MELITA
Lighthearted foolery, despite the weapons bouncing against her back, was enough to keep any unease or apprehension from floating too distinctly in the balm of her movements. She turned and twisted with the music, humming pitches to match the assortments, until more and more people seemed keen to join the gathering, and she found herself watching for anyone familiar or friendly. She swallowed the faintest of sighs as Sunjata walked in with another individual (pale and ghostly; seen lurking along the bar and rooms, reminding Melita of wraiths and specters), shaking her head, incapable of understanding the way he meandered from one impulsive action to the other. Melita was impetuous, but not to such a degree. He approached her anyway, and she watched him with a quirked brow, a devilish tint to her grin at his second statement. “You really need to get your shit together,” she hastened with the broad, Cheshire smile, except she meant it wholeheartedly, with every ounce of her soul. She’d had trouble keeping track of certain individuals tracking and trekking their way through the bar and rooms lately – none of them Phoebe, or anyone else she thought she knew. But as he handed her a gift, she muttered several intangible, inaudible obscenities, finally ending with “I’m tempted.” Instead of opening it though, she rummaged through her satchel, producing her own present for him, already hand-picked and selected from their swim along the Mathair. The blue stone rested easily in her hand, like ocean water, like rising tides, like sea foam and power, proffered and extended to him. “I know it isn’t much,” and she shrugged, not wholly talented in regards to making or creating. She’d rather pummel and devastate. “But don’t give it to a fling of the week.” Then the youth smiled once more, waiting for him to take the rock before proceeding into her own anointed bestowal.
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
