join the club

// now we are hanging out in the backyard //

It’s another day, one that brings an easy Flowerbirth breeze, parting clouds that had caused the dewy rain from the night before. Breaking some sunshine through the flowers outside of the House of Midnight, cascading on the lingering drops of water like tiny little shards of crystals. It isn’t too cold, but it isn’t too warm either, and rather than being inside as he wished he was, the Flood’s outside – fixing a particular beam by the front steps that’s seen some better days.

Between the weather and the winter of Meadowreach, it had water logged this particular beam and fractured it once it had dried out. So, he’s removed it, leaving the pile to the side so that it might be broken up later to become kindling of some kind, before working to nail in the new beam – stronger this time, hoping that perhaps it would last a little bit longer than the previous beam had.

It wasn’t terribly hard work, but between the sun breaks and the cool morning, he was glad for the navy sleeveless shirt that matches the lines of the wing tattoos that run down his back – pausing only occasionally as those that stop to visit the House of Midnight bid their greetings or departures.

the flood

// looking at a new point of view //

marked me like a bloodstain

The morning stroll through King's End had been just the kind of quiet Flora thought she needed—enough silence to let her mind wander, and just enough fresh air to help chase away the echoes of Jack’s absence that still clung stubbornly to her like salt on skin. Approaching the House of Midnight, Flora pauses in the dappled sunlight filtering through the newly-bloomed branches overhead, her gaze drawn to the figure of Sunjata bent in quiet concentration over the porch repairs.

She freezes mid-step, eyes widening slightly as a strange shiver ripples down her spine. For just a split second, Flora sees something more than just the Flood's familiar face and tattooed skin. Shadows ripple around him, an eerie echo of darkness, tendrils of the void curling softly from his silhouette, flickering as if caught on a breeze that isn't there—an image unsettling enough to stop her breath.

Flora blinks rapidly, the vision dissipating like morning mist, leaving only the Flood and the rhythmic tap-tap of his hammer against wood. She forces a quick smile back onto her face, smoothing a hand through her hair as she approaches, determinedly ignoring the lingering unease prickling beneath her skin.

"Morning," Flora calls lightly, her voice infused with a casual brightness that’s only a little forced. "You know, I always thought you just posed dramatically around here—I had no idea you actually did real work." There's a teasing sparkle to her gaze as she stops just at the bottom of the steps, glancing from the repaired beam back up to Sunjata with raised eyebrows, carefully masking the faint flicker of concern that lingers behind her smile.

// now we are hanging out in the backyard //

Unaware for the moment that he has a visitor, Sunjata continues his idle work on the beam, hammering the nails into place before testing it and ensuring that it was stable. It’s very much the dad vibe of yeah that’s not going anywhere before Sunjata leans back to survey his work, hearing the familiar lilt of a voice. Turning toward her (and admittedly expecting a particularly icy Captain), the smile on his face begins as genuine, before it becomes masked as the flickers of eyes in too many places — in her forehead, the hollows of her cheeks, blinking out from her neck where it even looks like for a moment that her skin is melting.

Taking a sharp inhale and realizing that, perhaps, she had gone through with the plan she’d mentioned before, before the visions stills and he suddenly finds some relief in the visual realization that she’s no longer infected. “Flora.” He greets, stepping away from the beam to embrace her (partially so he doesn’t have to look at her face and also the relief that holy shit she’s okay.)

Huffing a laugh as he pulls away, a broad tattooed shoulder shrugs. “I am more than just a pretty face, y’know.” He teases her in return. Glancing back to the work he’d been doing for the moment, he opts to leave everything there for later when he glances back to Flora and feels the sinking pit in his stomach flop with the visions again before they dissipate. “You hungry or thirsty? We can go grab something and get out of the cold?” There’s a certain gleam of protectiveness in the steel grey of his gaze, waiting patiently for her to make her decision.

the flood

// looking at a new point of view //

marked me like a bloodstain

Flora chuckles softly, shaking her head even as she steps gratefully into the Flood's embrace, taking comfort from the familiar warmth. When she leans back to meet his gaze again, the unsettling glimpses of warped void shadows flicker and ripple unsettlingly across his features, making her scrunch her nose playfully, even if the expression doesn’t entirely hide her discomfort.

"Honestly, right now you're not even a pretty face," she teases lightly, though there's a brittle edge to her humour as she pointedly looks away from the unsettling distortions lingering over his skin. Flora gives herself a slight shake, exhaling sharply to dispel the lingering shadows from her mind before managing a small, determined smile.

"But a drink would be amazing," she agrees eagerly, looping her arm through his to steer them toward the warmth inside, clearly eager to leave behind the chill—and the ghosts of their shared infection—that cling to them both.

// now we are hanging out in the backyard //

He can see her discomfort, and it reflects in his own face even if he’s gotten used to it over the months since becoming clear of the purple infection. “Yeah.. I gotta admit it’s the same for me.” Seeing the flashes in her face, Sunjata pulls away to shift his gaze, keeping them connected as the promise of warmth and drinks await them in the brothel. “It’s pretty shitty, huh?” It wasn’t anything he’d wish for his family to have to deal with, the fact that Hotaru and Flora have to deal with it pang a certain sadness in his chest.

At least he can try and make it a little better for her as they step into the House of Midnight, warmth greeting them with the indulgent atmosphere. Guiding them down the familiar hall toward the bar, finding them a comfortable place by the fire to remain warm but private enough everyone else wouldn’t have ears over their conversation. “You want something warm?” He asks, avoiding looking at her face to look at her hand as they part before his steel gaze flits back toward the bar, getting his bartender's attention to come over.

the flood

// looking at a new point of view //

marked me like a bloodstain

Flora settles into her seat by the fire, curling her legs beneath her as though she might make herself smaller, less vulnerable in the cozy glow of the House of Midnight. Her initial smile, summoned in response to Sunjata’s gentle concern, fades as the warmth around them sinks in, gradually peeling back the layers she’d carefully wrapped herself in to get through the day.

She nods softly at the suggestion of something warm, hands clasped loosely in her lap as she watches the flames lick steadily upwards, reflections flickering dimly in her aqua gaze. "Yeah, something warm sounds great," she murmurs quietly, the playful edge from earlier now replaced by something heavier—weariness, sorrow, a quiet hurt that lingers just beneath her carefully maintained surface.

The silence stretches gently for a moment, punctuated only by the distant murmur of voices from other corners of the House, and the soft crackle of the fire. Finally, Flora exhales, shoulders sagging beneath an invisible weight. "You probably heard my name on Vox’s broadcast," she begins softly, glancing up at Sunjata from beneath lowered lashes, as if worried about seeing judgement or disappointment reflected in his distorted, void-rippled features. "I… went to Stormbreak. Dahlia infected me, and I got a vial of her blood in exchange. Which was great for Torchline, but…"

Her voice trails off, catching slightly in her throat, and she gives her head a little shake, blond curls trembling slightly with the movement. "Jack didn’t exactly see it that way. He left." The words spill out raw and quiet, and Flora looks away quickly, staring resolutely into the fire as though its steady warmth might burn away the sharp ache in her chest. "So, things are kind of a mess right now."

// now we are hanging out in the backyard //

Something warm it is. The bartender arrives and Sunjata asks for hot spiced cider, a couple mugs of coffee, and a bottle that would go with either one — content to let the bartender pick. Letting him leave, his attention returns to Flora, listening as her tone changes against the backdrop of crackling flames and idle quiet chatter amongst this portion of the House of Midnight.

He sees in his depth perception as her shoulders sag and he regrets sitting so far from her. While he wasn’t her father, he was protective by extension of Hotaru, and just how much he found he cared about her well being in that somewhat fatherly role, anyway. So she speaks, and he dutifully listens, taking a moment after the explanation of everything to go and sit beside her, lifting his arm to wrap around her slim shoulders to tug her in, offering all of the comfort he could even if he couldn’t help what scent his passive magic would guide her to scenting.

“I did hear, yeah.” He says quietly, reserving judgement for only himself, because she didn’t need to see it right now when she looked like she was a fragile piece of glass to be carefully handled lest she break further. “And sometimes we can’t control how our actions are gonna affect others.” He frowns here, recalling his own numerous mistakes. “Sometimes our best intentions aren’t seen like that. I mean.. I had the best intentions in mind when I went to see Safrin about protecting Nate from the Ascended war, which is how Kamaria was born.”

Tilting his head to look down at her sadly, he blinks through the flicker of eyes and melting skin that courses across her visage before Sunjata continues. “But, I didn’t talk to anyone about it. I just did it. And not only Nate left me for a while because of it, but your mother did too. And her and I didn’t speak again for like a year after that.” Sighing a little heavily, he gives her shoulders a light squeeze. “And all I could say was that I did it for them because I thought it was the best choice, but I couldn’t control how they took it. Or all the time it took them to understand it on their own.” Even if it didn’t really fully click. “But that doesn’t make it any less hard, as I’m sure you’re finding out. It’s shitty, and I’m sorry you’ve gotta deal with it too.” The drinks arrive at the table and he releases her so she can take her pick, while he collects one of the mugs of hot coffee, sweetened with sugar and a splash of milk.

the flood

// looking at a new point of view //

marked me like a bloodstain

Flora leans into the arm that wraps around her, the gesture unspooling something tightly wound inside her chest. She doesn’t say anything right away—doesn’t have to, not when the silence is warm instead of expectant. Her head tips slightly toward Sunjata’s shoulder, eyes still fixed on the fire, but softer now. Less glassy.

At the mention of Kamaria, her breath catches slightly, because that story—the real version, not the one filtered through gossip—had always felt like something too big to ask about. She hadn’t known that her mother had walked away for so long, that Nate had left too. The weight of it lands somewhere deep in her ribs, heavy with unspoken understanding. "That’s the worst part," she murmurs at last, voice quiet and careful as if afraid saying it louder might shatter something. "You do it for them. You think... if I just handle this, if I make it safer, they’ll be proud of me. They’ll feel safe. They’ll understand." Her fingers wrap around the warm mug of cider, letting it burn gently into her palms. "And then it blows up and everyone’s just... gone. Or hurt. Or both."

She turns the cup slowly in her hands, catching the faint swirl of steam. "Jack said I made Torchline into a prison. That he didn’t feel safe around me anymore. But I thought—I really thought I was making it safer. That giving up a little of myself was better than letting the Family take everything. And yeah, maybe it was dumb. But I had a plan. I had backup. I wasn’t just being reckless." And, with Jack being what he was, Flora had honestly thought he'd see that.

Lifting her eyes to him, Flora frowns faintly, struggling to hold the contradictions together inside her. "And I knew it might still go wrong. I guess I just thought... if it did, I’d be the only one who paid the price." Her voice wavers on that last part, turning inward, because that's where things really could have gone so horribly wrong. But then, that's what the revivify feather was for, wasn't it? What Ronin and Remi's abilities were for? "I didn’t think he’d leave."

There’s a beat, her throat tightening, before she sniffs and takes a small sip of her drink. Then, with a breath that’s equal parts bitter and resigned: "What did you do, when you thought Nate and mom were gone for good?"

// now we are hanging out in the backyard //

He doesn’t have the fatherly touch that her own father could provide. Not even the kind Ronin could, these days. But he does the best that he can as he relays his own experiences – not to berate or try to claim one was worse than the other, but to simply share. He gets it. He understands. And it fucking sucks.

“Both, in my experience.” An almost sad smile ghosts across his face, lopsided by the scar that bisects it as he pauses to take a sip of the coffee to warm the chill that’s crept into his bones by the Flowerbirth morning and the memories the conversation brought. He remains silent, though, cradling the warm mug as she speaks, ensuring he hears each and every portion of her heart that hurts. Gods knew he had a hard enough time explaining his feelings without them getting twisted up halfway through – he doesn’t want to give her the same treatment.

Frowning as she looks up at him and he meets dimmed blues – so far from the confident, strong woman he’d known her to be, that he’s grateful she doesn’t have an attuned bond to feel the way he hurts for her. “Yeah.” He murmurs, taking a few moments to think of what he could say to all of that when she takes a sip and asks her own question.

“I was a mess.” Sunjata says softly, able to let the soft huff of a laugh leave him because it was pure honesty. “I couldn’t be a complete mess, because I had Kamaria and I was horrified of being a father, like I’d do something wrong. But when I wasn’t taking care of her or had help in, I spent too much time at the Hanged Man and the Halenani.” It wasn’t his finest moment, but it was how he’d always coped – at least until the war. “That’s when Maeve and I got kind of close. Too close, on her side, I think. But I was grieving not one but two relationships and raising a toddler and it was fucking lonely.” He looks away from her, because the answer didn’t justify anything, but it might make sense why there’d been those strange rumors going around Torchline about Edmund’s true lineage.

But that was neither here nor there. “And Nate.. Before he left, he told me I’d made him a stranger in his own home. That he couldn’t trust me anymore until at least the war was over.. and...” Then he’d died. And each and every digression that occurred before then was simply empty, a box that’s been crushed a few too many times to stand up fully on its own so its left in the dusty cupboards of his memories where he doesn’t have to look at it for too long lest it crumble under the weight of his gaze.

“Anyway, he did come back eventually. And while he was gone when I had my moments of clarity, I uh.. put together the mushiest thing for him. Trinkets from when we met and a few of our dates, all kept in a box under the bed for if he ever did come back.” He laughs a little at the memory, clearing his throat and following it up with a sip of the coffee. “It took seasons for him to feel comfortable enough to be around me again. Seasons after that for us to kinda work out what I did, but I think the worry was still there, especially each time I saw Safrin.”

Flashing her a softer, almost sorrowful frown, he sets the mug down and winds his arm back around her shoulder. “Your mother and I weren’t on speaking terms until after the war. I told her about Nate and she told me about Enzo. And we went our separate ways for… a long time. Years. I didn't think it was recoverable, but I had to do a lot of learning how to communicate. Dunno if you've noticed but I'm pretty fucking bad at it.” Giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze, he knows deep down that it was unlikely to be the problem for her and Jack given that he does also know the secret of the Ark's Captain.

"Jack might come around eventually.. If I had to guess he's probably hurting and still upset since it's so fresh.. Do you want me to reach out to him?" He asks softly, his steel gaze focusing on the panes of her face and the way her youth seems to shine through - more so with her grief shining through.

the flood

// looking at a new point of view //

marked me like a bloodstain

The warmth of Sunjata’s arm returns around her shoulders, but Flora doesn’t immediately lean into it this time. Instead, she stares down into the cider cradled between her palms, watching the way the light dances along the rim like it might hold some kind of answer. But it doesn’t; it never does.

By the time he’s finished speaking, there’s a pressure building behind her eyes, a tightness in her throat that she swallows against with sharp determination. She listens—truly listens—as Sunjata lays out all the broken pieces of his past, the jagged timeline that spans betrayal and silence, children and grief and slow, hard-won forgiveness.

And for once, Flora doesn’t have anything clever to say. No flippant remark. No dry retort. Just quiet, aching silence. She hadn’t known all of that. Not really. Not the shape of it, not the years spent apart or the box under the bed or how long it had taken to unbury a thing like trust. The version of events she’d pieced together over the years was a mosaic of gossip, glances, and things unsaid—and hearing the real story now makes her feel like she’s been trying to build a boat with driftwood and string.

Her thumb skims the rim of her mug, tracing a slow circle as she finally exhales. "You had time," she says softly. Not accusatory—just fact. "Time to fix it. Time to... leave breadcrumbs. Reminders." Her lips twitch, but it’s a poor attempt at a smile. "All Jack and I ever had was one date. One date I had to trade him for." Her eyes flick up, but the expression on her face is raw and laced with bitter self-awareness. "You kept a box. I don’t even have a second mug on the Ark." That realization stings more than it should.

"And the truth is," she adds, quieter now, "even if I did leave things behind... he wouldn’t look. He’s not that kind of person." Jack doesn’t linger, wasn't sentimental about things. He didn't pick through memories. When he was done with something, he'd close the door and never open it again. Flora knows that. She’s always known that. She just hadn’t expected to ever be the one at the door.

Sunjata’s offer makes her heart seize in her chest, but she manages to laugh, though the sound is thin and doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "Can you imagine?" she says, finally glancing up at him with a look that’s more tired than teasing. "He’d throw himself overboard before he let anyone talk to him about his feelings." She shakes her head, curls brushing her cheek as her gaze turns up toward the domed ceiling above them, as if maybe the stars Safrin scattered across it will offer her some kind of direction. But they don't. They just shine—distant, beautiful, and far too high to reach.

And gods, doesn’t that just feel like everything right now.

// now we are hanging out in the backyard //

“It helps we were married at the time.” Sunjata murmurs – a relationship over years of building, only to have it crumble with the blunder he was prone to make often. But he listens, because in comparison, for her it hadn’t been that long it seems like – not too privy to her private life. But to hear that she had to trade for the date, well, that’s an interesting turn of events. That he had a box and Jack had no semblance of a reminder of her on the Ark makes sense to some degree, given the Captain’s penchant for not wanting to be attached to things. He knew that much.

But his offer remains, even as her brittle laugh paints the air and the tired glow around her face that makes her seem as if she hasn’t slept in weeks. “Guess it’s a good thing I can swim and fly, and he’s got water magic, huh?” If she’s too tired to tease, he’ll offer it in place of her wittiness. But it doesn’t answer the lingering question, nor her pain, and he gives her shoulders a soft squeeze before he leans in to give her an admittedly very side dad hug.

“It’s probably going to take time. And.. a lot of it. Your mother and I finally got our shit together last year and we stopped talking before the war.” He knows the answer isn’t the one she wants to hear, but its his answer all the same. And if there was anyone to relate to her, well, she’s picked the right dad to talk to (in his humble, selfish opinion). “You had an impossible choice, right? And now you have to suffer for it on two fronts. Not just the way you’re affected when the void infection’s gone but.. With Jack being gone. And that’s hard.” Trust me, I’ve been there. “Doesn’t make what you did any less important. And if you’re proud of it, then still be proud of it. You pulled it off. Better than the rest of us. I just got fuckin’ battered around on Starfall to plant a lily.” His nose wrinkles and he shakes his head a little before his crooked smile twists a little warmly toward her.

the flood

// looking at a new point of view //

marked me like a bloodstain

Flora breathes out softly, leaning into Sunjata’s side hug, a familiar comfort that still feels strangely fragile in its gentleness. Her gaze fixes blankly on the flickering hearth, the flames dancing in reflections on her jewellery, painting her skin in shifting patterns of warmth and shadow. Her voice, when she speaks, is quiet—barely more than a whisper, as though if she keeps it soft enough, maybe it won't hurt so much. "You know, right before everything... fell apart," Flora begins slowly, fingers tightening faintly around her mug, knuckles pale against the warmth. "I told Jack I wanted to marry him."

She pauses, feeling the weight of that statement settle heavily between them, before quickly adding with a shaky breath: "Not like, right away, obviously—but someday. I wanted him to know that... he was it for me. No more games, no more trying to prove anything. Just... us." Her lips twitch into a brittle smile, and her laugh is a quiet, self-deprecating thing. "Guess my timing’s about as good as yours, huh?"

Flora shakes her head faintly, blond curls shimmering in the dim glow of the room. "You're right, though. About the impossible choice thing." She sighs softly, leaning her head lightly against his shoulder. "And I am proud, mostly," Flora admits quietly, "But it doesn't really change how much it hurts. And maybe that sounds selfish or petty or whatever, but—" she exhales roughly, unable to hide the vulnerable crack in her voice. "I guess I always thought that when you loved someone like this, you'd just...work it out." She lifts one shoulder in a helpless shrug; Jack clearly hadn't felt the same. Had literally said as much when he'd told her that the amount of love between them didn't matter.

"Also, planting a lily is hardly nothing. You can’t downplay your own heroics to me." She says fondly, a genuine spark of warmth finally filtering through the sadness. "Trust me—I learned from the best." And, speaking of, Flora sits up slightly, arching a brow in the Flood's direction. "Are you and mom ever going to actually get married?" A small, almost rueful smile finally curves her lips as she gives Sunjata a gentle nudge.

// now we are hanging out in the backyard //

Hearing the softness of her voice, Sunjata glances toward her before he’s looking toward the flame in the hearth. His head tilts slightly, enough that the dangle earring set behind the hEARs brushes against the top of his shoulder as she offers her admission. And fuck, it is a heavy weight, one that he’s also glad she doesn’t have the attuned bond for to feel his apprehension with the idea of it. Not because he didn’t know Jack, because he did to an extent, but because she was so young.

And he remembers his whole idea of marriage – though it probably differs, given the backwards and shitty tradition Korofi often had for weddings. So he’d promised he wouldn’t get married and partake in the rituals they had. And here he was… Heading toward wedding number three. “Yeah, sounds like.” The humorless laugh huffs out of his chest as he spots her brittle smile. “Is he… The kinda guy to get married?” He asks, without saying the obvious of I can’t see him ever getting married, regardless of time.

As for the rest of it, her head presses against his broad shoulder and his arm squeezes her lightly as he shakes his head. “When it came to Ru and Nate and I.. it wasn’t so much about how much we loved each other. It was more about how shitty the issue was.” His nose wrinkles as he glances toward her with a shrug of the shoulder she isn’t leaning against. “We knew from.. Seren.. How Safrin could be, so I promised your mom when her and Nate and I all got together that there wouldn’t be kids unless it was with her.” Nate couldn’t have kids anyway, so it was the best that they could do at that time, if their lives had been a linear line. “So when I fucked that up, it destroyed a part of her. And it’s still very much a rule now that we’re back together.” He hums with the soft snort.

But then he’s recollecting his starfall jaunt and the lilies, feeling the spark of warmth in her tone as he rolls his eyes playfully and lets a warm chuckle escape him. “Yeah, eventually. We’re still trying to figure out how to navigate everything from the infection and the last thing we wanna do is have this big event they could try to walk into when we’re already on their shit list.” It put a real crimp in the plans, to say the least. “But you’re gonna be the first to know, kid, don’t you worry.” His accent tumbles out a little thicker as he nudges her back with a snort.

the flood

// looking at a new point of view //

marked me like a bloodstain

Flora shakes her head slowly, curls brushing her cheek with the motion. "No," she admits with a dry little laugh. "Jack doesn’t really seem like the type. He barely even says I love you. He wrote it on a piece of paper instead so I wouldn't forget." Her thumb rubs absently along the rim of her mug. "I didn’t want a wedding or anything. I just... wanted to offer him that kind of forever. Even if it only went one way." And maybe that’s what stings the most, now that she’s said it out loud. The revivify feather. The mageglass. The unspoken promise tucked into every reckless gamble she made for his sake. Always showing him, in the only ways she knew how. Her eyes drift back toward the fire, lashes low.

She falls quiet for a beat—letting the truth settle, letting it hurt—before nudging her head lightly against Sunjata’s shoulder at the sound of his voice again. What he says about Ru and Nate earns a faint, wistful smile, even if her chest squeezes at the thought of how complicated it must have been. "I didn’t know that about you three," she murmurs. "That you made that kind of promise. And...yeah, I can see how mom would have had that reaction to it." Flora knows what it’s like to build rules around your heart just to survive.

With a heavy sigh, Flora offers Sunjata a lopsided smile. "Thanks for telling me all of that. I'm sure it's not the most cheerful thing to go through." He and Hotaru might have found their way back to one another, but Nate was still gone; the life they'd all planned was salvaged as best they could, but gods it still had to hurt. "And mom is okay now? If I go see her, I won't be kidnapped again?"