head above water (open!)

but i come to life, come to life

some princes don't become kings

(Set the day after Fiat Lux)

That was a nightmare. He still hadn’t gotten quite used to it yet, the feeling of being guilty, of feeling like the reason so much death and maiming and painful things had happened were because of him not being strong enough, him suffocating, thrashing around in the mud and dirt, shifting into a whale of sorts to try and get the upper hand. And he hadn’t. Haai hadn’t either, much to her displeasure.

So the both of them are in rather terrible moods, and he’s already begun drinking lightly with the bar open, catering to those that might need it while he stares off into space, internal pain and frustration eating at him from the inside out. Shadows in his eyes and beneath them, vibrant against his freckled skin. And he inhales deeply, lighting up a cigarette and leaning against the back of the bar where the drinks remain, eyes staring blankly out across the bar.

He doesn’t know what to do now.

even at the best of times,

i'm out of my mind

SUNJATA

there's always a glimmer in those

There weren’t any leaping, bounding, or exhilarated movements today. Her heart wasn’t settled into exuberance or light, whimsical, fey aspects. Instead, she limped along, leg still settled into its cast, arm still in its sling, half-tempted to snarl at anyone passing by, a little more feral, a little more wild, but shackled, tethered, until everything was healed again.

What a mess. What a disaster.

Perhaps what hurt far more was the fact that any happiness, any radiance, any frivolity from the festivities had died right then and there; with broken bodies, with decrepit souls, with meaningless cataclysms and wreckage. It’d been havoc and dissolution, panic and pandemonium, sieges and assaults from nothing but a mud monster. And it’d spiraled from there.

One of her feet hit the door of the bar, and she fumbled along while Fangorn stayed incredibly close (very defensive, almost hovering, and she might’ve whipped around at him too if she didn’t know he meant well), opening the aperture unsteadily, and then continuing to wobble in. Eyes lifting, flickering over to the back of the bar, she caught the Flood and his silence – and quite frankly, didn’t know how to fill it either. She limped over, dragging her bad leg behind her because she found it irritating, vexing, and annoying, before stumbling over to her designated area, dropping haphazardly into a chair. She leaned her head back against the rest for a time, staring up at the ceiling, at the smoking tendrils from his cigarette, at the plumes and fresh paint, the memorial wall that would have to be added to once more. “Do you want to talk about it?” She offered, gaze not swinging his way, careful.

who have been through the dark

MELITA

OLIVER

Part of him told him to stay indoors, to simply give himself some time alone, but other parts of him knew that wouldn't be healthy. That he'd fall into a despair of drinking and self-isolation. It wouldn't be healthy and Oliver knew how bad it could get. Now, he also knew drinking wasn't the solution. Drinking was not the reason he came to this place in particular, rather, it was the person there. He needed to check in on Sunjata, to see if he was okay seeing as Oliver hardly even got to see him after everything. Would he be mad about him running away? Probably, which is why Oliver planned on apologizing.

Walking into the VlamVloed, Oliver fully expected it to be fully empty, except he saw a familiar face. Melita. With her was Sunjata. With wide eyes, Oliver mad his way towards the side, quickly averting his eyes. The two were already seemingly talking so instead, he moved to sit at the end of the bar. It was too late to leave, seeing as he kind of slammed the door open, so he was left with taking a seat and acting like his sole reason for coming was a quick drink.

Looking at Oliver, it wouldn't be too hard to tell that he's had a rough night. The mud has been washed away and he has been healed, but that's the only thing going for him. His eyes have bags underneath them, his face is deathly pale, his hair is a flat mess. He looks as though he's put hardly any care into his appearance, wearing not a single bit of jewelry. As well, he looked sad, not a hint of a smile on his face. Even his outfit was pitiful, with him wearing whatever the hell he wouldn't feel hot in, the entire outfit clashing. He looked like a disaster and he felt like it.

a disaster!

a massive mess

trying to not die

but i come to life, come to life

some princes don't become kings

He doesn’t expect company, in fact he expects to just sit there and stare off into space until he can’t feel anything anymore. But he doesn’t, not when the door opens and Melita comes hobbling in, in slings and on sore legs, sore feet. She’s stable enough to get into the chair on her own, staring into the curved edges of the ceiling. He inhales deeply from the cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke, about to reply to her when Oliver emerges. The blonde man doesn’t say anything, instead he just makes his way over to a seat – looking just about as good as he does.

He mixes up an easy drink, sliding it over to Oliver with a knowing nod before settling forward on the bar, arms outstretched, bruises and scratches along his face and arms that have healed, but still remained. He hadn’t found it in himself to bathe fully just yet – not able to stand submerging himself when he’d recalled such terrible thoughts of his childhood, of being trapped and drowning and spinning down and down gulping for air where there weren’t none to be found.

“Sorry we weren’t able to get it away from the Festival.” He rumbles to Melita, running a hand through his hair – horns appearing along his skull, tilting back toward the back half of the crown of his head. He flicks the ash from his cigarette, before staring at the glass quietly. The hidden words beneath his statement floating in the air. ’I’m sorry I hurt you’, before he takes a sip of his drink and his horned head shifts toward Oliver. “Any word on anything else from yesterday?” Aside from the obvious.

even at the best of times,

i'm out of my mind

SUNJATA

there's always a glimmer in those

The quiet, the silence, was only fractionally disturbed by Oliver’s appearance; she waved at him with her good arm and then cast her gaze back to the ceiling, to newly painted lines, to sculpted vestiges that seasons before had been out of reach. How quickly time spun everything away, leaving them in the dust, in the dirt, in the filth, in the muck all over again – just when they thought they had everything together – spitting them into ashes and soot. A part of her didn’t wish to settle into the chair, to remain in its hold, but her injured limbs quieted and quelled the assertions, biting down along the back of her jaw instead, a hushed snort resounding through her lungs and nose.

When she finally managed to glance his way, at the rumbling of vocals, she saw horns nestled in his hair, not devilish, but something else in the animal vestiges and correspondences, had a thousand inquiries that died on her tongue. Somewhere in the midst Melita might’ve bent into curiosity and upheaval, a shocked gasp, a sort of awe, but now, a bit numb to it all, she merely stared. “Not your fault. At least you tried,” sauntered and seared past her lips, and then a sullen sigh – because it was the truth. How many times had they all done the same, striving to help, to assist, to do something other than wallow or scream, and it still hadn’t mattered? Still hadn’t worked? It was a wonder anyone did anything at all. She appreciated his efforts, commended all of their trials. Hadn’t these rituals occurred during LongNight too? Even though they’d been prepared, even though they’d sung, even though they’d attempted, the monsters still came in? Maybe that was the moral of the story, maybe that was the hint of the truth they were now sworn to bear. One could try their best, and it still wouldn’t count. The demons could continue coming in.

who have been through the dark

MELITA

OLIVER

Rather than being ignored, Oliver is surprised to actually receive a wave from Melita. Once he has sat down, he offers a small wave to her before turning to look forward again. Once again, he is surprised to have Sunjata mix him up a drink. Perk is that the man has already made him drinks before, leading to it being perfect and fit to his tastes. Lifting the glass to his lips, Oliver takes a swig, listening to Sunjata and Melita speak to each other.

Once he has set down the glass, Sunjata addresses him. Looking towards the man, Oliver shrugged. "I've heard....a lot." He sounds exhausted and his throat is almost scratchy. His body shook slightly as he started to speak, sharing some of the things he had heard. "Aoife died....Remi disappeared....some kids also died..." There were pauses between each one, a growing struggle within him. He should've done more. Maybe if he actually knew how to fight the monster wouldn't have made it that far. None of his attacks even fucking landed. What fucking use was he?!

a disaster!

a massive mess

trying to not die

but i come to life, come to life

some princes don't become kings

He’s not sure why he can’t look at her, though he chalks it somewhat up to guilt. Regrets, pain, the terror of finding her hurt and how much she mattered to him in the long run. But she’s okay, he keeps telling himself. They’d both made it. But so many others hadn’t. And it was for them that he hurt further, that the bruises themselves might press in on him. All he can do is nod to her, lifting the cigarette to his lips again to take a drag and letting it tightly settle in his lungs. “I‘m glad you’re doing okay.” He offers Melita, his hand snagging on one of his horns when he goes to look at Oliver.

And it’s so much worse than he had imagined. It pained him to hear the little girl that had been babbling and full of life, how he’d told Remi to keep an eye on her, now didn’t breathe. And it stung. But his brows furrow slightly as he tries to think — because Phoebe had brought the boys too — he had spotted them as he danced with her beforehand. And he had entered the tango with the creature mostly because she had captured his attention with it.

“How old were the other kids?” He rumbles somewhat flatly, steel eyes shadowed and haunted as he awaits the answer, hoping that the sob he’d heard from Phoebe as he emerged from the mud monsters remains were not because the other kids had been triplets. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it were.

even at the best of times,

i'm out of my mind

SUNJATA

there's always a glimmer in those

She listened, acute to nothing but the sounds of others speaking now, something else burning behind her eyes, the wards of uselessness dragging, coiling, reaching low into the pit of her stomach. She could hear Sunjata’s notions of glad she was okay, but she hadn’t suffered nearly as much as others, and there was a conflagration she wanted to spur upon herself, for weaknesses, for incapabilities, for trying and trying and trying and it mattering to so very little. The youth nodded, biting back a thousand blistering motions for herself, eyes turning to Oliver, to sear in the information –

Except it plunged and punctured more of her heart, and she sat up straighter, spine taut, mouth aghast, open, horrified. Aoife, dead? The little tiny child of the stars, dead? Remi disappeared? More and more deceased, youths inclining, soaked up in the reverie, in the rapture, of another festival, vanquished without a trace? Her fingers shook and her chest ached, eyes flickering back to the wall, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes because she was so, so, so tired of all of this. Why did it keep happening? Why why why blasted an angry fume and plume in her vocals and she was silent in their stewing, tumultuous fury and sorrow – for Remi, for Ronin, for little babes who didn’t get to do anything more than breathe for an instant, and then gone in the next. Helovia, the Rift, the worlds cracking and splintering all over again. “I’m so sorry,” she said to nothing and no one in particular, a fissured nuance, a shattering of strength. The honeybee youth thought about leaving entirely, about making things for the wall, about rampaging and throwing her fists upon the ground, about fits of fury that would never really matter.

who have been through the dark

MELITA

OLIVER

Melita? Okay? That was a massive fucking leap. Oliver saw how she looked and it wasn't fucking pretty...not that she's not pretty! She's pretty, just looks like she's been beaten to shit. All because he couldn't even aim a single fucking rock at a giant thing! How can he be that pitiful?!

Shaking his head, he turned to look down, clearly put off by Sunjata's question. "No idea, honestly. I just....heard about it." He didn't want to think about the potential for anyone close to him to die. It was such a hard thing to think about. Yes, he was devastated that children had died, but he was also glad that nobody close to him had left this world. Is it bad that he also felt bad that he missed out on his night with Harper? To have a proper night together. It was stolen from him.

Then Melita said something unexpected. Looking up, Oliver picked up his glass and walked over to where she was, sitting down to join her. His voice had become soft and broken, his voice dripping with guilt. "You have nothing to apologize for, you did absolutely nothing wrong." Why was she blaming herself? She literally was fine?! Fuck, she got hurt too! She had no reason to be apologizing and that hurt him to the core. "I can promise you, that you are completely fine Melita. We don't blame you nor do we hate you....I'm just happy to see that you're okay." And now he sounded like he was going to cry. Great.

a disaster!

a massive mess

trying to not die

but i come to life, come to life

some princes don't become kings

He hopes so severely that the other kids aren’t the triplets, making a mental note to pay a visit to Phoebe soon – once he feels less like shit, once the tightness in his chest lets up. And he takes a deep drag from the cigarette, flicking the ash to the side as he nods to Oliver – clearly bothered by all the loss – but there was nothing he could do about it now was there? He could help with the recovery efforts, help with getting people to the Infirmary and College. But it wouldn’t bring anyone back.

He exhales a plume of smoke, reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose, before the hand lifts to run through his hair and snag at the horns that sweep back from his forehead. One finger taps against the golden edge, listening as Oliver tells Melita that she has nothing to apologize for. “The more these things happen, the more I wonder what layer of hell they’ve dropped us into.” He rumbles, leaning back in his chair before his breath hitches slightly and he puts out the cigarette, leaning back to inhale and break through the tightness, the start of the crackling within his lungs.

“For now, all we can do is help with the recovery efforts.” That can be their good karma, for their failure in ensuring it didn’t reach the festival.

even at the best of times,

i'm out of my mind

SUNJATA

there's always a glimmer in those

Something must have split apart in Oliver, her eyes rounding as she faced him, listening to the softening realms, the guilt-drenched ire, the way the world had shifted and changed again. Or maybe it hadn’t – it’d always been this way, and they’d been too caught up in their frivolity, in escaping LongNight fringes, in evading the plunge of uncertainty, of the wild vehemence of past months, they hadn’t thought it would catch them again. They hadn’t dreamed of their outrageous festival becoming a nightmare. They hadn’t sought out refuge. They hadn’t built up schemes of protection. Last year’s had been a whirlwind of cacophony and light, and this one had ended in blood and bones and death. There was something else laden in Oliver’s speech, not touched or parsed through, and in her tired, aching ferocity, she whispered into the void. “What happened?” What had occurred? What had the monster been? Why had it crept into their world? All she could recall was the blinding glimpse of ice and mud and stone, whipping through the air, demolishing, sacrificing children into its sanctity.

Melita could hear Sunjata’s answer, probably far more careful – assisting with recovery efforts, once she’d fully mended, once she’d healed from their latest catastrophe. She’d probably start on the additions to the walls too, which sunk into her heart, which coated over threshold (Aoife, little giggling Aoife, some other scattered kids that currently had no faces, no names). “Right,” was a murmur and nothing more. No comments on hell – she’d been there before. At least the Rift had always informed everyone of exactly what it was – Caido disguised itself in pieces and pockets of serenity, before ripping away all the seams.

who have been through the dark

MELITA

OLIVER

The seconds seem to go by like hours as there are gaps of time between speaking. His words came out like a waterfall towards Melita and he could hardly even remember what he had said once the words had fully escaped his mouth. It was a lot to think about. All he could remember for certain was that Melita had no reason to blame herself. It went unspoken, but Oliver also believed that Sunjata had nothing to apologize for. It is only him who is at fault. He is the one who ultimately failed everyone else.

Melita wanted to know more. Oliver...wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to lose a potential friend, but the truth would come out eventually. Oliver would rather tell her himself than let a third hand account repeat back some bullshit disguised as the truth. His eyes shifted over to Sunjata as he started to speak, waiting for him to possibly cut in or add something. "The mud monster came from....I don't know where. I, Loren, Sunjata, and Phoebe tried to attack it....but obviously that fucking failed...thank the gods, but I think Frey came to help us....I've never heard the voice before but I'm sure it was Frey." He must give recognition where it is deserved. It's obvious, though, that he's holding back a lot. He's feeling tons of emotions and his voice is strained, like he's trying his best to stay civil and not scream or cry.

"I really wish I knew what fucking led to its creation. Why we have the monsters. What, was it the voice? The same fuck who put us here? The same one who took away my memories or ruined our lives?" His voice grew steadily and it was obvious that he was stressed. Overwhelmed and confused, ready to maybe cry or scream at any given moment.

a disaster!

a massive mess

trying to not die

but i come to life, come to life

some princes don't become kings

His gaze flits to Melita when she asks what happened, listening quietly as Oliver begins to speak – pausing only when he mentions it’s Frey and Sunjata nods. “Yeah that was Frey.” He shivers silently at the memory. “We took out half of it before it reached the festival, but I got sucked up inside it.” He frowns at it, fingers tracing the grain of the wood in the bar top. “I shifted to a different shift to get free, but I think I was drowning for most of it.” His lip curls in distaste, before he shakes his head, voice calm if not frustrated, gaze finding Oliver when he spoke – all of his emotions out in the open.

The mention of the Voice however, he’s not sure how to answer. He doesn’t know what creates them, but the world he’d lived in before didn’t have magic, didn’t have creatures of mud or spite – and tragedies still happened. Floods would sweep hundreds of people away, fires would take out many more. “I’m not sure if it’s her that’s made the monsters.” He offers quietly, contemplatively, before coughing lightly. “Could just be how Caido is.” He shrugs, gaze returning to Melita with a small dark raised brow.

even at the best of times,

i'm out of my mind

SUNJATA

there's always a glimmer in those

She listened; to the way they’d fought the mud monster, to how it hadn’t mattered, to the recollections of times and places where the patterns had been similar. Where brutality had reigned, and there were seconds where one believed they’d simply be extinguished. Where the dead rose and smothered the living. Where chasms opened wide to let hell consign them into further oblivion. Her gaze fell onto the ground, away from the memorial wall, destined to have others situated in its sanction – like every year they gained a couple more – listening to how they’d tried. How they’d strived. How they’d attempted. The girl wasn’t sure what to say anymore: what would gain traction, what would move them forward, what would make the guilt wane or the agony lessen.

Nothing, likely, but time.

Her head shook a little, uncertain about the monsters too. “We fought against a giant vampire gourd before and defeated it before it could get to the Greatwood. It was full of the blight.” What made any of these things grow and fester? “Sometimes it’s just how they grow and mutate.” She thought of the memory snow, of the gigantic flinthopper, of all the other things maneuvering and assembling in the shades.

who have been through the dark

MELITA