[se] waning

Amun had been surprised to receive a note from @rexanna asking him to meet her that night at the Oasis. However, he wasn't really in a position to turn her down, though it had been sparse on details. Still, as soon as the sun had set, he'd set off.

The moon was full, though the sky was partially overcast. Still, it poked out now and then, and he stared at it as he moved through the streets, then through the trees. The Spire was silhouetted against the sky, but his eyes shied away from it. Once the trees opened up as he arrived at the Oasis proper, he stared at the reflection of the moon in the water. Though he could see easily in the dark, he didn't spot the Queen.

She was running late this time, likely because she had intended on bringing a few things to make baskets with, and subsequently lost the one part of it that she wanted to bring with. And it had taken a bit of time to find it, scouting through everything until she found out that Pittore – as much as she loved the little gremlin – had moved it into a space she hadn’t thought to check before.

But with it all in check, she darts as quickly as she can to the Oasis to meet up with Amun – to check in since Fiat Lux and Council things, to see how he’s doing and the like. As she arrives, she spots him there already, and gives him a bright smile of greeting as she carries along the bag she’s brought filled with material to make baskets. “[say]Amun, hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.[/say]” She offers by way of greeting before she steps up to him along the edge of the Oasis. “[say]I thought we could maybe make some baskets together.[/say]” A brighter smile is sent his way at that, green gaze flickering over the Ascended.

As Rexanna arrived, Amun turned to face her. [say]"That sounded awfully close to an apology. As I told Wessex, queens don't apologize."[/say] Despite the banter, the words didn't really have a cheery tone behind them. Instead, they felt a little stilted, and his eyes didn't glitter even in the moonlight.

When she mentioned she wanted to wave baskets, he stared at her. Then he waved his prosthetic. [say]”I hope you weren’t expecting me, of all people, to do actual work.”[/say] While the words were characteristic of him, there was something off about the whole exercise, something mechanical and rote, as if he was reading off a script or playing a part. However, he shrugged, before settling onto the ground.

The banter is well received, but there’s that part of her that can feel it’s almost forced. And she tries to focus on him better, nodding along in agreement. “[say]Fair enough.[/say]” She offers, trying to remain as close to normal as she can, letting the amusement linger in her face and her voice, before it fades as he considers her offer. He seems the same… But something is off as he waves the prosthetic toward her and she glimpses it.

Interesting.

“[say]You? Never. I just wanted the company.[/say]” She teases him back, a glimmer in her eye that almost says ‘come on, play back with me’ before she goes to sit along the edge of the Oasis in the hopes that he follows. But after a moment of silence while she pulls all the materials out, she considers the items in her hands briefly before casting her verdant gaze over to him. “[say]Do you want to talk about it?[/say]” She asks, whatever is wrong with him. She can listen to him, he had listened to her after all when she was blind and unable to see.

Amun let Rexanna get as close as she liked. It was no skin off his nose if she wanted to sit in his lap, even, though thankfully she didn't try. [say]"Good. Any work makes me a dull boy."[/say] Still, when she pulled out some straw, he grabbed some from her hands.

Sliding pieces of it under and in his prosthetic, he pinned them down. Then he began to try and weave them around each other with his left hand. His efforts were less than successful, but he kept at it. [say]"Talk about what? Your highly successful council elections? Well done, by the way."[/say] Again, despite some feigned cheerfulness, there was something subtly off about the words, and about the way that he kept his eyes trained on the task.

There’s a brief smile that crosses her face at the comment from Amun, head tilting slightly as she offers him some of the straw to work with, before she settles in and crosses her legs, beginning to weave the pieces and what not together. There’s a few pieces that are dyed as well, some in all colors of the rainbow and plenty to choose from should Amun wish to have a different color – setting the bag of it all between them so he could scour them if he wished.

He was an artist too, after all.

But then she asks him to talk, and he still remains flat in his response – she can’t help the glance that she gives him with a small amount of worry. “[say]Thanks… But not just that. Whatever happened during the Temple or Fiat Lux?[/say]” Her voice trails off a bit quieter there, pausing in her small patches of weaving. “[say]You’re family, you know. I’d like to help if I can.[/say]” She lets her gaze linger on him as the question hits.

Amun didn’t move to pick up a different color. Instead, he just kept working steadily with the pieces he’d first selected. They refused to stay in place, but he didn’t react, just wove them together patiently no matter how often they sprang apart.

And all that while, he didn’t look at Rexanna.

Nor did he respond to her words right away. Instead, he just smirked. This time, it had an angry rather than a mischievous edge. [say]”Am I? That's news to me.”[/say] He let out a humorless laugh.

[say]”It’s funny, you know. Because you’re the first and only one of our so-called family to actually ask to spend time with me in over a season, when it wasn't a group meeting. In fact, I can count the number of times that's happened on the fingers of one hand, which is good because it's all I got."[/say]

His eyes filled with a dark light. [say]"Not exactly the bonding types, are we?"[/say] His tone, already cruel, grew harder. [say]"Or the types to take care of our own."[/say] He snorted. [say]"Some family."[/say]

He’s quiet for a time, and she continues her small attempts at weaving the basket, but when he begins to speak – her gaze flits over to her fellow Ascended – a brother in a way, as she has called him family. A term of which he questions, and she can’t help the frown that finds her face. Regardless, she lets him vent, get it out – wondering if something else is going on with the potter rather than just this, but she doesn’t bring it up. Not yet, anyway.

“[say]Not exactly, no.[/say]” She agrees quietly, green gaze flitting back over to him. “[say]What happened?[/say]” She asks, unsure of where it’s coming from, having only heard the bits and pieces of what occurred at the Temple but none of the specifics. What had given him that idea? At least Samuel had remained with Rexanna during the blighted pumpkin, had also remained with her during LongNight when her eyesight was lost.

She can’t say the same for the rest of them, though. And she knew that as opposed to her own motherly kind of attempt for friendships and her family, a few of the others preferred a bit more hands off, throw to the wolves type of care. So what had happened to cause such a rift within Amun?

The strands continued to stubbornly refuse to weave together, so Amun switched tactics. Instead of using his prosthetic to grip, he used his real hand, and used the prosthetic to weave. This proved even worse than the original method, so he switched back. All the while, that ugly smirk lingered on his lips.

At Rexanna's question, it deepened. [say]"Again, you gotta be more specific. What happened when?"[/say] Finally he looked up, his expression a dark mockery of the fun teasing looks he used to give her and everyone else. [say]"Regardless, the answer to your question is, oh, nothing."[/say] His words came out in an almost derisive and taunting tone.

He’s being quite stubborn, and she can both understand it while still remaining confused by it, and so she pauses in her weaving to answer him – gaze lifting to meet his when he looks up, some form of dark mockery along his face at it. “[say]The Temple.[/say]” She puts it simply, puts it bluntly. “[say]Nobody told me what happened.[/say]” And they hadn’t, she’d just heard around the town what had occurred, but nothing from nobody that was indeed there.

At the mention of nothing, she simply just shrugs – content to let him find nothing else to taunt her with, unsure how to help, and she focuses her attention back on the multicolored straw within her palms as she begins to weave them together once more, flattening the pieces and creating a small ribbon of fabric with her magic to tie it down, creating another to hand it to him as a form of a brace to help hold the straw down to weave it.

As Rexanna clarified that she meant the Temple, Amun stopped moving. Stopped breathing entirely. He sat there, motionless, until she handed him the ribbon. Taking it, he tried to use it to weave the straw together, but was less than successful considering the issue wasn't with the materials.

It was with him, and his hand. His singular hand.

[say]"That Fallen Star dude went crazy and attacked the Temple, trying to bring it down."[/say] The potter's voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water lapping or the breeze in the trees. [say]"Amalia, Jigano, Samuel, Wessex and I all tried to distract or reason with him, but he wouldn't be deterred. So we fought. Amalia was knocked out right away, Jigano tried to hold him down, The Voice even attacked, but it wasn't enough."[/say] Without realizing it, he'd begun to stare at the reflection of the moon.

[say]"Wessex teleported Amalia out before returning. Then Safrin showed up, and Ronin attacked her. Then she and him both disappeared. Amalia came back, somehow, and her and Jigano tried to stop the Temple from falling while the Voice teleported me, Samuel, and Wessex out."[/say] Finally he resumed his ineffectual weaving. [say]"Jigano made it out in time. Amalia didn't."[/say]

She focuses on him while she weaves, listening as he mentions Ronin attacking the temple. Then she listens while he tells her who all was there, trying to distract and reason with Ronin – but Ronin likely had been too grief stricken to realize, to understand, to care what happened. And she frowns with that, recalling the broken look across his face as he arrived on a cloud and then walked away, while she held his daughter in her arms.

She follows his gaze to the sky, watching the moon with him and pausing in her weaving. She’d heard about Amalia, heard about the condition, and she frowns to that. But it still doesn’t explain his hand. Her head lowers as she focuses on the prosthetic, head tilting curiously toward it. “[say]I see. Is that how you lost your hand?[/say]” She asks, wondering which part of it had caused the hand to get lost among everything.

Again, Amun's hand moved steadily, trying to work the straw back into its pattern every time it sprang out of place. Despite his shortcomings, a small weave did start to appear, though he barely noticed it. Instead, his eyes watched ripples on the waters as something disturbed the surface of the Oasis.

Rexanna's question brought his gaze back to her for a brief moment. [say]”No.”[/say] Then he paused. [say]”At least not entirely.”[/say] Shrugging, he glanced down as he realized he'd run out of straw. Grabbing another handful, he went back to his patient work. The straw wasn't any more cooperative and his hand wasn't any more competent this time, but he was not deterred, or emboldened.

In fact, he barely reacted at all. He just kept at his work without stop.

She meets his gaze briefly, hearing the no that causes her dark brows to furrow together. “[say]How did it happen?[/say]” She asks finally, head tilting back down to her work, wanting to know if she can do anything to help. She doesn’t know how she can help, but she wants to do something at the very least. He’s like a brother to her, after all, despite the short amount of time that they knew each other.

She waits to listen to his story, working on her weaving a bit more until she has the base of a basket relatively well put together. Then, a thought hits her, opening up her palms once she puts the basket she’s working on down, she crafts something – a few weights to keep the edges down so they don’t spring up while he works, and her gaze flits over him briefly before she continues on her own basket.