carve ribs clean

bring me your suffering
the rattle roar of broken bones

Far be it from Mel to not be a tad bit juvenile and proud of her accomplishments, even if it was just plucking some of the dumbest birds to ever exist from the sky. “Well, maybe I didn’t,” she hummed in response instead, laughing as he handed over the fluffy corpses. She snagged them at the legs, dangling them from her gloves hands, beginning to swing them back and forth as they walked and looped around the blackened sand. Maybe she could pluck some of the feathers and hide them around Iskra's house.

Not that she was done with any of the subject matter from before, but she bobbed around it now, cautiously…as much as the Honeybee could manage. “I mean it though, really,” she extended, half-serious and half-trying to gauge where the figments would land. “You should get back to yourself. Whatever that’s going to be.” Not who he’d strived to be for Ru or for the region or for wars or some shit – mending to the broken portions and then reallocating his life.

the honeybee

Bring me the riot in your heart
angry, wild, and raw

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

“Clearly.” Sunjata hums the praise from his lips alongside a cloudy laugh, handing the ningos they’d shot down over to her. Watching as they swing from her hand as they begin to walk again and he watches the rest of the dumb birds take to the sky as if just realizing the threat, he rolls his eyes with a little bit of amusement before his attention swings back to Melita.

Her comment has him internally withering, though, not wanting to put his troubles onto her – the fact he can’t sleep or feel or do anything he used to do when he felt like he needed to retreat into himself. But she keeps bringing it up, so he figures if there was any time at all, maybe now’s a good moment to try. “Honestly? I don’t know who that is.” Comes the admission, the moment that Sunjata swallows down and exhales. “I feel like everything I’ve done has been for one reason or another and when I sit down just by myself to try and figure it out I never get anywhere.” His nose wrinkles, visible from above the scarf that hides most of his mouth.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

bring me your suffering
the rattle roar of broken bones

Preening over her own qualities as destroyer of stupid birds, she had still partially meant to goad him into something. She didn’t like seeing him hollowed out, with nothing but nonchalance and indifference stapled to his form like it’d all gone astray; one blow of the wind and he’d scatter. That wasn’t who he was or ever had been – save until now, after disastrous efforts and withered hearts and other besieged vessels. “Yeah, I don’t believe that,” she offered instead of curtailing and bowing to his nonsense, blowing a raspberry and snorting at his first statement. While he might enjoy wallowing in these measures, Melita didn’t do the same – taking the first coal and cinder and ember she could and setting it aflame. “What’s there to figure out? You get your shit repaired and then you find a new goal. You lead an entire region. You’re a demigod. You have a lot going for you and certainly enough to do.”

Huffing another breath as it puffed out around them, she persisted, unbothered in the haze of bullshit, and not known for her fondness of navel-gazing. “Like, I know it's ass. The whole situation sucks. You didn’t start it, and you still had to end it. But if you sit around and wait all day long, you won’t be getting anywhere. So go talk to Frey and see what they say.”

the honeybee

Bring me the riot in your heart
angry, wild, and raw

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

So used to everyone just nodding and saying yeah or going along with him, hearing Melita challenge that thought has his gaze snapping toward her with a raise of his brow, huffing a laugh that even surprises him as it escapes him, muffled by the scarf. “Okay, but that’s not like.. For me, though. I lead a region for my citizens. I’m a demigod that works for Frey.” It’s always for someone else, even if he did enjoy the work he did.

It just wasn’t entirely for him at the end of the day.

But she does bring up a valid point and his chin dips a little as he nods. “Yeah, I will. I should’ve beforehand, probably. They’re always after me for holding onto things too tightly.” Comes the admission – the advice that he very rarely continued to follow through with, but at least his god still appreciated him in spite of his flaws.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

bring me your suffering
the rattle roar of broken bones

She rolled her eyes, scoffing at the rebuttal. “Oh? You didn’t decide to lead King’s End? Or to become Frey’s?” And while some of it was certainly in the service of others, she sincerely doubted fucking around brothels was a double-edged sword for him. It’d been a means of escape from Safrin, sure, but she couldn’t fathom that he didn’t enjoy the latter or the former. Swinging the birds again to ease the restlessness beginning to curl and conform to her senses, she snorted once more, watching the warm puff of air peel back into the cold layers. “What do you do all day for yourself then?” Melita might’ve been Ludo’s, but she also enjoyed causing bombastic scenes and blowing things up – a dual purpose to meet aspirations and ambitions for the both of them.

His last statement caused a bright laugh. “No way!” in obvious sarcasm, shaking her head. “You do like to sink rather than swim,” and she arched a brow, referring to many Flood monickers rather than the Heartless contortions, amongst his own past. “And you definitely know better by now.” Granting him another pointed look, she skipped ahead, trying to gain some momentum in the gigantic boots and multiple layers of pants. “But what’s to hold onto now? Just go out there and do it.”

the honeybee

Bring me the riot in your heart
angry, wild, and raw

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

“Technically…?” Sunjata murmurs, glancing over at his niece with a hint of amusement amongst the honesty of his answer. “I didn’t want to be living in the wilds anymore, really, so I picked King’s End. And for Frey? I wanted out of Safrin’s hold.” So technically, yes, it was for him. And it’s a realization he has as they walk and he explains it verbally, huffing a little puffy cloud to himself in a sigh when he realizes that Melita was right.

As for what he does all day for himself, that’s a question he has a poor answer for. “For myself? I.. hm.” He mutters, readjusting the mask so it doesn’t fall from his face. “I mean, I take clients at the House occasionally. And..” His brows and nose wrinkle as he comes up empty, fruitlessly shrugging his shoulders before her laugh is breaking from her laced in sarcasm.

Here, he does tug the scarf down only to petulantly stick his tongue out at her as she makes fun of his former moniker. But he tugs it back up and sighs dramatically, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, yeah.” He mutters, pinning her with a look shortly after. “I probably should’ve listened to you more.” Maybe he’d have saved himself a lot of heartache when he couldn’t see the roads in front of him himself.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

bring me your suffering
the rattle roar of broken bones

Listening to his litany of technicalities, the demigod forged a mocking yawn behind her hand, shaking her head when all he could list was himself, beyond initial notions and motions towards Frey and King’s End, was fucking. Half of her wondered if he was just going through the motions on that end too – what with the inability to feel anything at all – but she wasn’t going to put that out into the ether. At the moment, anyway. “See. You gotta find some other recreational activity. A hobby."

She laughed at the immature and juvenile response though, swinging her dead birds in his direction. “You probably should’ve.” She wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything for him – blunt, to the point, and direct, saying exactly what one needed to hear. Whether or not they listened and did anything about it was on them. “You always try – but sometimes there’s some shit that’s not worth it. You know how it’s going to be. And is there value after all the fucking baggage, damage, and angst on the way down that road?”

the honeybee

Bring me the riot in your heart
angry, wild, and raw

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

A hobby is something he feels weird about. If only because half of his hobbies had often been with those no longer here – boxing when Nate was around, the memories were sore from that still. He’d never been an artist. A bartender on occasion, a builder when needed, a handyman whenever someone needed him. But it wasn’t really ever for him, which was the whole point of this wasn’t it?

So he knocks around a couple of dark rocks while they walk, watching it skate across the icy and snowy beach, squinting into the distance. “Hmm. Am I at the point in my life I pick up grilling? You know how I cook.” He winces slightly before he glances back at her with a bit of amusement glittering in his gaze – perhaps one of the more productive conversations they’d had over everything.

He wasn’t shutting her out, he wasn’t shutting himself down either. A conversation, like what they should have had years ago. And perhaps it’s because he doesn’t have a heart, but the Heartless isn’t offended or hurt by the words that leave her, blunt as they were. “I used to think there was. That was a while ago, though. I can’t even do all the fun things I used to do to escape it so now I just have to feel it and I really.. don’t want to anymore?” It’s said as a question when it’s more of a statement, the realization sinking in that he doesn’t want to do this anymore.

And maybe he should be less apologetic about the things he does that are for him. Because who, at the end of the day, does he owe but himself?

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

bring me your suffering
the rattle roar of broken bones

The way he tried to alter it into a joke made her eyes narrow dangerously – a huff of her breath unfurling into puffs of vapor again. This was why she was insistent on something new. Not what had been tried before and failed. Not something that brought up bitter, rancorous memories. Not what culminated into nothingness. Blowing another raspberry at him and kicking another chunk of ice so it slashed across the black sand, she tilted her head back at him. “Maybe you just lack imagination. You could take up juggling. Tarot. Making up new drinks. Grilling would probably do you wonders.” Because gods knew cooking wasn’t his forte.

So when he replied he didn’t want to go down those melancholic roads any longer, she nodded, chin going upwards in her usual seditious, emboldened claims. “Okay, so don’t. You’ve done a shit ton of things for a shit ton of people and what do they give you in return? Fuck ‘em. Go do something for yourself.”

the honeybee

Bring me the riot in your heart
angry, wild, and raw

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

“Juggling?” He asks, almost offended. Paired with the previous raspberry she’d blown at him, Sunjata huffs a laugh. The air is cold but something about it makes it so the conversation and their actions of wandering along the edge of these black sands more comfortable. It makes it feel less like an interrogation and more like a real conversation, one that she’ll be happy to know he takes to heart.

He looks over at her as the rock slashes across the sands. “You’re right.” He hums with a sigh, almost playfully annoyed at how wise she is. And despite the scarf, she’d definitely notice the amusement that crinkles his eyes and beneath the scarf how his cheeks seem a little higher. “I’ll go see Frey and go wander around some hobby stuff. Maybe I’ll get really into avante garde pottery.” He suggests, bouncing his brows toward the Honeybee.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

bring me your suffering
the rattle roar of broken bones

“Yeah. Don’t think you can?” More of a challenge than anything else – but no, she couldn’t quite picture him throwing a bunch of pins around and trying to catch them in some repetitive manner. Maybe to entertain the masses in a series of jester-like contortions, but that would’ve been Sunjata in a past life, pre-heart death. It’d been more in light of it all – to find something worth laughing about rather than sinking into another morose conjecture. They’d all had enough of those for multiple lifetimes, and she’d rather inspire some amusement rather than the ancient art of wallowing.

At his next response though, she arched a brow, snorted. “I should get that printed on a shirt.” It would have big, bold letters of ‘Melita, you’re right’ and a couple of random poses of her shooting off fireworks or cannons or arrows. “Good. And yes to the pottery.” And hopefully not all of it would be dicks, but she’d expect that. “Gotta find out what else is in there,” and she gestured to him at large, “Rather than what everyone else has always depended on. Wouldn’t it be amazing if they could do something for themselves for a change too?”

the honeybee

Bring me the riot in your heart
angry, wild, and raw

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

“Yeah, no.” Sunjata laughs to the idea of juggling. He wasn’t coordinated enough for that, even if he thought he might stand a chance at catching a singular object if he’d tried to juggle it. But multiple objects? Absolutely not. And he wouldn’t bet on the ability of trying to prove her wrong. He’d fail so spectacularly.

But when she says she should get that printed on a shirt, he looks over at her and pins her with an amused look. “Okay Kaisel.” He chirps back to her, easy banter between the two of them that felt rare over the past few months. It was nice, and he latches onto this little semblance of normalcy to try and keep pinpointing his mind into the opportunities of brighter tomorrows.

As she mentions whether it would be nice if other people could do something for themselves for a change, he nods with a sigh of agreement leaving him, though the smile is still stuck on his face under the scarf as he kicks another little rock to watch it skip across the sands. “Gods, it’d be so fuckin’ nice.” He drawls.

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?

bring me your suffering
the rattle roar of broken bones

He might’ve lost his heart, but that didn’t mean Sunjata had lost everything else that was him. Maybe a little harder to see nowadays – clouded and murky and gone back into shells and vessels – but still there, just under the surface. Though any pride or thought of him being more than just Heartless or Flood or Archon went away at the mocking, and she touched one of the dead birds to her chest in the pretense of offense. “Oh, you take that back! I can come up with way better shit than his!” Then there was the threat of wacking him with said decrepit and deceased birds.

His admittance at it being ‘nice’ earned a snort, sighing, waiting for him to strive forward from something more than a mere statement. But it would take time and patience and things she didn’t quite have in spades but he might. “See. Give it some thought.”

the honeybee

Bring me the riot in your heart
angry, wild, and raw

i was raised as a scorpion
being pulled by the moon in a high tide

The scarf is the only thing that hides the grin when he lets his little blurb slip, watching her dramatic offense taken as she holds the ningo up to her chest. A low laugh leaves him, leaning over toward her. “Alright. I’ll take it back when you’ve got your own merch line.” He winks, his steel gaze brightening as the snow reflects to make them like liquid steel, dancing with humor. “Or, what if we make our own and sell it secretly?” His brows lift, smirking.

Nodding at the mention of giving it some thought, he settles into a warmth despite the cold outside surrounding them. “There. That can be my hobby.” He touts playfully, raising his brow toward her. “Maybe we can make a fun comical one of your ducks pelting my hydra shift?”

the flood

that's why i'm broken, yeah,
am i a villain or a saint?