devils hide behind redemption

don't be cautious, don't be kind, you committed, i'm your crime

push my button anytime

A hand lifts to rub at his temple at her comment, but he can’t refrain from the chuckle that leaves him at the thought of it. How incredibly terrible it would be for him, still not used to any of the companion’s thoughts or bonds, unsure if he ever will be. It’s a feeling he doesn’t know, doesn’t even understand. But Melita is steadfast and strong, and perhaps it would be good for him to have someone else to rely on, and so he doesn’t comment on it, instead only offering a somewhat exasperated look.

Then, he watches as Haai and Fangorn play, a game of tag with feathers and growls and sharp teeth on both ends, and he settles with it. A sort of happiness and excitement replacing the newness of the bond, the overwhelming feeling, and he calms with it too even as the shift turns a bit quieter between the two people.

He can’t help but feel as if it’s his fault – and he leans a bit closer to Melita as she speaks, a smile edging its way back slowly but surely. And he aims to pull her in for a hug, a side hug of sorts, but endearing nonetheless. A sort of… Uncle atmosphere about it, because in the end they both need someone. “Good. I can’t rely on Lusea to be the only flame to singe me time and time again.” He jests to her, giving her another characteristic rogue grin.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Haai and Fangorn were a sight to behold, the gourd launching, the griffin reeling, all an act, all a play, to better serve them in decades to come – when they were more than just stalwart things, but strong and uplifting, capable of forging onward. The pumpkin’s antics and excitement pummeled against her in waves, and she giggled at the delight of it all – content and happy to have a reason to once more.

She hadn’t relied upon anyone else for what felt like centuries – when it’d really only been years, childhood severed, destroyed, and discarded for survival amongst ruins and false paragons. Thereafter, there was her and only her, drifting on dust and snow, circumnavigating the earth with bounds, leaps, and hops, threatening to scorch the surface of anyone or anything daring to hurt or maim her again. Perhaps she hadn’t changed much in that regard, desperate for friends, for family, for things other than destruction and mayhem, called to its sanction because treachery and danger were inborn familiarities. Then she’d had others willing to teach, willing to tutor, willing to see her as more than the impulsive little cretin rampaging through forests and groves. Alistair had taught her to be grounded, Roana had taught her to settle into the soil, Wessex had taught her to fight, fight, fight, and then the rest flickered and beamed into place – here and back again, pondering what she was supposed to be doing along this earth.

Sunjata seemed to provide a purpose, a means, instead of her meandering, instead of dragging her feet along dirt and sand, instead of always dreaming of more and more. “Gods know you probably need it,” and then she laughed, leaning into his side hug, uncertain of what else to do, because the notion of comrades had been so damned lost for so damned long. But her heart, her soul, crooned and settled; as if they sensed a return to rapture.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

don't be cautious, don't be kind, you committed, i'm your crime

push my button anytime

The companions seem to be having an absolute blast, and while Sunjata isn’t sure about Fangorn’s thoughts on it, the feeling he receives from that strange new part to him is light, happy, joyous. And it reflects despite the somewhat shadowed sadness that casts over the two people – making it easier for him to not drift down those alleys and deep valleys of sorrow that he’s so used to delving into.

He finds that it’s nice to have someone there for you, ever since arriving here after his self-exile. To have people that knew you, didn’t know your past, but simply just knew you was a breath of fresh air. Nobody to know where he came from, what blood ran through his veins, what steps he’d taken to prove he wasn’t like them. And Melita? Eventually she’d know all that, but he hopes that she doesn’t judge him for any of it.

Survival was survival, after all. And if Melita was anything, she was absolutely that.

She leans into his side hug and his arm rubs against her shoulder gently before he chuckles lightly at the comment. “Oh I absolutely do.” There’s no denying that. “Strong women to put me in my place time to time is necessary.” He rumbles with another hum of laughter before he shakes his head and watches their companions bound around, to and fro, feeling so freeing and light.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Fangorn, despite being all snarls, hisses, and growls, was utterly delighted at the companionship and camaraderie, sorely used to trailing after Melita’s constant, bounding movements and motions, well trained in the art of leaping and crashing into the ground. It was a nice release of pent-up energy, chasing after the fledgling, and then alternating, hiding and ducking behind either Sunjata or Melita when the timing was right, before launching off again.

For all the things she’d done, orchestrated, seen, and witnessed, the honeybee girl likely shouldn’t have ever judged. It wasn’t to say she didn’t, or couldn’t; sometimes faith, credence, and beliefs held a steadfast conviction even her devilish intonations couldn’t ignore, but her threshold for dangerous, treacherous legions was far higher than most. The youth knew the sparks of vengeance, the visceral condemnation of revenge, how it sizzled in blood, in veins, in arcs for eternity, simmering just behind one’s eyes or smile, heathen factions and irreverent collisions. She had really nowhere to put her vitriol and vehemence now though, unless Kiada counted, and even then, the maddening debauchery of wrath, contempt, and abhorrence couldn’t go anywhere but in her bones and in her flesh. No one was coming back. None of her family would return. None of those bright, brilliant, beautiful souls sacrificed for nothing – out of duplicity, out of deception, out of cruelty and callousness – were going to rise from the grave and live once more. So she had her indulgences, her moments, her startling irreverence and sedition burrowed into her soul – alive and incensed when the timing was right, when something drove her to revolution and turmoil.

She wouldn’t fault him, if he’d ever asked, if he’d ever told.

But the girl still smiled at his statement, snorting and laughing, placing one of her hands under her chin, elbow crooked along her upswept knee. Strong women; like she’s amongst them. A sense of pride lifted her straighter, her other palm resting on her staff. “So what are you going to be up to now, besides the bar?” And flying in his new Attuned form, and taking care of the newfound griffin – which rankled the slightest smirk upon her face again.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

don't be cautious, don't be kind, you committed, i'm your crime

push my button anytime

He doesn’t mind being the barrier for the gourd, to hide away from Haai as the tiny griffin reigns her terror – little high pitched howls leaving her maw in her excitement, tail feathers wiggling with each movement. It’s like a dance, watching the two of them go back and forth, and he can’t help the soft smile that crosses his face at the joy that lingers in that new space of his mind, a relief to the shadows that had always hidden there.

As for his past, she’d learn of it. One day, eventually, probably on a specifically rainy summer day, where the humidity and the rains remind him too much of home, when he’d tell her what he had to do – what they’d made him into, and how he survived through it all when so many others hadn’t. Perhaps they’re far more similar than they thought, how much they both wished they had their mothers there in the darkest nights, to give them guidance, to help them on their journeys, to simply hear their voices once more.

He’s brought out of the thoughts by her snorts and laughs, his lip twitching upwards in a smile as he regards the red haired girl. Gaal’s girl. One he didn’t deserve and was glad he wasn’t around to see how strong she’s become. Her question still manages to take him off guard, and he tilts his head as he watches the companions play, drawing his legs up beneath him and resting his elbows along his knees. “Well, besides the bar, I’d hoped to start a training ring of sorts. It’s where I used to go in Korofi to do boxing, but it might benefit people here for learning some hand to hand things.” A quiet shrug.

“Other than that? Living.” He winks to her, leaving it open ended. “What do you have planned?” A gleam to his silver gaze. “Besides the bar.” Because she’d offered her help and he intends to take her up on it.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Fangorn attempted to mimic the howl, but it endured as a long-winded grumble, ending on an eldritch, unnerving pinnacle; like haunted, wild animals, caged predators, rapacious emblems. Melita quirked her brow and tried to muffle her laughter, watching the pair trade foolishness, glad for something beyond sorrow, beyond melancholy, beyond disasters and ruin.

She tilted her head to listen, hands restlessly pressing into the darker enamel and coating of her staff. A training ring, boxing sounded amusing, a diversion amidst all the other pinnacles of either thwarting havoc, wreckage, and rubble, or becoming a part, a portion, of the assembled mayhem. It inspired another hum under her breath, voice slightly sing-song as she gazed at maneuvering, wandering companions, at intervals of reposed nuances. “That sounds nice,” a mischievous smile dancing on the edges of her mouth. She’d frequent there too – between the Monster Hunter’s Guild training grounds, somehow not lost to the fire, untouched despite the conflagration breathing down their necks.

For some reason the youth didn’t expect the inquiry to round back onto her – and she really didn’t have an answer. What was she going to do? Planning had never been in her parameters, talents, or virtues – thriving on impulse, on treacherous lines, on impetuous moments, springing her way through the ether with hasty, passionate, reckless, and emboldened, audacious fringes. She breathed resolve, but really didn’t have anywhere to place it. “All I’ve ever done was survive.” A shrug to match his, eyes fumbling down to the ground as her nose wrinkled, as she thought and pondered. “Maybe I’ll help rebuild the Monster Hunter’s Guild. Keep destroying demons.” And live with the rest of them – the ones she couldn’t push away from her memories.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

don't be cautious, don't be kind, you committed, i'm your crime

push my button anytime

Her agreement to his idea of a boxing ring has him leaning back ever so slightly with a knowing nod. “Does, doesn’t it?” A place to train, to practice, to relieve pressure and stress. It had helped immensely when he was younger, when he first joined the resistance. And without it, he didn’t know where it might have left him if he didn’t have an outlet like that. Would he have become as cruel and heartless as his father?

Would his mother still be alive?

Would he have married that girl from the neighboring county, a woman of magic and spells when his heart belonged to a woman who embodied fire?

He watches the companions, listening while he questions Melita on her own plans. Haai at this point has almost grown dizzy, and flops down by Fangorn to roll onto her back, wings spread along the mud as her chest beats with her heartbeat, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth while she tries to catch her breath – but she’s still acting like a puppy, and can’t help herself from trying to reach up and bat at one of Fangorn’s vines.

Sunjata’s gaze turns toward Melita as she looks down, her nose wrinkling and his smile fades lightly. “I know a little something of what that’s like.” He offers in their kinship, a shrug. “Monster Hunter’s Guild, huh?” A quiet question in his voice as he regards her. “What kind of monsters and demons would you want to go hunt?”

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Training, honing her skills into less impetuousness, more precision, had been an unrelenting, but satisfying venture. She had every urge to continue, to keep segmenting her skills into more prowess, more potential, more annihilation, more reasons for the world to glance, to shudder, when she waltzed in its wake. Then no one could doubt her. Then no one could destroy her. Then she wouldn’t be weak, wouldn’t be fumbling, stumbling, or faltering, wouldn’t be anything else but mighty, proud, and stalwart – a bright beacon amidst demons and monsters. Her mother likely wouldn’t have approved, but would’ve said naught about it – quiet, a little forlorn, a little torn. Her sister would’ve applauded her efforts, presided along the sidelines with a smile, a laugh, and a song; gentle and whimsical, everything Melita was not. But the offer, the notion, of the ring and its possibilities, made her youthful heart burst – teeth to sink into its existence.

The thoughts spiraled here and there, while Fangorn clambered after Haai, only to watch the young griffin collapse, flopping, pawing at the vines surrounding the gourd’s existence. He snarled, but only in obvious warning. Melita rolled her eyes.

As for which demons and monsters to hunt – there’d been a list, posted along the parlor, well before the fire swallowed and eclipsed it all. “I helped hunt a banshee. And some others went after ROUs in the Underground. We also stopped a giant vampire gourd from getting into the Greatwood. It was full of the blight.” She paused, pondering over anything else; recalling moments of rare animals not being infidels or cretins at all – like the Undine, like the memory snow. Her answer was quiet and vague, but only because she didn’t know what was out there. “Anything that threatens us, I suppose. That wants to do us harm.”

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

don't be cautious, don't be kind, you committed, i'm your crime

push my button anytime

Up until Sunjata had made it to Caido, the only true monsters and demons he’d dealt with had been within people. And how hard he had strove to prevent himself from becoming one of them – at least in the context of Korofi. He wasn’t like Melita’s father, wasn’t willing to sell out someone to death over a grudge of all things. He wasn’t like his own father, willing to make an army of emotionless foot soldiers and child bearers of children.

He still ended up being a monster in certain contexts, in certain thoughts. But as Sunjata thinks back on it, he doesn’t regret any of it. He’d do it all again for the same results in a heartbeat. He may go about it a bit differently, wouldn’t have let them trust Graasvoel, wouldn’t have let them get close to the other man. But then, without the capture, without the evading, without any of it… Would it have still lead him here? To help be there for Melita in the end? For anyone else he’s helped somehow along the way?

Haai doesn’t seem bothered by the snarling, imagining it’s a warning and that he won’t act on it. But she’s still young, doesn’t quite understand, and keeps flopping from side to side, legs kicking out while she catches her breath and lets the two humans speak, ignoring them like Sunjata mostly does to her as well, still not used to the combination of her feelings with his own mind.

The mention of the blight has him frowning slightly though, sighing quietly. “Gods, I’m so glad that the blight is over.” A huff, running a hand through his hair before he pauses and looks over to her at her words. “Seems like you know exactly what you want to do.” He offers with a light smile. “You know, your father was the exact opposite. If he could stir shit, raise hell, he’d do it and care little about the consequences.” A shake of his head. “So that you must have gotten from your mother. The good part of you.” He can see it. That sweet healer, crossed with Korofi storms, creating a child that only wants to do the best thing she can, to protect and help out those far less fortunate.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Fangorn’s warning went ignored, and the gourd snarled, mildly taken aback. So he snarled, opting to lunge forward, a pretense, but also a precedence that he wasn’t going to let the youth, the fledgling, rule the roost for the moment – Melita patted him in a placating manner, but otherwise watched in the vivid quiet, listening.

“It was awful.” The blight had been a surmise of all her wicked, seditious inhibitions, and nothing left to stop them, no barriers, no guards, no benevolence wrapped around tethers and wires. She’d been permitted to go out into the world and do her worst, escorted by nothing but her raw anger, wrath, and contempt, all the nefarious properties stored within her soul unleashed, unfettered, unraveled, danger and treachery replacing any other beneficent sentiments.

At his smile though, she frowned slightly. Was that what she wanted to do? It had been built out of habit and routine, the stretch of her youth and experience across Helovia and the Rift – enamored and enameled out of necessity, out of strife, out of grief, out of yearning, trying, striving to keep them all safe.

It hadn’t worked.

The insinuation of her father’s blood within her ichor though stirred, her frown rooted itself deeper, a furrowing of her brows, staring out across the grounds, along the mud puddles and the sun, pondering, wondering, just how alike or different they were. Given the opportunity, the reasons, the measures, and the notions, she might have raised hell too, spiraled and beckoned infernos to rise at her summons, at her provocations. But she cared too much for consequences, even if everything was inspired by impulse – still cowering from the effects of pestilence, from the way the earth shifted its weight across land after land.

The good part of her proffered the tiniest smile. “Clementine was the best one.” Her grin deepened at the memory of her sister, bright and beautiful, an incandescent, whimsical vestige of laughter and curiosity, eternally kind. “She would have never succumbed to the blight.”

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

don't be cautious, don't be kind, you committed, i'm your crime

push my button anytime

At Fangorn’s lunge, Haai bounces up and retreats a bit, lowering herself to the ground and learning where the boundaries were. And Sunjata can feel the discomfort roiling off of the companion, enough that it distracts his gaze from Melita to the small griffin, reaching out with a hand to scoop her up and hope she doesn’t bite him to settle her in the crook of his elbow, against his torso as a cradle of sorts.

Looking back to Melita, he nods in agreement. “It was.” He had done many things he usually didn’t do, had become someone else, someone he didn’t recognize when he looked at his reflection – and it was a torture of some other kind, some other form of mental destruction. But he remains quiet while she mulls over his words, letting them sink or float, depending on how she decided to interpret them.

Clementine. The one he hadn’t met. The good one, and he smiles softly to Melita with that. “We could do something, or make something, to keep her close?” He suggests thoughtfully. Perhaps something in her spot of the bar, where she’d have a place to stay, a place to be at the end of the day. A space alongside Fangorns for memories and thoughts, gifts and trinkets for when something reminded her of Clemente.

Perhaps he should do the same for Saartjie.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Fangorn, satisfied with the outcome, released the tension along vines and eerie, enigmatic eyes, the rumbling growl ensuing thereafter displaying no outward signs of aggression. A learning curve, perhaps, for both individuals. Melita picked him up and plucked him directly into her lap, a soft sigh lingering through her chest.

As for doing something for Clementine, the little orange-blossom child, with her winsome smiles and generous beneficence, Melita wasn’t certain what that could possibly entail. She’d been like the sun, like the wind, like the soft, dulcet breeze, the scent of wildflowers swaying along fields, a warm laugh, a generous giggle, always capable of following through on Melita’s half-skewed ideas. “Oh. I mean – I wouldn’t know what to do.” Her brows furrowed, mind buzzing while the rest of her body was quiet. Perhaps a constant barrage of petals and kindness; because Clementine had been the core of tenderness and amiability, while she, the lithe, limber, mercurial disaster, had launched into monstrous contortions and pretended to be a beast of the sea. Sunjata’s own generosity hadn’t been expected, and she didn’t know what to do in the face of it. Ignorance on all sides.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight

don't be cautious, don't be kind, you committed, i'm your crime

push my button anytime

His other hand comes up to scratch at Haai’s forehead between her ears, feeling her squirm for a brief moment before her lids grow heavy and she begins to softly fall asleep, the quietest of snores heard over the grumbling of Melita’s own companion. And his attention focuses on her when he brings up the idea of making something for her lost sibling, steel eyes skating over fiery hair, brilliant eyes, and the mind that works and whirls beneath the suggestion.

“Well, I’m no artist by any means. But…” He contemplates with a tilt of his head, lids and eyes narrowing on her as he thinks. “What if I made one with you? You can make one for Clementine and I can make one for Saar?” A hum of a question while he, too, spins the wheels in his head in thought. “We could find some things that remind us of them, maybe see if someone from the Artist’s Sanctuary would be willing to help make it into a… what’s the word…” He looks away from her back to the mud with a quiet question as he thinks of it.

“A collage?” That seemed right… Little bits and pieces, colors, feelings, items that made them think of their siblings. And Lusea, in the future when there’s nothing left of the flame of Korofi.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

She hadn’t been able to defend or save Clementine from the Rift’s claws, precision, and cruelty; a part of her didn’t think she’d be able to even honor her correctly. A shuddering sigh quaked through her as she thought, hands scratching the top of Fangorn’s head, pondering and listening, head raising only at the insinuation of artistic volleys. She wasn’t skilled in any of the aesthetic qualities either; her only oeuvres were staples of assault or tempestuous, mercurial, impulsive endeavors, and even then, sometimes they were faulty or flawed. The cogs continued to move and maneuver, imagining a distinction of petals and blossoms, of worlds laden with ripened fields, clover, thistle, and yew, laughing beneath the shadow of apple trees, dancing beneath fronds of groves and copses, wild but not yet wicked, innocent, not yet tainted by the whims of the earth. “That might be nice.” The curl of her smile returned, a rapture, a reverie, at the thought of something better, something grander, siblings somehow left beyond traces and figments of memories. She didn’t know anything about his sibling either, other than the botched engagement with her father; perhaps the woman had lucked out in some regard. She hummed a little in thought. “Clementine should have flowers. Lots and lots of flowers.” A pause in the minuet, eyes flickering back to him; makeshift family ties from things that should’ve been torn asunder. “What would she have?”

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight