[SE] before your very ice

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

Truth be told, when Iskra had struck the ‘week in Halo’ deal, she’d expected more…indoor activities. Hot chocolate. Curling up next to the fire and annoying him about something. Taking his clothes off next to said fire. She didn’t complain though, not when the townsfolk seemed to be out of doors at almost all hours regardless, keeping and tending to everything as if winter and Deepfrost hadn’t set forth a chilling deluge. It wasn’t as cold as before, so she hadn’t stolen too many of his layers, instead occupied herself with some of those sturdier, fleece-lined pants on over her leggings and a very cute Ludo sweater underneath the heavier parka; showing it off to him and him alone she supposed.

The Honeybee conjured a litany of things to speak about, haphazard little subject lines that might gain traction and saving the heavier bouts for when they returned to his lodgings. “So I talked to my uncle, sounded like he was going to go to Frey after all that shit,” handwaving the puncturing lines about dead hearts. “And then remember the drama going on at Flora’s party? There’s more with that,” and she likely would’ve continued, had she not begun noticing little ice carvings everywhere.

They didn’t seem marked by anything in particular. Just a vast variety. Snowmen. Miniature Citadels. An occasional dragon or ursur. “These are fun,” pointing to one that resembled either a disheveled unicorn or bear – something had gone awry somewhere and the creator must’ve given up or saved it for another day. Turning her gaze back to Iskra, her grin went wide, either ominous or imploring. “Can we make one?”

to be the sun

MELITA

ISKRA

I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized

The quiet thrill of having her for more than an outing or a day hasn't fully left him, and his pace sets a far too jaunty tempo as they stroll down the lanes of town. He'd stocked up on various provisions for her stay, especially this time of year one can never be too sure of the weather changes and depths of snow so they could very well end up locked in a bit, but while they could be out and about some window shopping never did the soul harm. The wallet would be another story.

"Oh?" he asks, the surprise not quite hidden from his tone or the way his eyes find her. He reaches down to toss the stick Goose just returned to him, the mongrel barking encouragement up until it sails out of Iskra's hands and flips end over end further down. "I didn't think that was up for debate," he fills in, a frown scrunching up one side of his face. "I mean, he did seem like he knew he'd need Frey's help last we talked?" He scratched his chin, trying to remember every nuance of the conversation from the dinner party. It had still seemed so fresh for Sunjata the man had appeared haggard with the shock and the loss of everything. "Maybe just took him this long to finally get his bearings," Iskra concludes, decided the news is less about Sunjata went to Frey and more that he finally has. "Well, good, I hope they can fix it for him. I'll be ready to assist as needed." What they had both offered to do for the Heartless.

In zero surprise to him, Mel has dug up more info on the drama that unfolded. Delighted, Iskra chuckles low. "Well go on, don't make me beg to hear it," he huffs, suddenly parched for tea. He picks up the returned stick and launches it once more.

His hunt for the warm beverage of gossip is unfortunately waylaid by the twinkling of ice sculptures. Not the best tour guide, having grown used to such customs they no longer stand out as special to him, he catches himself quickly at her notice. "Oh, yeah! Lots of people like to practice making these sculptures. There's competitions sometimes, so they work out ideas here, especially when the weather is just right." He leans in to observe the citadel one, the likeness quite outstanding. He is ever drawn towards art and craftsmanship, although so many of these end up a child's half-assed carving he usually saves his notice for the competitions.

"Can we?" he repeats, a slow grin curling in behind the question. "I think we must. Turn you into an honorary Halovian." He withdraws a hand from his pocket, flame snapping into the space near his fingertips. "Here, do your thing and copy me, I usually make mine with fire magic. As long as you do it in short, controlled bursts, you won't melt the whole thing, it's cold enough here."

I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

“Yeah, but I talked to him recently, and still kinda had to convince him to go, so,” she shrugged, knowing the promise of such notions wasn’t the same as actually committing to them. Her uncle was the type to wallow and circle the drain rather than getting his head above water, and with the lack of emotions heightening the prospect of nothing sounding like a good time, Melita had put a little more urgency into the affair. She kicked at a pile of fresh snow and watched it pilfer around in gentle waves, before falling back to the ground. Then she shrugged, keeping him in the loop and updated, but she hadn’t heard otherwise either, unaware if anything had transpired.

With the other drama though, she glanced up from her frolicking and granted a massive grin, content he appreciated gossip and drama they weren’t directly involved in just as much. “Okay, so. I don’t know if you heard Colt is trying to make Hak Etme actually, y’know. Livable. A sustainable region and everything.” And while the rancher certainly seemed determined, there’d be multitudes of obstacles in her way – such as people, more so than the environment currently. “Turns out Sohalia was helping her, and she offered her a position on the council. I guess Sohalia went to Flora and must’ve said something, because then Flora was mad at Colt at the party. A whole lot of misunderstandings or something else.” But that had seemed to be the crux of the issue.

Whether or not he’d want more details remained to be seen, so she arched her brow and her Cheshire lapse turned more into a small smile as he explained the ice sculptures; imagining competitions and tournaments over something amusing, rather than fire-forged fists and falling into demise. She studied an ursur one nearby, marveling at the tusks and size of the teeth; though not wholly true to form, it was impressive nonetheless. But when he said they must strive on their own, her cheeks dimpled, mind already concocting ways and methods before he offered the flames.

Her heart leapt out of her chest for multitudes, but her instincts still went for flames first; touching him along his hand and waiting for the embers to burst into her clutches too. “Can you show me?” It sounded as though it would take more contortion and thought, than her usual flair for destruction.

to be the sun

MELITA

ISKRA

I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized

Tugging thoughtfully at the bottom of his beard, Iskra glances sidelong at Mel. "Might be good to follow up with him," he says with a certain quietness, the tone weighted with a wariness. "Just to make sure he actually went. I have a feeling if you had to convince him to go, that he's struggling more than he let on." If Iskra could have found a way to make himself permanently feel numb, he would have left himself that way too. Waking up and drinking from sunup to eyelids down had come close enough, but that took effort and funds. "Maybe we'll invite him out to do something, then we casually check in on him?" Too much pressure and they'd risk pushing Sunjata away too, because ultimately you can't help someone not willing to take it.

Generally, you can start a sentence with, not sure if you've heard, and Iskra's answer can reliably be no. He might be getting healed more and more from the drunken hermit he had been, but he's still sequestered himself in a forest for a living in a harsh environment for a reason. Iskra, jovial and easy going as he is with most people, needs his time to recharge when it's with strangers or mindless chit chat. "The desert?" He can't avoid the sound of skepticism that creeps in, the start of this sounding more like tabloid gossip than anything substantial. "That place is super dangerous and empty though." Unless you needed Ludo and bone shields.

The more Mel explains, the more it starts to align with the squabble at the party. Sounds like a bunch of hens pecking at each other honestly. "That seems...messy." He's certainly glad to know about it in this fashion instead of something more up close. "So now they're all mad at each other?" Girls have been given their own fight name for a reason.

With the ice sculptures and fire at hand now though, for the moment at least there's no drama to be had. "Yeah," he says around a smile, softened for a moment by the fleeting touch along his hand. He holds her gaze for a moment, content to lose himself in the flame of her there, before he remembers and turns back towards their task. "I normally do this in Svaturis Bay, since it has a bunch of ice chunks all over. I think most people use water magic to make their own ice here." Which is not an ability he has, but they can make do. "Buuut, I think we can get away with some of the ice here." A few tree branches have created columns of ice where water or snow began to pour off them to the ground, but got caught with fluctuating temperatures. "So, I kind of shape it into a curve, and do short swipes on alternate sides. You carve it away bit by bit," he explains, stepping towards one of the frozen columns and bending his flame to it like sandpaper clasped in his hand. The ice shimmers then gives way to water in time, the surface running down as he swipes into the side of it with a sharp angle. His other hand reaches out and sweeps away the water, and alternating sides allows the other to refirm.

I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

‘Struggling’ had once been a key component of Sunjata’s character, right down to the core. And as much as Melita loved her uncle, there were days where she simply wanted him to reach down and pull himself out of his own ass. The current predicament hadn’t been his fault, but circling the mire and wondering when to step out of the muck only worked so often; and she had a feeling that he’d always find something else to occupy his time, rather than forging himself anew. Even when she’d given him the grace and permission to simply commit to benefitting his own prowess, he’d hesitated. So she sighed, watching some of her breath dissipate amongst the ether. “Probably. I was going to bug him when we purchased some bells for later on in the season.” But that seemed a fair distance away, and time meant ample opportunity for him to scatter away.

Iskra brought up a good point though, and her cheeks rounded with air, purposefully and slowly drawn out again. “We could. Might take some convincing away from whatever project he’s using to avoid shit.”

The desert and its drama heralded another aspect of attention though, ignoring the way her mind always conjured the Dragon’s Throat. It almost seemed like a distant haze, foggy memories scraped out of dune canvases and aspirations for grander, greater things; a way that such environments were feasible. She just wasn’t sure if this one would be. His own skepticism caused another small smile, a light of laughter, jovial in all their caustic balances. “Listen, I’m sure the same could be said for a lot of regions once upon a time. But yeah, it’s gonna take some work. Hard pass.” His summary struck a chord, polishing it up into one fell swoop, extinguishing the shenanigans down into the bare bones. “Yup. And I’m sure some more shit will hit the fan at some point.” Exciting to watch from the outside, at least.

But then she had to concentrate on the sculptures and fire, glancing a little longer at him than necessary, mouth curving into a furtive grin. She did try to listen, but between Iskra and flames it was difficult to hone and reign in her focus, so much so that she found herself nodding along, watching, and then being incapable of actually patiently contorting the portions at her own disposal. “Okay,” as she marched over to one of the longer columns, and immediately used far too much heat – the potency and prowess of the embers and conflagration giving its way to her easily tempted and swayed mentality.

So much so that it was just a puddle at her feet in moments. Turning her head over to look at his again, she snorted. “I’m going to call mine Pool It Together.”

to be the sun

MELITA

ISKRA

I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized

"All the better for two voices instead of one," he says with the sort of deviousness that's rooted in care and consideration, but still means to bully someone by outnumbering them. Although trying to convince Sunjata of anything would come best from her lips, unless he's anything like the unruly sort of children that prefer to heed strangers over the parents they've inadvertently manipulated, so maybe Iskra could be stranger enough to leave a dent still.

While he's sure there's truth to her words, a skeptical brow lifts in quiet challenge. "I dunno, Torchline seems like it would have been easy enough." A tropical paradise even when wild, he imagines, but perhaps that's his bias blinding him to the reality of wild being wild no matter what. "Halo's no picnic either, but at least it has trees." Which is mostly what he meant by empty. Not tress, specifically, despite his career. Just something that changes up the landscape enough so you don't wander lost in a heat daze. Ultimately though he shrugs, "but, you're right." On both accounts, that everywhere else had probably been difficult to settle as well, and hard pass.

"Doesn't it always?" he thinks with a shake of his head, marveling at how there's always something. She'd know this well though already, even without Ludo's influence. "Just don't end up covered by any of it," he warns with likely little need. "Otherwise I'd have to give you a bath outside with the hose like whenever Goose goes after a skunk." He grimaces at the very thought.

As they settle properly into sculpting, or the beginning stages anyway, he peeks over his arm still reaching out to caress his column of ice and watches her for a moment. The determination is clear on her face, expression firm with the same stubborn angle towards success he'd always adored about her. Even for the foe of tackling new skills, she meets it with full tilt, and with the sort of insistence that makes the world cow to her more often than not. Tucking his smile, and his attention back behind his sleeve, he returns to shaping his ice a bit further.

Dimly aware of a flare of heat beside him, he glances over to catch the tail end of her 'sculpture'. A surprised shape fits into place before it breaks out into a barking laugh at the name she passes off for it. "Very modern," he commends, attempting to bite down on the grin that threatens to sweep his features away entirely. "Look, what you really made was an icicle." He points up towards the top of the column that survived some of the heat.

"Slow and steady for this sort of task," he says more helpfully now, which even as it leaves his mouth he realizes is maybe not a fine pairing for her. "We could do this one together? I was going to make a luxere head."

I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

“I like your train of thought,” Melita winked and applauded for his devious measures – or at least the mere notion of being able to coerce and irritate her uncle long enough for him to move ahead with repairs. Still, she worried in the back of her mind – that he wasn’t going to pursue it. That he’d rather meander and stumble and fall apart at the drain than try to clamber his way back up again.

Though perhaps she’d have to backtrack at his challenging brow, scoffing and snorting. “Eh, volcanoes and monsoons though. The desert’s just always fucking hot, and then there’s the landsharks. What’s she gonna do about those?” There could probably be regional quests to make up for the temperature gauging and harsh monsters lingering below, but that was a lot to do at once, and Colt would have to pick and choose her way through it initially. She couldn’t imagine how harsh it would be for the first few seasons, combatting everything from elements to creatures.

She leveled her glance at him at the shit comment – huffing, giving the slightest edge of her seditious nose rising into the air. “I could be like Goose and just roll all over the house.” Taking a beat, as if truly considering the ridiculous image, she persisted. “And your workshop.” Shit and glitter.

The “sculpting”, however, ended up being far more difficult than she’d realized. Melita waited for the abrupt laughter, leaning into it rather than being annoyed, and stared down at her makeshift puddle as if it was something to be proud of. When her stare went back to the original icicle, she squinted, making a pun of this one too. “Better freeze the moment,” but then she sighed at his notions of slow and steady, because that’d never really been her forte under any ramifications. “Okay, okay, show me again. I’ll pay attention this time. You're very distracting.” While it was difficult to follow someone else’s lead, she could manage, if it was him. Probably.

to be the sun

MELITA

ISKRA

I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized

"Didn't you say you fought a landshark?" He feels like it's come up, but then at this point he wouldn't be surprised to discover she's bared her teeth at most all of Caido's creatures, especially its most fearsome. Every region has its landsharks too, he'd reason, but the underground nature of those does make them less desirable in his opinion. "Maybe she plans to turn them into a wagon team," he grins, the thought absurd and perfect for it. Halo uses so many luxere and dog sleds, but a corded off set of fins lurching underground and sailing over the dunes sounds exciting. Unreasonable, but then the world belongs to the gods and who knows what they might muster up.

The weight of her stare would be something he could feel if he didn't already have his vision locked to it. Her amber gaze pierces into his, and the horribly grotesque image of her, shit-covered and lolling around his house, is both fear-inspiring and hilarious. The former, because he absolutely wouldn't put it past her, and the latter because, obviously. "I'd move out immediately, condemn the whole place. Guess I'd have to crash with you from then on," he laughs, but he tosses out the option like he doesn't even register it. That if it came to it, moving in with her would be the next sensible thing over getting a new house, or just cleaning his shitty one.

With the sculpting though, her CSI level puns have started to stack up enough that at the next one he just groans, seemingly wounded by the continuation. "If you're trying to score points just off name alone, you still have stiff competition." It's a regular fixture to the carved displays, and it just might win popular favor if not that with the judges.

One brow lifts as she accuses him of the puddle, in so many words. "I'm distracting?" he scoffs, one mittened hand pointing at his chest as if there's another one here at fault and he needs to be sure they have the same meaning. "I didn't do anything!" he snorts. Shaking his head and her silly blame away he approaches her to go over it once more, this time together. "Okay, so have an idea of the image you're carving out before you begin," he instructs, positioned behind her and lifting her hands into line with his, ala Ghost and the pottery scene. "It's already in the ice, you see, and you're just freeing it by carving away the set portions, like so." Flame curls near the cup of his palm as together, he sweeps their hands down the side of the icicle, heat shimmering the ice into something with motion.

I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

“Mhm. And a bone monster out there.” The latter had been more disastrous, but not without the normal perils within the former. And while Melita might’ve been prepared, that didn’t mean any newcomer to the region would be. Wrinkling her nose at the prospects, her features only altered back to their usual wicked amusements at the image he created – cackling and sending a few nearby ningo flying at the sound. “Now there’s a thought. It’d be very impressive. Maybe she could even start a landshark farm,” snapping her fingers together as if in a notion of ‘write that down’.

Her smile turned impish at the moment her shitty plan had been unleashed – more so because she knew it was stupid and simply looking, hoping, for a reaction. The one she received had her inwardly wondering over the possibilities – of him simply living with her - but they’d yet to conquer an entire week together. Taking one moment at a time, she took a deep breath and tilted her head in rapt fondness, batting her eyelashes. “Oh, you’d still associate with me?” Laughing, she strived to maneuver around the next icicle column, leaving her pool behind and facing the music of having to actually concentrate and focus.

Which was difficult on her best days, and he wasn’t helping with the snort and approach from behind her. “Of course you are,” she flitted in return, like it was the most obvious thing, glancing back at him from the corner of her eyes, watching, waiting. Once he’d lifted her hands she didn’t even bother hiding the involuntary shudder, huffing a little at the thought of mental images – because quite frankly she only had several in mind at present. “Already in the ice,” she repeated, as if that might help the situation and add to her abilities. “Gonna set somethin' fuckin’ free,” she grumbled before following his lead in flames amongst palms. Her eyes narrowed when something actually came to life, more than a pool, but the notions of said luxere head – at least, some angle where it could’ve been antlers.

to be the sun

MELITA

ISKRA

I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized

The snicker of his response comes out between the pockets of his answering grin. "It'd take more than some shit to get rid of me." Though it's a joke, something that's snowballed into an absurd image and hypothetical, it's utterly true too. He holds the look of her as he says it, bright gaze unwavering as it gleams past snow and impossibility. The notion of just giving her up to the plight is one he could never consider, not even for pretend.

Wound close for educational purposes only and not because he's drawn to her proximity, each inhale pulls in a bit of her sweet smell. Something reminiscent of honey, salted by the sea and her frustrations, but rich with something more. Despite the layers, where some contact is born as his hand moves with hers, it's more than fire magic warming him now. "Just like that," he encourages, voice kept low with the distance so little between them, laughter brushing itself into her hair at her biting remarks for what'll be released.

Her next few passes don't convert the ice back into complete liquid, but instead preserve the frost crystals, slipping away portions in controlled amounts to start to give an idea among the frosty surface. "That's it!" Delighted to see the success, however minor. "Now just do that like 500 more times with breaks in between to keep the ice cold and you'll have a section of an ice sculpture!" The reality of carving is the slow and steady process, and how mistakes can't be undone, only built around. "We could also try with knives and axes. Might chip away at it faster, then use the fire for polish and detail." He shrugs, because while he whittles, it's with wood and pocket knife at home, less so these grand designs of ice.

I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

It was on very rare occasions that Melita was speechless – but the statement, and the unwavering gaze settling on her – made her eyes widen, soul go still. The conversation itself had been silly, surface level jabs and banter and taunts, but the underlying factions were much deeper, and she suddenly fought very hard at blinking away the threat of salt and tears unfurling from her eyes. Because really, no one had said that to her, and even then, hardly any stayed. “I’ll hold you to that,” she sniffed in response, wiping away at her nose with a watery laugh, leaving the notions of shitty threats in the air and the parallel lines they were running, letting the responses to settle where they might. His had landed squarely in her chest and nestled tightly in her heart.

His voice presses up against her with the rest of him, and quite frankly, ice sculptures become the least of her concern. But she’d see it through, mostly out of stubbornness and then she figured she’d have her way sooner or later – though, again, the man was very distracting. It took every ounce of her being to stay in that position without turning around and forgoing the whole thing. Taking another deep breath, she slid into his delight, reaffirming the notions with a wry smile, as if she’d done something awe-inspiring when it had really been just a moment to learn what control was.

That next blow came though, and she gasped, guffawing and snapping, head swinging around to face him. “Five hundred times?!” Ain’t nobody got time for that. Hopeful he was joking, features staring back at his, desperate to find the amusements, she blew a raspberry. “Be out here all day.” Eyes narrowing, she speculated, glare reserved for this column of ice and the way it now stood between what she craved. “I have knives,” which shouldn’t come as a surprise. She bent down and retrieved one from under her pant legs, and immediately turned to hack at an edge.

to be the sun

MELITA

ISKRA

I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized

The movement of emotion across her face is like cloud cover shifting on a clear day. Nothing so bold as a storm cloud gathering, just the subtle flicker of shade where there'd been sun, and then it's out shining again. It's a quiet movement, and it softens everything, even him. His smile doesn't go so taut, though it remains, more than happy to have the challenge laid at his feet. "I'd hope so."

The ice survives another day, but her patience seemingly less so. Nearly emulating Emily Rose, Mel's head turns so quick it almost knocks into him, and his answer is an immediate, deep laugh alongside a mild step back. "Would that be so bad?" he wondered, of the staying outside all day. He certainly is content in this moment, the line of her still so close at hand, making it especially preferable.

It's entirely unsurprising that she's come packing. After nearly being stabbed at the masquerade, he just always assumes she's got heat on her. "Perfect, so now you ju—" She begins hacking away like it's her true calling, and for a moment all he can do is stand and watch the display of craftsmanship. "Uh, yeah, just like that. Although careful or you might lob the antlers off." Which, might earn them points for originality.

I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free

to be lit up from within

vein by vein

“Nooooo,” she started at first, as if she wasn’t quite certain where the mind was racing off to and eventually she’d catch up when she got there. “I just figured there’d be other things to do too.” Maybe she’d been incorrect, and he did want to spend all day carving ice. Given his occupation, perhaps this was the sort of thing he found relaxing. What had begun as a whim could’ve been wholly distracting; but perhaps she wasn’t fixated on the same lure. A myriad of ideas floated and flickered through her mind, and she was a restless, humming thing, hellbent on keeping pace with fractions of seconds.

Another inquiry nearly left her, but she kept it lodged behind her teeth and tongue for another minute more, not wanting to ruin or decimate anything by the offer nearly dangling there. Her actions were hasty and not measured; the dagger cut a neat little slice that she hadn’t intended on, and for a moment it looked a little lopsided, until she did the same to the other portions and it’d even out on the end. “You just need to see the vision,” she granted, knife waving around in the air by her hands, before descending again and pretending she wasn’t making something out of her antics.

to be the sun

MELITA

ISKRA

I always feel alone, inside my mind
How do I love my scars when I'm traumatized

Her answer is as substantial as cotton candy. Immediate suspicion narrows his gaze to her, trying to lift off the unsaid things from all the wrinkles of her coats as she sets back to carving away with wild abandon. He'd feel it a mistake to grant her free reign of any hobby that involves knives, except those were her knives, so she could find a way to make anything her hobby in that manner. The grin tugging at his mouth ruins any chance of genuine concern about the sight. "We don't have to stay here for 500 passes," he offers with the most mild shrug.

He leans slightly to try and inspect the increasingly abstract shape she's carving into existence, one mittened hand braced against the side of the ice column beside her. The thing has antlers still, technically, though one appears significantly more optimistic than the other. "Mm. I can kind of see it now actually," he admits, laughter still roughening the edges of the words. "Looks like a luxere that lost a fight." Another careful chip of ice scatters at her feet, and his gaze flicks briefly from the sculpture to her instead. The restless energy humming through her hasn't escaped him; he can feel it in the way she moves, quick and bright and already halfway to the next thought before this one finishes forming.

"Fuck it," he declares suddenly, sending up a sudden rush of heat towards the punching bag of ice. "Let's go do other things." All of the things, really, were an option with her at his side.

I've been trying to find something
that can set my soul free