you must burn brighter than ever
Melita had thought of it in other regards – sometimes needing to protect Flora from herself. Plans gone awry or off another path with the Family hadn’t gone unnoticed – death traps of her own devices, molding and melding herself into alien alliances only to double cross then get hunted down…all carried a particular lack of self-regard. But she’d take the answer as it was, nodding her head to seal the notion, to bear as witness, before she concentrated on tackling more of the lacquered mud.
Hearing someone happy for her was new, and she furrowed her brows at the semblance of it; maybe bothered that she didn’t quite know what to do with it. Nor with the next comment – eyes widening slightly at the descriptions. She’d been so fiercely independent much of her life, she very much doubted Iskra would want to hear of the endless minutiae of her day-to-day experiences (mostly of beating things up, starting shit, or some other self-inflicted tribulation or demigod trial). Her nose wrinkled faintly, trying to tangle it back into all these knots of what was supposed to be and how things commonly went, that she found herself blinking repeatedly and stuffing it away. It wasn’t that she didn’t care – but parts of it were overwhelming to her, that maybe she’d just need to discuss it with Iskra, rather than let it linger and fester. “Oh – well. We’ll see then.” A part of the plan too, she supposed, in communication rather than confusion. Or maybe, really, in the end, it’d be to find something that worked for them, rather than chasing down what everyone else orchestrated.
It was way easier to gossip about other family dinners; Remi speaking in a foreign language to simply talk around and about Kaisel, Ronin threatening, Flora being pissed…seemed par for the course. “I’d argue it’s just a dad thing, but given Remi and Ronin, it’s probably just a them thing.” Plus, really, what would she know about fathers, given how shitty hers had been. “They care about Flora and want to see her safe, but y’know, gotta go about it in a dramatic way,” she handwaved it with her rag flickering into the air and sending a spray of muck to the ground – pretending their theatrics couldn’t be deadly and life-threatening within half a moment. She had a fondness for both men, but she could understand how their motives might not match another’s. Her head tilted on the last statement though, wincing for all the figments she did know. “Yeah…they’ve been through a lot. Not to excuse the behavior, but, all of its understandable.”
The whole gift notions seemed to have open another rift though, and she could feel herself coiling back under the surface, suddenly very submerged into unknown territory and waters. She hadn’t been aware of ‘love languages’, she wouldn’t liken Iskra to a crow, nor was she certain where they settled into things. For another moment she found herself bewildered and stupefied, nodding incoherently. Gods, what did she even like? Had she ever looked inward? Fuck sake. “I’ve got lots to figure out, apparently,” she echoed, filling her cheeks up with air and letting it slowly exhale and funnel away.
Hearing someone happy for her was new, and she furrowed her brows at the semblance of it; maybe bothered that she didn’t quite know what to do with it. Nor with the next comment – eyes widening slightly at the descriptions. She’d been so fiercely independent much of her life, she very much doubted Iskra would want to hear of the endless minutiae of her day-to-day experiences (mostly of beating things up, starting shit, or some other self-inflicted tribulation or demigod trial). Her nose wrinkled faintly, trying to tangle it back into all these knots of what was supposed to be and how things commonly went, that she found herself blinking repeatedly and stuffing it away. It wasn’t that she didn’t care – but parts of it were overwhelming to her, that maybe she’d just need to discuss it with Iskra, rather than let it linger and fester. “Oh – well. We’ll see then.” A part of the plan too, she supposed, in communication rather than confusion. Or maybe, really, in the end, it’d be to find something that worked for them, rather than chasing down what everyone else orchestrated.
It was way easier to gossip about other family dinners; Remi speaking in a foreign language to simply talk around and about Kaisel, Ronin threatening, Flora being pissed…seemed par for the course. “I’d argue it’s just a dad thing, but given Remi and Ronin, it’s probably just a them thing.” Plus, really, what would she know about fathers, given how shitty hers had been. “They care about Flora and want to see her safe, but y’know, gotta go about it in a dramatic way,” she handwaved it with her rag flickering into the air and sending a spray of muck to the ground – pretending their theatrics couldn’t be deadly and life-threatening within half a moment. She had a fondness for both men, but she could understand how their motives might not match another’s. Her head tilted on the last statement though, wincing for all the figments she did know. “Yeah…they’ve been through a lot. Not to excuse the behavior, but, all of its understandable.”
The whole gift notions seemed to have open another rift though, and she could feel herself coiling back under the surface, suddenly very submerged into unknown territory and waters. She hadn’t been aware of ‘love languages’, she wouldn’t liken Iskra to a crow, nor was she certain where they settled into things. For another moment she found herself bewildered and stupefied, nodding incoherently. Gods, what did she even like? Had she ever looked inward? Fuck sake. “I’ve got lots to figure out, apparently,” she echoed, filling her cheeks up with air and letting it slowly exhale and funnel away.
Melita
