will you sink down to me?

He says, "Oh, baby girl, don't get cut on my edges.

i'm the king of everything

He had one single rose left back at the home, and with Lusea’s uncanny ability of learning how to adapt in new places, he wasn’t too worried about her whereabouts. He knows if she’s not there, he’ll see her soon, and well… There were some explanations he had to give. He obviously looks worse for wear, for having spent most of his life preferring to be clean unless he was covered with the smoke of a burning building or bloody knuckles. This was different, this was an exhausted tired paired with the wounds that only had halfway healed, and gods was he pissed about it.

Remi didn’t tell him what it meant, but he had been with Phoebe long enough to know, and he knew it wasn’t a good sign. He knows what it means, despite how much he tries to deny it. And he's drowning in the feeling, of the uncertainty, of seeing the midwife like that and knowing it could be him sometime in the future. A wild animal, caged, uncontrollable.

Perhaps it happened with the explosion? Perhaps it happened from the recent brawl (did it even move that fast?) He doesn’t know. But he’s annoyed, frustrated, and he can already hear Lusea calling him an idiot in the back of his mind.

He is an idiot.

But he had only done what he usually did, involve himself too fast and too quick, into things that didn’t matter to him in the long run. That is why he is the flood. Pushing the boundaries of where he’s supposed to be, slipping and spilling over the edges when raised. And he was certainly that.

He reaches the door to the home, slipping in and shrugging off the furs, his gunmetal gaze searching for Lusea, but he doesn’t see her at first. Instead, he makes his way to the mirror, sliding off the shirt to officially view the damage. A hand lingers by the wound to his jaw, half healed, and he grits his teeth against it as his hand trails to his neck, a small spiderwebbing of black from that particular wound.

All in all, the man knows one thing intimately well. He is fucked.

and oh, my tongue is a weapon"

SUNJATA

He says, "Oh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends.

i'm a king and you're a queen

"What the fuck happened to you?"

I've been keeping busy, figuring out how to love in this place. It's bizarre- quaint, in a way, but also full of the weirdest random crap, like magic roses and magic deer and oh yeah, literal magic. I'm good at figuring out how to live wherever I am, though, and while this is a challenge it's not impossible. I've already managed to find better clothes, some cuffs to cover my wrists, a choker for the scar on my throat, and best of all, a job.

That's right: it doesn't matter how backwards a place is, they'll always have a bar.

I miss it, though. I miss my own bar, above the boxing ring, always smelling like smoke and blood. I miss my father, crazy as he was, more fire in his little finger than in all of this place.

I miss the version of Sunny who lived there, the one who knew what he was, even if he hated it. He had something to fight, somewhere to direct the force of the flood, instead of just wallowing in it. Maybe we were under someone's heel, but it meant we dreamt of getting out.

I come in from behind him, soft enough he doesn't seem to notice, and lean against the wall. He's a mess, and not in a good way, more like brackish waters than a roaring deluge. Crossing my arms against my chest, I narrow my eyes, staring openly at the fresh wounds on his skin. "Come to the kitchen. You can explain while I clean you up."

and we will stumble through heaven"

LUSEA

He says, "Oh, baby girl, don't get cut on my edges.

i'm the king of everything

Ah, there it is. “What the fuck happened to you?” She asks in their native tongue, the beautiful sounds that he can’t help but to feel the curiosity behind. And his head lifts slightly, hand straying from the spiderwebbed wound as he steps away from the mirror to look back at her. “I was attacked trying to plant those stupid fucking roses.” He rumbles, a soft sigh leaving him as he finally focuses in on her.

She’s gotten clothes and accessories to hide the scarring, and he can’t help but to admire the entirety of her as he approaches. One hand lifts to trail her cheekbone with his thumb, before his hand falls and his steel eyes shift toward the kitchen at her command. He gives her a light nod in response, finding that the memory of this (as he sits in a chair on the kitchen table, pushing the rose toward the end of it before turning his attention back to her) seems incredibly similar to how it was in Korofi.

She had always fixed him when he’d come to her, bruised, broken, bleeding. But this time? He wasn’t so sure. If a fucking unicorn couldn’t heal him completely, he didn’t know where that left him. At least he knew his heart could heal some, able to look at her, to touch her, to hold her. He manages to settle into the chair, steel gaze lifting to follow her movements. “The blight, the sickness in people is getting worse.” He admits, gnawing on his lower lip and avoiding her gaze for a moment. “They’re like caged animals.” There’s something soft in his voice with the way he speaks on it, though he doesn’t know why.

Maybe because for the first time since arriving to Caido, he’s afraid.

and oh, my tongue is a weapon"

SUNJATA

He says, "Oh, baby girl, you know we're gonna be legends.

i'm a king and you're a queen

Oh, good, he was wounded planting flowers. Of all the things- and I can't help it, I laugh, a little mocking and a little exasperated and a lot unimpressed. "Will I have to teach you how it's done?" I tease, turning my head to nip lightly at the finger he trails across my cheek. Following him into the kitchen, I go to procure the medical supplies I've stashed away, gathering gauze and some salves and a damp cloth, familiar supplies. Thread and needle, too, because that wound will need stitches, and this won't be the first time I've sewn him up.

And whiskey, of course.

He's sitting at the table, and it reminds me so much of Korofi I have to pause and catch my breath, a flood of memories hitting me like a tide. Weeks, it was weeks ago, except it wasn't for him. The way time has bent for us is strange, as strange as anything else in this place. Sometimes I feel used to it; other times it slices me upside the cheek, a sharp knife adding more scars.

I stop in front of him, handing him the whiskey and putting down the rest of the supplies. "Wait," I caution, dabbing the cloth on the strange black wound, frowning as the weird inky shit doesn't clean up. "What the hell bit you? A bear?" A person? I've never seen a wound like this, and I've seen a lot of shit. Frowning, I hand the cloth back to him, unapologetic as I thread a needle and put the silver length into a candle's fire. "Take a shot, then bite down."

It's only when he has the cloth in his mouth and I've begun sewing his skin together that I say the next part, because I'm not sure he'll take it well- he's grown too soft, too attached to that blonde these people. "Maybe they should be caged," I mutter. "Or put down."

and we will stumble through heaven"

LUSEA

He says, "Oh, baby girl, don't get cut on my edges.

i'm the king of everything

She laughs and his brow raises, but it still manages the ghost of a smile on his face in response. “I might need a teacher.” He rumbles to her, a knowing look crossing his gaze. Korofi had been about getting hands dirty with blood and sweat, never for planting. That was a separate country’s problem. Still, the smile grows a small amount bolder, despite the pain of the muscle shifting over his cheek as she snaps at his fingers. “Careful now, I’m wounded.” A light tease with none of his storm beneath it, only confusion and perhaps a small amount of sadness.

Still, he makes his way to the chair, settling in and watching as she gathers the things she needs. That damn needle and thread, with fingers that were gentle and brutal all the same. But she brings over whiskey and his slate eyes follow it, another quirk of a smile on his lips. Gods she knew him so well. As she hands it to him, he pauses before doing anything with it. A hiss of pain and frustration slipping from him as she dabs the wound, and he knows something is wrong when it comes away with red blood, spiderwebbed with black. An oil, a darkness.

“A girl.” He tells her before he knocks back the glass and drinks about half of it before setting it on the table, sighing with a grit to his teeth as it burns and slides down his throat. He almost wishes it was a bear, it would be easier to explain. But this? There was nothing easy about this. And while he puts the cloth in his mouth to bite down onto, focusing on the churning of the alcohol in his stomach, he nearly doesn’t hear her.

And he almost misses what she says.

Steel eyes slide up to hers, as she begins to stitch the wound, something akin to home and not home, that he finds himself biting into the fabric harder with a hum of agreement. Gods how he didn’t want to do that, but… it almost seemed as though they might not have a choice. He thinks back to how rabid Phoebe had been, how nearly nothing had gotten her to calm down. The venom and spite flung his way, of his softness, of how his mother would have preferred the midwife over Lusea. He snorts as he looks up at his flame, eyes sparking with that hint of a storm, chasing away the small amount of fear that’s grown within him.

And he fumbles in his pocket for a cigarette and his matches, waiting for her to be done before he says anything else. All he can do is watch, appreciate, love while she does what she’s always done best, fixing him up after his failures and victories.

and oh, my tongue is a weapon"

SUNJATA