They are such a rarity here, it is sort of like finding gold.”[/say] Weaver takes another sip of her drink, before resting it again between her hands. [say]”Tell me about Lusea?”[/say] she asks, half a question, half a statement.