[SE] the door to any grace is very little, very ordinary

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

Melita let out a long, long sigh as she crouched down to pick up another bottle, remainders and reminders of LongNight’s bonfire and dolphin escapades, which seemed like lifetimes ago now. Of course, it wasn’t so much the notion of grabbing at the empty refuse, so much as the culmination of events spiraling around her lately. “So, I did talk to Safrin. If it weren’t for Ronin, I’d probably be cursed,” she offered haphazardly to Flora, talking with her hands, mind already conjuring a gift basket full of alcohol for the White Knight and some other goodies tucked within. “But she said Ludo’s probably in the jungle. I’ll send another letter out to all the leaders again, but I wanted to tell you first.”

Dusting her palms together, she narrowed her eyes, glancing over the horizon and the sea, tucking a shudder from the cooler breeze into her garments, trying to remember everything else. “Something about the DreamWalker too. Do you remember anything about that?” It’d been years ago, and those involved gone or slain.

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Flora reaches for a bottle at nearly the same moment Melita does, fingers closing around its salt-fogged neck before she straightens and tosses it onto the plastic sled dragging behind her through the sand. It lands among the others with a hollow clatter, jostling the collection Spice has been loosely contributing to whenever the little dragon happens to notice something shiny beneath the driftwood. Glancing toward Mel, Flora’s brows rise before her expression folds into a comical wince, one shoulder creeping toward her ear.

"Yeaaaah, you’ve gotta be... uh, tactful when you’re talking to her." The word comes carefully, like there are several sharper and considerably less diplomatic alternatives pressing against the back of Flora’s teeth. She lets them stay there, nudging the sled forward with her heel instead before Melita’s next piece of information catches properly. "The jungle?" she repeats, head tilting. Still, the fact that Melita has come to her first warms something beneath Flora’s ribs, and her expression softens into a quick, genuine smile. She nods, humming a quiet, thanks," under her breath before bending to retrieve another bottle from where it has settled crookedly in the sand.

The question about the DreamWalker stops her halfway upright. Flora remains there with one hand braced against her thigh, closing one eye as though cutting her available vision in half might somehow leave more room for remembering. "Uhhh, I remember Hadama saying something about it?" Her lips purse while she searches backward through years of conversations, rumours, and crises that had all seemed terribly important until the next one arrived. "This god thing they all killed in the jungle?"

Her brows lift as the memory finally finds her, dawning bright enough to pull her fully upright. "Oh! Actually, I totally have its antlers in my dining room." Flora gives a small shrug, as though keeping the remains of a dead jungle god beside the table is only marginally stranger than one of Mateo's vases of deadly flowers. "I bought them from the Merchant’s Guild and always meant to do something with them."

Melita

Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down

Fangorn hustled ahead, snagging at other garbage and cramming it into his mouth when Melita wasn’t looking. Sila hooted for Spice, perhaps to play amongst the cooler air and not amidst driftwood. At Flora’s advice though, Melita let out a long breath through puffed cheeks, as anyone who’d ever met her would know that tact wasn’t one of her characteristics. “I noticed…after I put my foot in my mouth a couple times.” And when Ronin was busy trying to diminish the flames she’d started. “I always avoided her because of my uncle, so,” letting that notion amble around, she picked at another bottle, this one defined by jagged edges and broken bits, placing it with considerable more care than previous intervals. 

At the question, she nodded, nose wrinkling, wondering if they’d been in the midst of it and simply hadn’t noticed. “Yeah. I think it has something to do with all that weird dream shit we had. Maybe the thing in the dream was the DreamWalker. Or another variant.” Given that it’d supposedly been slain. She wouldn’t be surprised if things came rising from the dead though; plenty of others, herself and Flora included, had done so with Ronin’s influence. “I don’t think anyone else involved with it is around anymore though,” so the questions would die and fade, unless Hadama had given her explicit information surrounding the thing.

She perked up at Flora’s addition though, eyes widening and hands pausing long enough for her to take in the full pledge of information. “Oh! Safrin had mentioned that too. Said they might be useful if we wanted to go digging through nightmares.” That it’d been décor in Flora’s house all along made her laugh though, shaking her head at important artifacts just rendered around a home. “I think after I talk to Mort again, maybe I’ll do just that.” Depending, perhaps, on what the Big God advised, or…the usual Melita flair of bounding in with boldness and determination, but not much else.

to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Spice glances up at Sila’s call, bottle forgotten so completely that it rolls back into the shallow groove she’d been worrying into the sand. With an eager chirrup, she springs into the air and wings toward the other dragon, leaving Flora to watch her go with an amused little shake of her head before turning back to Melita.

Flora chuckles at the admission, her grin widening as she lifts one shoulder in a loose shrug. "I always kind of treat Safrin like a cat." There’s affection in the comparison rather than disrespect, and Flora’s smile turns knowingly crooked as she reaches for the sled’s handle again. "You know, they’re always in control, and even when they’re being cute and nice, the claws can still come out." Her aqua eyes brighten as she glances sidelong at Melita. "And when they do, it’s only sometimes your fault."

She nudges the sled onward until another bottle catches the light, then bends to pluck it from the sand while Melita explains what Safrin had said about the antlers. "Oooh." Flora laughs as she straightens, tossing the bottle onto the pile with a rattle. "And here I’ve just been using them for ambience." Her grin turns sheepish beneath the ridiculousness of having apparently decorated her dining room with a potentially useful piece of nightmare-hunting equipment. "They glow," she adds, by way of explaination.

"Okay, cool. Well, I’ll go see Safrin about it and find out what she can make of them, then." The thought settles easily enough into place, though her nose wrinkles as soon as she considers Melita deliberately digging around inside nightmares. There are some things boldness and a weapon can solve beautifully, but dreams have always seemed far less obliging about where one is meant to stab them.

"It’s a shame Remi isn’t Ludo’s demigod anymore." Flora’s gaze drifts briefly toward the sea as she tries to remember the exact boundaries of what her dad can and can’t do these days, which is never particularly straightforward where demigods are concerned. "Dreams used to be his thing." She shrugs, fingers tightening around the sled’s rope as she begins pulling it forward again. "I don’t think he can do it anymore, although he and Kai used that dreamsand from the desert and apparently had a wild time."

A low-hanging tree nearby is heavy with strange fruit, its branches sagging beneath the weight of several Molten Pineapples clustered together. Their spiked skins glow faintly, heat shimmering in the air around them as they cling stubbornly to the limbs.

Now and again, one shifts, its stem cracking with a soft, ominous sound before dropping free. It hits the ground with a dull thud, splitting slightly as warmth seeps outward, scorching the earth beneath it. The others remain where they are, swaying gently, their glow pulsing as if in response.

The tree creaks quietly under the combined weight and heat, leaves curling at the edges. Whether more will fall or the cluster will remain intact is uncertain, but the warning is clear enough for those paying attention.

---

Molten Pineapples Areas Found: Torchline — Common These pineapples have adapted to Torchline's environment, developing a protective layer that withstands extreme temperatures. When harvested, their juicy, heat-resistant flesh is a favourite treat among the locals. Challenge Rating: Easy HP: 11 | To Hit: 2 | Dmg: 9 Movement: None SPECIAL SKILLS Culinary Favourite: prized for its flavour and resilience; Extended Freshness: resists spoilage longer than most fruit

TRAITS Heat-Resistant Flesh: remains fresh and juicy even in extreme temperatures; Tough Exterior: protective rind shields fruit from damage; Tropical Growth: thrives in Torchline’s warm, coastal climate ACTIONS Eating the fruit delivers a burst of sweet, tropical flavour with a faint warmth; the heat-resistant qualities make it refreshing even when eaten under direct sun, and overindulgence may cause mild stomach upset due to its richness.