devils hide behind redemption

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

push my button anytime

He bobs his head in agreement, deciding that it actually would be relatively nice. To have a bit of memory, a bit of history added to the bar. A sign that there were those that could never be forgotten in the end, that stories and images of who they were would remain, prompt questions, prompt those stories to be told over and over again until even strangers might know who they once were. But her explanation of Clementine is one he can see – a smile crossing his lips at it as he strokes Haai between the ears, eyes lingering on Melita beside him while she hums her thoughts.

The mention of Saartjie has his eyes widening slightly before he snorts and looks down to Haai again. “Well, light blues and pinks seemed to be her colors. She was quite the flirt, broke many hearts over there.” He chuckles at that before he shakes his head. “But she’d always been one to be more quiet than I was about my rule breaking once I got to that point.” He considers the question a bit more. “I was always the one to get in trouble for slipping out at night even though she was with me, I still don’t know how she did that. I’m not sure how that might relate in an image though.” He says with a tilt of his head, steel eyes looking back up to Melita with an amused look along his face.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Maybe, after a while, they’d all be able to pull and stitch pieces together: a remembrance partition, for those that had fallen. No matter the individual, there was always someone who’d meandered, who’d collapsed, who’d been rendered gone in their wake, before or after their steps into Caido. LongNight’s press was just one of the many fabrications and reasons. How many names, how many faces, how many symbols would rest up there? Would it be too high, too much, too far? Or just right, to stare upon those memorial wakes and remember what it was like to have those people, those wonderful, blessed things, in their lives? Would it make them cling to those they had now? Or break apart? Her mind wandered at the potentials, before they seemed to glide from her mouth, unbidden, her eyes bright despite the nuances and pitfalls behind them. “What if we could all contribute to some kind of memory wall? Of those we’ve lost?”

Then she listened to the whims and contortions of Saartjie, of blues and pinks, of flirting vibes and whims (a giggle tossed in there too, with the ebullient smile hastened thereafter), heart-breaker, love’s savage. The youth strived to imagine a woman quiet in her rebellion, like a wraith, slipping through columns and shadows Sunjata couldn’t manage. “She sounds wonderful.” Someone she would’ve liked to have meet; the girl eternally audacious and emboldened, no secrets in her measures.

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 suggestion somewhat takes him by surprise, and he glances over to her in quiet contemplation. It would attract attention at first, certainly. But it would also be beautiful, a wonderful tribute to what they had once so nobody was forgotten in the end. And people could sit around the bar, pointing them out, telling the stories and memories they had with their loved and lost ones. “That sounds like a great idea. We can make it a social event, perhaps.” He mulls over the places of where they could put such a thing, perhaps further in the back where the imagery would be seen right as entered, unable to be missed among the darkened lights and flickering candlelight.

The mention of Saartjie, however, has him nostalgic and drifting back, and he hums in agreement with a slight shrug. “She was entirely a pain in my ass.” He snorts, shaking his head slightly. “But I do miss her sometimes.” A softer admission as he strokes Haai’s head, glancing to Melita – sure that the youth can relate to those very same thoughts in the end.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

There were enough of them to remember, even without Outlander pasts and histories clouding their horizons, their oblivions. They’d lost a great many that Melita probably hadn’t realized or known – much less the ones who’d come before LongNight’s subsequent disasters. Like Emmett. Like Edrei. Like scorching pieces of souls lost and adrift; only coming to a head when those who remained, who stayed behind, had anything left to savor and relish. She wasn’t certain about what anyone else, especially Sunjata, would mull over. Perhaps it wasn’t a grand notion, and she should’ve just kept it to herself. Maybe they had other traditions here she wasn’t aware of, and she’d be stepping on people’s toes.

But his statement seemed intrigued, a great idea, and the youth positively glowed under the speculation and triumph, spine a little straighter, a little taller, in the face of something worthwhile, in the meandering of contemplation (a rarity in itself). “We can see if anyone else would be willing, and go from there?” She had no inclination of having a wall only dedicated to two or three people; some of whom didn’t even belong to this land. They’d never had a chance, an opportunity to.

As for his sister, she managed another light round of laughter. “Perhaps she thought the same of you,” which earned itself a wink and a snicker. Melita hadn’t had anyone she thought of as a pain in the ass; Clementine had been sweet and willing to do whatever they yearned and pressed on each given day. Iskra was always there too, bounding along beside them, likely ensuring they wouldn’t be swiftly maimed and murdered in their whimsical pursuits. Kiada was on the reserve list, but quickly dropped down to abhorrence. Not even worth mentioning here and now.

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

A surprisingly boyish smile crosses his face at her next suggestion, nodding along in agreement. He’s sure that there’s got to be people that have lost loved ones, that might appreciate a small amount of brightness in their lives, before another quiet thought hits him based off of her own ideas. “Perhaps we can make sections for each, with a little bar or a hook to put their lanterns?” Because everyone typically made a lantern for their lost ones, for the festival of lights… What if they made a place to display them, to draw the inspiration for the lanterns made again and again?

A memorial, crossing both Outlander and Naturals traditions in the end? The thought has him humming through his thoughts on it before he focuses Melita’s tinkling laughter, hand stilling along Haai as she snores softly in his lap along his arm. And he chuckles brightly at her back as she winks to him. “Me? Have you met me?” He chides, grinning a bit brighter – that yes, yes the girl beside him had met him, had likely imagined him as a thorough pain in the ass.

But he can’t let her get away with that, now can he?

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Oh; the notion spiraled and became even brighter, better, her memories of the scattered lanterns, the blaze of lights curling into the shadows and darkness, the hollows and hallows of the festival where they honored the departed. “That’d be great!” More lights gathered to honor them on their way, or for the ones already established into heavens, hells, and purgatories – wherever their souls might roam. So they could stay going, well after that specific evening’s run, glowing, nearly immortal, intangible, incorporeal, perpetual instead of perennial; long lasting memories rekindled again and again. The girl could always imagine it now – scores of gleaming, illuminated pictures, places and pieces of honor. Something to amount towards those that had been a part of their lives, molded, sharpened, pressed into their enamel – less empty, less desolate. And with the forging of patterns along the festival, it wouldn’t be a rift between Outlander or Natural, but something forged, similar, assimilating to the possibilities and whirlwinds of what already existed on this scorched earth.

He only seemed half offended by her brief accusation, and she laughed again, bright and brilliant, away from the cold, sodden life she’d lived recently. “That can’t be the first time you’ve heard such a statement.” Generally, some might call her a pain in the ass too – tending to blend into impulsive, impetuous actions, nothing planned, nothing orchestrated with the slightest bit of thought, or the way her chin sometimes jutted upward, defiant and subversive over the most minimal of things.

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

Melita’s enthusiasm over the idea of the lantern grants a brighter, boyish smile that crosses his face. It was a great idea, one the both of them had come up with, but it’d need a name at the end of the day, wouldn’t it? Eyeing her curiously, Sunjata notes that perhaps if they left it open for others to participate, that the name of the wall shouldn’t be Korofian in nature, but still needed to sound as elegant (granted Sunjata was quite biased with it), and he hums thoughtfully in response. “What do you want to name it? Or should we brainstorm it a bit?” Bounce ideas off one another, of what the wall means and what it could become.

Her bright laugh and her taunting, however, earns his boyish smile to shift a bit more predatory as he snorts. “Oh, it is the first time. I’m hurt Melita.” He begins to say in jest, feigning his wounds with a hand to his chest, dramatic and wonderful and kind. “Ek kan dit nie glo nie!” He rumbles playfully, smirking as his steel eyes shift back to her.

---

Ek kan dit nie glo nie! - I can’t believe this!

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Names. Names held meaning, significance, symbolism, promises for greater, grander things. Clementine’s had signified her sweetness, engrained in her entity. Melita had been the little bee, some dutiful, wandering, protective child, but fully capable of leaving a sting. She wondered over everyone else’s callings, the way they’d been woven since birth, or if their parents let it settle over their souls for a while, pondered over what they could become – if weights were too heavy, if burdens too great. The girl hummed again, plucking at some strings on her dress, then lifting her fingers to lightly skim and dance over Fangorn’s head, the resounding decibels like hollowed enamel – the beast growled in rhythm. The Festival of Lights seemed perfect: not a celebration, but a way to honor and dignify those lost again and again, hoping, praying, the souls would rise before one’s eyes so you could bear witness one last time. “What about something with tribute? Does it have a Korofian meaning?” Her gaze ghosted back to his, a shrug, striving to proffer something other than another tribulation. Perhaps it could come to them as time went on, as it was created and cultivated by them and others’ fastidious memories; phantoms and specters, wraiths and catacombs.

His following antics, however, were so ridiculous that she could only tilt her head back and laugh. It was a sweeter sound than the ones she’d concocted in seasons past – no less feral, but melodic, whimsical, capricious, what could’ve been soft instead of steel. “What a lie! Gaan weg!" Then she laughed so hard her eyes started to water, and she had to wipe and dab away at her cheek for the salt would run right down.

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

There were plenty of names, and while the bar had originally been meant to have a Korofi theme, a meaning, perhaps things were a bit different in this regard. Or perhaps not, since it’d be in the location of such a heavily themed place. Steel eyes drift to hers at her comment, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. “Doesn’t have to be Korofi.” He offers at first. “Tribute in Korofi is huldeblyk.” Which he’s not sure if it makes sense to name it as such, the way the syllables clash. “It’s a bit of a mouthful.” He chuckles, finding it not as smooth as his own name when it came to saying it.

But of course he has to try and bring her out of her shell a bit, dramatic and wonderful as he retorts in Korofi, slyly looking to her to see if she understands. His eyes widen a small amount as she does and there’s this strange feeling of pride that blossoms from him, chuckling along with her as she laughs hard enough to cry. “Go away?” He repeats her, his voice a deep amused rumble before he shakes his head, giving her a toothy grin. “Never.” Another bark of laughter leaves him before he reaches to pat her on the arm. “You’ve been learning. Won’t be a true Korofian though until you tell me to go fuck myself.” He adds with a wink.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Melita carefully withheld a giggle at the conflagration of phrasing, syllables, and the way they seemed to invoke other things besides tributes and ceremonies to memory. It sounded more like a war-cry, or a call to disaster and ruin, so she waved her hand off at the proclamation, the slightest wrinkle to her nose. “Hm. Maybe something else then.” At least Sunjata agreed, and perhaps it would simply have to be pieced together later, or within another’s creative mind. The honeybee child had never been one to suitably craft a grand scheme, too impulsive, too rash, too brash, to do or orchestrate much more than bombarding the world with energy, zest, and force. “It will come.” She promised though, like so many other oaths; but this one could come true.

Her eyes roll at his latest remarks, but she won’t go so far yet. “I’ve been reserving my insults for Kiada.” And she had a plethora of them, ready and willing and eager, when the time and opportunity was right, partially for the destroyer of worlds to be stunned for half a moment, and the other portion dipped and enriched with petty, vengeful behavior. She ought to have moved on from her disastrous plans, but hadn’t been capable – the edges, the knives, the daggers too deeply embedded. “Did you have any more you wanted to teach someone?” She winked, clearly meaning herself – keen, ardent pupil when it came to munitions and chicanery.

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

“Something else indeed.” He agrees with a quiet chuckle, leaning back slightly as Haai kicks at his stomach with her back legs to get more comfortable. A nod is given to Melita, that the name of it would come eventually, at some point, perhaps closer to accomplishing the bar — when he’s not exhausted, not as openly broken hearted, when he can place the bandaid overtop of the wounds and pretend for a few minutes that things were okay, before putting Lusea on the wall first of all. But he doesn’t know that yet, doesn’t know what’s about to come, and so he enjoys the mud and the sunshine and the entertainment of letting go beside Gaal’s daughter from another world.

“Oh good, can’t wait to see that unleashed.” He replies to her with a wink, chuckling lightly before he shakes his head. She asks if he has anymore to teach someone and his eyes narrow on her slightly in his amusement. “More insults or just in general?” He asks, because usually it was the insults, but if she wanted to learn how to carry a conversation she’d need more than what he’s taught her.

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

There was always time; that’s what she’d believed when she was a child, enamored by the most trivial of things, dancing and skipping and bounding through fields, caves, rivers, and oceans, embracing what she could savor, craving everything else thereafter. But then she’d be stunned in those instances where entire worlds shattered, tossed and thrown into pits and pendulums, saved by their mother’s sacrifice, no time left at all. Her eyes fell to Fangorn, to nothing monumental at all – unaware of what was to come and who else was to be regarded on that wall, incapable of prophesizing, eternally fortune’s fool. They would have something, and for her, for now, that was all there was to it.

She grinned at his following wink, the notions of unleashing all her vitriol and vehemence on someone again such a relishing ease in her refrains; tilting her head in response to his inquiry, as if labored by the notion, by further thoughts on her Korofian education. “Both, perhaps? My communication skills shouldn’t be all slander,” and she laughed; despite the prospect of just that being a hilarious edge to her actions.

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

It’s a future endeavor, one that only time could tell about, and so he focuses on ensuring the present to being as grand as he can, and if it’s teaching Melita more about her heritage rather than dealing with horrendous hangovers or purposefully drunk off his ass, he’ll do it. Because this was easy, didn’t require much other work, other than thinking of the things she’d need like sentence structure and verbage. Insults were easier, there was no true need for them to make sense.

And so he snorts to her, shaking his head lightly before humming along in agreement. “Alright.” He begins, leaning back on his hands and squinting against the sunlight as it drifts over them slowly. “If you want to introduce yourself, you’d say ek word melita genoem.” He rumbles, looking over to her. “It’s basically saying ‘my name is’ but we don’t say it quite that way. More of an ‘I am called’ sort of way. Ek word Sunjata genoem.”

you got your finger on the trigger

but your trigger finger's mine

SuNJATA

MELITA

Introductions, easy enough – unfortunately most people already knew who she was, by whatever means (hopefully not the blight; didn’t want that to be the highlight of her exploits here), so she’d have to save it for another time. “Ek word Melita geoem,” she pronounced, her eyes to the sky as she deliberated and strived, desperate to get the right tones, the right inflections, simmering across her tongue. Was this how Gaal had maneuvered and declared himself to others? She could picture him strutting across some scenery, too big, too broad, too ridiculous, a manifestation of bulk and not much else. The youth didn’t bother asking, shaking her head at the picture in her cranium, lodged there like a maneuvering picture – maybe he didn’t bother, and just let his fists or the world do the talking. I am called Melita. Perhaps there’d be a day where she’d be heralded as something more. But for now – there she was. Her eyes flicked back to him briefly, while she drummed her fingers across the top of Fangorn’s head. “What about asking how they’re doing?” Simple, not complex, but likely a familiar gesture in learning any language. Or perhaps other questions, the idle curiosity stoked and invoked.

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