[SE] Sew me what you know

// If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you //

They had wandered through all variety of shop stalls to gather the supplies, sneaking in cups of cocoa and warm, baked treats to stave off the chill. Only with their arms laden and bellies content, did they finally retreat back to his home, laying down the spoils of their efforts across his living room floor. Goose happily bounded into the home, running off to grab his favorite toy, a limp bit of braided rope, that he offered to Mel. Only to show though, any attempts to grab it and he'd turn his head away with a grumble, trotting off to display it to Silas and Fangorn.

"So, does Ludo always throw a masquerade party?" he asks skeptically as the bags begin to spill their contents, dark fabric cascading onto the floor. He reaches down to pick up some of the wooly darkness, stretching it out to arm's length with one 'brow raised in consideration. "Seems like fun," he admits with a bit of a grin, bunching up the fabric and stuffing it back in the bag. "You want anything?" he asks as he ducks into the kitchen, reaching for some apple cider to warm up on the stove.

She's been to his home before, and it's much the same as always. Small, just enough for him and Goose really, and minimal on its decorations and homey feel. It's more like a hut you might find out on the ice, stocked for survivial part of the year and little else. His wood carvings take up on corner of a work desk, and he does have an end table and a couch in the living room, but the amount of dog hair suggests who it's for.

ISKRA

// I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile //

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

Many likely thought Melita incapable of anything other than impulsive thoughts – mind full of naught but brazen possibilities and an alarming lack of quandaries. Fortunately or not, that was far from the truth, for while they dispersed amidst shop stalls, cocoa, and baked goods, she stewed. It could’ve been funneled as a spiral even, because as one thought meandered through, another followed, larger and bigger than before, in a vivid snowball bouncing back and forth along her skull.

Because twice they’d kissed and he’d said nothing about it afterwards. Just seemed to flee into anything else. Maybe he was pretending it didn’t happen. Maybe he hadn’t liked it. Maybe he didn’t think much of it.

So then the Honeybee had to wonder if it’d just been a mistake and to cut her losses there with anything on the subject, or pester and poke the bear. She was sorely tempted towards the latter, but the more she sulked and pondered over it, she figured it was something wrong and amiss on her end, and inevitably just shut her mouth. She'd missed all those immature years where these sorts of dilemmas and predicaments would've been a highlight; had spent it surviving instead. 

By the time it’d flickered into her head again, they were already at his house; having tugged and tossed Goose’s rope a myriad of times, stripped down to layers that were suitable to actually walking around, ensuring she still kept his stolen sweater over her fleece-lined leggings. Fangorn and Sila had made a beeline for the fire, which was where she’d inevitably curled herself up too, staring out over the materials with a huff. “Not all the time,” she answered, and if she sounded a little dim instead of bright, perhaps Iskra would account for the frustration over the current task, rather than everything else clawing into her skull. “It can be. Depends on what else we all end up doing there.” Last time had been some kind of dancing thing, she was pretty sure.

As for wanting anything, she shook her head – though she’d likely alter that formation once the cider’s smell drifted into the home. “Nah, I’m good,” plucking out the needle and thread necessary – and stifling a sigh, because she was going to have to hone concentration on this.

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me

// If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you //

Whatever he had picked up on while they walked, he'd attributed it to the usual prickles she bore, ones he didn't always feel the sting of, but that he often noticed all the same. She feeds a steady supply of fire with her anger and ire, its source ever changing, but undoubtedly bottomless. It's a fury that he has admired for its honesty and its terrible force, not unlike her own brand of nature set loose upon the world. So the notion that his fumbling with romance is what currently pops and blazes, is the last thought on his mind.

She is not though—she is nearly every thought. Especially now that she's stripped from all her windbreaking puff, leaving her much more bare than he's seen her in weeks, a reminder that he's got to adventure with her outside of Halo more often. He steals his glances through a gap over the kitchen counter, a fond smile slipping in at seeing his sweater cling to her, looking far better on her shoulders than it ever had on his.

Despite her refusal, he sets down a second mug as he stirs the cider into almost boiling while she begins to fret over needle and cloth. "What we end up doing?" he parrots back as his 'brow furrows while he pours them each a mug. "I thought there'd be mysterious dancing or some such." A terrifying thought, to be honest. He hasn't ever attended a dance, but at least in making the costume alongside her he'll be able to tell who she is among the throng of darkness and rags. Coming back from the kitchen, he sets her cider down wordlessly on a coaster that appears to just be a piece of a shaved tree limb, his own set on the space across from her, steam rising in a constant curl. He settles onto the ground with a groan, nearly immediately tackled by Goose, who does not often get to have people on the floor with him. Muttering under his breath Iskra attempts to wrestle the dog off, trying very hard not to over excite the mongrel in the process, which earns a series of excited yips. "Gods, Goose, get off you beast," he complains, shoving the husky back only for the dog to bound back in. "Mel—throw something," he begs.

ISKRA

// I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile //

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

Anger and ire were usually her first lines of defense – easier that way, to hide everything else under her veil of abhorrence and malice. Then it could devolve into violence if prolonged, another fond habit of hers. But right now none of that seemed to fit the situation, so she ended up glaring at the fabric as though it’d offended her, before looping thread through the needle, eyes narrowed in concentration as she started along a sleeve that was likely going to look lopsided as fuck.

“There was last time,” she muttered around a stitch made far too large, before she ended up unwinding it and starting again. It was going to be a long, arduous process at this rate, and if she could recall, the masquerade before had similar results in her lopsided and pathetic attempts at robes. Maybe she should’ve just reused that one. "Not sure if it's going to be the same though." And Ludo hadn't told her.

Her head tilted towards the apple cider suddenly nearby, the smell drifting into her senses. “Thanks.” Once she tackled this portion, maybe she’d use the drink as a gods damned reward. But Goose was a distraction all on his own, and for a moment the Honeybee considered leaving Iskra to be tackled and thwarted by the dog, taking a purposefully long time to decide. In the end, she whistled at the canine, while Fangorn and Sila scattered. “Oooh, c’mere Goose, I’ve got something for you!” To which she chucked one of her companions’ many treats from her pocket.

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me

// If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you //

Time already felt slow under the weight of the mismanaged dog, Iskra left to just shield his face from tongue and teeth that flashed in the excitement, unable to fully block both his mouth and his ears from the assault. It sure felt like it took longer than it should have for Mel to take any action, a suspicious look given to her as Iskra did his best to wipe drool from the edges of his ear while Goose ran after the tossed treats. That'd keep him busy for a while, sniffing over the same spot five times and licking the floor clean of any crumbs.

"Thanks," Iskra mutters to her at last, his collar like a napkin as he rubs his head at an angle against it, pinning it with his arm. He grabs for his own bolt of cloth, a dark plaid that makes the pattern almost invisible, but it's there. He stretches it out, ensuring it fits his height and width, wrapping it around him like some limp snake as he tests it. She already seems to be situated, apparently practiced at sewing, while he's gotten himself a bit wrapped up. "Uh, think you could cut this off the roll?" he nods towards his predicament, scissors in hand, but arms pinned beneath a few twists of cloth. He's loath to unroll it entirely and lose his perfect length.

ISKRA

// I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile //

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

With Goose occupied, Melita strived to roam back to the much-too-large thread points, sighing as she loosened them again and tried to mire her way back through the process with tighter lines and edges. Her mother would’ve been able to do this in no time at all – swift, keen, muscle memory based – and while the Honeybee could stab anyone with little knives and needles and swords, employing it into fabric and refining the art seemed like a lost cause. She’d be better off continuing to give herself stitches and call it good.

Turning back as Iskra had somehow managed to…pin himself under cloth, she ran her eyes over the situation. “How the fuck-,” she uttered on a lower mumble, sighing, figuring maybe she’d never get her own shit done between the dog and the man, taking her scissors and running it through the enclosing, binding textiles and materials. “How were you planning doing this on your own?” The cutting instruments went through it smoothly and proficiently, but she couldn’t promise any even-keeled portions.

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me

// If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you //

"About as poorly as this," he laughs with a mild shrug, the motion a faint lift of his shoulders above the chain of fabric still loosely wrapped around them. "Just...worse." As the fabric cuts free of its roll he works to shimmy out of it, careful not to flounder too heavily and stretch or snag any of it, until he's free once more. "Ah, thanks." Flopping the mess of it onto his lap, Iskra leans over for a sip of the cider, blowing on it before taking a small, careful drink, all the while watching her work over the rim of his mug.

He picks up his own needle and thread, doing his best to mirror her motions. Though she doesn't move with any seamstress' grace, she fares better than he, who tends to buy new clothes rather than patch them up, or wear them until the hole is the most that remains. "If it's not good enough, will we end up cursed?" he laughs a bit at the idea, but he's half serious about it, and looks over at her surreptitiously for the response. He attempts to feign indifference, as if shouting for days on end had not been awful. All his drifting attention results in the prick of the needle into his fingers, a startled yelp slipping free. "I think I preferred the ursurs," he complains, pulling a face as he shakes his hand at the pain.

ISKRA

// I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile //

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

Maybe Melita just didn’t have the patience. In many things, if she thought about it for too long. But she sighed regardless, whittling away at the seams until they looked like they’d hold long enough for the masquerade.

At his question though, she smirked, endlessly amused by the notion of it. “Maaaaybe,” she hummed, waiting to see if that would garner a reaction (his last one hadn’t even been that bad – hilarious honestly). Though she doubted the robes would be bad enough to stand out of a crowd and therefore be Ludo’s newfound target, she couldn’t say it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

At his yelp, however, she rolled her eyes, not intending to baby him through the process. “Think of it as a newfound skill or some shit.”

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me

// If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you //

Her response gives him zero relief. He stills for a moment, gaze narrowing as he attempts to ferret out if she's joking or not. She gives nothing away, not yet. He bets he can prod her into some truth though, demi-god or not, surely she could spill a secret or two? "Meeeeeellllll," he drags out her name like he's about to promise a threat for any withheld information she might have. He stares pointedly at her, needle and thread set aside in his lap for the time being. "You have to tell me," he stresses, 'brows lifting with the punctuation of it.

His finger's pain has dulled now, and as for the skill? He'd take it or leave it, but he'd do whatever it took to keep spending time with her, even if it meant stabbing tiny holes in his fingers and creating the most lopsided and absurd outfit imaginable. Even if it meant fumbling through a dance and risking another curse, though he wonders if he could run around to every Ludo shrine and butter up the god with appropriate offerings beforehand to keep himself safer than the other attendees.

ISKRA

// I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile //

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

“Do I?” She wrinkled her nose in return, unbothered by the threatening point of his tone; she’d been eclipsed and mauled by far worse. “That takes the whole mystery out of it!” Plus she didn’t know the answer, so there’d really been no worth to the proclamations. And while Melita would gossip with the best of them over the barest, minimal amount of speculation, she wouldn’t do that when it came to Ludo and any of its activities. “Just show up and I’m sure you’ll be fine. Probably.” She gave a little wink at the tail end, mainly to see if he’d squirm with the lack of knowledge, before tending back to her own melee of shit.

Holding the fabric up for a moment, she could see large, gaping portions still not accurate at all; but she could fill those in. What she really want to do was make some additional pockets, to store and steal, so she hastened towards those instead of anything beyond sleeves at this point.

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me

// If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you //

Damn her insufferable talent for keeping her cards close to her chest, able to misdirect with a poker face that's hard to pin down when it isn't swarmed with anger. "Who needs mystery!" he scoffs back, definitely more of a technical reader himself, or romance, honestly. "C'moooon, wouldn't it be more fun if we both knew?" He slides his arts and crafts entirely off his lap and onto the cushion next to him, beginning to lean forward over his knees, glittering gaze never leaving her, even when she continues to simply sew away as if she might stitch out an answer for him in the folds of the cloth.

At her final proclamation, he snorts, nearly identical to Goose for a moment. Her wink seals it, and he strikes, grabbing for her needle and thread if only to toss it away, while his other hand grabs hold of a loose pillow. He sets it towards her with light force, underestimating just what he might have sparked here, too caught up in getting the jump on her and wrenching some sort of secret from those damn lips. "Tell me!" he threats with mock seriousness through it all, as if he means to maintain this plush assault until he can break her, the well known torturer of couch cushions.

ISKRA

// I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile //

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

“How boring,” she hummed in return. “Wouldn’t you rather find out for yourself?” Sneering at him from her now pocket-laden mindset, she let her mind be fueled by the impending provocation of stealing food, rather than all his confusing steps. Threading a few more portions through the loops and holes, she figured she’d made a decent sized configuration, enough to take at least five or six cookies without anything dropping out –

The pillow whacked her right upside the head, causing her to drift to the right in shock and recoil. “I’m not telling you shit now!” She declared, rising up from her portion on the floor, all the threads and needles bound towards the ground as she snagged at the pillow. With far more force than probably necessary, because as most understood, Melita was nearly almost full of rage, she threw the cushion back towards his face in return.

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me

// If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you //

Her response only fuels his grin, because he expected nothing less. She would not simply cave beneath repeated goading, if anything she'd plant her feet firmer, more stubborn than before with every prod and poke. He'd find the point at which she'd crack though, as relentless as her if just by other means, until one of them finally gave in or until both were left too breathless to continue their stand (in which case, he'd be the loser, her giving up nothing except perhaps a bout of ire that would have gone unexplored).

He grabs at the pillow as she bounces it back, but he's too slow to fully control it before it buffets his face, causing him to be driven back a step with the force she aimed, even with the partial block. He yanks it to the side, its droop full of intent in his raised hand as he glowers mischievously back. "Oh so you wanna do this the hard way, eh?" He slowly starts to circle around to the side, a lopsided smirk curling in slow.

He feints a half step towards her then jerks to the side, throwing the pillow at her head while he dives for her waist to tackle her down.

ISKRA

// I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile //

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

Suddenly beating his ass in a pillow fight over something very stupid and mundane was all she craved. Seditious and rebellious around mostly nothing at the best of times, her sour mood contracted and contorted into some vicious little entropy, rampaging over to the couch and taking the remaining cushion, jaw clenched and teeth grinding. “Yeah, I do,” she hissed in response, letting the ire sink in and wash over her like an unsettled flame, trying to find where it could incinerate anything in its path.

He feinted, she stepped within, ducking, and blocked his intended diving tackle (she remembered that shit from the ill-fated dodgeball incidents) with the pillow itself. From there, given how he landed directly in front of her, she pummeled at him with all her might, right at his giant, irksome, irritating skull.

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me