[SE] If I hit the bottom will I break?

ISKRA

Each step towards Torchline feels heavier and heavier. It started with Ludo's request—a weight added. Then it gathered more as each other task came to an end, except the one, looming over him. It sagged inside him with the letters he wrote and sent off to Mel. It threatened to strangle him in his sleep the night before as the mass of it pressed on his chest, so he sat up instead and gripped the side of the bed to keep from falling through the floor. It seemed impossible that the skyship could even get airborne with the damn gravity of it tugging all around. When it finally landed at Torchline, it felt like it finally had become too much to bear, that he could not lift his foot to disembark. He'd have to remain onboard, trapped, and just fly straight back to Halo.

Goose licked his hand though. The pressure of it all snapped then, settling into nausea that churned around that lead block in his gut. He patted that fluffy head, and together they stepped back into Torchline. Back home for the first time in more than a decade.

He breaks into a instant sweat.

"Find her," he says softly to Goose, shouldering his pack to a different spot on his back as he glances around the port and the shops teeming there. He hadn't meant to connect with her until evening, but given his sorry state of attire, she'd offered to help him in town, which is probably for the best since lots has changed since he was a kid running wild here.

I'm losin' my grip, caught up in the current
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water

melita

and she recklessly plays with matches

The Honeybee, on the other hand, had none of the trepidations but some of the misgivings – potentially for what laid ahead. Melita wasn’t good with grief. In fact, she avoided most of it by pushing it downwards into her ribcage and fighting it off with smoke and fire and fumes; anything to get the taste of heartache and loss out of her mouth. Instead, she oriented towards goals and fragments of potentials, on not wasting the opportunities her mother and survival had given her. On amplifying every moment until she was just a portion of ignition, ready to kindle and set aflame.

Goose would luck out, as it was, she’d been drifting around the coastline, eyeballing skyboats coming in the port. She probably could’ve just picked him up herself – but maybe he’d wanted to make the journey on his own on some wild-schemed notion. The dog found her as she hummed, swinging her legs on a bench and studying passersby, plotting out lines across rooftops when the bark angled in her direction. “Hey Goose,” she murmured, greeting him with ample familiarity and hands to scratch at ears. “I brought you some ducks,” as promised, reaching into her pocket to produce one that almost certainly resembled a banshee, squeezing it so it gave an outright screech and scared several inhabitants (before they rolled their eyes).

So while Fangorn bobbled behind her and Sila rested on her shoulder, she followed the dog along towards the dock, shielding her eyes from the sun while constantly teasing the canine, seeing who could spot who first.

ISKRA

Goose slips his head along the side of Mel's leg, snorting a greeting against her as her fingers thread into the good spot along his ears, tail waving in familiar greeting. At the soft murmur of her voice he lifts his head to set his dark eyes on her, instantly perking up as she withdraws and squishes the wailing duck. Gentle, but hurried, he pulls it from her hand into his mouth and begins to obnoxiously work at it beside her as they move, delighting in the awful noise, showing it off to Fangorn every once in a while.

"Had to pick a loud one, huh?" Iskra calls out over the noise of the docks, approaching with a smile that can't even pretend to be mad when it settles on her. Goose's tail waves in response with extra glee, head bobbing up a few times with the squeaking duck on proud display. "Hey Mel," he greets, arms extending for a quick embrace.

"Alright, I need beach wear, fast or I'm gonna become a puddle."

I'm losin' my grip, caught up in the current
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water

melita

and she recklessly plays with matches

She followed the dog along, unbothered by the rampant screeching sound bombarding from the duck, Iskra’s call still managing to reverberate over the banshee shrieks. “Obviously,” she shot back, giving away none of the others she’d scampered away in her pockets for future torture. Those might have to be utilized later to lighten the mood.

While Fangorn extended his vines in an excited shimmy, probably to bother Goose, the Honeybee returned the quick embrace, head already tilting, nose wrinkling as she patted his shoulder. “Mm, true. You need a lot less clothing.” Leaving that to take however he wished, she ambled nearby on lighter strides, pointing out several shops she’d already scouted. “What’s your preference? You want some swim trunks?” She could make a rather suggestive joke about banana hammocks, but opted to keep that behind her teeth. Besides, there were some funny prints on any of the trunk editions.

The tides have shifted the sand just so to reveal an elegant statuette abandoned on the beach. It looks like it once depicted a young woman standing tall, lightning clutched in her hands, but the water has eroded much of the detail by now.

ISKRA

With everything in him tilted on a precipice of anxiety for the task at hand, he's got not space left for veiled innuendos to land, so he takes her comment for its face value and agrees. He left his jackets home, but his shirt is still thick, and he's only got pants, no shorts. Less clothing is what he desperately needs, but banana hammocks will not be the extent to which he strips down. "Probably swim trunks," he says with a cracked smile, "if I don't I'm bound to fall overboard and get wet, so if I do, then maybe I'll dodge that entirely." Although the idea of dipping into the welcoming chill of the sea doesn't sound so terrible right now.

"How about this one?" he asks, pointing to the Shore Thing! store. It's nestled between Sandy Cheeks and The Salty Stitch. "I need a tank top too," he shrugs then, wondering if maybe he should just go shirtless, but he figures its good to have a shirt on hand, just in case.

Walking up to the front of Shore Thing! he glances at the sets out front, fingers riffling over fabric and tags to find something that appeals to him. Green is his favorite color, and while the insufferable heat of her is driving him to not be picky right now, he wants to at least find something he'd consider worth spending the money on.

Goose trots ahead of Fangorn, dodging the vines, but seeming to eye an offering the shore spits up further away from them.

---

LMAO FUCK YOU SERENDIPITY

I'm losin' my grip, caught up in the current
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water

melita

and she recklessly plays with matches

With the lack of juvenile response, Melita placed that in the back of her mind – no one ever said she’d had wonderful timing – so her efforts to lighten the mood dimmed. What with upcoming necessities, it seemed to be all business anyway, and she nodded at the inclusion of several shops. “Sure.” Maybe she could coerce him into some hideous matching ensemble for laughs.

So while Fangorn and Goose occupied themselves trotting back and forth along the shore (the vampire gourd making ridiculous, intentionally scary sounding noises), the Honeybee flickered through each rack, maneuvering less than noteworthy pieces before stumbling upon a few chaotic winners.

Appearing by his side a moment later in a buzzing display of options, she hoisted them in front of his face. “Any of these?” All were his favored green, but in various states of peculiar patterns – like some with luxere rambling across an evergreen background, pink dolphins hopping through a murky lake silhouette, and her personal favorite, one evidently adorned with Ludo in various doodles.

ISKRA

He glances up from his close inspection of a navy blue shirt that read I Like It Wet with a picture of a light blue wave curling over the text innocently. Each pair she displays does have a certain appeal, but he reaches for the Ludo cartoon set with a half-contained laugh. "Why do I feel like Ludo runs a fashion line on the side, everything designed with its likeness?" Simpering, Iskra takes the swim trunks and grabs a different shirt, a yellow one that says Catch of the Day with an elegant fish arcing over the font.

He disappears into the back briefly to change and pay, and reappears with his pack on his front, old clothes being stuffed into it as he walks. He found flip-flops amid the exchange as well, and his boots clack from the pack where he tied them from their laces. He looks...pale. Extremely pale from the legs down. Shifting the pack back to his back, he stands before her for inspection approval. "Well, do you think I pass?"

I'm losin' my grip, caught up in the current
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water

melita

and she recklessly plays with matches

“I meaaaan if you really craved some Safrin ones, they’re available too.” And Frey, but it was mostly just penises. She grinned, surveying the choices with an arch to her brow, and then barely stifled laughter, as he marched off to make his purchases.

The Honeybee kept perusing in the meantime, eyeballing several sea monster depicted shirts, wondering if one of them had been specifically drawn out as Remi in kraken form, before Iskra reappeared in all his pale glory. Her eyes instantly went to the very pale legs, and she blew her cheeks outwards in a low, slow breath. “Sure,” was unconvincing, even as she gave him multiple and thorough glances. “But you’re gonna need some sunscreen,” which was typical for her too – what with the occasional ginger features – but years spent in Torchline had conditioned her to a somewhat decent and constant tan. Years in Halo had meant Iskra resembled the ivory bouts of the Tundra.

Hauling it out of her bag, she handed it over as they made their way out of the store. “Did you want anything else?” Before the inevitable, she supposed.

ISKRA

"What?" he demands as he glances down at himself, trying to find the trail her gaze snags on to lend such a response. He pinches his shirt between two fingers and pulls it away fort a second, glancing down at it before smoothing a hand across the shorts. "You can't say shit," he rounds on her instead, glancing up with a half-smile. "You were wearing every coat in Halo." At her offer, he grabs for the sunscreen, glancing back at his frost-white limbs with a grimace. "Thanks."

"Well, I was thinking we swing by to boat rentals, or just use yours?" he muttered as he applied the sunblock steadily, glancing up at her between limbs. Her ship could work, but he was thinking it might be easier to get something cheap and simple. No crazy ceremony, something to be close to the water, easy to watch the sea drink the liquor like it might pass it on to Mort's realm. "Maybe catch some dinner to kill time until dark?" It's around that time anyway, although he's not feeling a particularly strong appetite with the weight of the task sitting in his gut. Still, he's adamant about doing it at night, so he's waiting until then.

I'm losin' my grip, caught up in the current
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water

melita

and she recklessly plays with matches

She could, and in fact, would say shit. “Uh, yeah,” she snorted, as if being swallowed by at least three coats was a normal experience. “It’s fuckin’ cold.” But then her thoughts were on the next bout – of either boat rentals or her own – but the Firecracker was made for the wind, air, and sky, and she figured Iskra wouldn’t exactly appreciate her crash landing directly into the sea in order to honor his mother. “We can rent one,” she shrugged, eyes already scouting out potentials towards the end of the docks.

Of course, there was also dinner, and plentiful options to kill time. Nor should they be on empty stomachs when it came to getting shitfaced. “You got a preference?” Neither of them were very formal – and she was much more likely to make a scene in some boring, stuffy place. There were plenty of bar food areas available, as well as any kiosks, stalls, and favorites. “Oh, that place with the tortillas and stuff is still open,” from way back when, years before.

ISKRA

He glances where her eyes land on the dock, signs that say BOAT in bold display, weathered and sun-beaten, which doesn't take as much time as one might think around here to earn such a look. "No shit—that place is still here?" There's an excited edge to his question as a simmering smile rests on his face, a look that can only come from the warm and exquisite taste born upon the tortillas that come from that specific restaurant. "I kinda gave up hope of ever being able to taste anything from my childhood again," he admits gently. There's a thoughtfulness to it, as he realizes he's done it again, made sweeping assumptions about the state of something and just...given up.

"We definitely are going there," he affirms, the creep of sorrow for the poor choices that riddled his past driven back down by the promise of reclaiming this one today. First, the boat.

Leaning against one of the boat rental counters, he ends up in a back and forth haggle with the man, who's clearly spied an out of towner and is trying to wring every bit of money from his pockets as possible. "You can't fool me," Iskra insists with a finger jabbing the counter to punctuate each word. "That's a daily fishing vessel and that is not what I want." The merchant insists Iskra take the stinky boat if he's going to be so stingy with his pay, to which Iskra runs a hand through his hair in foul exasperation. "Just give me the skiff for the same price as the trawler, that's more than it's worth."

I'm losin' my grip, caught up in the current
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water

melita

and she recklessly plays with matches

The information seemed to bolster something other than melancholy out of him, so she grinned in response. Even if the presumptions were a little disheartening, she didn’t tread on it, nodding enthusiastically instead. “Yup. I’d say the cooking’s improved since then too,” as they’d needed the iron stomachs of the youth to really get through some portions. Nowadays one didn’t have to run the risk of gastrointestinal distress.

With the confirmation, her grin grew a little more wicked, and then she opted to stand off to the side while Iskra went about his renting. Though, from what she was hearing, she should’ve been right there, instead of peering off into the sea, and before long that sort of bristling and quiet platitude came over her – dangerous and uncertain and very much capable of throwing bombs everywhere – as she marched back over and poked her head around the counter.

The Honeybee certainly wasn’t Flora, nor had the Doubletake’s charms, but she had earned a reputation of chaos, demolition, and mischief. No sooner had the owner seen her did his eyes widen significantly, and even more so when she spoke up. “Hey, give him the usual rate,” or else went without saying, but she was already beginning to get into her bag – which had all the potential of armaments instilled.

ISKRA

Iskra might have worn the stubborn merchant down in time, but to say he's grateful for the way Mel sweeps in and commandeers the conversation with so few words and a look he's happy to not be on the receiving end of, well it'd be an understatement. Iskra flashes the vendor a rough smile as the man grumbles in agreement. Iskra slides over some coin in exchange for the keys, a number painted on the tag and muttered words about dropping them back in the box before morning. "A pleasure," Iskra says dryly before kicking away from the stand, hand clapping Mel's back with a laugh.

"I think he shit his pants when we saw you." Iskra could direct him to the pairs he didn't take back at the shop. "What the hell've you got in there anyway?" he glances pointedly at her bag, the threat of which seemed to be the tipping point for the agreement. "I'm guessing...ducks, bandages, and at least some knives?" She's harder than she once was, but no less sharp, just honed in a different manner. Life finds a way to wear a new shape into you, like wind among canyons.

The promise of tortillas drifts with the salt on the sea breeze, and the smell is like the world still has her in it, like he's a boy and this is home and nothing too terrible has happened yet.

I'm losin' my grip, caught up in the current
I can't swim, I'm startin' to slip
I'm runnin' out of breath, I'm scared to death
I gotta keep my head up, Up above the water