you’re not bulletproof

SuNJATA

the flood

He supposes that anything is possible, that others had arrived past the ends of their previous lives, to live again. Or there were some that shared a different timeline, different memories that revived and were simply there. And if he shared those memories, he’d likely remember being one of Melita’s fellow citizen of the Dragon’s Throat, how they could reminisce about the heat of the sands, the water that surrounded them, the wings that danced along their backs in that other world.

But he doesn’t. And now it’s likely a lost cause, in the end anyway.

There’s a sound that leaves his throat in quiet agreement to Melita, how it was difficult for her to see the changes. Likewise, it was difficult for him to see her with those fatal scars healed, small reminders of the things she’d gone through because of him. But he can’t fall into those thoughts too much, not as Melita asks him if she liked it here, and there’s a small smile of his own that blooms along his face at that. “I think she did, yeah.” He rumbles, glancing over to the fiery haired girl. “She liked you too, which is definitely saying something.”

rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony

BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3

MELITA

Perhaps that was the smallest piece of mind – that for her short ventures here – the woman had enjoyed her opportunity for second chances. It seemed trite, trivial, and minute, petty at the same time, but the youth swallowed down the length of bile she yearned to express, the unfairness, the fact that others managed for far longer and some never seemed to catch a break. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, to reach out and seethe, nothing to change, nothing to alter, nothing to bend – her hands occupied and busy with the shelving, otherwise they might have balled back into fists, angry and vexed at dominions, at binding claws of things they couldn’t snatch or snag.

His last comment though – she wasn’t certain how to react. Perhaps it was a tease, a taunt, that either Melita herself was unlikeable, someone would find aversion with her (which, truth be told, had already occurred, but Kiada wasn’t high on her list of giving much of a care), or that Lusea’s standards were high. So she laughed, and it bounded on airy, ethereal timbers, rather than the dull, muted quandaries, locks bouncing along her shoulders as she glanced back over to him. “What is that supposed to mean?” An obvious tease, her grin bold and apparent, brow arching, as if waiting for him to give an answer, treading along dangerous grounds.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SuNJATA

the flood

Of course, he hadn’t anticipated the way she might have taken it. But based off of the things he’d said about Lusea, about how long it had taken to gain her trust, perhaps Melita would be able to see between the lines and understand that she was a likeable, great, wonderful girl – and how much of Lusea he could see within her fiery soul, a Korofi flame granted with the hue of her hair, in the spark in her eye, in the ability to want to reign vengeance on the world for those that have wronged her.

Perhaps she should have been a Senzaok all along.

So given her tease, he glances over to her once the shelving is put in place and secure and they can start lifting the lantern and the little memories and knickknacks into their rightful places – and he snorts to her. “It means that she liked you. A lot.” He rumbles a bit offhandedly, finding it strange to comment about something like this in this sort of manner. “And if she had to stitch you up, she probably wouldn’t have cursed you out to get off her table.” He winks, hidden smirks crossing along his face, replacing the sorrow and uncertainty of before in favor for nostalgic memories and themes.

rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony

BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3

MELITA

Melita had made too many errors in her short life to ever consider herself remarkable – scorched embers, ashen cinders, plucked horizons she’d always yearned to chase down, run into the ground moments thereafter. She hadn’t been capable of saving anyone. She’d only defended and shielded for so long, she’d only pried tenacity and obstinance from the void, and she’d only gallivanted off into mischief, into flames and infernos. The teasing and taunting had hit its mark though, and she laughed, light and airy again, struggling to smother down everything else threatening to bound its way along her throat. “That’s a relief.” She retreated down from the stool for a moment, a war waging behind her eyes, for the triviality of it all, when it really didn’t matter in the end –

And that it did, all at the same time.

The youth kept her glance away from him, purposefully, rooting herself into the floor, staring up at the wall, as if surveying what they needed to do next, what looked good, what looked like it required some more work. “I liked her too.” But like most things she cherished and adored, it all spun away into nothingness, decayed, wrecked, and rotted; as if she couldn’t keep hold of anything, as if the flames surged and sought, but had no tethers, no lines, of its own.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SuNJATA

the flood

She wasn’t alone in that regard, in making too many errors, too many mistakes. But sometimes, those mistakes were the ones that gave the names, that made someone remarkable when others wouldn’t think second of it. Sometimes, it was all that it took to change and shift and recreate the image that others had of you. Sometimes it was enough.

But he still manages a brief hum of a chuckle at her comment, at her relief, if one could call it that. He’d been relieved when he hadn’t had to try and hide his feelings for her once they were out in the open, relieved to be able to continue on that path, for however many times and trials it had taken them. And gods, gods, did he love her for everything she’d done for him and with him.

He stands with Melita, side by side, steel eyes looking at each small square, spaces left to place and encase the memories of their loved ones, before he settles on placing Lusea’s lantern within one, placing the other small decorations around it. Little things here and there that she had picked up in her time in Caido, some things she had brought with her from Korofi too, somehow.

And then he turns to Melita with a light smile on his face. “Now, should we start on Clementine's?” The shadows to his face are lighter, as though some of the weight had been lifted from his shoulders at telling her about Lusea, at talking about her and what she was like, what she could have become in the end, and what the stories of their lives would now be.

rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony

BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3

MELITA

She watched as Lusea’s became the first (of many) to be inducted along the wall, all alone up there for now, lanterns and entanglements of décor placed to enshrine, to remember, to immortalize for as long as the threshold stood. It seemed right, fair, and just, and still saddening, a despondent little crash and conflagration in her heart. It came together too, in those nuances and notions, her eyes ghosting over the fragments, the symbols, the paradigms and paradoxes of a woman meant to be in flames, rather than in dust or ash.

But then Sunjata turned back to her, and she nodded; it was her opportunity, her chance, to maneuver Clementine’s reflections, emblems, metaphors, and representations – and something in her chest sunk, that she’d have to do this all over again. Her hands went to her bag, where she pulled out the lantern she’d made for prior festivals, the curlicued blossoms painted on their metallic ramparts, lifting it along shelves and hooks, then stepping back. She returned to her satchel, fetching the sweet wildflowers, the adorned thistles, the downy, soft petals in various blends and hues from places and visits to forests, to fields, to clover, to honey, to glades and copses that held repose and sanctity. The girl twined them together in her hands, the stems woven and twisted, the leaflets curling and coiling, the dulcet rancor brooding in her movements, until she anointed them all with a shaking, shuddering breath alongside the lantern. All of it committed in silence, uncertain of what to do or say, how to honor another she’d loved and then lost.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SuNJATA

the flood

He turns to look at her once Lusea’s lantern and knickknacks are in place, pleased with how it’s turned out, saddened all the same. But the time is Melita’s now, to create and churn and make, to place the lantern she had made for her twin along the shelving wherever she wished, to add the extra trinkets of memory and things that reminded her of the other honey child. But she remains silent, and Sunjata wonders if perhaps talking about it while doing it wouldn’t help the red haired girl. At the very least, Melita has placed it all up on the shelving too. Perhaps that was all that needed to be done.

As soon as she’s placed the last one along the shelves, Sunjata can hear the shuddering exhale of breath, feel the uncertainty brewing, and so he reaches out with a wide arm to pull the girl in close to his side, eyes lingering on her loved ones lantern and his own, exhaling just as much of a sigh of breath as she has. “Tell me about her again.” Because the girl had done it once before, but Sunjata wanted her to say it here — to cement it between the walls along with the lantern and memories. So that nothing and nobody could ever take it away.

rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony

BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3

MELITA

Tucked against his side, all she could do was stare at the lanterns adorning the wall, and then the empty space damned and doomed to be filled with others – the congregation of endless, vanquished souls. She could hear his request, and it hollowed out regions of her all over again, things she never truly closed off or away; the melodies always ever-present in her mind, like sonnets, like lullabies, like notes and stanzas she had no artistic form for, and could only recall pulsing from her sister’s entity. There weren’t enough words to describe her; and the youth thought maybe a few wouldn’t do her any good, wouldn’t entail anything and everything that had been her twin, but on a shaking breath, she tried. “Clementine was the better half – angelic and sweet, compassionate and gentle. She could sing to the birds. She could enrich the flowers. She could brush away everything with a laugh.” With generosity. With any tender nuance. With kindness and dignity, while Melita seared and simmered from corners, both plunged into an agony they weren’t sure how to face. The honeybee girl had hissed and foamed and howled; Clementine had embraced and strived and bent until she couldn’t any longer. “She was like our mother, beautiful and wise.”

She fought away the tears by casting her eyes to the floor, by locking her jaw tight, by swallowing and summoning any modicum of strength into her essence. “And she still fought.” Fought to live another day, right alongside the rest of them, fought to survive, fought to prevail, fought to endure agony after agony until her poor frame broke. Incomplete, without her pair, without her sibling, without her twin; Melita had been adrift over and over again, incapable of being, becoming, both of them – still pressing herself too close to the fire.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SuNJATA

the flood

He holds her near with an arm, his palm rubbing against her shoulder and upper arm gently, squeezing here and there when he thinks that she might need it as he stares at the lantern and the bundles of flowers left behind – wondering if he could get Jigano or someone to come by and ensure they remain as vibrant as ever, as powerful as this moment just for her. His gaze only breaks to look down at her when she begins to speak, nodding quietly at the polar opposite from Melita her twin must have been.

But there are a few things he disagrees with. Only with the way that she comments that she was like her mother, beautiful and wise, and Sunjata can see that in Melita too – though he doesn’t say it, not here, not while reminiscing and reliving their siblings and loved ones. “Sometimes fighting is all you can do.” He agrees softly, turning to look at her a bit more fully. “You are her are similar in many ways, whether you think it or not.” He gives her a knowing smile – that the way that she describes her sister is a similar way to how he’d describe her too.

“Albei klein heuningbye wat wêreldwyd aanspraak maak.” He rumbles in their language, smiling lightly to her.

---

albei klein heuningbye wat wêreldwyd aanspraak maak. - both little honeybees staking a claim in the world.

rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony

BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3

MELITA

Melita had always thought of them as vastly different – Clementine gentle where she was brash, Clementine soft when she’d been wild, Clementine a generous, beneficent soul, where Melita was a brushfire, ready to be set, kindled, and ignited on any justified means. Little bees, little drones, little buzzing granules and petals in the wildflower fields, laden with all the time, all the measures, all the harmony in the world – severed and ripped apart in the next. But Clementine had never lost her compassion. Melita had butchered hers somewhere, in between columns of bitterness and rancor for those she thought responsible for deaths, for desecration, for ruin; hanging onto those vengeful notions for as long as she could. Would her twin have done the same? No - forgiveness would’ve been rendered almost immediately. She didn’t know, would’ve prospered in regards to Kiada and all her entanglements with the false god, all the massacres and sacrifices ensued thereafter. Her sister would’ve sought out absolution and created a new aura of compassion. Melita wanted the Harpy suffering, miserable, just like the rest of them. Perhaps that’s where the line was drawn, because the youth couldn’t move on, couldn’t move past, couldn’t stretch her neck forward and trace somewhere not lined with nettles and thorns. Maybe she was blind. Maybe she was rash. Maybe she couldn’t take the quiet any longer, and bristled, seethed, and burned apart because it was better than sinking.

She thought about shaking her head, about arguing the thoughts Sunjata pulsed out loud. “We’ll always fight,” she swallowed and pierced instead, firm and determined, to take her place in the row of resolute, adamant fools. Her eyes twisted upwards to meet his for a moment on the last rumble, only catching a few words she knew – something about little bees in the world, and the girl wished there could’ve been hundreds more of their tales and exploits, their stories and triumphs. Then her gaze lifted back to the flowers placed on their sill, on the petals vibrant in hue, color, and wonder. “Once, our friend Iskra took us to a dome – and it led into the ocean, so you could see fish, dolphins, coral, and everything along the reef, with your nose pressed to the glass. Maybe I’ll find something like that too, and put it there for her.” Soft, gentled musings, and nothing more: pieces of ocean, shells, little fragments of memories no one else could have.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SuNJATA

the flood

“So a fighter you’ll be.” He rumbles to her in assurance. If she always chose to fight, it made her far more like him than he had hoped for. Not having a choice, growing up in a world and life similar to hers and yet so different. He could’ve chosen to stay soft, to stay broken and predictable – but he had changed, given into the volatile part of himself that burned and churned, thundered and splintered, a strong front for a crumbling man with addictive tendencies from within.

He didn’t want that for her, but the damage was done already. This was who they were.

So he sighs quietly, turning to her a bit more fully, sitting on the stool she had used to place her lantern and knickknacks up to be a bit more eye level with her. “Just don’t forget where you came from, don’t let anyone take that away from you.” He adds with a small tilt of his head. “Don’t forget Helovia or your mother or your sister just because they’re not here.” He tries to affirm to her, because he wasn’t planning on forgetting either, regardless of the time and distance between him and his lover lost twice, of his home that made him harbor the strength and problems he had.

As she mentions the other man named Iskra, his gaze lingers on her sunny face, listening diligently. His face breaks into a smile at the mention of the ocean, of shells and reefs, and he nods to her  with that. “I can’t wait for the ocean either. Lusea and I had planned to go there once we found a way.” He looks back to the lantern with a nostalgic smirk. “We should go when we find it. Collect the shells or other trinkets, enjoy the warmth and the salty waters.” He can almost taste it on his tongue.

rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony

BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3

MELITA

Staying soft was never a true option; she would’ve been dead, just as much as the rest of them, a cold carcass, or laden in dust, broken, shattered, beyond the point of return. Would she have wanted that for herself? Would her mother have saved someone vulnerable and weak? Someone meant to cave in, to break, to snap, to splinter away? She’d had too much spirit, too much will, too much defiance riddled and scored into her bones, etched into her essence, to ever truly give in. One day it would surely do her in, one day she would surely perish, become another mound of ashes and soot. But not this moment. Not this hour. Not in these collected fragments.

Yes – it was who they were. Fighters. Rebels. Defying worlds, because the alternative was too grave.

His words beckoned, caused her to turn her head away from the wall, from the fringes of memorials, from the depths of snapped sprigs. “I won’t.” Her eyes were determined, stalwart bastions of justice and vengeance, narrowed together into gilded, golden pinnacles, too seditious to be anything else. It was one more pledge – something she wouldn’t forgo, no matter the cost – Helovia, the Dragon’s Throat, her mother, her sister, her friends, her makeshift family, pieces quartered and drawn, but never, never, never forgotten. “You can’t forget either,” she grinned, small mercies in their haunting pasts – it’d carved and sculpted and sheared, but they’d come out stronger, they’d come out bolder, they’d come out unrelenting.

The ocean was a better subject, less fault-lined and fissured, less heartbreaking and tragic – something they didn’t have, but could, and she’d yearn to throw herself into the waves once more. “Absolutely!” More vows, less sinister or nefarious in their shape – for shells, sea shores, sand, dunes, the cry of gulls, and the potency of the surf.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts

SuNJATA

the flood

Affirmation is granted just by the way that Melita says that she won’t. It’s with enough determination and stalwartness that he doesn’t doubt her in the slightest. He knows she won’t, much like him. And he gives her a slightly boyish crooked smile at that before he nods – assured that she won’t. But when she turns the question onto him, grinning with those pearls, he can’t help the snort that leaves him and the hand that subconsciously comes to rub against his torso and his neck. “Oh, I absolutely can’t. Got these tattoos permanently, you know.” He returns to her, smirking before his hand falls away.

And then he’s suggesting they fight to find the ocean, to spend days swimming and pretending to be creatures of the night, of the deepest depths of the ocean, destroying and wreaking havoc among those that would dare defy them. Perhaps one day it would be a reality, a moment of recollection and relaxation – on sandy shores with shells collected and reefs to inspect. She agrees, at least, and he nods with a brighter smile then. “I’ll keep you to it.” He winks, spending a moment to look back at the wall.

A small sigh leaves him before he slides his gaze back over to her. “So, I’m feeling like we should go to the Bone Bridge to do our screaming at the world. What do you think?”

rely a bit too heavily on alcohol & irony

BASE INSPIRED BY ODD <3

MELITA

She’d take permanent determination and resolution, the desire to rebel, the instinct of insurrection and iniquity, with a beam, a flash of a smile. “Of course,” and her eyes glinted with obvious, outright calamity and upheaval, ghosts in the port and storm. They’d keep one another to it – because at least she had more than occasional friends and their distinctions, he was laden within the insurgency now too – not alone in the havoc, in the wreckage. “Likewise.”

Then it was only the potential of the Bone Bridge thereafter, screaming into the void, loosening all the frustrations, all the wild, cooped-up, savage frustrations out into the ether, with only the fog and potential monsters to hear. “Yes!” It was a savage grin wrapped along her mouth, but she didn’t care any longer, not really, unwinding all the burdens of clustered niceties and ambivalence for the sake of nefarious sanctuaries, for releasing toxins and venom and vitriol into some other world, where it really didn’t matter, where they’d already been scorched and bled dry. She grabbed her things, the collection of fragments and weapons, the satchel tossed over her shoulder, eager to race off into the abyss; Fangorn at her heels. “Ready when you are!”

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts