Wrap your teeth around the pavement

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." It was growing late. The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon a long time ago, and only a blue shimmer still hinted at light far off in the west. The skies were high and bright with stars, and revelers streaming out of the bar were gathering on street corners and carousing on the squares, music filling the air with all the fervor that usually preceded festivals. Even if the Fae tradition was not really theirs yet, and even though it was a long way off to the Midnight Gathering, the spirits were still high in the LongHeat eve. The tragedies of LongNight and Fiat Lux were slowly fading from their minds, and perhaps for the first time in a long while, they were smiling. Laughing. Maea did not share the sentiment. Dragging a heavy bag in one hand, with a backpack and another bag slung over her other shoulder, she was a raincloud in the making as she trundled up the path to the VlamVloed. Waiting impatiently for a group of drunkards to clear the doorway, she proceeded to drag her burdens into the tavern, across all of the floor and up to the bar. There, she let it all fall to the ground with a rattle like the roof was about to come down. With a groan she slumped down in one of the chairs by the counter, and rubbed her hands over the face. "Something of the stronger sort, please?" she murmured, not even bothering to see who was standing behind the bar at the moment. They were all familiar to her by now, and all would be equally surprised to hear her request. Maea kept her hands over the face, hoping to be spared any comments. She was really not in the mood.

hide your secrets, disguise your weakness

and lose yourself inside your busy head

It’d been surprisingly busy once things got back to normal, and he somewhat huffs at the whispers around the bar – he can hear them, fairly well thanks to the earring in his ear, and some of it (nay, most of it) he would really rather not be witnessed to. At the very least, however, since his meeting with Safrin he’d been getting somewhat better. Today? He’d woken up and had the ability to take a full breath of air, no rasp, no cough, nothing. A huge relief, in the end.

He still doesn’t anticipate Maea to appear in a flurry of… Sadness? Exhaustion? He can’t entirely tell. He knows that she doesn’t notice him, and that’s fine. She slumps in the chair before him and he pulls out a glass to fill with something on the medium side of strong – because he knows her, knows her habits, and doesn’t want her to get sicker. But with it, he pulls out his own and fills it as well before sliding hers to her and taking a sip of his own.

“Rough day, sweetheart?” He hums to her, voice back to normal, a smooth rumble compared to his exhausted tones of his sickness – something Maea’d only ever heard from him.

burn your bridges, and leave no witnesses

all alone inside your busy head

SuNJATA

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." The voice was different enough that she didn't know who it was at first. Maybe a new hire, someone standing in for a sick regular, maybe... but there was only one person who would ever think to call her 'sweetheart', and it gave Sunjata up right away. Lowering the hands just enough to peer over the fingertips at him, with elbows leaned against the counter top, she watched him, not saying anything for a while. He looked... less worn. No bags under the eyes, no sagging face, and the gray tint to his skin was gone, along with the blueness of the lips. Any other day she would leap at the change, ask what happened, who it was that finally got him to agree to be healed. Not today though. "It's done," she replied, her voice as dull and flat as his had become vibrant. Rich and deep and full of inflection she never noticed before... She wonder if he might be a good singer. "I've sold the farm. This bag," she gestured at one of them with a flick of a finger, "is everything I own now." Two sets of clothes, both of which he'd already seen - she was wearing one now, the leather breeches and shirt normally reserved for training - along with the bow he'd given her, as well as a few chosen memorabilia from her family members. Blankets, books and writing equipment, and of course the bags themselves. The rest? Gifts for the Midnight Gathering, trade goods for going back and forth to Halo, for what she needed to get by beyond the food and bed she still had here... which in all honesty was more than he probably could afford at the moment, given the blow to the stock from Phoebe's madness. It was a lifetime crammed into a middle-sized canvas bag. Looking down at it, Maea thought it rather pitiful. Reaching for the glass he sent her, she knocked back her head and drained it in one, grateful for the burn of the liquour as it sizzled down her throat. Maybe if she had a few more, it would do something to ease the hollow ache in her chest.

hide your secrets, disguise your weakness

and lose yourself inside your busy head

He offers her a sly smile when she looks up, spotting some form of confusion along her face as he takes a deeper drink of his own. But her voice is flat, dull, quiet in comparison, gesturing to a bag that his steel gaze flickers over to in some small amount of surprise but understanding. At least, he does until she comments that everything she owns is in that bag. Which isn’t true, she’s got the room in the bar that Sunjata’s dedicated to her for however long she needs it. Forever, maybe, if need be. He doesn’t care.

She takes a deep drink of the glass, enough to drain it and his dark brow raises as he goes to lean along the bar and pour a bit more in, fingers tapping along the bottle he’d poured from as he considers her. “I’m sorry, Maea.” He offers to her quietly, reaching to her hand to squeeze it lightly, before withdrawing to look around the bar. “But you’ve got your room in the bar for however long you need. Whenever you need it.” Steel eyes slip back to her with a softer smile at that, canines extended slightly but horns hidden away.

“And I did stash away some of the Valair spirits you brought over. So if you ever get homesick you can help yourself.” He adds, hoping it might help, reaching for his glass again and relishing the sweet, light burn of it as it travels down his throat.

burn your bridges, and leave no witnesses

all alone inside your busy head

SuNJATA

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." Her gaze was unusually dark as she followed his movements, going to refill her glass. Taking her hand, squeezing it; she returned it, but did not try to keep him there when he pulled back. Again she drank from what he poured her, though not quite as violently as before. Holding the drink in her mouth for a moment before swallowing, she felt the flavors mingle on the tongue, the alcohol stinging her nose and making the throat burn. Coughing into her sleeve, she shrugged at the reminder of the room. It was nice of him to offer it like that, but it wasn't home. Not really. There were no personal items of hers in there, no history within the walls, no memories to lean into before she fell asleep. And the cider? The wine her brother made, the vintages her father had laid down before he passed to Mort's embrace? Those were flavors of the painful kind. "Thank you," she said anyway, but some of the sentiment shone through despite the effort to conceal it. She sighed, feeling tired. Looking it. The usual light was not there in her eyes today, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. That stubborn cough was growing more frequent by the day, settling deeper into her lungs... she'd had to cancel her run this morning, and the delay irritated her. Pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, she cast a look about the bar. A few customers still lingered, but the place was emptying out. Any music had ended, and the few who remained sat in deep conversation over their drinks, the soft murmur of their voices a buzz in the air that grated on her nerves. "They came back quicker than I thought," she commented, rather listlessly. It was good, of course, but... somehow she couldn't really bring herself to truly care.

hide your secrets, disguise your weakness

and lose yourself inside your busy head

The return squeeze, at least, is a good sign. And the way she doesn’t dive headfirst into the next drink is also a bonus. But he can’t let his eyes drift from her when she coughs, watching with some idle curiosity if the sickness that Nate had mentioned she was coming down with had begun its worst yet. He doesn’t comment on it, figuring she might tell him should she wish to – not wanting to push her when she’s in a state like this… Heartbroken, likely. Lost. Alone. He’s felt them before, too, pushed through them with fighting and boxing and sleeping around – but he had been healthy then.

But he follows her gaze around the bar, watching as she notices a decent amount of people begin to filter out. And while the whispers and chats sound like buzzing to Maea, he can hear them fairly clearly – enough that he shakes his head to some of the comments happening in the back of the room, standing up a bit straighter to get a quiet glimpse of what’s occurring. Her comment, however, drags his gaze back to her as he thinks up anything to distract her.

“Good for business.” He offers on a deep hum, a lighter smile sent her way. “We’re closing up soon, though. Then you’ll have me all to yourself.” He offers her with a wink, slipping away from standing across from her to take a few of the discarded glasses from more that begin to filter out and set them in the sink behind him to deal with later. He returns to her after a few moments, resting his forearms on the bar and lets his gaze wash over hers, a lighter cloud of storms hidden beneath.

burn your bridges, and leave no witnesses

all alone inside your busy head

SuNJATA

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." Her nod was a small thing, thoughtful and absent minded. "Here's to good business, then," she said, and tapped her glass to his in a lackluster toast. Maea hovered in her silence for a time as he worked, for once not even asking if she should help. He'd refused her enough times that it felt pointless, and the chair felt as though it might swallow her up soon. With the alcohol buzzing in her system, the warmth of the night was beginning to rise to her face, cheeks flushing slightly even before he began to flirt. And if that was all he ever did, then she could have scoffed at him for it. Could have gotten angry, fueled her ache into something productive, something cathartic like a row or another spar perhaps. But in the end, Sunjata simply stood there and watched her, something so soft and warm in his eyes that she could only gaze back. Lost for words. Slowly, a lump began to form in her throat. Taking a deep breath to try and shift it, she felt to her frustration and surprise how tears began to prickle behind the eyes; she quickly broke the eyecontact and turned away, jaw shifting and tensing as she tried to get a hold of herself. Ridiculous... what did she have to cry over? Nothing, in the end. A whole lot of nothing.

hide your secrets, disguise your weakness

and lose yourself inside your busy head

The tap to his glass from her own is met with a fanged grin, a nod as he takes a sip to complete the lackluster toast. But he sets to work, grabbing a few things here and there before turning his attention back to the moonlit woman, arms braced along the scarred and gouged bar top, trying to distract her and ignite some of the flame that he knew lived buried beneath her soul.

Only, it backfires. And he finds that it’s his cue. He slips away from the bar, keeping his gaze away from her, moving to those that remain within the bar to tell them they’re closing up – waiting the few moments needed to give her the space to work through her emotions on her own. And when everyone’s finally left? He locks the door to the entrance, before turning back toward her with a soft sigh – nothing rasping, nothing shallow, simply full strong breaths.

“Hey, hey.” He says softly, aiming to distract her enough to pull her out of her chair and set her onto the bar top to get more eye level with him. “What can I do?” He asks softly, gaze seeking out her face for anything he could possibly do.

burn your bridges, and leave no witnesses

all alone inside your busy head

SuNJATA

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." What did it mean for a bar owner to close down early just because she almost shed a few tears? That he might empty his establishment and loose the few last scraps of revenue over a girl's broken heart? Quite a lot, it seemed. Maea did not resist as Sunjata pulled her out of the chair and lifted her onto the counter, easy as if she was a child or an oversized doll. Coming closer to his eye level, she found it impossible to escape his gaze, and the care she saw in them just... broke the dams she had worked so hard to build up. For over a year, ever since she had returned home to an empty house with blood on the threshold, and only the echo to answer her desperate screams as she called the names of those who should have been there. "I don't know," she told him, tears welling up into her eyes, teetering on the edge but held caged by long, white lashes. Her lips looked swollen, as if she'd been chewing on them again, and there was a quiver to the chin, her voice a tremolo in the sudden stillness. "I just.. feel so lost, Jata. What am I even doing?" She'd never used his nickname before. It felt as strange, as awkward on her tongue as the knowledge that she'd done something irrevokable now. Something she could never turn back from. Maea had sold her home. Where did she belong, now that it wasn't there?

hide your secrets, disguise your weakness

and lose yourself inside your busy head

He lifts her, places her along the bar top to focus on her face – gaze flickering and searching her gaze. He can see her gaze shutter against his own, and a frown finds his own, his question momentarily unanswered, spotting the glassiness to her pale eyes. He wraps his arms around her, trying to drag her into him, a fresh scent of smoke lingering to his clothes, the sweet scent of the alcohol they’d shared along his breath.

His nickname on her lips doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t react to it. Instead, he continues to hold her close, hands aiming to rub calming circles along her back. “You’re doing a lot, Maea.” He hums to her, and if she’s placed her head in the crook of his shoulder against his neck, she’d feel the vibration beneath them all. “You’re training, working on your magic, working on becoming a Loreseeker.”

He pulls away to scan her face again. “It’s hard, it'll take time... But you'll get there. It'll get easier.” He offers quietly in response to her leaving her home, selling it, the memories that were there. But she didn’t have to remain lost. He holds her tight, close in his arms as an embrace to keep her from crumbling.

burn your bridges, and leave no witnesses

all alone inside your busy head

SuNJATA

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." He pulled her in, and Maea didn't resist. Leaning into him, burying her face into the crook of his neck, her hands came to rest on the sides of his chest, grasping the cloth of the shirt. He was warm, as always. Warm and firm and real, and she breathed in the scent of him in deep shuddering lungfuls, as if smoke and drink, salt and water and soap might somehow be the healing stuff to carry her off this brink she teetered on. The girl parted her knees a bit to let him come closer still, welcoming the embrace like someone starving. And she was, wasn't she? Starved on affection, intimacy, the genuine care and concern he so casually offered with soothing strokes along her neck. He spoke them too, in a smooth rumble that tickled against her cheek; she only raised her head to look at him when he pulled away, and returned her face back to the safe, quiet dark against his neck when the kindness in his expression became too much to withstand without crumbling. Was it possible to hug someone tight enough that their broken pieces might fit back together? It felt a bit like it at the moment. Like Sunjata's strong arms around her was the only thing that held her up. "How did you do it?" she asked, muffled against the collar of his shirt. "How did you recover after being throw into this place, with nothing but yourself? I... I can't even let go of a house, a-and I-I'm still.. I'm still..." Still in her own world, with all the familiar rules and laws, knowing what was expected of her and with goals to accomplish. It was a struggle to bite back the tears, but the girl fought with ever breath to keep them from falling. Didn't want to be weak, or ungrateful. Crying would solve nothing, help nothing. But there was a bag on the floor with a lifetime crammed into it, and when she thought of all the things that had been left behind, a dry sob wracked her thin shoulders.

hide your secrets, disguise your weakness

and lose yourself inside your busy head

He finds little resistance with her, feels her head rest along the crook of his neck, and she lets him pull him into her as she needs it – keeping his hands tight around her. He lets her stay that way however long she needs to before he pulls away just enough to view her face. She searches his face, searches his gaze while he tries to quell the worry within her. And with it? She buries herself back into him, into the waters that he ensures are a calm and steady pool.

The question is muffled, but he can hear her well enough. The question, something he’d thought about a lot when it came to rebuilding a life here. Arriving with nothing aside from the clothes on his back and going from there… And with it? A new perspective of sorts. But he could sit there and spend forever telling her about it, or he could simply focus on the simplicities of it. She trails off, pulling him closer and he holds her tighter to let her break if she needs to.

The sob that leaves her shoulders has him pressing his stubbled cheek into her pale hair, one hand wrapped around her middle, the other resting to cradle her back. “Where do we go when we can’t go back?” A quiet question, the answer to his own attempts at moving on. The one she’d mentioned to him that day on the river, that day in training. The only thing she could do now was go forward.

burn your bridges, and leave no witnesses

all alone inside your busy head

SuNJATA

M  A   E    A I talked to God to no avail Said, "If you won't save me, please don't waste my time." The quiet question was the last straw. Sunjata couldn't know where it came from, how much significance it held to her. It was a phrase she'd asked him once before, when he was down on his knees and looked a man drowning in his own darkness, lost and without a path. Now? He gave it back, in the same way her brother had used to. And gods, how sweet the pain of it was. Maea broke down, began to cry. It was the silent, painful kind. All that could be heard were her shuddering breaths, spaced between far too long intervals of fragile silence. Her shoulders convulsed more than shook, seizing up as all the anguish bottled up within her broke from her eyes and soaked into his shirt. Not a sound slipped from her, but by the way she clung to him, she might as well have been screaming. Long, drawn out howls of pain, refused by vocal cords gone numb. It was a long time coming, really. Had he asked, she would not have been able to tell him when she last cried for real. Not like this. A few tears rolling down a cheek did not really count.

hide your secrets, disguise your weakness

and lose yourself inside your busy head

He holds her tight to his chest, letting her break and cry, not caring that the tears soak his shirt. He’s used to the sea, used to being surrounded by it all. And with it, he focuses on simply holding and catering to what she needs. Right now? A breakdown. He lets her, because he’s been there on the few occasions. Been there when he’d seen his mother murdered before his own eyes. Been there when he hadn’t been quick enough to save his flame.

So he lets her cry, holding her close, letting her tears and sobs rack through her. “Shh, it’s okay.” He hums to her, pressing his face into the side of her neck, into her cheek, nose brushing against her neck as he tries to tell her that he’s here. “One step at a time. We’ll get you there.” A reverberation of his voice, muffled within her hair, the hand that cradles her back drifts in soothing motions along her spine.

“I did it by realizing that there wasn’t anything to gain from living in the past. You can’t go back, you can’t change anything. It is what it is. It’s what you do with it that matters.” He offers after a few moments as well.

burn your bridges, and leave no witnesses

all alone inside your busy head

SuNJATA