Blighted Bars

PHOEBE

Phoebe lay on the ground of her cell in the Ironboldt Penitentiary, staring blankly at the ceiling. Though the effects of the blight were beginning to fade, she was still clearly very ill. Her honeyed eyes near blended in to the once-whites, now stained with black like her teeth. Her blonde tresses where tangled and dirty, dried blood and blight streaked through it. The same inky mixture had dried on her lips and chin and down her throat, the front of her dress stiff and stained with it. Her emotions were still a mess, though for the time she was calm, trembling fingers stroking the scaly skin of Pim’s wings as he lay next to her, staving off chill.

But where the blight relinquished its hold of her, she felt loneliness and guilt creep in. She knew she had done horrible, terrible, unforgivable things. Things that made her stomach lurch as she remembered how pleased she had been in the moment, enacting her rage and hunger upon those around her. A choked sob cut the silence, feeling the guilt bubbling up in her – not just for what she did, but for what she yearned for now. All she wanted was to be held, to be told it would be alright, that she wasn’t a monster – or at least that she wouldn’t be when this illness passed.

Who did she have left though? Roana kept her distance because Phoebe had always wanted her to. She had actually tried to eat Remi. She had attacked Sunjata who had left her for Lusea. She had been cruel to Rexanna beyond forgiveness. Emmett was dead. Who did she have left that cared about her even the tiniest bit that might overlook her transgressions, that could acknowledge the difference between her true self and the blight monster she had become? Black tears rolled down her cheeks, nearly invisible amongst the mess already there. ”I wish you were here, Frey.” she whispered, hoarsely, fingers curling into her tattered skirt. Frey, her friend. But this was no shrine, she had no gift, that they would appear was not possible. Besides, she did not deserve their comfort in the wake of her destructive rage. Instead she would lie there alone, until someone saw fit to release her.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

While the blight begins to relinquish its hold on Phoebe, it’s only begun to sink in deeper to Sunjata. A constant battle with his thoughts, shaking hands, mood swings. But he has heard through the grapevine that people are feeling better, that those infected and inflicted are getting better, while his condition worsens. He doesn’t know what the reasoning behind it is, doesn’t know why he’s being made to suffer.

But he wants to know for sure if they are getting better — uncertain if the news will make him feel better or worse.

And of course, he knows nobody else that’s blighted aside from Phoebe. But she’s been gone, unknown to him at the time that she had been put in the prison. After some time of asking around, he found out, and made his trek there, dressed in more furs and leathers to keep the heat trapped in while his soul feels colder than it's ever been. It’s like making it out of the flood water, exhausted, drenched, and getting the Korofi winds to lash over you.

It’s too close to home for comfort.

His boots scuff along the stone floor as he makes his way toward the cells, glancing into each one for her. He looks a bit like a mess, the wounds Phoebe had given him haven’t healed, edged in black, despite the stitching Lusea had given him. He looks a mess in terms of his skin, but he’s managed to keep a semblance of his appearance with his hair and scruff of a beard. But gods does he look tired.

When he finally finds her, he leans against the wall opposite of the bars, across the hall. Dark steel eyes lingering on her. “Feel better?” A deep accented rumble, wanting to know and not wanting to know all the same.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

The sound of his voice sent a chill down her spine, suddenly realizing it was the last thing she wanted to hear. It lacked the warmth and beckoning of Frey’s, she knew it meant more suffering would soon follow, where light and life were left in the wake of her god’s embrace. But Frey was not here, Sunjata was, and the suffering he had to bring her was certainly deserved and well overdue. Slowly she turned her head, dulled gaze falling upon him. The midwife was expressionless, a shadow of her former self, still covered in the dried blood and blight from the day they had fought. It wasn’t like her cell had a tub after all.

”That depends on what you mean by better” she said hoarsely, her voice hurting from all the screaming and yelling, yet also unaccustomed to making such refined sounds in the recent weeks. ”Vi’s blessing is beginning to heal those of us who were first afflicted, yes. My mind is…not so often shadowed by the blight.” she said, glad that he had remained outside her cell. As much as she yearned to be held and touched and comforted, his arms held nothing but misery for her.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

His arms fold across his chest as he leans back, eyes lingering on her warily. She turns her head to him and he can see some clarity, can see the way she contemplated his question rather than fiendish replies, striking toward the bars in an attempt. Sunjata was no stranger to prisons, had often filled them himself before he was on the inside of it. But a prison like this in Caido was something else, especially as she tells him how she’s fairing.

And he grits his teeth slightly. “Who were first afflicted. Meaning it’ll take longer for those after?” He suggests, a small amount of a bite to his tone, shaking fingers digging into the sleeves of his jacket and furs. He sighs quietly pushing the thoughts and feelings away the best he can.

“Do you remember it?” He asks abruptly. Everything you did? Everything that happened?

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

”I would assume so.” she said quietly, still watching him, hearing the bite in his tone, seeing the strain in his jaw. But she did nothing. She did not flinch or look away. This was her fault, she had caused this, and she deserved whatever wrath he through back at her. ”But you were be better off asking someone like Amalia, the baker or Remi. I’ve not been involved in this remedy Vi and Rae have created.” She said, frowning ever so slightly. No, it was because she hadn’t been able to figure it out that the gods had to intervene.

His question is no surprise, but at first she said nothing. She merely stared. But as seconds passed her expression grew ever more mournful, and she nodded slowly. ”Yes, I remember… and I’m sorry, Jata. I…I never would have said or done those things of my own will. But that doesn’t make it alright and I understand if you cannot forgive me for it.” she said quietly, true remorse in her tone.

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

“I don’t know them.” He tells her, honestly. He met Remi briefly, before dumping a blighted Phoebe at his doorstep as a last ditch effort. He supposed that the man likely didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to deal with him. And Amalia? He has no idea who that is. Baker, sure, but who? He passes over it. Eyes still remaining on her. “I just want to know if it’ll be gone soon.” Though he knew the term soon was relative, it still did nothing to alleviate his frustration.

He doesn’t admit he has it, fearing that acknowledging the condition would spark it to somehow get worse, but the insinuation is there. As is the black edged wounds, black edged eyes. The exhaustion that weighs at him. Even more so when she tells him she does remember it, and he looks away from her finally. His arms unfold from his chest at her apology before he nears the bars. Fingers latching onto the metal, head resting against the bars. “Did you mean them?” She never denied it, she said she would’ve never said it under her own will.

Which means she’s definitely thought it, hung onto and listened to his stories of his mother. Of his sister, of his upbringing, the bits and pieces.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Phoebe shrugged a bit. She didn't think it would ever be over. Sure, the disease would pass, but she would always know what she did, and that haunting she doubted would ever fully pass. "I am sure it will take at least a season for it to be fully cured. It took awhile to spread so it will take time to heal too." she said softly.

He approached the bars and she wanted to flinch away but she didn't. Phoebe was expecting an outburst from him, yelling, cursing, reminding her of her place; how little she mattered or meant. How awful she was. How unforgivable. But he asked another question unexpectedly, and she stared at him as she contemplated. Had she meant what she said, or had it all been fabrication for the purpose of harm? "In part. In a way." she admitted at length, still holding his gaze.

"Is there something in particular you are wondering about?"

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

He listens to her explanation and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, centering, striving for that grasp on it all. “Fucks sake.” He manages to utter, a half whisper, before he approaches the bars and lets his gaze land on her while he asks his question. His fingers curl around the cold metal, trembling and twitching unannounced. He makes no comment on it, instead his focus is on her response. Because he thinks it will change everything. But it doesn’t. He comes away short handed and short sighted again.

A muscle feathers in his jaw, and he looks away at her own question, steel eyes drifting down toward the stone floor. “The part where you said you loved me, that you loved the soft hidden part of me despite the harder edges.” An accented rumble, eyes lifting abruptly to look at her as he frowns.

“Because that soft part of me would really much rather I be dead.” He doesn’t understand how that’s the part she could be drawn to, to the part of him that would much rather get it all over with before it even begins if only to avoid the harshness of reality. And he had grown to the sharp edged, merciless as the flood he had been aptly named, in order to drown it all out. And with the blight? He was absolutely drowning now. Unable to come up and catch his breath.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

She watched him reconcile with the timeframe, knowing he wouldn't like it. He liked things with immediacy, like the noble he was. A season was certainly not going to please him. Though why he cared so much was beyond her. It wasn't like he was with her any more. "Sorry." she said softly.

His question and reason gave her pause; though that was the running trend for this conversation. "Yes. I meant it. And I know." she said, watching him with a frown. "But it isn't despite the hard edges. It is in addition to. Your whole person." she said with the faintest hint of a smile. "But you don't love me. You love her. You don't want to recognize all of yourself and she doesn't either. And sometimes, loving someone means letting them find their own happiness, even if it isn't with you." she said quietly.

"But I am glad you are not dead, and I hope you continue to live. I want you to have a life Jata, a full, happy one. You've suffered enough. You don't have to keep holding on to all of the things that hurt you anymore."

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

He ignores the apology, but whether it’s him or the blight taking its hold is another story. Instead, he focuses on what she says, the truth to it all, how she had meant all of it, and he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into the well of water he’s drowning in. She tries to make it better, he knows she is, but it’s not. It’s really not. And he lifts his head from the bars to look down at her with a shake to his head, an almost half believed smile crossing his face.

A full, happy life? Doubtful. Not having to suffer anymore? Obviously not. He almost snorts as it rolls around his mind before he shakes his head. “No. Apparently I don’t.” He replies swiftly, arms returning to fold across his chest as his fingers continue to tremble. “No, because I have the blight now. And while people are getting better, mine is getting worse.” The edges are sharp to his words, and he drifts away from her slightly with another shake of his head, turning from her slightly. “I have fought for so much, does it ever end?” It’s a rumble of frustration. When will he get the chance to not have to fight any longer? ‘When you’re dead.’ He reminds himself.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Phoebe didn't look away or frown or say anything for a long moment as he admitted he had the blight. Her eyes glanced at his his hands, which apparently weren't trembling from his anger, but from his illness. "It will get better. Vi and Rae wouldn't allow it to continue." she said quietly, but with a confidence. The gods seemed to her rather all or nothing. To allow just one case of blight to go unresolved seemed like an oversight that they weren't capable of.

But his question made her look away though, staring at the ceiling once more. "A good, happy life doesn't mean one without hardship. That doesn't exist. Life is hard. But that is what makes it worth fighting for. You've overcome so much already, why give up now? When there is more opportunity ahead of you, when the woman you love is with you again, when there are people who truly care about you and not just what you can do for them..." she sighed and shook her head.

"When I miscarried, I asked Frey the same thing. And they told me that we have to work through these hardships and overcome them so we grow, and so our children do not have to face the same issues. It is just part of life, and our development as humans."

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

She tells him it will get better, but he doesn’t really believe it. No, he thinks he’s been made to suffer over and over again, to endure the hardships of his life in a constant swell while he drowns through it all. He was born into suffering, with a mother that had kept him at arms length until he won the trial at seventeen, before she fully embraced him for the first time. Because what was the point of getting attached if you were going to die anyway? No, he deserved to have everyone keep him at an arms length. Maybe at the end of this, from whatever kills him, it’ll be like Lusea — Alive and well after her throat was slit.

He finds it’s the only thing he can ask for.

So he approaches the bars again, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he stares at the stone floor, the black edges of his vision and the black edges of his wounds in stark contrast to his paler skin (no longer sunkissed and freckled). And what she says, far more clarity than anything else she had said recently, hits him. And he realizes maybe it’s always been like that, where people had simply wanted to be there for him and he just wouldn’t allow it. He doesn’t still, and it’s weighty. Lusea is the exception, and he finds himself quietly grinding his teeth, about to comment on the fact that nothing had changed, that he’d always been the type wanting to avoid it before it happened. How many sleepless nights had be spent before the worst parts of his life? The constant strife and struggles? A lot.

Her next set of words make him lift his gaze to her, as she speaks of being a role model for children and her own miscarriage. A frown finds his face and he shakes his head. “That’s great and all if you plan on having kids.” He comments quietly, biting down on his lower lip, the opposite side of the wound she had given him. “But I don’t. And I’m not exactly the role model type. You should know that.” He tells her, eyes lifting up to look at her. “You should know that if you love me, if what you claimed was true — that you loved the good and the bad.” It almost slips from his tongue. But it doesn’t, thankfully. But, he he definitely was not the type for parents to approve of looking up to. Especially because he couldn’t even find it in himself.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA

PHOEBE

Phoebe smiled a little and shook her head. Her eyes closed as a light laugh escaped her lips. ”Oh, Jata.” she said with a sigh. He was funny – such a man. ”Unless you decide to be celibate, there is always a chance you will have children, and something tells me celibacy is not your thing.” she said knowingly. He was needy and craved physical affection; it had been one of the things that had made their relationship blossom so quickly since they spoke the same love language.

Her head tilted to look at him, the small smile still on her lips. ”And more importantly, you don’t get to decide if people look up to you or not.” she said with a light shrug. Role model type or not, it wasn’t something he could control. Someone was bound to end up looking up to him for one reason or another. ”What I know is that you sell yourself short. You do yourself a disservice by not acknowledging your whole self. And that knowing you, and being with you, has made me a stronger person.” she said with a sigh, looking back up at the ceiling. ”I just wish I was enough for you. That you could have been happy with me. But that isn’t the case, is it?” she said, looking back at him. ”I am as lovable a person as you are a role model type.”

When dark creeps in and eats the light

Bury your fears on sorry night

For in the winter's darkest hours

Comes the feasting of the Vours

No one can see it, the life they stole

Your body's here but not your soul

Table Code by Sky!

they made a mockery of him once 'look at the walking tragedy' now they whisper when he passes

he's a demon, with a crown of blood

She laughs and his slate eyes slip up to her, a dark brow raised slightly. And what she says is true after all. He craved the attention, craved the closeness. Probably because of growing up the way he had — you were disposable until you weren’t, and now he has issues letting things go. His lips form a tight line and he nods. “I can at least try to prevent it.” A small defeat, but it’s there — she knows it too, knows how far he would and wouldn’t go.

Maybe he just needs some form of validation.

His eyes meet hers when she looks to him, tells him he doesn’t get to decide about being a role model and he sighs. He doesn’t want to be one, it’s why he’s mostly stayed away from children knowing what he does and who he is. He prefers it that way. He can still remember walking the streets of Korofi and the kids would recognize him, would reenact his trial in the streets for him to view. Violent, terrible. And he grits his teeth at the memory.

“I’m glad I made you stronger.” He admits. A brief sigh through his nose at it. But as she continues, his steel gaze softened slightly on her. The soft version of himself, and her, were very similar. Thought to be undeserving of anything. And he reaches up with a hand to rub at his temple before his hand settles on the bars again. “For what it’s worth, I was happy with you. You were enough.” He lets it settle quietly before he tilts his head. “It’s just that Lusea was there for it all, everything I lived through and experienced. To you they’re just stories, but she lived it too.” He tells her quietly, shaking his head.

“I would have told you everything of my past if I got over her. And now that she’s here it’s so much easier to talk about it all. I’m sorry I couldn’t do it earlier for you.” Sorry I couldn’t give you an idea of the man I was before, what I had done and became and made for myself. But it’s too late now. And he wonders quietly if she remembers the kiss, the attempt at distracting her enough to get her to stop her attack. Wonders if she’ll bring it up or it’ll be a quiet secret between them.

does it look like he's still under your control?

SUNJATA