keep on surviving

to be made of sunshine is beautiful

to be the light and the warmth and to be loved

Melita tucked herself along one of the many chairs and tables, ensconced in between layers of people and places, eyes drifting along one of the long halls, searching for something that might not have been there at all. It was another sanctuary, another refuge, another home away from home; except the last one had been too, in so many ways, and it was currently smoldering, drawing either demons towards its fallen sanction, where they could prey, where they could stalk, or felling, squandering them into pieces, one last slaying for the guild manifested by hunters of demons and infidels.

She choked down some food while Fangorn rested in her lap, mind racing, warping, pondering what she should’ve been doing. Her existence and presence had been of little use as of late; her weapons cluttered together beside her feet, uncertain of where she could go, where she could place them, if anywhere was safe. She hadn’t slayed anything. She hadn’t done anything but kneel next to the fire, next to the hearth, and listen to Lily sing; offer her tone-deaf voice into the crowd of luxere when the world burned down around them. The wilderness had rushed away from her and left her as a shell, as a vessel, struggling to figure out where to venture, where to head, where she might have been of any use to anyone, anything, at all.

to be made of sunshine is painful

to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach

MELITA

so is there any treason in the tricky little price I pay?

i can't open up to you

There were few that he knew that walked beneath the awning of the Temple from the Guildhall. Many more he didn’t recognize too. But the one person in particular, arrives alone, red hair he couldn’t miss at all, head ducked and looking ever much the part of a refugee. And he frowns, when she walks by, and he helps to ensure others enter safely — and when all is said and done? That’s when he goes to find her.

He thinks he’s searched everywhere, until he reaches where the food has been prepared. And he spots her, alone again aside from her companion, huddled to herself, and he makes his way over to her — silver eyes worried she’s hurt, before he notices he sees nothing of worry along the girl’s face, along her clothes. Dirty, sure, but no blood.

With a sigh of relief, he sinks down across from her, eyes scanning her face before he nods to Fangorn and thinks back to a term in Korofi she should know. “Hey hommelby.” He rumbles to her, giving her a small smile. “You okay?”

me and my friends are lonely

i always figured i'd be the one to die alone

SUNJATA

to be made of sunshine is beautiful

to be the light and the warmth and to be loved

The youth hadn’t expected company, content to sink by herself for the moment, contemplate her next movement and motion in the fog, in the ashes, in the disaster. What more could she have done? Could any of them had committed? And was she always going to be like this, some poorly assembled girl, reaching for her weapons when they weren’t necessary? When she had nothing else to extend or offer? Melita had always believed in action, in response, in trying; but in the fire, in the flames, there’d been naught for her to orchestrate or utilize. It had been fight or flight, and she’d chosen flight amongst the others, striving to salvage poorly lit tones for the luxere, for the herd to safe them all amidst the shadows, the ruin, and the monsters.

Sunjata’s presence was a surprising balm, and she lifted her head at the sound of an old nickname, of the way her father had spoken to her once, the little honeybee floating along the gardens, before hell broke loose, before she had to be something dangerous and lethal. “Hi,” she offered in return, the beginnings, the inklings of a smile. “I’m all right,” she shrugged, a listless little thing in the great big hall. Her head tilted, fingers absentmindedly stroking over Fangorn’s stem, granting scratches while she mused and avoided the temptation of choking herself any further, into the pits, into the mires. The gilded set of her gaze focused on him, familiar beings, and extended her own inquiry along the entrails of LongNight’s hold. “How has the Temple been?”

to be made of sunshine is painful

to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach

MELITA

so is there any treason in the tricky little price I pay?

i can't open up to you

He surprises her a small amount, but he doesn’t comment on it as he rumbles his korofi greeting, spotting the faintest of smiles starting on her lips. At her comment that she’s okay, he breathes a bit easier – likely knowing that while Gaal isn’t around (nor that the man would care that much) that he’d much rather keep the red-headed girl under his wing. Pun entirely intended. “Good.” He offers, a light shrug along his shoulders to mimic hers, before her gaze focuses on him and he meets them, gilt meets steel.

“It’s been good… Enough?” He gives her a somewhat rogue smile, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his long legs, shifting his gaze from her to the gathering of people all throughout the makeshift dining hall. “Some monsters got into the Rathskeller and I kind of helped burn it down, so.” He rumbles with a half-smile before shaking his head. “And since then I’ve spent a lot of time drunk aside from today.” A pause, before his gaze flits back to hers and he leans forward, elbows meeting table in front of him. “What happened at the Guildhall? Did everyone make it out?”

me and my friends are lonely

i always figured i'd be the one to die alone

SUNJATA

to be made of sunshine is beautiful

to be the light and the warmth and to be loved

Good enough could have any kind of connotation, inspiring the slightest of smirks and snickers back out of the honeybee child’s rue and regret – leaning back away from the table to glance at him again. She wasn’t even remotely surprised by the chaos he’d recollected, after all the stories, after all the nuances and truth he’d shared, drunken exploits thereafter, a way to stave off something else like pain or misery, the youth could guess. Her hands still meandered along Fangorn, pressing and scratching, listening to the gourd purr in contentment, something neither of them had held in weeks. “You’ve been busy.” Fires and monsters, a similar pattern, gaze glancing downward upon her companion, then lifting again, contemplating how best to respond when she didn’t really have the answers either.

“We all made it out.” The girl shrugged, but her mind was still a reeling mess, a conflagration just the same, irritated, irked, and annoyed at herself for any number of reasons. “The fire started in the back. There really wasn’t anything we could do. We thought there were monsters in the guild too.” Considering the amount of bodies they’d held within, Roana (which still gave her a bit of a chill; one of her first mentors, teaching her skills to fight, to persist, to continue in making some gains in the art of precision), Caiside (which stung too; her only memories of him had been someone kind, someone generous, someone benevolent), and Cera (which hurt far, far more, a deep, throbbing pang that she’d barely got to see him again – the Golden Prince from the same desert sands, now no more). She bit her lip, caught herself doing the weak, vulnerable action, and then ceased it immediately, brows furrowing in contemplation, while her eyes wandered down to the table, to some of the food she’d only picked and nibbled at. “Did you guys lose anyone?”

to be made of sunshine is painful

to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach

MELITA

so is there any treason in the tricky little price I pay?

i can't open up to you

A swift nod is sent Melita’s way, a sly grin too in response. “That I have.” He rumbles, omitting the less interesting parts. But as he questions her if they’ve all made it out, his gaze lingers on hers with a bit more attention. Wondering who had been lost, who had remained, and when she mentions the fire started in the back he frowns. But he nods, understanding. “That’s why we burned the Rathskeller down.” They didn’t know if monsters could get in with the body, but the door had been open and they weren’t going to take any chances the minute they saw the writing in blood.

At the question of if they lost anyone, he looks away from her to scan the crowd again. “Not that I know of.” He pauses at first, considering, before another frown cascades its way along his face. “I haven’t found Ezra yet though, so that’s… unusual.” A brief statement, sighing internally as he turns his head to look at her again, shifting in his seat slightly. He wishes he knew where the bartender went, finding that he’ll surely miss being called Sunbeam at the very least.

A brief inhale before he runs a hand through his hair, gaze lingering on Melita and Fangorn for the briefest of pauses. “But, I’m going to try to put together a new bar once the sun comes back. I imagine everyone needs it.” A shrug, before focusing his attention away from her again. “What are your plans?” Did she have anything like he did now, to focus on? To give a small amount of homage or honor to someone they’ve lost or not found.

me and my friends are lonely

i always figured i'd be the one to die alone

SUNJATA

to be made of sunshine is beautiful

to be the light and the warmth and to be loved

The Rathskeller’s fate had been similar; broken down and consumed because of the monsters within, instead of the ones outside; meandering and crawling their way through the corridors. She had never ventured out during LongNight, had never seen their claws, but had heard enough stories, had met enough fiends and demons along the Rift, to know better. Instead, she listened to the way they punctured and lacerated, to the way they wounded and scarred, to the way they manifested years and years later, when families and loved ones were still torn apart by the irreverent void. Wasn’t there a way to make it stop? Had anyone ever tried, in all their hundreds of opportunities? She grit her teeth and bore the question in silence; Sunjata wouldn’t have the answer any more than she did, and she wasn’t sure if she dared voice it out loud, in front of the Naturals who had lived through the scorn, the rancor, the edges, the apprehension, for far longer than they had.

Her eyes followed his along crowds, as he warranted the missing, as he lingered along the gathered. Some were strangers, some were known and cherished, and some were in between; accounted for in their maneuvers, in their stained clothes, in their ashen faces. “Ezra…,” she ceased, thinking of the man she’d only seen briefly, when her hands were still shaking, while she was trying to make lanterns with Jigano. “I can help you look for him, if you want.” She shrugged, requiring something instead of remaining completely, utterly useless.

Sunjata’s mention of a new bar, another refuge in place of the decrepit, forsaken one, gave her pause, made her smile a little more. “Or with that too.” A little laughter tumbled from her throat, dashing along her mouth with the surge of a smile, the promise of a return. “Otherwise, I don’t have much plans at all.” Her gaze lingered back along the crowd; more training, maybe, become some sort of expert in the arts she already had some merit in, develop some new weapon abilities, or something else, before she became utterly consumed in her uselessness.

to be made of sunshine is painful

to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach

MELITA

so is there any treason in the tricky little price I pay?

i can't open up to you

She offers to help him search for the missing man, and while originally he would have been all for it – something seems to tell him to wait, to find out who had perished before making a big deal out of it. After all, Sunjata wasn’t a stranger to seeing lists of the deceased, as much as it frustrated him to see them. He gives her a small bright smile in response to it. “Maybe we should wait until LongNight is over, and see if he didn’t just… Die or something.” His smile falters ever so slightly at that.

But the mention of the bar, she offers her help and he tips his head to her with a slightly rejuvenated smile. “That’s a much easier task. At least now I won’t have to worry about competition.” He rumbles thoughtfully, giving the girl a wink. But he leans forward along the table a bit, eyeing her curiously. “Also… Having my own kind of place like that, you’re welcome to come there whenever you need to.” A thoughtful pause as he regards her, steel eyes flickering over the fire of her hair.

“I was also thinking about writing up some things on Korofi, we could maybe continue your lessons there?” An offer, to give her something that is any kind of form of comfort, of family, with him. “You, Lusea, and I can all talk bad about people to their faces and they’ll never know.” A rogue grin and a wink is sent her way as he sits back again, one leg bouncing idly while he waits for her response.

me and my friends are lonely

i always figured i'd be the one to die alone

SUNJATA

to be made of sunshine is beautiful

to be the light and the warmth and to be loved

Unfortunately Sunjata didn’t take her up on the offer of searching – and though she hadn’t intentionally meant outside, along darkest nights and enthrallments of demise (she’d been out there once now, and it had been enough) – it’d been cut off regardless, a wait and see gamble. She managed not to frown, but stuck the notion in the back of her mind for when the evening finally spilled over into sun and glory, an eye out for the absentee bartender.

At the very least, she’d be able to lend a hand with the bar, commit to movement and motion instead of sulking endeavors and listless exploits – adrift ever since the blight plunged into her skin, unaware of where she should be going or what she should be doing. “Okay,” she grinned, slightly rejuvenated, spine a little straighter, hands tightening into fists at the notion of action. Thereafter, though, she was genuinely surprised by his offer – and her face could’ve enlightened the whole breadth of LongNight’s space, welcomed and encouraged to come visit, for a place to stay amongst those she knew. Her grin rekindled was an effervescent thing, genuine, sweet, and like the sun, like the flames, like the mercurial, whimsical cravings stoked behind her eyes. “I’d love to!”

To all these other things he offered too – and she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had, not since the Rift, invited and enticed and instigated some place to thrive amongst and amidst. “Yes!” The enthusiasm was a contagious onslaught now, gathered and bound in lithe embers and rivulets of crimson hair, newly revitalized, revived. At his smile, at the name slip, at the wink though, a rogue little fashion of a smirk curled its way along her mouth. “Of course. But, who is Lusea?” And she leaned a little closer, teasing, wrinkling her nose; pondering the name she hadn’t heard before, brows lifting in mocking overtures.

to be made of sunshine is painful

to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach

MELITA

so is there any treason in the tricky little price I pay?

i can't open up to you

He does seem to notice the dimness begin to slip away at his offer, her eyes growing alight and bright with wonder and a purpose. He remembers that feeling – aimlessly wandering, like a dandelion fluff on the wind, unable to choose where to go but simply going, because there weren’t anything else to do. But here? Here he could give them both a purpose, something to focus on, and he’s pleased when she takes the offer, giving her a bright nod and a smirk.

“Good. It’ll be fun, I think. We could even make you a space for Fangorn to hang out.” He says, steel eyes drifting toward the vampiric gourd with that very same grin. But his brow lifts at her own smirk as she leans a bit closer, teasing him with the question of who Lusea is. And he’s surprised he hasn’t told her before, it’s enough to give him a bit of pause before he chuckles lightly. “Oh. Well, Lusea’s my girl.” He offers with a shrug, humming a chuckle at her antics.

“She was with me in Korofi. And well, she died there, but was resurrected when she came here.” He hums to her with a bright smile.

me and my friends are lonely

i always figured i'd be the one to die alone

SUNJATA

to be made of sunshine is beautiful

to be the light and the warmth and to be loved

She’d rather be bright than continue sinking, latched onto it with a tight, clenched fists and a sensation of pride before the fall; allowing soft laughter, the ring of clarity and purpose, drive, behind the wallowing, extending over shadows with mercurial beams of light. Possibilities, variables, tangible things she might be able to believe in, instead of spiraling in and around the falling chords, chasing after ramparts that didn’t want her. She wouldn’t set her heart into them, a little more guarded now, a little less certain in how the earth churned and burned, when she’d once though she had the whole thing figured out, but the notions still stick their way into her mind, glowed and billowed, fanned and flamed. “He’d love that,” the honeybee girl assured, a corresponding hiss, grumble, and some beacon of a eldritch smile swarming over the gourd’s features. A place, a space, where she didn’t bombard, where she didn’t drift, where she didn’t cause some unwanted chaos or flicker into ash. Melita’s eyes fell, but only so she could allow a pinprick of a dream.

They rose again at her teasing, at the insinuation of Lusea, her guess an eager, fervent notation, but she didn’t taunt any further – content and happy for him, to have someone here. Resurrection always seemed to be an intriguing factor here; a number of the dead suddenly living again, like Ronin, hastened from wandering souls or brought back. In the end, did that mean others deceased in – the pondering desisted after a moment, recalling the shackles, the tethers, the lines, the scars, the brutality, from the same inquiry Zero once called upon Kaos. So the girl wouldn’t beg for her sister, wouldn’t cry for her mother, to be pulled and blessed and consecrated; not when they could come back wrong and maligned (the nightmares still crushing blows, the blemish still alive and crackling down her spine). Her smile didn’t falter away though, not allowing, not permitting the questions, the history, to show across her luminescent face. No need to make it all break, fetter, and fracture again. “Good for you! I’m excited to meet her!”

to be made of sunshine is painful

to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach

MELITA

so is there any treason in the tricky little price I pay?

i can't open up to you

The assurance from Melita that he’d also enjoy a place to stay is all that Sunjata needs before the plans begin to form. A place to call her own, that she can thrive in – learn what it’s like to have the Korofi blood that runs through her, the flame that burns brightly. Yes, he’s sure that Lusea and Melita will get along great, and with it all the pieces back together, back into place. He can become like he once was, people to look out for, to protect and thrive with and damn the consequences.

He gives her a bright nod in response, a quiet hummed chuckle leaving him after a moment. “Then we’ll add it in.” A finality, a strong end to an agreement. That it would be one of the first things he planned on doing.

But the conversation shifts toward Lusea, and his quick explanation – something he’ll probably go into further details with her about his life in Korofi once they’re not so surrounded, once he has his bar and place for her to stay. Perhaps going over their lessons with a fire in the hearth and drinks shared. Suddenly, that plan sounds wonderful and he longs for it in the aftermath of the current bar’s situation.

“You’re going to love her.” He offers with a light wink, shifting in his seat slightly. “But you should probably get some rest and some food. I just wanted to be sure you were okay.” He leans forward a bit, seriousness underlining the silver of his eyes as he focuses on her gilded ones. As if there’s some underlined meaning that states that she’s one of his fledglings, a niece to this haphazard family he’s finally put together. And he finds himself quite happy with the result.

me and my friends are lonely

i always figured i'd be the one to die alone

SUNJATA

to be made of sunshine is beautiful

to be the light and the warmth and to be loved

Korofi blood. She had Korofi blood. She had Helovian blood. She had blood of ancient irreverence and feral sedition. She had blood of gentle healers, menders, and whimsical, beautiful beings.

Melita’s family, for as brief as it’d been, was everything to her. From every musical note, to every sundry sonnet, to every sagacious moment her mother, her sister, provided her with – she hadn’t needed, hadn’t required anything but them, and for so long, she’d managed. The youth had survived on their essences, on their memories, on their beatific way of living before sacrificial alms, before midnight disasters, before oblivion, before ruin, before she’d taken up any sort of sword, bow, or staff. She’d dreamed of them at night and cried the next morning when they weren’t there, at her side, before she’d hardened, before she’d lifted her head to the Rift skies and growled, howled, dared them to do their worst; she couldn’t be more broken, she couldn’t be more dissolved, she couldn’t be more whittled or carved away.

The notions of another contortion to her existence hadn’t even been on her mind. There hadn’t been a father. She’d found Zekle. She’d found Iskra. She’d found piece and portions of figures in her life – and then they were gone too. To believe there were others in her midst that cared enough, that thought of her enough, to welcome her into their lives buffeted against her ribs and caused her to blink rapidly at the insinuations, refusing to cry, refusing to settle into a hot mess of tears, but everything sounded so wonderful, so perfect, things she’d wanted and craved for a lifetime when all she’d ever done was sink her teeth into flesh and fight, fight, fight –

I just wanted to be sure you were okay earned a nod, her hand brushing away the salt threatening to fall and bury themselves down her cheeks, LongNight’s emotional wreckage grinding against her soul. “Okay,” she nodded, to anything and everything, the luminescent smile still beaming across her mouth, wanting to reach out and hug or grasp and not let go; but instead, she worked her way back to her food, hands grasping Fangorn tightly, something cracking and fissuring inside her.

to be made of sunshine is painful

to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach

MELITA