[SE] Squabble Up

Kaisel

Don't need a sign, nothing divine's gonna save me

Kaisel’s eyes widened at the knot of scar tissue she flashed—like someone showing off a fresh tattoo they were proud of. He nearly whistled as he exhaled, brows lifting in that rare disbelief that said, ‘Damn, even I wouldn’t take it that far.’ Which was saying something, from someone who tended to take things too far.

He barked out a laugh at her rebuke, "You don't see yourself when you sleep. Trust me, it's even then." His humor quickly twisted into feigned hurt as she detailed the rules of her teleportation necklace. He wasn’t sure if he believed her—about having the necklace, that was. Obviously, everyone liked him. Because if she had one, then what the fuck, why were they actually considering the Slob Knob?

Too late now. Like a married couple done trying to decide what to eat for dinner, they settled on whatever was closest. He did his best to stay attached to her as they navigated the sea of patrons. He supposed that was a good sign, that the place was able to meet the standards of this many people, or at least it was cheap. Regardless of being a queen—or perhaps in spite of it—Flora managed to command the attention of the haggard barkeep. An impressive feat, given that bars tended to sling drinks to customers the same way a shark tank handled feeding time. Opening your mouth alone didn't guarantee you got fed.

Kaisel scanned the shack masquerading as a bar, hunting for a table where they could drink the night into morning. As their drinks hit the counter he grabbed them, nodding with his head towards a table freeing up as a tipsy couple staggered their way to the door. More tired than he'd admit, Kaisel thumped into the seat, still warm from the previous ass. He set their drinks down, though his never left his hand. "To overdue reunions," he smiled, lifting his drink towards hers in a cheers.

"Now, he said as he settled back into his seat after taking the first sip. "Tell me how you've been Flo-mo. For instance, what the hell you meant by you died." He splashed some liquor over his wound, wincing as it did its job and bit into his skin. He took another swig right after—better the burn in his throat than on his arm. He glanced up at her, expectant, while he worked to unravel the wraps on his good arm.

Here only the strong survive

flora

Flora playfully swats at Kaisel, feigning shock. "You watch me while I sleep? What are you, some kind of creep?" she exclaims with a raised eyebrow and a smirk playing at the corners of her lips as she clinks her shot glass against the dragoon's with a grin that lights up her face. She tosses back the shot in one fluid motion, the liquid fire tracing a path down her throat, warming her from the inside out as she sets the glass back down with a satisfying thunk.

"Overdue indeed," she agrees, her voice a melodic lilt over the din of the tavern. She watches Kaisel treat his wound with a mix of amusement and a wince of sympathy, before his question has the humour momentarily slipping from her smile before a pulse of violet in the back of her mind has her grinning.

"You know, the whole dying thing—it was really just supposed to be a warning," she begins, her tone casual, as if discussing something far less dire. "I had been going out and doing a bunch of void-cleansing and well, the Family felt they needed to send a message. Pierce—that was the guy who came after me—he was just supposed to scare me a bit. Show me the boundaries, you know?"

Her fingers toy with the edge of her glass, tracing circles on the tabletop. "But things got a bit out of hand. It wasn't really meant to go that far, him actually... you know, killing me." A short, mirthless chuckle escapes her lips, and she quickly covers it with a wry smile. "Guess he took the 'warning' part a bit too literally, huh?" She says it as if Pierce had mistakenly bought too many loaves of bread rather than killing Torchline's queen in the middle of her childhood home.

"So, yeah, I came back with a bit of a new perspective. It's like, sometimes you need to step on the wrong toes to see where the lines are drawn. And now, well, I'm seeing things a bit more... clearly."

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Don't need a sign, nothing divine's gonna save me

The arch of his 'brow lifted higher and higher as she spoke. He wasn't close enough with her to recognize the nuance of her violet veneer. She had always drifted in the distance, just one of many bright lights in his memories. She was a friendly face, but he could barely even call it a familiar face, especially after all these years. The humor between them, the ease of her company, was nothing but the past and the complementary manner of their personalities. This heavy shit though, that was something that only good friends could easily navigate.

Still. Wasn't she being a bit too blasé about it all?

He'd unspun his bandage this whole time and had unknowingly paused all efforts the more she spoke. With it uncoiled in his lap, he reached for another sip of his drink, too sober he realized to dwell on the idea of her being dead. He'd thought she would have had some sort of joke, a play on words, but there were no smiles now. "Gods, Flora." The correct use of her name came out almost like a swear. It was the manifestation of the anger that flared inside him, as it always did when the Family was at hand. It seemed he couldn't turn his head without hearing about something else they had managed to spoil. His lip threatened to curl up in disgust, but he straightened it with another sip of his drink, though he set the glass back on the table a touch too hard.

"I'm grateful you're back among the living," he sighed, no comedic sarcasm to be found. "I'm guessing they, Pierce, didn't apologize for... overstepping?" It wasn't as much that question as the absence of what he was asking. Was she safe now, or would Piece be hunting for her to make sure she stayed dead, mistake or not?

This was why everyone plastered on fake smiles for Dahlia around the town. Their power was a terrible thing. Loathe as he was to admit it, Flora could kick his ass 10 different ways, and they had killed her without even actually trying to. What could they do? His little fighting match seemed like a joke in the shadow of their oppression.

Here only the strong survive

flora

"Apologize?" Flora repeats, her brows lifting as if he’d suggested Pierce might also bake her an apology pie. "No, nothing like that. But I mean, really it was my fault for being such a pest, y'know? Like, I could have just left the Oerwoud and the Greatwood alone and just stuck to Torchline, so it's my bad when you think about it." Her words are light, almost airy, but there’s something brittle beneath them. She lifts her glass again, though it’s empty now, and turns it upside down with a soft clink. Her fingers remain curled around it, like holding onto something solid might keep the rest of her from slipping.

A smile—thin and tired—pulls at the corner of her mouth, but it never quite reaches her eyes. "But Ronin brought me back, so no harm done." Except quite a lot of harm had been done, to both Flora and Jack, not that you'd know it based on the queen's casual retelling.

"Thanks, though," she says after a pause, quieter now. "For caring. Even if it’s been years and we barely know each other anymore." She leans back, a deep breath catching in her chest as she lets it go. "Anyway, that’s my dramatic monologue for the evening. Your turn. Any near-death experiences lately? Or just the usual underground fight club chaos?"

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Don't need a sign, nothing divine's gonna save me

He'd been too quiet.

He let her talk, looking anywhere but at her—fussing with his wraps, his glass, tapping absently on the table. He'd nodded along with her at times, permitted a smile to ghost its way forward once or twice, and all the while he'd said nothing more than what he already had. Then the quiet settled between them, her breath the only sound. She had cast something off, then tried to yank normalcy back with an airy question. He finally looked at her again.

The lethal calm he'd settled into broke.

"No harm done?" His laugh broke sharp, too high, unsteady. "What do you call that?" he gestured towards the spot where her twisted scar would be, leaning sharply over the table. His palms slapped the table as he surged to his feet. "They fucking harmed you." His voice spiked, raw. "And you're blaming yourself?" Each word rose, his outrage untethered, spinning wild.

For too long, he'd ground his anger under his heel—nothing more than the fading glow of an old cigarette. Part of him understood. They'd killed her. Her return couldn't have been easy. He knew the kind of fear they left behind—the kind that burrowed deep, that never let you go. He recognized it; they were terrible in every sense of the word, a force that they could not resist, a force that could, and had killed them. Because of that his anger burned hotter. He could feel the hope being ripped away from them—just another way of killing them all.

"We should make the family beg to apologize, not whatever the fuck this bullshit is." He would rather die than sit here and let them kill him day after day, watching the town and the people he loved turn into wraiths.

Here only the strong survive

flora

Flora watches Kaisel's anger bubble over, his voice sharp and fraught with an intensity that slices through the dim atmosphere of the bar. Her initial instinct is to smooth over the rough edges of the conversation, to bring back that lighthearted banter they'd been teetering on, but she hesitates. His words, his raw anger, it cuts a little too close to something she's been tiptoeing around in her own mind; something she can sense, but only out of the corner of her eye.

She remains seated, her posture relaxed but her grip on the overturned glass tightens. Her eyes, usually so quick to dance with humour or challenge, now hold a steadier, more reflective gaze. "Kaisel," she begins, her voice low, measured, "you think I don't know they harmed me? That I don’t feel it every single day?" There’s a flicker of the old Flora there, a spark of her fiery spirit, but it’s tempered by something darker, more resigned, and then gone completely.

Her laugh is soft, humourless. "Make them beg to apologize, huh?" She shakes her head, a slow, almost sorrowful motion. "It’s a nice thought. Really. But you and I both know that’s not how the Family works. That’s not how any of this works." Flora’s gaze drifts past the dragoon for a moment, lost in thought, before snapping back with renewed focus. "I appreciate your fire, Kaisel, I do. It reminds me of... well, how I used to feel. Before." The word hangs between them, heavy and unsaid: before I was murdered, he might understand it as. Before the infection, was how she meant it.

She leans forward slightly, bridging the gap he had created with his sudden rise. "But this anger, this outrage you're holding onto? It’s like grasping a blade. You think you're wielding it, but it’s actually slicing into you, every second you hold on." And gods, but doesn't that sound reasonable? Not something uttered with a silver tongue, but with an amethyst one?

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Don't need a sign, nothing divine's gonna save me

He had half a mind to storm out of the Slob Knob right now and march up to the keep Dahlia had claimed. He didn't know what he'd do once he got there, but anything had to be better than nothing. Instead, he stood there, waiting. He'd do it alone, but he wanted her to come with him. Not because she needed the empowering moment to reclaim her life from them in the one way she had yet to, but because he needed the help. He knew, deep down, he could not stand against them alone. He could march to his death, but to what end if nothing changed?

He was holding out a hand to her, but she did not take it. Instead, she said his name, calling him back to the reality of their life. She seemed so unruffled. He swayed on his feet, hesitating. Defeat settled over him like a weight, making everything feel heavier. He was so gods damned tired tonight. He slumped back into his chair. Had he misread what she was saying earlier? She knows? It had felt so real. It'd been like watching petals slowly fall off a picked flower. Its stem was still bright as it stood merrily in a jar of water, and so it would be until every petal, everything lovely and beautiful about it had decayed. She joked and blamed herself—but what, was she just putting on a show for the violet eyes and ears that haunted this pisshole?

He felt adrift, unmoored in the wake of her words. Her laugh was cutting and he hunched his shoulders forward as something akin to shame coiled around him. Big words for someone sitting back down. He stared at the wood grain of the table, doing his best not to feel like he was floating away from it and the chair he sat in.

Before.
He lifted his eyes back to hers, quietly searching her face, looking for an answer, looking for something he could trust.

She leaned forward; he pulled back unwittingly. Sinking against the curve of his chair, he was grounded again at last. "You sound like mom," he said after a momentary pause, and it wasn't clear if he meant that as something positive or not. He held her in his gaze, emotionless for a beat before a toothless smile spread. "Gods, after all that I've worked up some thirst again." This time, he rose slowly, his chair scraping back with an eerie calm. "This round's on me." He said with a brightness that felt hollow, like a shitty dollarstore flashlight.

Here only the strong survive

flora

"Kai," Flora chimes in, her voice laced with a playful edge as she surveys his slumped form. "Seems like we're both a little off tonight. Maybe got your bell rung a bit too hard, huh?" Her eyebrows arch playfully, a mischievous twinkle lighting up her eyes as she tries to inject a bit of levity into the heavy air.

She rises smoothly, her movement as fluid as a well-rehearsed dance, effortlessly masking the careful thought behind each step. "What do you say we call it quits for now? A bit of shut-eye might just do us some good." Her words float lightly, suggesting rather than insisting, as she offers him a way out that feels more like a mutual decision than a retreat.

Stepping closer, Flora closes the distance with ease before reaching out to lightly tap his arm. "Let's skip out on the encore tonight, huh? I’ll walk you out—make sure you don’t accidentally find yourself in round two with the furniture."

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

Kaisel

Don't need a sign, nothing divine's gonna save me

He almost didn't pause when she said his name. Truthfully, he was using the drinks as an excuse to get away for a moment. He needed to clear his head, think about this for a minute without looking at her and thinking of her dead body lying there over and over. So his name, a request to pause, to stay, it felt a bit unbearable.

She's champagne and butter as she talked. He can't fathom how she's still that way, after what she'd endured, what she'd just said. He tried to summon it, the return banter, the jingling jester. "Yeah, I guess so." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, that weak smile returning. As she rose, he braced, still craving that space and expecting she'd come with him now. He was relieved instead at her suggestion, even if someone who was potentially concussed shouldn't head to bed at all.

"Good idea, that chair looks like it'd take a mean swing." He can laugh. If his town was crumbling around him and his family friends were dying and still smiling about it, then surely he could laugh and not run off on a suicide mission, right?

He offered her his arm again, content to get the fuck out of here and let this all be some mishmash of a dream when he awoke tomorrow.

[FIN]

Here only the strong survive