under bright lights

REMI

the alchemist

What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold

The message from Vai is brief, but that’s never been the problem. The problem is usually what follows. She writes that it’s a promise owed, and that it has to be tonight. That Flora needs to be on the boardwalk, that Remi must bring her the letter and ask her to dress nicely, and finally, that he needs to open the door.

Evening spills slowly into Torchline, the heat of the day bleeding into something gentler, but not gone. The boardwalk sighs with the weight of footsteps and laughter, the shouts of vendors growing fewer as the sun begins its slow descent behind the water.

Remi stands just beyond the edge of the foot traffic, hands buried in his pockets, curls already damp from the salt in the air. With a sigh he reaches deep into himself for the magic that will unlock the door to Mort's realm. The air splits like silk drawn taut. The scent of lilies and quiet fills his lungs, and the door begins to open, not with creaking hinges but with certainty. He expects Enzo, or Seraphina perhaps, instead, what steps through is tall and blonde.

Remi’s brows draw low before he even sees the face. And when he does—when it resolves into the pale, poised smugness of Neron Launceleyn, no older than when he last saw him, no less irritating for it, his mouth tightens into a frown before he can help himself.

"Wh-" He begins, before biting it back; his trust in the witch far exceeding his skepticism as to why Neron fucking Launceleyn was getting a free pass for the night.

So with a low breath, Remi steps aside, the edges of the door still glowing behind him, open long enough for this particular ghost to pass through. His arms fold loosely across his chest, not so much in challenge as in bracing.

---

Remi is using

Magic: Gone but not forgotten | 3x a year can bring back a dead PC (with permission) for one thread.
Type: Light | Rank: Mastered | Cost: Action

to bring back Neron !

And what good are hearts
if you bury them all alone?

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene

The last thing Neron remembers of the world is how it had yawned white and hot before him, his sensors burning clean through, the fluid in his veins combusting from the heat of the Sparkbird's ire. He remembers being puzzled, above all else, quietly uncertain of his own ending after years of dancing with death and managing to take the lead. 

But he had died, and until tonight that had been the full-stop, stark and final, at the end of his story.

Thank the gods for epilogues.

Every nerve feels charged with electricity as he steps through the door, such that he's almost convinced he's reliving his last moments alive but with the addition of pain, only realising belatedly that, no, this is just what it's like to be able to feel again. Inhaling the sea air as if able to taste it on his tongue, ultimately it's that old Launceleyn composure that keeps him from falling to his knees in his overwhelm. 

Instead he exits the doorway and, realising he must be in Torchline of all places, unceremoniously tosses his coat - dark, wool, expensive, so care would be appreciated, Remi - at the waiting demigod. There's no quiet gratitude, no gushing thanks - merely a quiet expectation in the wake of his entrance. 

He does glance around for his date, though, quietly fixing the cuff of his black shirt as if his fingertips aren't almost crackling with sensation.

Neron

flora

Vai’s letter doesn’t make sense at first, not in the way most things do, where Flora can tilt her head and squint and figure it out with enough charm or tenacity. This one is frustratingly vague, deceptively light, like a joke that never lands and yet somehow demands you laugh anyway.

She must’ve read it a dozen times by now, thumb dragging along the creased fold with the kind of nervousness she’d normally scoff at in someone else. But the worst part, the part she keeps trying to brush off with dramatic groans and sarcastic eye-rolls, is that she remembers. She remembers the party, the wine, the lanterns swaying with the ocean breeze, and the way she’d laughed—light and careless, for once—and asked her Nonna if there wasn't someone in Mort's halls for her. One who hadn't seen the last few seasons of her life play out like a soap opera.

Surely the latest episodes of her life hadn't aired in Mort's realm yet—the ones in which she was deliriously happy with Kaisel—leaving the witch only to watch sad reruns. Or maybe she had seen everything, and didn't approve?

The possibility haunts her more than it should.

It’s Niki who saves her from spiralling, pulling dress after dress from her closet like some long-suffering stylist on a deadline. She vetoes anything too fancy on principle, refuses outright to wear anything with sequins or glitter, and finally, with a sigh that borders on defeat, settles on a sweater dress the colour of cream stirred into coffee. Soft and clingy in all the right places, it manages to look effortless while still giving her curves a little love. Her boots are tall and heeled, adding just enough bite to the sweetness of the rest.

She leaves her curls down, brushing them out until they fall like spun gold around her shoulders, and keeps her jewellery subtle; just a few rings, a pair of earrings, nothing that screams date night. Because this isn’t a date, but she can't just leave some poor (literal) soul wandering around?

Still, as she stands near the edge of the boardwalk, the sun slowly dripping honey over the water, she can’t help but wonder if she’s supposed to be holding a rose, or maybe a single lily, or a scroll with some kind of dramatic code phrase that lets her mystery man know she’s the one. It would help, honestly. Because right now, she’s just...standing.

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene

With his coat evidently taken care of and the rest of the evening - alive, feeling, breathing, tasting - waiting to unfold before him, Neron wastes little time in spying the woman he'd been instructed to wine and dine by the witch who still terrifies him a bit, not that he'd ever admit it. Leaving Remi to do whatever the fuck he's going to do while the Launceleyn is busy, Neron steps away to approach Flora, steel blue eyes drinking in the almost-familiar shape of her.

Almost, of course, because they'd only actually met twice, and Flora of course has grown and bloomed in the time since he'd last been in her presence. 

Standing a few feet behind her, dressed in his customary black but with the breeze tousling his fair hair, he quietly clears his throat and raises an eyebrow, hoping to catch her attention. "Flora?"

His smile is tentative, as if he's hiding a secret or keeping back a quiet laugh. "Your grandmother says hello. She said you could use some cheering up?"

Neron

flora

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind her sends a ripple of anticipation along her spine, and Flora spins on instinct, already smoothing a hand over her hip as though that might somehow prepare her for whoever it is. Colour flushes hot and fast across her cheeks as her breath catches in a way that makes absolutely no sense at all, not when the man standing there has been dead for five years.

Her jaw drops before she can stop it, eyes wide and bright as they rake across him, and for one single, disorienting second all she can think is he looks good. Not in the abstract, respectful way one might say it about someone’s father’s friend or their mum’s coworker, but in a way that makes her stomach twist and her thoughts scatter like spilled petals on the wind. His hair is a little tousled, salt-kissed at the edges, and the black of his shirt only sharpens the sharpness of him—cheekbones and posture and that dry little smile that has her suddenly speechless.

It takes effort to blink past the surprise, her lashes fluttering just long enough to buy herself time before her mouth catches up. "H—hey," she laughs. "I was not expecting you," she admits with a nervous laugh, nose wrinkling as she offers a half-step closer, caught somewhere between amusement and awkward remembered affection.

Her smile softens, not quite sad but touched with something older than it should be, a little more worn at the edges than she means to show. "I was really sad when I heard. About the Sparkbird. About you." A pause, gentler now, and then her voice drops just slightly, sincere despite the colour still high in her cheeks. "I always bring a lantern for you, to the Festival of Lights." She shrugs lightly, like it isn’t a strange thing to say to a man she’s only met twice and who has somehow become myth and memory in equal measure if only because her 17-year-old heart had kept him that way.

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene

"I rather believe that was the point," Neron says with a quiet laugh. "Though that suggests you were expecting someone else. Should I go?" The mischief in his blue eyes hasn't changed since they last saw one another, and it likely never will, and though he makes as if to step away again, as Flora draws closer, of course he drops the act. He moves to meet her, in fact, his expression softening into something rather more solemn as she speaks, almost inevitably, about his death.

"I was sorry too," he says dryly. "I'd kidded myself that I was going to make it out of that fight. More fool me." The lanterns, though - that's a small spark of something good in the wake of the 10/10 bad that dying had been. "I know," Neron says smoothly. "You were the only one who did until this year. A kindness I never expected, but I'm grateful to have had."

Glancing fleetingly over his shoulder to where he'd used Remi as a coat-rack, Neron noses down the boardwalk as if to suggest that they go for a stroll, perhaps. "I won't say I don't appreciate the magical voodoo that's brought me back here, but given that the man responsible for the scar on my face is back there, shall we walk and talk?"

Neron

flora

"No!" The word escapes on a laugh before he even finishes his question, her hand rising instinctively as if to reach out and stop him should he actually attempt to leave. Her voice folds quickly into something lighter, more teasing, but still sincere as she meets the familiar gleam in his blue eyes with the steady tilt of her own. "I'm glad it's you."

It is probably better that it’s Neron actually; easier somehow, simpler. There’s less pressure this way, less risk of the night unravelling into something complicated or awkward. With Neron, it feels like catching up with someone from a chapter long ago, one that ended far too soon and now whose epilogue would have the chance to be read. And maybe Vai thoiught so too, given Neron said he was here for some cheering up. Maybe the witch had seen Kaisel’s absence and thought she just needed some company, rather than Neron's presence hinting at her nonna's disapproval.

Her smile shifts subtly as the talk turns to lanterns; brows lifting, she casts him a curious look, her voice brightening with something nosier now. "Wait—someone else lit one this year?" she asks, the question edged with playful incredulity. "Who?"

She barely finishes the question before Neron glances over his shoulder, and without needing to be told, her eyes follow the motion, curiosity narrowing into suspicion. Remi stands just far enough from the conversation to preserve the illusion of privacy, but the stiffness in his posture and the way his arms are most definitely crossed tell her everything she needs to know.

The sight draws a quiet hum from the back of her throat, amused and unbothered, the kind of sound that says and what of it?. With the faintest flick of her curls over one shoulder, she turns away from her father as if dismissing him entirely from the evening’s narrative, a subtle flare of defiance lingering in the swing of her stride as she begins walking beside Neron.

She’s still carrying that amused confidence when she glances up at him again, until her eyes catch the mark running along his face, that sharp silver line disrupting the otherwise clean edges of his features. "What happened?"

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene

"Well, that's a relief," Neron says with a vulpine smile. "If I had been brought back from the dead just to be instantly rejected, I'd have considered it something of a cruel joke - if not a very belated one." He'd have expected that sort of thing within six months of his death, rather than over five years later. Speaking of their being here, though, he straightens up suddenly, as if remembering himself. 

"Where are my manners?" He chastises himself, offering Flora a bow that's all practiced, casual ease; a movement made by someone who has done it enough for it to be instinct. "You look beautiful this evening," he tells her. "Thank you for agreeing to come and meet me." 

Straightening up, Flora's inherent nosiness has fresh, wicked amusement alighting in Neron's face, and as they begin to walk together, he offers her his arm that they might chat and conspire to their heart's content. "Maea," he says, unsure of the history between the two women, but it had absolutely been a surprise for the Launceleyn, and he doesn't try to hide it in the slightest. 

Wrinkling his nose as Flora glances towards the aforementioned scar, if Neron could have angled his face away so it wasn't visible to her, he might have. "A hawk's talons," he says stiffly. "A very familiar looking hawk it was, too." AKA yes Remi, I know it was you.

Neron

flora

Flora smiles up at him, soft and amused. "My Nonna isn’t the type to play those kinds of games," she says, her tone edged with warmth and something a little more knowing. "If she wanted to punish you, she’d do it herself, and I promise it wouldn’t be subtle." Her brows rise meaningfully, every inch of her expression speaking from lived experience. Vai had never been one for cryptic cruelty when a straightforward hex would do.

Neron's bow catches her entirely off guard. It shouldn’t affect her—she’s with Kaisel, and very happily so—but still, there’s something undeniably charming in the way he moves, in the way the compliment lands so smoothly. The flutter of surprise in her stomach isn’t desire, not really, it’s memory. Of a different version of herself, of the way it felt to be looked at like that, by someone polished and distant and entirely unexpected. Her lashes dip low as she tries to rein in the smile tugging at her mouth, but it still curves despite her best efforts. "You look as handsome as ever," she says, the words light but true, her tone smooth with appreciation rather than suggestion.

Sliding her arm through his as they begin to walk, Flora feels the warmth of him against the inside of her wrist, and is just beginning to settle into the rhythm of their steps when he speaks again. "Shut up," she breathes, the words half-gasped as she slows instinctively, her head turning sharply to read his expression. "Maea?" She stares at him for a heartbeat longer, the disbelief plain across her features, before she pulls a face and narrows her eyes with deliberate suspicion. "Were you two...friends?" she asks, but her expression makes it clear that friends is probably not the word she’s actually wondering about.

Flora's eyes flick toward the slant of his scar again, and her brows lift with unmistakable recognition. "Uh huh," she says, dragging the syllable out slowly."You mean a suspiciously pale hawk?" The urge to apologise blooms before she can stop it, and while she knows it’s absurd—he’s clearly healed and also dead—it takes real effort to swallow it back. Instead, she wrinkles her nose again. "How did you know him?"

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene

"Oh, I certainly got that impression," Neron assures Flora of the nonna in question, and he doesn't try to hide the respect for the witch that had been spooked into him rather than given freely. "Here's hoping my conduct this evening doesn't displease her. I have never considered that I might be able to die twice, but... well. Best not tempt fate, no?"

He's quite happily strolling down the boardwalk - and taking in any sight, smell or sound that catches his senses, truth be told - when Flora slows considerably, the change in her expression dramatic enough to have a laugh bubbling up in Neron's throat. "We were not unfriendly," he says, political as you like. "But then hardly any of us were back then, given the us against the world thing that was going on. If that look in your eye is asking something specific, though, then no. We were never like that either."

Chuckling now, whether about the absurdity of it or simply because it's just been so long since he properly laughed, Neron urges them to keep walking. "Quite," he agrees of the suspiciously pale nature of the hawk that had marked him. As for how he knows Remi, though, Neron lets out a low whistle.

"Let's see," he says. "I was an Ascended/Abandoned hybrid who ruled Halo for quite a considerable length of time before the war really began to ramp up. Remi was a demigod of Ludo on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, who had enough ties to some Ascended to continue being conspiciously present, even when conflict was on our doorstep. Need I say more?" Because there's more to tell, truth be told, but Neron doesn't care to spend the evening talking about Remi Taliesin. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asks instead, voice lowering.

Neron

flora

The sound of his laughter catches her off guard, and for a flicker of a moment she wonders if she’s wildly misread the situation and he and Maea had been married or or something equally intense, but as he goes on, clarifying with that same polished nonchalance that’s always made him impossible to pin down, she exhales slowly, relief arriving before she fully understands why it’s there.

As he begins to lay out the pieces of his past, she narrows her eyes, not out of suspicion but from a kind of focused curiosity. "I didn’t know you were the Warden of Halo until after you'd died," she says, her voice touched with a note of exaggerated betrayal as she nudges him back with her elbow, the motion light but not without pointed meaning. "You let me think you just owned a bar," she accuses, the memory of that long-ago visit to the Kraai catching faintly at the edges of her smile.

But then his words deepen, the edges of the story sharpening with the weight of old wars and complicated loyalties, and her expression shifts with them. The amusement fades gently from her features, not in retreat but in understanding, and she draws in a breath that stays caught behind her ribs for just a moment too long before slipping out again in the shape of a sigh. Her head shakes softly, she certainly does not need him to say more.

The suggestion of a secret draws her attention like a spark in the dark, and her gaze snaps to his with renewed brightness, the corner of her mouth curling upward even before she speaks. "Please do," she purrs.

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene

"Well at the time I did just run a bar," Neron points out. "And given that I was disgracefully ousted from my position, put in jail and then later released... it wasn't the sort of thing I felt painted me in the best light for an introduction." He scrunches his nose; reputation matters much less now that he's dead, which explains his loose lips on the matter, but it still isn't the shiniest chapter of his past. 

So he's happy to close the entire book for now, and as Flora leans in like his co-conspirator, Neron's smile curls crooked and eager across his lips. "This is not just the first time in years that I find myself back among the living," he says, "it's also the first time in damn near a decade where I can smell the salt in the air, and feel how warm you are next to me. I haven't breathed like this in so long I was truly worried I'd forgotten how."

Biting the inside of his cheek (with teeth no longer possessing an Ascended's fangs, he might add) to keep his smile from running away with itself, he lets out a purposeful, grounding sigh. "I am a little overwhelmed," he confesses, "and I was wondering if you would make my night by agreeing to go for a drink with me? If I leave here without tasting some good wine, I'll insist I be allowed back to see you for another visit."

Neron

flora

Her laugh spills out before she can temper it, bright and unbothered by the admission, as if the idea of imprisonment is just another wild plot twist in the novel of Neron Launceleyn’s life. Whatever sting the memory still holds for him, it doesn’t seem to cling in her presence, and she nudges him gently with her elbow, warmth blooming in her tone. "Well, for what it’s worth, you were part of the reason I took over Torchline’s bar after the war," she says, casting him a sidelong look as if daring him to be surprised. "You made being a bartender seem very cool."

She raises her brows at his next words, not quite following at first, her head tilting as if waiting for the meaning to unfurl properly. But then it hits—slow at first, and then all at once—and her red lips part around a soft little O of realisation, her eyes sweeping over him again with a different sort of awareness. "Oh, right," she breathes. "Because you were an Ascended."

Her gaze moves over him like a painter retracing familiar lines as if she might somehow see the spark of metal or the hint of a fang. Whatever she’s looking for, it doesn’t seem to matter as much as the way he speaks, the way that confession stirs something tender at the edges of her expression, though she doesn’t let it linger for long. Instead, her mouth curves again, this time into a slow smile laced with mischief as she lets out a quiet, adoring chuckle under her breath. "Don’t threaten me with a good time," she murmurs, voice low and teasing.

"My old bar’s under construction at the moment...But if it’s wine you’re after, I know the cutest little boutique bar just up the beach if you're okay with a short walk?"

you don't know that you're living til' you're carrying scars
you're either falling in love or falling apart

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

liars and lovers combine tonight, we're gonna make a scene

"I was not," Neron croons, wicked delight flaring in his eyes to hear that his legacy had continued with another bar long after he'd died. The request is there, ready on his lips - show me what I inspired - but then of course she mentions that it's under construction, whatever that might mean, and he inclines his head and lets go of that train of thought. "Perhaps if I'm ever lucky enough to come back again, I'll get a chance to visit," he says instead. 

Nodding his confirmation - an Ascended for longer than he'd ever been a mere Abandoned in Caido, truthfully - as Flora's eyes flick over him, Neron doesn't hide the way he takes her in as well. He'd be lying if he'd said he'd remembered her instantly when Vai had located him (why, yes, that's part of the reason the witch inspires such terror in him, thank you for asking), but after a bit of coaxing of his memory, he recalls the vibrant teenager who had come for a drink shortly before the war - before his death.

And he can still see glimmers of her there now, but Flora has become so much more since their last meeting; there's confidence in her every word and every move, and she strolls through Torchline as though she owns it - which isn't far off, from what he's learned about her before coming here. "I never threaten a good time," he informs her with a sly smile, "I guarantee it."

The boutique bar sounds like everything he's ever wanted, and as she offers it, he's already picking up his pace as if he's the one leading them, flashing her a charming smile for her trouble. "A short sunset walk to a bar with a gorgeous lady on my arm? Sounds terrible, I couldn't possibly," he purrs.

Neron