burning blue smoke

the sea speaks a little more honestly

The storm clouds roll in, thunder on the horizon that begins to dissipate the longer the afternoon wanes on. It’s about sunset when the drizzle finally settles into something more even, a gentle pattering across metal surfaces, along roofs of buildings nearby, casting them in a dim almost green glow. And here, the Flood makes the trek toward Colt’s ranch, news on the tip of his tongue to hopefully help her out.

The rodeo was rapidly approaching, and with it came the fact he’d get more work cut out for him in terms of being a pegasus, but that’s not what he’s here for. He’s drenched by the time he gets to her door, saying a soft little hello in his language to the canines that guard it, before he’s knocking against the screen door and leaning against the beam of her porch, dripping wet and soaked, but looking for the life of him like he doesn’t care.

It’s not too warm out here, but it isn’t too cold. And could he really be called the Flood if he had an aversion to water? So he drips, dark curls clinging to his freckled cheeks, one tattooed arm crossed over his lightning scarred one, shirt unbuttoned at the top and short sleeved but sticking to him as he starts to slowly drip dry on the wood of her porch.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

She can't quite explain why, but Colt has always loved a good storm. Something about the shift in air pressure, the way the sky gathers all its might and shows off—demanding attention or else unleashing rain and lightning with no apology. It's a sight, to be sure—best enjoyed from the comfort of blankets and the shield of a window. Though, on the right day, getting caught in it is even better.

She’s already settled for the night, having called it early when she saw the thunderheads roll in—thick with that dry, Longheat energy that promised a warmer, rowdier storm than the crisp winter kind. Fresh from a shower, hair still wet herself, she hears the telltale barking and shimmies faster into her thin cotton pajama set—just white shorts and a tank, perfect for a season where some nights felt like even bare skin is too much to wear. Tonight isn’t quite so brutal, but there’s no chill to argue for anything more.

She hurries down the hall toward the door, the screen the only thing keeping out whoever or whatever has set the dogs off. Their barking is lazy, more warning than alarm, suggesting a who that they don’t entirely distrust. "Sunjata?" she calls, spotting the dark outline of him before she even reaches for the door. By the time she’s pulling the screen open, confusion has already shifted to open-mouthed surprise at seeing the state of him. "Gods, you're wetter than a catfish, what the hell are you doing out in this storm? Get in here." She steps to the side, ushering him in with the opening.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

the sea speaks a little more honestly

He’s content to sit there and wait while she comes to the door - drying slowly as he surveys the rain that patters in splashes, muddying the ground that had been dry for days now. By the time the door opens, he glances over at her with an easy smile, greeting her as he pushes off the bannister he’d been leaning against. “Hey, no I’m good. Sorry to bother you.” He says with a soft laugh, rolling a tattooed shoulder.

“I just wanted to ask a couple of questions. Mostly, because I’m still planning on reaching out to Danta about the lightning, I realized I probably forgot how many of them you’d need for us to make your fences electric.” He gestures out to the fences he can see in the distance. “But if you were sleeping I can come back later.” He seems more relaxed at the present moment, not full of the usual almost boyish energy or the crisis-induced type that would make him frantic.

He seems peaceful in a way he often was once he’d met with Frey, though it wasn’t common for him to go out in this mood for an average leadership chat. But his mind races on everything he needs to do in order to get everything ready before the next attempt at Starfall, and this? This was only part of it. This he can do.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

He seems more content to stay outside, dripping wet like that's exactly how he prefers it. She tilts her head, a smile edging into her expression as she takes in the cling of his drenched clothes that don't seem to bother him in the least. Guess he doesn't get called the Flood for no reason.

She steps back into the doorway since he won't come inside, one arm resting against the frame above her head, body leaning into it while one leg crosses over the other in a relaxed settle for conversation. Despite some of the troubles she knows he's faced, Sunjata has always seemed in high spirits to her, like he doesn't let the weight of everything pull him down the way she sometimes feels it does to her. He's especially jubilant tonight though, manic almost, as evident by his arrival in the rain to discuss the trivial matter (so she feels in the grand scheme of all his troubles) of fortifying her fences better.

She brightens as he explains, bewilderment melting away into a quiet fondness for her Archon. While she never doubted his word, it had been such an offhand remark she didn't really expect anything of it, but here he is. "Please," she huffs, "it's not even all the way dark outside," she gestures out at the meadows, the sunset light muted amid the storm in an off-color manner that holds its own beauty against the usual strands of rose and amber. "Don't sleep much these days anyway, so no trouble."

As to his question, she isn't quite sure how to answer it. She exhales steadily through her nose in thought, glancing past him at the rolling hillside. "Depends how long the reach is. There's a couple thousand acres out there, and while it'd just need to be the exterior fences..." She bites at her bottom lip, uncertain if this is asking for too much now, getting him into more trouble than it's worth.

"Do you want to walk it with me?" Ride is more likely the mode of travel, unless they planned to be out there the entire night.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

the sea speaks a little more honestly

The huffed please only has him brightening a touch at the prospect, knowing that he hadn’t interrupted her plans too badly given his sudden appearance. “So long as you’re sure.” He pauses, arms loose as he pulls his attention away from the stormy sunset, looking back at her as she looks over to the hills in the distance. And while Sunjata knew her ranch was huge, it’s almost like he’s hearing about it for the first time.

Sure, he’s seen it above, but to have a number to it? Made it feel that much bigger than when he was looking at it while flying above it as a dragon. But, then again, most things seemed small in retrospect when one was a dragon.

“That’s true, guess we’ll have to test it and see.” Humming a note, his accented voice shifts a touch deeper, letting more of the accent slip through as he becomes more thoughtful, as if he’s running numbers in his head of just how they could pull it off. The corners, maybe, some supplementing rods in the middle to make sure it made it all the way.

But then she’s asking if he wants to walk it with her and Sunjata nods almost immediately. Not eager, not exactly. But excited, like he can’t wait to get back out into the storm. “You wanna take a ride? My feathers are pretty water proof.” He bounces a scarred brow, the grin he shoots her way crooked and lopsided from the scar that’s ruined his cheek.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

The look on his face at the prospect of riding in the rain has her smile deepening. If she loved a storm, he certainly seemed made for them. With nothing much to do for the rest of the night, jumping back into the weather to assess a project that benefits her certainly seems like the least she can do. Her idea of riding and his idea of riding seem to differ though, the talk of feathers causing her 'brows to lift. Flying certainly would be faster, but she's never had to hold her seat in the air, not like that at least. A bronc or two, sure, but that's nothing compared to what he could do.

There's no denying the thrilling desire to try though, as if it's an idea that has crossed her mind before. Her smile cuts into a wicked grin, her own enthusiasm becoming apparent. "Ain't the water I'm worried about. Better not drop me, or attract any lightning." She pushes off the door frame and steps out onto the porch, the screen shutting with a gentle click. She's forgetful of her attire, the thrill of cloud jumping snuffing out most any other thought she might have, including any comparisons to a different moonlit ride.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

SUNJATA

the flood

“Hey, the last time I was struck by lightning was years ago. I feel luckier these days.” Wiggling the fingers on the very much lightning scarred hand (that traces in electric arcs up his arm all the way until it crosses along his chest, searching for his heart) for emphasis.

But she’s stepping out of the door frame, still in those thin PJs and Sunjata can’t help but to take in the outfit with a hint of surprise. It was still drizzling, but she’d said she didn’t care about the weather, so…

Stepping off the porch, Sunjata turns back to her with a wider smile. “Okay, so, when you hop on make sure you’re sitting under my wings. I’ll be able to hear you but you can pull all you want to on my mane if it makes ya feel better.” It airs in a playful tease, like he isn’t opposed to having hair pulled. Then, the water drenched demigod easily becomes Pegasus before Colt’s eyes.

Tri colored wings flare out and fluff up before he’s lowering his head toward her on his approach, rounding to the side so that she could hop on, extending one wing out enough to prop it up higher so that she could sidle in beneath the joint there. He lowers himself to help her in whichever way he can, but something tells him if anyone’s familiar with hopping on a horse’s back in the middle of nowhere with no tools or fences around, it would be her.

I've got hooks in my sides that you left there

img credits

COLT

"Comforting," she drawls with no hint of being comforted at all when her eyes trace the scar he displays. She had been joking, but the evidence left on his skin suggests it's perhaps a more real threat than she imagined, one she's not keen on encountering. Though his easy laugh and confidence reassure her enough that her steps remain true, even if she's wondering more about what his lightning encounter is, or all the other marks he carries like a history of survival.

She listens attentively as he instructs her, certain he's done this before, whereas she has not. A horse, sure, but the wings add in an entirely different element to the seat and the getting on. A wry expression replaces her concentration as he mentions pulling on his mane, as if he had any other choice in the matter. She had balance, but no way in hell would she be hanging on with just gravity and core strength.

At his quick shift, a delighted sound squeaks past. She'd seen his pegasus form before, but never this close, not enough to admire the brilliant blend of all the indigo, looking for all the world like a tumbling wave frozen in hair and hide. "You know, your Nyala is cute, but I rather think this one suits you well," she mutters to him, stepping closer as he approaches, ducking unnecessarily under his lifted wing.

A hand reaches out of habit for the slope of his neck, touch gliding along the dip to his chest with a smile of appreciation for the magnificent beast he is. Winding her fingers through a bit of his mane, she breathes in deep before swinging up with a well-practiced hop onto his back. She has to reposition and haul one leg over the other side of him, but she settles into the dip behind his withers quick enough, legs hugging against his sides lightly. The wings are a new addition and had made getting on a bit less graceful than usual, but now that she's sat she glances up at them, tracing their arc, their power, grinning like a fool at the promise of it all. "Okay," she says after a beat, both hands threaded into his mane as a lifeline for whatever maneuvers he might pull.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

SUNJATA

the flood

He’d tell her if she asked about his scars. Because Sunjata is a survivor. He has multitudes of them that tell stories across his body - the highest degree of his Korofian heritage and upbringing. He kept them, only getting rid of one, because they were both reminders and lessons. And he knew enough that to erase the past and what was learned was only opening up room to repeat it.

But the pegasus takes over, his pale head with a beaklike marking lowering for her to inspect. He’s tall in this shift, too, a mirror of just how tall he was in person, but stills perfectly well as she ducks under his wing. His neck twitches with her touch, just like the equines she takes care of do, keeping tabs on where she is.

Then, her hand is in his mane and she swings up and after a few moments of settling herself, finds herself astride him, sunk behind his withers and out of the way of his powerful wings. Tracing them, though, perhaps he should have warned her, because the feathers flex and flare under her touch where the small ones meet the rest of his body, a shiver racing down his spine that’s momentary before he’s tucking his wings in at his sides and over her legs, taking a few steps to get her used to it before he’s angling toward the edge of the fence.

Sure that she can handle it, he starts to move, wings flaring out and flattening, prepping for flight as he gets the running start, and at the last second the pegasus pulls upward with a powerful gust of his wings. Up and up, the Flood curves over the edge of the fence line, holding steady, feeling her settle easier into the seat as he’s very conscious of keeping her centered even if the muscles that move feel a bit different beneath her than she’s used to. He keeps one pale ear forward while the other flicks back, to hear her over the wind and rain in case she says anything along the way.

I've got hooks in my sides that you left there

img credits

COLT

Her fingers lift away from the flaring feathers, surprised, though she isn't sure why, at how responsive they are. After the initial startle, she finishes brushing across them, a quiet smile fitting into place that doesn't seem to fade. The hug of his wings against her legs as he starts to move out feels warm and dry against the rain that pelts them as soon as they clear the porch. She tilts her head up at it, blinking rapidly against the droplets that scatter against her face, rivulets forming a stream along her cheeks and chin. Always something a bit cleansing about rain. She could use some of that about now.

His speed picks up though, and this is the part she's most worried about, so she tucks back down, leaning further along his neck and really gripping against his mane. His wings flare, his hoofbeats a louder drum beneath the storm, and then they're rising, abrupt. "Oh fuck," she gasps under her breath, heart tangling in her throat, all her breath held inside. Every bit of her tenses as she focuses real hard on not tumbling right off the back of him.

He's steady with his incline, but it's still up that they're going, and until he can reach enough altitude he has to climb hard and fast. Her legs grip tighter around him, chest pressed against his neck as her arms hold on overhead, trying to be streamlined to cut down on the drag while still dodging the shift of his wings. The drive of the rain and the wind doesn't help, forcing her to keep her head tucked, eyes just peeking out over the top of his neck and the soaked hair. Her seat comes off a few terrifying times, air sneaking in between his back and her thighs before he adjusts or she clamps her thighs tighter, desperate to remain with him, wishing now that perhaps she'd hooked at least one leg in front of his wing joint just as buffer for the pull of gravity during take off.

Yet—she's laughing, because they're doing it—they're flying.

Even though it feels like every bit of her got turned upside-down and dropped, even though she is terrified of relenting her white-knuckle grip, she is utterly ecstatic. "JATA, THIS IS AMAZING!" she yells over the storm, softening just faintly against him as the trust builds a bit more with the success.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

SUNJATA

the flood

The rain pelts on, but Sunjata doesn’t seem to notice or care as he ramps them up to take flight. He can feel the way she grips against him, her body tense where she tightens her thighs and flattens herself as much as she can to make take off that much easier. And if she’d had an attuned bond, he might have thanked her for thinking of that. But she doesn’t and he can’t, so the Flood is stuck simply doing what he could with his instincts, letting Colt hold on as much as she can until he can even them out.

They rise higher than they need to, the rain somehow becoming warmer up here than it had been on the ground, but as Sunjata levels and his wings stop beating against the wind for purchase and instead start to flatten out to glide, propelling them a bit more so that they get a good view of her fences, the Flood’s focus still remains half on her and half on the fence line.

There’s a nicker of a sound that breaks over the wind toward her, his feathers flattening as they reach the corner of the fencing that had been way off in the distance, having to tilt her slightly as they glide. She does well, though, holding on strong as Sunjata coasts along the top of her fences, making little mental notes as they go. But it’s when they reach the other edge of her fences that something really distracts him, a quiet but inquisitive neigh escaping his throat as he angles himself to land. Here, the clouds have parted in the distance to reveal the bloodied sunset, with lightning far off in the distance while this portion of the hill remains becoming quietly flooded in the summer rain. And it’s a view that Sunjata can’t pass up as he starts their landing.

I've got hooks in my sides that you left there

img credits

COLT

The feeling of flight can't be fully enjoyed until he's reached the height to level out and soar, releasing her from her wrestling match with gravity and softening the angle of the rain that had driven in sharp and cruel on the climb. She exhales, making room for the wonder of it all as the clouds part around them in wisps and sprays of storm-soaked mist, bursting with an unexpected warmth. The storm feels like an old friend up here—the smattering of sinking light cresting among gathered shadows, the temperate eddies drifting around them—it’s something else entirely. One of her hands unwinds from his mane, reaching tentatively into the clouds like she might catch them if she's fast or clever enough.

Her ranch darts past below, and Colt has an unusual sense of just how small it really is when weighed against the expanse rolling out beneath water-wicking wings. Not that she's ashamed, it's just a new perspective, where mountainous things become pebbles that can be easily pocketed.

She leans in against his neck, one hand bracing against the strong muscle there to steady herself and give her voice a better shot at cutting through the wind. "We could just do the unicorn pastures, instead of the entire perimeter. Would reduce it by nearly a third." It’s the wild unicorns she’s trying to stop, the ones threatening her unicorn herd. The cattle, tucked safely in their own section of the property, aren’t the issue. "They're in that southeast stretch over there," she adds, pointing toward the slope of the meadows. She’s not sure if he can see where she means, but hopes the explanation carries.

The edge of the pastures draws up neatly beneath them, looking oversimplified and not like a daily chore for her. It's a labor of love, at least.

When the sound tears from him, Colt perks up—her drifting thoughts, simmered in bliss, snapping back into focus. She can feel him shift beneath her, the oncoming descent sending her fingers twisting tightly back into his mane as air rushes up to meet them. Her stomach dips with the drop, but it's a splash of delight for the way he masterfully cuts through the drenched air like it's nothing, at the way the storm tries to hold her back from him as air slips between her thighs in challenge. A peal of laughter strikes with the lightning, hips tilting to sink deeper against him, legs tightening as she sticks with his movements and they glide back down through a sky trying to burn while it drowns.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case

the sea speaks a little more honestly

Hearing her suggestion of the unicorn pastures, perhaps that’s where they should start first for prevention. After all, it was King’s End’s wild unicorn population that caused all kinds of problems here, as far as he remembers her complaints. So it made sense, and he nickers with the instruction that’s called down from the slope of his neck to the ear that’s twisted back toward her. He can’t nod like this, not when he’s about to land, but he does nicker over the wind to say he’s heard it.

And then, they’re landing, wings flattening as he feels her focus and her hands tighten in his mane. It’s a swift descent, one he’s done a thousand times, and with it her laughter airs amongst the dull rumble of thunder in the distance. And before long, all feet are back on solid ground, coming to a stop on the crest of this hill, away from the fences they’d been chasing in favor for admiring the far off sunset while they continue to get drenched over here by the dark, gloomy clouds.

He shifts back into himself the second she’s back on the ground, leaving the Pegasus wings out and loosely tucked behind him, feathers flexing before he shakes them out, trying to rid them of the majority of the rain they’d soaked up on the way here. And it’s back to Colt with a lopsided smile, still drenched as can be, that the Flood drifts closer to her as if he might be able to shield her from the majority of the rain. “I love a good stormy sunset.” He admits, as if needing to explain the reason for their descent. Reaching her side, the Flood plops down unceremoniously, letting the rain continue to brush across his features and freckles, matting his curls to his face, wings drooped behind him against the water logged grasses and flowers as he takes a few moments to relax, curious if she'd join him or choose to remain standing.

to those who are willing to drown

SUNJATA

COLT

She braces against the top of his neck as they land, her legs slackening into noodles that sway at his sides with each motion. She’s grinning—loose, a little stunned—the kind you see after someone’s been at the bar a bit too long. She’s tipped over the edge of an adrenaline high, her nerves still ringing from the flight, her senses dulled beneath the rain’s steady patter and the lingering weightlessness of the sky.

Sliding off him is more of a slow melt than her usual clean dismount. His wings complicate it, sure, but mostly she’s still reeling from the raw power of him in motion, from the stormrush and the wind-borne trust that grew between them. One hand lingers at his side as she reacquaints herself with solid ground, fingertips brushing hide before she pulls back, giving him the space to shift into something akin to an angel. His attempt to keep the rain off is considerate, but altogether pointless by now. She's thoroughly soaked, her clothes plastered to every curve, the white fabric sheer in the areas that are drawn tight, now that it's saturated.

Already entranced by the dramatic sight of the sunset and tempest battling for control of the color palette, she glances sidelong at him as he speaks. His profile is all shadows and stormlight, wings framing him like something divine. He's always had her appreciation in some form or another, but out here, like this, he's in his element in a way she hasn't really seen before and it catches her off guard. "Not many better ways to end a day," she agrees softly, tilting her head into the patter of warm rain, eyes fluttering shut for a beat. Her palms lift up for a minute as if in prayer, and she sticks her tongue out, catching a few like she's a kid again.

When he drops down beside her, folding into the grass like he might sit out here all night, she follows suit, content to soak up the peace as long as possible. Her back settles flat against the grass, arms crossed behind her head, one leg hooking over the other. The rain trickles across them, warm and heavy. The humidity and the longheat haze keep her from shivering, and some of the heat radiating off him.

She turns her head to watch him, her amber gaze washing against the dusk of his blue, more like gunmetal in the tempest's light. It's always the blue ones that do her in. "You ever get any of your scars running off in storms like this?" she asks, eyes tracing the visible ones.

I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case