if i'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too

VESPER

The CLOSED sign sits on the door, turned far too early for the time of day. Inside, the Hanged Man breathes low and close; lamplight pooling in corners, the bar polished but for the new crescent of glass left where the window used to be. Vesper stands behind the counter, sleeves rolled, one hand cupping a tumbler he isn’t drinking from and the other splayed flat on the wood, rings glinting like constellations caught in amber. He looks like someone who’s been trying to hold himself together with habit and habit only.

He watches Caly and Nova while they move, reads the quick, hot flares in Caly’s mind and the tight, glittering calculation in Nova’s, and speaks around them as if the words are a thing fragile enough to set down on the bar and not shatter. "I put a few of Jack’s crew outside," he says, voice low, dry as the rum on his tongue. He lets the sentence hang so they can fill the shape of it with their own fury. "A couple illusionists to make sure that the flames stay private while the job gets done. Rest of ‘em are watchin’ the alleys, makin’ sure no one strolls in to play hero."

He doesn’t lean in with tactical pride; he says it like a man listing provisions for a funeral. The way his fingers drum the scarred wood is the kind of punctuation he prefers to any flourish. "This is all you, Cal," he adds, and the bluntness of it has no softness to hide behind. "First match is all yours." He looks at Calypso, not ordering, not daring, only offering the permission she surely already expects. 

Vesper glances at Nova, shoulders easing with a small, private shrug. "Always gonna be her bar anyway," he murmurs, the words nearly lost beneath the lazy churn of the fan. "Torchline was always gonna be hers." The quiet lands heavier than the thought itself, the implication threading sharp between them: just like Jack had figured out, now Caly had too. The place would never stop tasting like Flora, and now that it was a bitter taste, it wasn't something Caly was ever gonna be able to get outta her mouth if they stayed. And if that was the case, then why not leave something behind she couldn’t ignore? Why not let the ashes of what she’d built stand as both their resignation letter and a fond fuck yourself, written in smoke across her precious skyline.

rot gut whiskey's gonna ease your mind
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

enjoy the ride

It’s been a simmering rage, and still in between picking up the shards of glass from the bottle she’d thrown at KaIsel when he’d been here not that long ago, the young Attuned finds herself no longer really giving a fuck about it. It’s a sentiment her and her siblings seem to share, at least, so as she almost robotically snags bottle after bottle from the glass shelves, she glances over to her brother when he speaks.

“Good.” She murmurs, shooting him a sharp smile that’s more blood thirsty than it is grateful, shoving a few more tattered rags into the tops of these bottles until it’s soaked with the bit of alcohol waiting for the match to be struck. The matches in question sit unassuming on the clean countertop, waiting, begging to be grabbed, but she doesn’t delve into it just yet.


Instead, she waits until her and Nova have finished making their molotovs, until she’s poured them all a shot of their top shelf shit, downed the shot and then she grabs the matches. They’re light in her hand, which only reminds her that her heart and mind are far too heavy in comparison. “Let’s get the fuck outta here then, yeah?” She says very belatedly to Vesper, then shoots Nova a smaller, apologetic smile, and waits for them all to get into position.

Then, after a slow and deep breath, Caly strikes the match. The flame is vibrant and orange as it sparks to life, reflecting against their Safrinified space and the bottles waiting to explode. She lights the end of the longest rag in the Molotov, holding it over toward her siblings so they can take some of the flame before she throws it with them both. Together.

Calypso

\\ Be warned \\

She's not pouting, she's sitting in a seething pol of rage, wishing desperately that she could be shoving Kai's dick in the bottle rather than the cut up rags. It's not fair. She doesn't care about the bar - even with all the decorations and renovations, it never really felt like theirs - and Torchline is nice, but she's liked plenty of other places since they touched down from the stars. No, Nova isn't particularly attached to anything or anyone in the region, but she sure as hell hates the thought of being forced to leave because of the idiot who thought Flora was a better choice than her glowing, brilliant, perfect sister. 

Nova makes her opinion very clear in the simmering of her magic that's already attempting to light the curtains on fire. But she won't steal this moment from Caly. Even without the army of muscle and illusion outside the door, Nova wouldn't let anyone ruin this. Caly deserves to burn as hot and bright as she wants, taking the world with her if she wants. It's why she doesn't argue, why she makes sure there's glitter in the molotovs she makes, why she nods at Vesper's words. Still, trouble ripples in her mind, a glimmer of something dangerous when she responds sweetly, "Always is a long time."

Once she's satisfied with the arsenal of arson, she hops from her place on the counter, the violent red of her dress shimmering like the fire she plans to stoke and feed. Flashing Caly a conspiratorial smile to strengthen her resolve, Nova clinks her shot glass against the others. "May their relationship meet a similar end." Throwing back the alcohol, she chases it with a lick of sugar and a wince, sticking her tongue out at the strong flavor.

Her eyes scan the bar top full of bottles, widening when she spots a familiar stumbling gait. "Jeff!" Nova scoops the wine spider from the wood, tucking him to her chest with a stubborn raise of her head. "C'mon, they don't deserve you either. You can come live with us in King's End."

Standing in firm solidarity with her siblings, she clutches the glass in her fingers like something she plans to stab between someone's ribs. She could easily light her own, but she lets Caly be the spark, soaking in all of her sister's rage as she shares in the flame she burns. Her smile is so bright and full of mischief it could cut glass, waiting eagerly for the moment she'll get to watch the bar fall into ash.

Nova

\\ I'm in a mood \\

VESPER

Vesper feels each of his sisters before they move; Caly’s heat like a live coal pressed into his palm, Nova’s glittered blades humming just behind it. The air tastes of lacquer and lemon oil and the faint iron note that comes before a storm. He tilts his head, lets a slow inhalation draw the burn of the shot into him, and snaps the glass down on the bar. The rum stings, clears his head in a clean, sharp way; the ache behind his ribs settles into something edged and useful.

He nods to Caly, the motion small and absolute. "The Ark’ll be waitin’ on the border," he says, voice low and flat as a ledger. "I got us a private skyship to take us there once we're done here." 

They move together like a single mechanism. Caly’s match kisses the wick; the flame takes, greedy and bright as a promise. Nova’s laugh is sharp and small, a sound that snaps like glass. Molotovs arc through the half-light; they land, they break, and the first hungry orange tongues lick at oak and varnish. The bar answers with a long, reluctant groan, and suddenly the Hanged Man is a thing of heat and light; fierce, immediate, unforgiving. Just like Caly.

When the sparks leap too close to his sister's, he slides a hand through the air and calls up the quiet shape he keeps for when he needs to keep people whole: a thin, shimmering shield that smells faintly of ozone and old summer nights, a dome that takes the worst of the sparks and turns them into static on its skin. 

He watches Caly throw, the fire reflecting in her eyes like a twin sun. He watches Nova, dress flashing like a banner. He tastes their fury as if it were a spice on his tongue, and for a breath the whole world narrows to that light and the sound of wood eating wood. Then he moves back, slipping through the smoky haze toward the guild. He doesn’t pause to catalogue—doesn’t turn this into a checklist—but his hands are practical. He takes things that are both valuable as coin and as intel, feeling a private, ugly amusement at the thought that, by dawn, the things that made Flora think herself in charge would suddenly be lighter. Then he signals with a quick motion—not an instruction, more an invitation—and a few of Jack’s crew move, trained and quiet, to make sure the guild gets its own answering blaze. Not because he wants to maximize damage but because he wants the message neat: nothing prized, nothing sacred, survives this without consequence.

Smoke thickens. The illusionists stagger the angles outside, folding the light so the flames look smaller from the street and the watchers see nothing but a drifting candle. The Hanged Man roars from within, and Vesper stands with his hands in his pockets, thumb worrying a ring as the roof glows and the bar’s stained glass melts into a river of colour.

rot gut whiskey's gonna ease your mind
but when the hell are you gonna ease mine?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

From the corner of the room a massive wine-spider scurries. Running toward you, it tries its best to crawl up your leg, hovering against you for warmth. Clearly something has startled it. Poor thing.

---

This is not a RE nor a rare creature. It cannot be used for levelling.

Wine Spider: These friendly arachnids can grow up to the size of a small housecat. With fuzzy bodies and spindly legs, they are often found lurking around wine racks or kegs of beer. They are almost always drunk, hiccuping and stumbling about. It is said that finding a baby wine spider in your drink is a lucky omen!

enjoy the ride

“Yeah.” Caly hums to Nova’s toast before they down their shots. She takes hers without the extra sweet, without a chaser, wanting to feel the burn of it linger long after the smoke’s already filled the Hanged Man.

It’s why she doesn’t waste any time once the wine spider’s crawled up Nova’s arm. Sorry to the rest of the wine spiders in the vicinity of the Hanged Man, so long as her sister’s got the one she wanted, Caly finally sparks the flame. It takes to the Hanged Man like it’s been waiting. And after, the sound of wood groaning, bottles crashing, slamming into the oak and varnish bloom.

For once, perhaps the first time, she feels at home completely in the Hanged Man – if only temporarily. The next bottle is thrown while their brother shields them when the flames get too close, and something in Caly’s chest loosens with each throw and lick of golden fire. It’s beautiful and destructive, a sin wrapped in honey.

The smoke swirls, catching hues of orange and reds and flashes of light, bright white. The interior becomes slowly stifling, but Caly doesn’t stop until the last Molotov is tossed. And when it is, only then does she turn back to her siblings with a decisive nod and her heart thundering in her ears like she’s just gone to war. “’m ready.”

Calypso

\\ Be warned \\

Caly's throw is beautiful, a bright flame arcing through the bar to crash into the back with a sharp shatter of shards. The fire spreads like liquid light, bathing it all in hungry gold that devours the dark wood and memories with a vengeance. Nova lets it take a good chunk before adding her own fuel to the fire, her molotov encouraging the first to burn bigger and brighter, to take not just the dark, but the light as well.

She passes her sister another, bouncing on her toes as she launches the next into the chandelier above, watching as the hand-made crystals fall like rain onto the floor below. All grins and giggles, she lets Vespy shield them, choosing to use her own magic in a offensive barrage on the bar, determined to see it wiped from existence.

Only once the last molotov has been thrown and the Hanged Man is nothing more than smoke, blinding flames, and crackling wood does she feel satisfied. She grins at her sister, clasping her hand to squeeze it tightly as they admire their work. "I like it better this way."

Nova

\\ I'm in a mood \\

Vesper keeps the shield steady, hand raised just enough to bend the sparks away from Caly’s hair and Nova’s dress as the inferno builds. The roar of it rattles the bottles still clinging to their shelves, glass shivering before it gives way to heat. He tastes the molten edge of his sisters’ feelings as sharp as the smoke in his lungs; Caly’s chest finally loosening, Nova’s satisfaction as bright as the flames themselves.

It’s enough. The blaze is greedy now, greedy enough not to need them anymore. He tips his head in a small nod, eyes lingering on Caly first. She’ll need more than fire before her fury’s spent, he knows, but this is a start. A good one.

"Time to go," he murmurs, tipping his head toward the door. The shield flexes outward, making a clean pocket of air for them to push through, then collapses behind as he leads them out onto the sand. Outside, the world is quiet. Thanks to the illusionists, the Hanged Man looks almost peaceful, nothing more than a lantern glow tucked in on itself.

On the beach, Vesper’s form blurs, shifts, and the jaguar stretches into being; a sleek silhouette of shadow and moonlight. He waits, tail twitching, pale eyes cutting back toward his sisters, waiting for them to do the same. When they join him, it’ll be a silent, easy thing to slip through the dark together toward the waiting skyship. To the Ark. To away.

And behind them, Torchline’s heart beats on, ignorant of the fire already eating one of its lungs.

~FIN

all these little things together don't build up to somethin' small

Code 100% taken from the queeeeeeen herself, Sky <3