[SE] a perfect match

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

Currently at the top of her list to irritate the fuck out of was Stormbreak. She likely should’ve been wary that others would soon start recognizing her for antics alone, but given that the water balloons had been under invisible cover, and she and Sunjata had been shooting at random passersby from great heights, the Honeybee figured she had one or two more chances before people started getting wind of Ludo’s demigod and avoiding her altogether. Which, while the latter sounded great, it also meant her rampant bullying of snooty individuals would go down a few layers. Maybe next season she’d spread the wealth again.

Chattering away to Iskra about the Tower work and then the potential for menace, they’d wandered into the Pacifist Plaza; which, judging by the name, had sounded dull as shit. But given the buzz of citizens around, the shops, boutiques, inns, and outdoor kiosks, she couldn’t help but peek her head around several stalls, nosing around until they’d reached a more open area with people milling hovering, talking, conversing; no attention on them yet. Opting to play 'who is the worst influence' on one another, her gaze went back to him, restless gall stirring beneath her skin. “What about right here? I bet we could get some people to join in.” Her grin was equal parts devilish and menacing, eyes lit up in increasingly mischievous splendor, already beginning to rifle through her bag and take out the big blocks of wood they’d be using to start building said bonfire.

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun

Lighting it up, going to burn to the ground

Admittedly, he'd have been happy not to see this city again after spending such a significant amount of time here recently. It had grown on him throughout the tower build, and for the most part he's found the citizens to be amenable, old beliefs not clinging like they used to. Even so, like Mel, he's more drawn to the places where the wild remains in the veins. Everything here is so...manufactured.

The trip is worth showing off the completed tower though, and he can't deny the swell of pride at seeing it rise up. Knowing it'd just been rubble, and that his hands had helped it reach skyward again, there's something to that.

They are not just here for architectural feats though, and thank fuck for that. The marketplace is a much more lively part of the city, buzzing with color and bargains alike. He's drawn in a time or two by a skilled salesperson, and nearly walks away with a new scarf, but opts for some candied nuts and a few secrets he tucks away for later. Popping some of the nuts in his mouth, he surveys the area Mel selects with a hand held over his brow, swinging back and forth. "We should build it the long way so we can race people through it." Bonfire the long way usually means bonfire goes higher, so they might be better off building two and doing something relay style, but it's worth a shot, maybe. He shrugs at the idea, unpacking his own carted along wood and kindling until they've arranged something sure to burn.

Pushing Goose back as the dog gets too close and tries to run off with one of the sticks, Iskra leans back from his wood-stacking work and extends a dramatic arm towards the pyre. His fingers wriggle, and he begins an incantation of complete gibberish, his other hand soon joining the show and swirling around and above his upturned palm. It's all very thematic and over the top, sure to attract some attention. He builds the performance, voice lifting, eyes narrow, hands...handing. Then, in culmination, his fire magic sparks on either base of the wood and rushes up into the middle together. Where they combine, the flames suddenly roar up together into a great and twisting plume of fire, bearing the shape of a massive basilisk before subsiding into a slow and steady curl as the wood takes to the heat naturally and his ability shimmers away back into his being.

Iskra

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

“Oooh, yes,” she echoed, grin still there, gaze analyzing and imagining the potential of upheaval. A slow burn, light on the kindling and fuel until they could really incense and rile the crowd up for shenanigans, complete the task – then see where they were when it became a riotous show.

So she helped arrange the necessary parts while he put on his spectacle – going back and forth between watching him (and trying not to laugh; she knew very well that now it was something automatic and natural), and the people starting to glance his way as words were uttered. Some looked like they were fearful, perhaps those old Abandoned hatred sentiments, and their stillness set her on edge, immediately standing up straighter, pondering how quickly she could annihilate someone before they got close to him –

But then there were others too, milling about, pausing to watch, kids grasping and pulling on their parents’ hands, wanting to get closer, phrases passing through because curiosity might have spread more than hate these days. She didn’t know.

Thereafter was the great roar of the fire, the press of images flickering through, and she clapped alongside several others, purposefully patting him on the shoulder for reassurance, and her own method of snagging at the incantations; to copy and mimic, to feel the flames course through her skin as well. Figuring she’d assist in being part showman too, she cupped her hands around her mouth, began announcing in louder tones than kiosks and merchants. “Anyone willing to step up to the challenge of becoming the Best Fire Leaper?” Arching her brow back at Iskra, thinking he’d start on demonstrations, she then lined herself up to also participate.

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun

Lighting it up, going to burn to the ground

The slide of her touch over his shoulder turns his grin from the crowd to flash back at her, winking in pointed communication. She's seen him work his magic plenty of times to know the show is just that, a show, and plenty of the gathered likely know it too. There's just something about watching someone willing to do the funny dance though that draws your eye, well, that and a massive fiery snake.

As Mel's holler rises up over the market in clear challenge, her expression finding his with purpose, he flows back into the role as well. "I can take on anyone here!" he boasts loudly, a peacock's pride threaded into every word as it punctuates the market. Happy to demonstrate to the grumbling and unconvinced crowd, he leans down to tuck in his pant legs to his boots, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He deposits anything he's got other than the bone shield on his back, which would not only serve as a surface to shield him from too much heat, but needs the kiss of the bonfire as well.

He positions himself before the stretch of blazing wood, breathing in a steadying breath. His shield is not fireproof yet, and neither is he. He's done this before though, but there's always the risk of something catching, or a stride fumbling. At least now he could snuff the flames out if need be, but with neither he nor Mel having healing, it'd still be a bruised ego and some cooked skin or cloth for the trouble. Pushing those doubts aside with another deep inhale, Iskra rocks back on his heels and sprints forward. He gave himself enough distance to the bonfire to work up some speed, then pushes off on his toes and sails through the flame. The heat swirls around him, greedily pushing in, trying to grab at hair and skin and fabric, washing over the bone shield as the wind of his motion pulls it back behind him. He flies over to the other side, arms windmilling as he lands and surges forward a stride or two until the momentum dies out. He pats at one flame-touched portion on his shoulder, and his bear hairs have curled up, but overall, he's whole.

He strikes a pose after recovering, hands held outstretched, a bow given to the flame. "Who's next?"

Iskra

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

In ordinary circumstances, the boast would’ve had her incensed and riled; but here, she knew it was a spectacle for the crowd, rather than herself. Still, she had every intention of participating, a plan up her sleeve as soon as the fire roared and soared through her veins. A friendly and amicable gesture of hellos and welcomes, perhaps knowing she’d willingly extend the rapport of its destruction and power.

And cheat, of course.

Her eyes went from the gathered people, already beginning to form a circle, to Iskra as he launched. He’d have to be a little more careful than normal; her only chance at healing was her wild magic, and even then she was just as likely to turn into a frog than extend well-meaning mending. But there’d be an aspect of control over the flames she could utilize, and kept that thought in the back of her mind for when heights deemed it necessary. She grinned just the same, watching as he leapt and several gave rounds of applause. The touch of fire to his shoulders didn’t go unseen, but she sighed, as he patted them out before she’d have an opportunity to do something about it.

Then it was her turn, and she intended to add to the spectacle. “Me!” She declared, waving to some of the individuals nearby, lifting her chin in bold and proper fashion. Then she ran, all swiftness and sedition, bold and triumphant, neatly launching over the broadened flames – but with a twist, ensuring as she jumped that some of the fire connected around her, as if she were launching through a circle. Landing on the other side, she gave a breathless curtsy, untouched, with a wink towards Iskra for good measure. “Beat that!”

Before they could make the inferno higher, another stepped forward. Probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, the boy was gangly, but determined, a smile curling through. “I’ll try!” he countered, already beginning to line himself up with the fire.

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun

Lighting it up, going to burn to the ground

He steps out of the direct line of the leap as Mel steps up next. He curves around the side of the bonfire, unable to dim the grin that stretches out in eager lines at the sight of her embracing their latest dabble in community chaos. She turns it up for the crowd too, and he settles in with his arms crossed as he awaits the show. She doesn't disappoint, whizzing past his attempt with newfound flare, her fire ring earning a whoa from the crowd among other oohs and ahhs. The sentiments echo through on his features as they lift, impressed and surprised. He hadn't even realized she'd copied him again.

Chuckling under his breath at her wink and her cleverness, he applauds along with the rest, the sound dying out as a new voice boldly stakes a claim. "Go on then," Iskra encourages to the teen, clearly no father figure in his current state. "Let's see if you're a fire dancer." The fire swells then at his insistence, tendrils reaching out as if they mean to grab the boy's shirt and lug him in, but not quite managing before they crackle back into the usual. It makes the teen step back, the crowd gasping with it, a newfound wariness present. He glances over and Iskra nods, offering to count it down.

In a very dramatic count from 3 to go, Iskra sends off the boy. As the feet leave the ground, he yanks the fire lower, ensuring the child won't come to harm, and weaves the arcing flames higher around either side of him, the faint shape of twin hawks flying up visible to any who looked hard enough. The boy makes it through to the other side, and Iskra leads the cheers that rise up. "He is a firehawk!" Iskra brands him, and the lad's breathless with possibility as he runs back around. Now, a burly man strides forth, sneering faintly at the display so far. "Anyone can do that, it's easy!" he claims. Iskra's gaze slips towards Mel, holding her meaningfully and jerking his head faintly towards the bonfire. This guy is all hers.

Iskra

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

She couldn’t help but laugh as soon as Iskra encouraged the danger; not one to veil herself in innocence either, she hooted and hollered as the youth stretched forth. Whether or not he was hesitant hardly seemed to matter, enticed and pulled, Melita barely hiding her smirk, as the countdown began. Once the teen was safely across, likely due more to Iskra’s efforts than the gangly youth’s, the Honeybee followed with applause, raising her arms as firehawk ambitions were declared.

It wasn’t until another sauntered forth, burly and massive, teetering on sneering claims, that her grin went slightly sinister. Taking her cue from Iskra, and likely she would’ve done it anyway (she didn’t need encouragement to bully fuckwads), she led him right over towards the fire. “Step this way sir, and try your luck!”

Try certainly being the operative term, because as soon as he approached and made his leap, the demigod stood readily to the side, hardly looking suspicious – her eyes widening on pretense when the fire somehow leapt up towards the man’s ass, burning a hole right through his clothing. He yelped and screamed, and her mouth went slack in a gasp. “Oh dear. You’re welcome to test yourself again!” The crowd seemed to have made a dignified cringe as a whole, one woman stepping upwards to offer some healing balms, while a couple others appeared to be emboldened regardless – seeing one victorious over the other. Opting for encouragement, she made another announcement. “If anyone else would like to make an attempt at this level, it won’t be for long!”

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun

Lighting it up, going to burn to the ground

It's effort, extremely so, to keep from barking out a side-peeling laugh as the smug man is sent howling and dipping away from the fire with his hands clamped over his ass. He looks, briefly, like a fat emu running amuck. The best part of all, is the fire has singed through his pants and underwear, revealing a flash of skin, appearing like he'd had such a volatile fart it pierced his clothing, and thusly Iskra names him too. "The posterior to fear!" Kinder portions of the crowd still cheer, the sort that favor participation trophies over actual quality (be it of work or character), and certainly the healers in the massess can't keep from tending to someone in need.

He absolutely slides a contented expression towards Melita once the focus is drawn away, impressed as ever by her capabilities. The next rounds are a give and take between them, altering flame and success alike, until it seems they've exhausted the participants for now. Some even, have no interest in continuing on, but others, like firehawk, are emboldened to test themselves on this newest tier.

In good display of a visual increase in scale, Iskra adds more wood to the fire, purposefully stacking some higher in the middle. The flame naturally draws itself taller, thicker, hotter, but he funnels into it as well. Less red and orange, more yellow and flickers of white now, heat like the breath of consumption as wood snaps and curls into ash. "BEHOLD!" he says with raised voice, the tone lifting along with his arms as he faces the crowd and stalks before the fire. "A bonbonfire." Bonfire squared, even.

This time, when Iskra demonstrates, he does his running start again, but parts the flame before him. It's subtle, his body blocking the view of it for most everyone, and he keeps the opening small. It's risky still, heat alone flashing over his skin with teeth that sizzle at hair and bead up sweat and red hue, but he toes that line with a familiarity with how far he can push the fire. Similarly he arcs it out behind him, and it washes against the shield on his back as he makes it look like it flares and billows from his movement through it, when in reality he pulls it out and away from him as he glides through, as unharmed as a deer prancing over a den of wolves.

Iskra

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

She was going to require an award or some kind of treat by the amount of laughter she was holding back as Iskra granted a title to the ass-on-fire-man. Looking at the crowd, she could tell most were the type to be offended by something this funny, so she briefly turned around to pretend something else heralded her attention, smothering down the giggles until she could take a few more breaths and regain whatever she described as composure. She caught Iskra’s eye though, gave a conspiring wink, and then they were back to brief blips of terrorizing.

She was pleasantly surprised to see some still within the threshold, and applauded their efforts when fortune favored their boldness (or…y’know, they cheated so the individuals remained). Throwing more wood into the fire alongside Iskra, the inferno caught and sizzled, flaring upwards as her smile grew into juvenile standards (though the notions of bonbonfire really made her think they should be getting bonbons after this).

And the Honeybee watched, proud and preening, as he launched over the newly scaled model. All power and mystique and ridiculous shit, his movements drew the crowd into gasps – and she arched her brow when he managed to maintain all the ember particulars without burning. Then she was next.

Still intending to put on a show, the demigod rallied, giving a magnificent and athletic leap into the air. As she pushed off the ground, she snagged at the tendrils and flares, bringing them upward and over her head much like the image of a dragon, before they whipped outwards and she was safely back on the other side, granting bows and posturing further, leaving individuals to wonder if they’d truly seen such a sight. Turning, she beckoned the next – smiling at the gangly figure again. “All right, Firehawk, now’s your chance!”

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun

Lighting it up, going to burn to the ground

Her display draws oohs of wonder from the crowd and himself, attention tracking the climb of the fire dragon above her before its shape vanishes back into bright tongues. He can't help the quick glance her way to ensure she doesn't step out singed or smoking, but she's no more marred than he, and it seems she's always been made for the flame. Admiration works its way into the smile he flashes her, the touch deepening whenever they make eye contact, though he steals what secret glances he can amidst the crowd work. It's a sight to see, her on rampant display, as fearless and capable as ever. His chest swells as affection nestles in deeper.

It's only the return outcry from Firehawk that draws Iskra's attention off her for the time being, the roar of the crowd snapping him back to the matter at hand. The youth lines up his approach, regarding the bonbon fire with only a brief moment of trepidation before his resolve steels. He sprints down the land and plants one foot, leaping with all his might, hands spearing through heat in front of him. Flaming wings erupt in the boy's wake, flapping up and around, rising over as firehawk sails through to the otherside. The back of his shirt curls in a few spots where embers sorch into the thread, but Iskra snuffs them out before they grow.

"Firehawk, firehawk, firehawk!" Iskra offers forth a chant, the crowd seizing onto it and hoisting it up, bolstered to have one of their own climbing the ranks. Iskra sidles up beside Mel, leaning in to whisper as more contenders approach for their turn at round two. "Triple or nothing?"

Iskra

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

The fire was an intoxicating thing, and the longer she held it in her pulse, the longer it spilled over her in wonder – a dominating force, a call to might and danger. A beacon in many ways; she could fathom and understand why the crowd had joined in the rallying calls. So she swung her gaze back at Iskra with a menacing, triumphant, devilish combination of a grin, fully content at egging on the masses into chaos, and his stare nearly pinned her in place. For half a moment, her blood ran hot for a different reason, and then she snorted, remembering where they were and what they were doing; not quite an opportunity to drag him somewhere and have her way with him. Instead, she gave a little smirk and a wink, promises of other multitudes later.

For the present, there were Firehawks and cheers. She had to hand it to the kid; nerves of steel in place of where a brain should be. Melita joined in the chant, whooping and hollering as the teenager cleared it again. Thereafter, she even altered the bonfire to take on the shape of said hawk, altering the flames, pretending the inferno intended to claim him as one of their own.

The others rounded over and through as Iskra sidled up to her. She naturally tipped her head towards him, nodding along in hasty, bedlam-laden agreement, a sharp and potent notion of approval. “Let’s make the biggest one and see who’s up for it.” Her inspired snicker thereafter spoke volumes of her willingness to unfurl and unleash in grand, heightened scale.

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun

Lighting it up, going to burn to the ground

He can’t keep the sharp grin from cutting up his face as she agrees near instantly, because of course Mel would always be pro more fire. ”Absolutely,” he croons, the sound low and rolling out a shuckle thereafter. His attention swings back to the contenders, more of whom fall to the defeat of nerves or a singed fumble that requires some smothering and reshaping of the bonfire they knocked.

Once everyone who is willing took their turn in round two, Iskra stepped forth to unfurl the remaining logs into the pile, growing it wider and taller alongside Mel. Flame leapt hungrily to the new fuel, and Iskra twisted its teeth to set deeply with a tug of his will on the magic forever wound inside the element. Once complete, orange roared on the edges, tilting into a bright blue middle that reached up tall and hungry and hot.

Shifting his shield on his back, Iskra regards their leashed inferno. It’s beautiful and daunting and he intends to master it. Simpering, he again grabs distance to work up the speed and momentum to carry him over. His limbs stretch in a deer leap, toe leading him in an arc over the blue middle, the heat so intense his skin flushes immediately. It whirls around behind him, billowing with the motion and turning back to snarl at his shield and his last toe. He wraps the edges of himself in quiet and quick dismissal of the element’s attempt to grab back at him, leaving only the faintest smears of charcoal and smoke there the wrestle for control waged.

He trumbles into a rolling landing, breathless with adrenaline as he pops up, sooty but unharmed.

Iskra

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

Adding more fuel to the fire, quite literally, was a wondrous process for the Honeybee. The infernal gatherings unfurled and unleashed was a rapid achievement from the pulse of her skin and the quick, rapid, sharp upheaval of magic was just another marvelous pull into the sanctity of power and prestige. Even the change in shape, the hues, the warm, vibrant colors growing hotter and brighter made the incandescence of her smile peak; she gave another wink in Iskra’s direction before they changed course, delved further into the boldness, impudence, and challenge of striving to overcome the element.

She watched as he attempted his next deer launch; more swiftness, more momentum to counteract the heights, and if her heart was in her throat she barely thought anything more of it. Triumphant in his grandeur, Melita whooped and hollered with the rest of them, though purposefully louder, and then made her way over to her starting measures.

Taking a sharp inhale, she whipped forward. Keen on using speed to her advantage as well, she bounded as she’d always done, but with a more pressing point of power in her stride, shooting upwards, and then striving to rally over. The fire threatened to scorch and touch, and gods she was close to flying directly into its ramparts, the heat of its press threatening her limbs with every blistering second, but then her feet were down on the ground, and she lurched forward, almost losing her upright position. In a flush of adrenaline, she looked back at the bonfire and grinned again, turning to face the crowd with arms reaching up victoriously. “All you now, Firehawk!” she goaded again, before taking strides towards Iskra, lowering her voice to a whisper against the grains. “Think we should let him win?” Her brow arched; reasons cast mostly because he'd been bolder than the rest (themselves excluded), and maybe that should've been rewarded.

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun

Lighting it up, going to burn to the ground

He could watch her in motion always, but wreathed in fire, she is godly to him. His gaze alights without any shame, bright and wary in equal measure as he watches her build a runway and blitz down it. The crowd holds their breath and he right along with them, resisting the very real urge to pull the fire away from her himself in order to keep her safe. He doesn't, though his jaw tightens with the effort not to. She'd never forgive him for it, and not least of all because she has the ability to do so herself tucked in her belt. This is not a time for coddling, this is a moment for boldness and style, for bravery and reckless abandon, and he'd not take that from her.

She completes it spectacularly, the stumble at the end drawing a unified oooh forth before her rise and victory, to which then an ahhh built up and broke into applause and cheers. His own lift with them, loud and purposeful in their congratulations and adoring exaltations. "You read my mind," he murmurs with a smile to her low words. They both knew they'd be surfacing on the top today, but Firehawk has been right there with them, and Iskra would see the future of foolishness secured.

Most have long decided they'll sit this round out, but Firehawk persists with his confidence, despite the reflection of the flickering fire cast warily in his eyes as he regards the new bonfire. "Ready?" Iskra calls over to the youth, who flicks a look his way then nods. "Let's hear it for Firehawk!" Iskra calls to the crowd, inciting encouragement as a chant rises, giving the boy wings born from the voices of his peers. It elicits a shaky smile on the youth, and he mimics Iskra and Mel in turn, backing up and building distance and speed. He sprints, and as he leaves the air, flaming birds rise in rapid succession up the columns and plumes, screaming heat. Beneath, Iskra lets the logs bank lower, the blue flickering subtly.

Iskra